WE NEVER DATED
sombr
summary: when rumors start spreading about Daniela, she asks her quiet, guarded neighbor Y/n to fake-date her—just long enough to shut people up. it’s supposed to be simple: walk to school together, hold hands in public, sell the lie. But the longer they pretend, the more real it feels
warnings/tags: fake dating, transmasc!reader, angst, tension, kissing, use of yn, best friends to lovers, j*nah mentioned, transphobia, mentions of gender dysphoria. i think that's it, lmk if i missed any!! :)
a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! btw sorry if you wanted a gn!reader, it wasn't really specified and when i started writing i only realised halfway through that i was using he/him :(( i hope it's okay either way!! this is my longest fic yet probs, 7k+ words..
Daniela Avanzini lingered by the lockers long after the bell rang, fingers tapping nervously against the chipped blue metal. The hallway had mostly emptied out, the usual after-school noise fading into distant echoes. Y/n noticed immediately—Daniela never stayed quiet this long unless something was up.
“So,” Y/n said, slinging his backpack higher onto his shoulder, “you’ve been staring at that locker like it owes you money. Wanna explain?”
Daniela huffed out a breath, finally turning to face him. “Okay. This is gonna sound stupid. And I need you to not laugh.”
Y/n raised an eyebrow. “That makes me want to laugh more, but go on.”
She rolled her eyes, then hesitated again, chewing on her lip. “I need a favor. Like… a big one.”
Y/n shifted his weight, expression softening. “You look like you’re about to ask me to help hide a body.”
“It’s not that bad,” Daniela said quickly. “I think.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
She sighed, then blurted it out. “I need to fake-date someone.”
Y/n froze for half a second. “You—what?”
“Fake. Date,” Daniela repeated, lowering her voice as a group of students passed by. “Just for a little while. Until things calm down.”
Y/n crossed his arms. “Okay. Why? And why are you telling me this?”
Daniela met his eyes, serious now. “Because I trust you. And because it’d actually make sense.”
He frowned. “Define ‘make sense.’”
“Everyone already assumes we’re close,” she said. “We hang out all the time, we walk home together, you helped me study for chem last month. Plus—” She gestured vaguely between them. “You’re not some random guy. You’re you.”
Y/n let out a slow breath. “You’re being weirdly convincing.”
“That’s because I’m desperate,” Daniela admitted. “I need it to look real, but not… complicated. Just enough to shut people up and help me get out of something.”
“And what exactly are you trying to get out of?” Y/n asked.
Daniela hesitated again, then shook her head. “I’ll explain. I promise. Just—tell me you’ll at least think about it?”
Y/n studied her face, the worry she was trying badly to hide. He’d known Daniela long enough to tell when she was serious, when this wasn’t just drama for drama’s sake.
“…I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “No promises.”
Her shoulders relaxed instantly. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Y/n glanced down the hallway, then back at her. “If we’re doing this, though, we’re setting rules.”
Daniela smiled, relieved. “Deal.” She straightened a little, like this was suddenly a business meeting instead of a hallway conversation. “Okay. Rules. Go.”
Y/n held up a finger. “Rule number one: no surprises. If someone’s about to see us holding hands, kissing cheeks, whatever—you warn me first.”
“That’s fair,” Daniela nodded immediately. “I hate surprises too.”
“Rule two,” he continued, “we don’t lie to each other. Not about what we’re doing or why. If this starts feeling weird or too much, we pull the plug.”
Daniela’s expression softened. “Agreed. No forcing anything.”
“Rule three,” Y/n said, hesitating just a second, “we keep it public-only. School, events, places where people can see us. No fake private stuff.”
Her lips twitched. “You mean no dramatic ‘accidentally fell asleep on each other’ moments?”
“Exactly that.”
“Fine,” she laughed quietly. “Public-only.”
Y/n lowered his hand but didn’t relax yet. “Rule four: you don’t use this to make anyone jealous. I’m not a prop.”
Daniela’s smile faded, replaced by something sincere. “I wouldn’t do that. I swear.” She immediately answered. "I'm not trying to make anyone jealous, I just want things to cool down. I'm tired of all the rumours about me."
He nodded, reassured. “Okay. Then—rule five. If people start asking questions about us...we back each other up."
Daniela didn’t hesitate this time. “Always. That’s not even a rule, that’s just basic.”
Y/n exhaled, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. “Good.”
There was a brief pause, the hallway quiet again. Daniela rocked back on her heels. “My turn.”
He glanced at her. “You've got more rules?”
“Obviously,” she said. “Rule one: we act normal. No overdoing it. We’re friends first.”
“That one I can handle.”
“Rule two,” she went on, “no catching feelings and then pretending it’s not happening.”
Y/n blinked. “That feels…oddly specific.”
“I’m being preventative,” Daniela said quickly, cheeks warming. “Just saying—if something changes, we talk about it. It always happens in movies and stuff."
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
She smiled again, smaller this time. “Rule three: we end this clean. No drama. No rumors. Just… mutual agreement.”
Y/n shifted his bag again. “So a contract with an exit clause.”
“Exactly.”
They stood there for a moment, both of them clearly aware of how serious it had gotten. “So,” Y/n spoke up, breaking the silence, “when were you planning on starting this?”
Daniela glanced down the hallway, then back at him. “Ideally?”
He waited.
“…Tomorrow.”
Y/n let out a quiet laugh. “Of course it’s tomorrow.”
She grinned. “You said no surprises.”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Guess I walked right into this."
Daniela slung her bag over her shoulder and nodded toward the exit. “Walk home?”
“Like we always do,” Y/n said, already heading that way.
Outside, the late afternoon air was cool, the sun dipping low enough to stretch their shadows long across the sidewalk. The street in front of the school buzzed with the usual noise—cars pulling out, students laughing too loudly, someone blasting music from their car. Daniela stayed close to Y/n’s side, close enough that their shoulders brushed when they stepped off the curb.
They walked in easy silence for a moment, the kind that only came from knowing someone for years.
“So,” Y/n said eventually, “you said this is about the rumors, mh?”
Daniela’s jaw tightened just a bit. “Yeah.”
“The ones going around since last week?”
She nodded. “They won’t stop. Everyone’s decided they know my life better than I do.” Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. “I just need something solid. Something believable enough that people back off.”
Y/n glanced at her. “And we’re believable.”
“We are,” she said, softer. “That’s why I asked you.”
They turned onto their street not long after, rows of houses lining the sidewalk, familiar and quiet compared to the chaos near school. Someone’s sprinklers clicked on down the block, mist catching the light. Daniela slowed a little as they reached the point where their paths split—her driveway just a few steps ahead, Y/n’s house right next door.
She stopped, turning to face him. “So,” she said, forcing a casual smile, “tomorrow. First official day.”
Y/n let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Guess so.”
Daniela stepped closer, just barely inside his space. “This is okay, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
She hesitated for half a second—long enough for him to notice—then leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was light, almost innocent, but deliberate. Practiced, even. “Just… getting used to it,” she said quietly.
Y/n’s ears warmed, but he didn’t pull away. “Right. Practice.”
Daniela smiled, relief and something else flickering across her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n.”
“Tomorrow,” he echoed.
She headed up her driveway, glancing back once before disappearing inside. Y/n stood there a moment longer, hand brushing his cheek where her lips had been.
"Fake dating." He quietly reminded himself. "It's gonna be fine."
The next morning felt different in a way Y/n couldn’t quite explain.
He was already waiting on the sidewalk when Daniela stepped out of her house, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair still slightly messy like she’d rushed. She smiled when she spotted him, that familiar grin that usually meant normal morning. Today, it felt loaded.
“Morning,” she said, falling into step beside him.
“Hey,” Y/n replied. “You look… awake.”
“Lies,” Daniela said. “I’m functioning purely on vibes and caffeine.”
They walked in comfortable silence at first, the sound of birds and distant traffic filling the gaps. The closer they got to school, the more students appeared on the sidewalks—pairs, groups, people from their grade drifting toward the same place.
Daniela slowed her pace just a little.
Y/n noticed. “We’re close.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “You good?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Just—same rules as yesterday.”
“No surprises,” she echoed.
They reached the corner where the street curved, the school now fully in view. Daniela hesitated for half a second, then reached out, her fingers brushing his hand in a silent question.
Y/n intertwined their fingers.
It felt strange—new—but not wrong. Her hand was warm, grip steady, like she wasn’t testing him, just trusting him. A couple of students glanced their way. One of them did a double take.
Daniela leaned closer, lowering her voice. “People are already looking.”
“Let them,” Y/n replied, keeping his tone easy. “We’re doing great.”
She smiled at that, shoulders relaxing as they kept walking. By the time they reached the school gates, the whispers had already started—subtle, half-hidden, but undeniable.
“Since when?”
“Is that—?”
“No way, seriously?”
Daniela squeezed his hand once before letting go. “Thank you. For real.”
“Anytime,” Y/n replied. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Actually? Yeah.” Daniela hesitated for just a second after letting go of his hand, eyes flicking around the courtyard like she was taking mental notes of who’d seen what. Then she turned back to him, expression softening.
Before Y/n could say anything, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—light, deliberate, and just public enough to seal the deal. “There,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. “For consistency.”
Y/n’s breath caught, just briefly. He forced himself to keep his posture relaxed, even as heat crept up his neck. “You’re really committing to the bit.”
She grinned. “I told you I would.”
A couple of people outright stared now. Someone near the bike racks whispered something a little too loudly.
Daniela didn’t flinch. If anything, she straightened, confidence settling back into her shoulders like armor. “Oh—also,” she added casually, swinging her backpack higher, “we’re sitting together at lunch.”
Y/n blinked. “That wasn’t in the rules.”
“It doesn’t break any,” she countered. “Public place. Normal couple thing. Totally optional if you hate the cafeteria.”
He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t hate it. I just hate the noise.”
“I’ll protect you from it,” Daniela said solemnly. “Boyfriend duties.”
He snorted. “Wow. Promoted already.”
She bumped her shoulder into his as they started toward the doors. “You're doing great so far. No weird energy. Very convincing.”
“Glad my fake-boyfriend performance is up to standard,” Y/n replied.
They stopped at the entrance where their paths split for first period. Daniela lingered for a second longer than necessary, eyes searching his face like she wanted to say something else—but then she smiled instead. “Lunch. My table,” she said. “Don’t bail.”
“I won’t,” He mumbled. “Promise.”
She gave him one last look—warm, grateful, and something softer he didn’t want to name—before heading inside.
Y/n stood there for a moment after she left, the noise of the school rushing back in around him. He lifted a hand to his cheek again, jaw tightening just slightly.
Fake dating, he reminded himself once again.
Still, as he followed the crowd into the building, it was getting harder to tell where the acting ended.
By the time lunch rolled around, Y/n had already caught at least five people staring at him like he’d personally rewritten the social hierarchy overnight. Whispers followed him down the hallway, fading the second he glanced their way.
He spotted Daniela immediately.
She was already at a table near the windows, halfway through a conversation with her friends. When she saw him, her face lit up—not overdone, not fake. Just… natural. She raised her hand slightly, a silent come here.
Y/n made his way over, tray in hand.
“Hey,” Daniela said, shifting her backpack off the chair beside her. “You actually came.”
“Told you I would.”
A few of her friends traded curious, measuring looks—not hostile, just caught off guard. Y/n glanced back, mentally sorting through the names Daniela had mentioned over time, trying to put them to faces.
“Hey,” one of them—Lara?—said slowly. “Didn’t know you two were… a thing.”
Daniela leaned back, draping her arm casually along the back of Y/n’s chair. “We’re keeping it lowkey.”
Y/n kept his expression easy, even as his pulse ticked up. “Yeah. Just… us.”
A girl with brown, curly hair—he guessed that was Manon—snorted. “Lowkey? Half the cafeteria’s been talking about it.”
Daniela rolled her eyes. “People talk about everything.”
She leaned in slightly toward Y/n, close enough that their shoulders touched. The contact was subtle, but intentional. Across the room, he noticed someone watching—someone who’d definitely been part of the rumor mill she’d mentioned yesterday.
Daniela noticed too.
Without a word, she reached for his hand under the table, lacing their fingers together where no one could see unless they were looking closely. “You okay?” she murmured.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Her thumb brushed over his knuckles once, grounding. When one of her friends glanced down and raised an eyebrow, Daniela didn’t pull away.
“Oh,” the girl smirked. “So this is real-real.”
Daniela just smiled. “Told you, Mei.”
Lunch continued around them—chatter, laughter, trays clattering—but Y/n felt oddly detached from it all. Not uncomfortable. Just aware. Aware of Daniela’s warmth beside him, the way she leaned into him without thinking, the way the room seemed to accept it faster than he’d expected.
At one point, Daniela stole a fry from his tray.
“Hey,” he protested quietly.
She grinned. “Boyfriend tax.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.” Daniela crunched the fry, completely unbothered. “You’ll survive.”
“Debatable,” Y/n muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Megan laughed, shaking her head. “You two are weirdly domestic.”
“High praise,” Daniela said. “We worked hard on that.”
Y/n glanced at her. “We did?”
She shot him a look that said play along, then softened it immediately. “Team effort.”
Across the table, possibly Sophia studied them for a moment longer than necessary. “So… how long has this been going on?”
Daniela answered easily, like she’d rehearsed it—but without sounding rehearsed. “A bit. We didn’t really tell people.”
Y/n nodded. “Didn’t feel like a big announcement thing.”
That seemed to satisfy them. Conversation drifted to classes, a pop quiz someone had failed, weekend plans. Daniela’s hand stayed in his, thumb occasionally tracing small, absent-minded circles. Each time it happened, Y/n felt himself relax more instead of tense up, which surprised him more than anything else.
Then he noticed him again.
The boy from across the cafeteria—leaning too far into his group of jocks, eyes flicking back toward their table. He whispered something. A few heads turned.
Daniela followed his gaze. Her jaw tightened, just slightly.
Without thinking, she shifted closer and rested her head briefly against his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The message was clear. I see you. Stop.
The staring stopped.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Y/n said quietly.
Daniela didn’t move right away. “I wanted to.” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “You good? For real.”
He searched her face, then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
“Okay.” She smiled again, softer this time. “Good.”
The bell rang not long after, the cafeteria filling with groans and the scrape of chairs. Daniela squeezed his hand once before letting go, standing and slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
“Walk me to class?” she asked, like it was casual. Like it wasn’t another small choice.
“Yeah,” Y/n said. “I’ve got time.”
As they stepped away from the table, Daniela leaned in and kissed his cheek again—quick, warm, unmistakably intentional. A couple people noticed. She didn’t care.
“See?” she said quietly as they merged into the crowd. “Lowkey.”
Y/n huffed a laugh. “Your definition of lowkey is questionable.”
“Give it a day,” Daniela replied. “They’ll get bored.”
He wasn’t sure that was true. But as they walked side by side down the hallway, shoulders brushing, he realized something else felt truer:
Whatever this was pretending to be, it was already doing its job.
A few weeks passed, quietly at first. Then all at once.
It started with routines. Y/n walking Daniela to school without either of them having to ask. Saving seats at lunch automatically. Her stealing his hoodies when it got cold in the mornings and not even pretending it was temporary. The rumors dulled, then shifted, then faded into something almost boring—yeah, they’re together—until no one questioned it anymore.
They got good at it. Too good.
Daniela learned his tells: the way his jaw tightened when someone stared too long, how he went quieter when he was overwhelmed, how he always checked in with her eyes before touching her hand in public. Y/n learned hers too—the way she faked confidence when she was tired, how she hummed under her breath when she was nervous, how she always reached for him first when things got loud.
Somewhere along the way, the acting stopped feeling like acting.
She started leaning into him even when no one was watching. He started tucking her hair behind her ear without thinking. Their hands found each other naturally, like they’d always known where to go. When people called him her boyfriend, Y/n stopped flinching before correcting them—because he never did.
One afternoon, they studied together at his kitchen table, knees brushing under the surface, Daniela absently drawing stars in the margin of his notebook while he explained something she already understood. She laughed too easily at his jokes. He smiled more than usual when she did.
“Hey,” she’d said at one point, glancing up at him. “You’re really patient, you know that?”
“With you?” he replied. “Low bar.”
She shoved his shoulder, laughing, but her smile lingered after. So did the silence that followed—comfortable, heavy, full.
By the third week, Y/n noticed the shift. The way his chest tightened when she didn’t text back right away. The way he looked for her instinctively in crowded hallways. The way her absence felt louder than her presence ever was.
Daniela noticed too.
She grew quieter some days, more thoughtful. Her fingers lingered longer in his hand. She kissed his cheek more often—before class, after school, sometimes just because. Each time, it sent the same confusing warmth through him, the kind he couldn’t write off as pretending anymore.
One evening, walking home like always, she stopped at the edge of his driveway instead of going straight to her own. “This still okay?” she asked softly.
Y/n didn’t answer right away. He looked at her—really looked at her—and realised the question wasn’t about rumors anymore. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
She smiled, relief and something deeper flickering across her face. She kissed his cheek, slower this time, and lingered just long enough to blur the line between fake and real.
And that was the problem.
Because nothing changed after that—and everything did.
They didn’t talk about it. Neither of them crossed the line, not really. No confessions, no labels, no moment where someone said hey, I think this is more than pretend now. The rules were still there, technically. Unbroken. Untouched.
But Y/n felt like he was standing in the middle of a room that kept shrinking.
Daniela still kissed his cheek instead of his lips. Still called him her boyfriend only when other people were around. Still pulled away just enough at the end of the day, like she was reminding both of them where the edge was supposed to be.
And it drove him insane.
He caught himself replaying moments he shouldn’t have overthought—her laugh when he whispered something dumb in her ear, the way she rested her forehead against his shoulder on the bus ride back from a hang out, the softness in her voice when she said his name like it mattered. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. That this was what pretending too well felt like.
Except it didn’t feel like pretending.
One afternoon, Daniela didn’t meet him at their usual spot before lunch. He waited. Five minutes. Ten. His chest tightened with every passing second, irritation bleeding into something sharper. When she finally appeared, breathless and apologetic, relief hit him so hard it scared him.
“Sorry,” she said. “Got held back.”
“It’s fine,” he replied automatically.
It wasn’t.
He started noticing how careful she was being—how she never quite gave him too much. How she checked his face every time she leaned in, like she was afraid of crossing a line he hadn’t actually drawn. How she never stayed too long, never asked for more, even when it was obvious she wanted to.
Which meant she knew.
She knew it was slipping. And she was still choosing not to say anything.
That night, Y/n lay awake longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, phone face-down beside him. He thought about the rules they’d set in that empty hallway weeks ago. No catching feelings and pretending it’s not happening. Daniela had said that one. Preventative.
He wondered if she’d meant herself.
The next morning, she showed up at his door in one of his hoodies, sleeves pulled over her hands, hair still damp from a rushed shower. She smiled at him like everything was normal. “Morning,” she said.
Y/n swallowed. “Hey.”
She stepped closer, kissed his cheek like she always did—soft, familiar, dangerous—and pulled back with a quiet smile. “Ready?”
He nodded, forcing himself to move, to walk beside her like this wasn’t slowly unraveling him. Their hands brushed. She didn’t take his this time.
And that—that small, almost unnoticeable thing—sat heavy in his chest the entire walk to school.
Because pretending was easy at first.
Now it felt like waiting for something to break.
Y/n had finally decided.
It wasn’t some big cinematic realisation—just a quiet moment in his room, staring at his phone, Daniela’s name lighting up the screen with a dumb meme she’d sent. His chest did that thing again, tight and warm and unbearable all at once.
He couldn’t keep pretending. Not when it already felt real to him.
The thing was he’d been pretending for so long, he barely remembered where the lines had started. Every habit, every little touch, every “accidental” brush of hands—it had all slipped into normal without either of them noticing. But the normal wasn’t enough anymore. It had never been enough.
His hoodie still smelled faintly of her shampoo from last week, and he caught himself inhaling it like it was a lifeline. His textbooks sat untouched on the bed; math problems blurred as he imagined her laughing at something stupid he said in the cafeteria, thumb brushing over his knuckles as she held his hand under the table.
It was ridiculous. He knew it.
And yet. Every time he imagined not telling her, it felt heavier—like carrying a backpack that wasn’t there, all full of things he couldn’t unpack.
So he left early for lunch, nerves buzzing under his skin, rehearsing what he’d say. Nothing dramatic. Just honest. Hey, I think I caught feelings and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I needed you to know. Simple. Safe.
But as he walked through the quiet halls, each step echoing in his ears, he realized just how impossible it would be to keep it simple. Every glance at the windows, every laugh spilling from the cafeteria, every familiar figure of her already sitting there—it made the words feel both too small and too big.
By the time he spotted her down the hallway near the gym wing, heart hammering, he was halfway hoping she’d notice him and halfway dreading it.He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to look casual, trying to remember that this was just lunch. Just a conversation. Just the same old routine.
Except, before he could do anything, he realised she wasn’t alone.
Daniela stood by the lockers, arms crossed, posture stiff in a way Y/n recognized instantly. Defensive. Across from her was Jonah—football jacket, too much confidence, leaning in like the space belonged to him.
Y/n slowed without realizing it, stopping just short of the corner. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He just… heard his name—or what Jonah thought his name was.
“Come on, Dani,” Jonah was saying, voice low but sharp. “You can’t seriously tell me that thing is your boyfriend.”
Y/n’s stomach dropped.
Daniela’s head snapped up. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
Jonah scoffed. “Him?” He laughed, shaking his head. “You mean her. Or whatever. I don’t get why you’re doing this to yourself.”
Y/n felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
Daniela took a step closer, jaw tight. “Watch your mouth.”
“Why?” Jonah shot back. “Everyone knows this is fake anyway. You don’t actually think you’re gonna end up with—” he gestured vaguely, cruelly, “—someone like that.”
There it was. Clean and sharp and final.
Daniela said something then—fast, angry—but Y/n didn’t hear it. The words blurred together, drowned out by the roaring in his ears.
Someone like that.
He took a step back, heart hammering, shame curling tight in his chest. The warmth he’d been carrying for weeks curdled into something bitter and familiar.
What was he thinking?
Of course someone like Daniela—confident, admired, untouchable—would eventually get tired of pretending. Of defending him. Of carrying the weight of being seen with him. Jonah was loud and awful, but his words echoed things Y/n had already told himself in quieter moments.
You don’t deserve her.
This was always temporary.
She’s just being nice.
He turned away before he could hear anything else—before he could hear Daniela say something that might hurt worse, or worse, nothing at all.
Y/n’s footsteps felt too loud on the way home, each one echoing in his skull like a reminder of everything Jonah had said. He didn’t even take off his backpack in the hallway. He just kept walking, head down, until he was almost past the kitchen.
“Hey—?” his mom called, looking up from the counter. “You’re home early. Everything okay?”
He froze for half a second before nodding. “Yeah,” he said too quickly, already moving again. “We got out early. Schedule thing.”
She frowned slightly, unconvinced. “You sure? You usually text.”
“Forgot,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack. “I’m just… tired.”
She watched him for a moment longer, concern flickering across her face. “Okay. Come get something to eat later, alright?”
“Yeah,” he said, barely audible, and then he was gone—down the hall, into his room, door shutting behind him with a soft but final click.
As soon as it clicked shut, he leaned against it and exhaled, harsh and uneven. The weight of everything—the whispers, the stares, Jonah’s words, the lingering warmth of Daniela’s hand in his—hit him all at once. His chest tightened, and for a split second he wondered if breathing was even worth the effort.
He stripped off his hoodie and shirt, tossing them aside carelessly, and stared at himself in the mirror. The reflection didn’t feel like him. The shoulders he hated, the chest that felt wrong, the curve of his hips—all of it was suddenly too much. His fingers went to his face, tracing lines he wished weren’t there, hands shaking slightly.
“Get it together,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
Finally, he dug through his drawers, ignoring the mess he was leaving behind, and pulled out a baggy sweatshirt and loose sweatpants—the kind of clothes that swallowed him whole. He yanked them on, rolling the cuffs over his hands, tugging the waistband high so nothing felt exposed. The fabric was heavy, comforting, like armor against the world that had suddenly decided to make him feel too small, too visible, too wrong.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, then folded in on himself, hood pulled up, sleeves covering his hands completely. The mirror was still there, but now it showed less—just a shape, blurred and safer.
Still, Jonah’s voice echoed in his head, sharp and cruel, and underneath it all was something worse: the fear that maybe everyone else thought the same thing.
Including her.
The thought settled in his chest like something rotten, something he couldn’t cough up no matter how hard he tried. He stared at the floor, jaw tight, replaying every moment from the past few weeks with a new, cruel lens.
Did she ever hesitate before taking his hand because she was embarrassed?
Did she kiss his cheek instead of his lips because that was as far as she could stand to go?
Did she defend him because she wanted to—or because she felt obligated, because backing out would’ve made her look bad?
Jonah’s voice wormed its way back in, venomous and smug. You don’t actually think you’re gonna end up with someone like that.
Someone like that.
Y/n pressed his sleeves over his hands and clenched them into fists, fabric bunching between his fingers. He wondered—terrified himself by wondering—if Daniela saw him the same way Jonah did but hid it better. If she smiled through it. If every rumor she’d tried to escape had just been replaced by a quieter, heavier one: the girl dating the trans guy.
The trans guy. The fake boyfriend. The experiment.
His chest ached, sharp and insistent. He thought about the way she looked at him sometimes—soft, searching, almost like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Was that hesitation? Doubt? Disgust she was too kind to voice?
He dragged a hand down his face, breathing shallow. “You’re being stupid,” he muttered, though the words had no weight behind them.
Because if she really saw him—really—would she still touch him so easily? Would she still laugh like that? Would she still steal his hoodies and wear them like they meant something?
Or was that the point?
Maybe she liked the idea of him. The safety. The convenience. The shield he provided against rumors. Someone who wouldn’t push too far, wouldn’t demand too much, wouldn’t expect to be wanted in the same way a real guy would.
The word made his throat tighten.
He curled in on himself again, knees drawn up, hoodie swallowing his frame until there was barely anything left to see. He wished—desperately—that he could unzip himself from his body and step out of it, leave the confusion and doubt behind like clothes that didn’t fit.
His phone buzzed softly from the bed.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Daniela. Probably wondering where he was.
The screen lit up again a second later, then a third time, the vibrations small but insistent, like she was knocking on a door he didn’t have the strength to open.
He took the phone, turned off his notifications and placed the phone back face-down.
Not because he didn’t want to talk to her—but because he was suddenly afraid of what he’d hear. Afraid that if he asked the wrong question, he’d get an answer he wouldn’t survive.
So he stayed there, wrapped in fabric and doubt, letting the silence stretch—wondering if, to her, he’d ever been real at all.
Dinner was louder than usual.
The clink of cutlery against plates felt sharp, exaggerated, like each sound was landing directly against Y/n’s nerves. His sister’s voice carried easily across the table as she talked about a test she’d aced, words tumbling out fast and proud. His dad chimed in between bites, complaining about traffic like it had personally betrayed him. Laughter followed. Normal. Easy.
Y/n sat there anyway, shoulders hunched, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands until only his fingertips showed. His plate sat untouched in front of him, steam long gone, food cooling into something unappetizing. The smells were too much—too heavy, too present—and his stomach felt tight, knotted with something that had nothing to do with hunger.
His mom noticed first. She always did. “You’re not hungry?” she asked gently, eyes flicking down to his plate. “You didn’t eat after school either.”
“I’m fine,” Y/n said, a little too fast, not quite looking up.
His dad paused mid-bite, studying him over the rim of his glasses. “You sure? You barely touched it.”
“I said I’m fine.”
The words landed harder than he meant them to. The table went quiet for half a second—just long enough for him to feel it, for the normal noise to drop out and leave only the hum in his ears.
His sister tilted her head, gaze sharpening as she looked him over. “Okay, but you’ve been ‘fine’ since you walked in and disappeared into your room,” she said. “Did something happen?”
Y/n’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeves. “Can we not do this?”
“Do what?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Ask if you’re okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His mom reached out, resting her hand lightly on the table near his plate—not touching him, just close enough to be there. “We’re not trying to interrogate you, sweetheart. You just seem… off.”
Off.
The word lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable.
Something in him snapped—not loudly, not all at once. Just a thin crack, spreading quietly beneath the surface. “I said I’m fine,” he repeated, sharper now, the edge in his voice surprising even him. “Why does everyone keep asking?”
His dad frowned. “Hey. Tone.”
Y/n let out a breath that was halfway to a laugh, bitter and short. “Sorry. Forgot I’m supposed to sound grateful while I’m being psychoanalyzed over dinner.”
His sister blinked. “Wow.”
“That’s not fair,” his mom said quietly, hurt flickering across her face.
He knew that. He did. And that somehow made it worse.
Y/n pushed his chair back a few inches, the legs scraping against the floor with an awful, nails-on-chalkboard sound. His heart was pounding now, fast and uneven, words spilling out before he could stop them—before he could soften them.
“I don’t want to eat, okay?” he said, voice rising despite himself. “I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to explain myself, and I definitely don’t want everyone staring at me like I’m about to break.”
His dad’s posture shifted immediately, concern overtaking irritation. “Y/n—”
“Please,” he cut in, standing abruptly. “Just drop it.”
For a moment, no one said anything. The room felt too small, too bright, like the walls had crept in closer while he wasn’t looking. His sister looked torn between annoyance and worry, arms crossed but eyes soft. His mom’s expression had changed into something heavier—something that looked a lot like guilt.
“Alright,” she said finally, voice steady even if her eyes weren’t. “We’ll give you space.”
Y/n nodded once, throat tight, not trusting himself to say anything else without making it worse. He grabbed his plate and dumped it in the sink untouched, the sound of porcelain hitting porcelain louder than he meant it to be, echoing through the kitchen.
“I’m going to my room,” he muttered.
“Food’ll be here if you change your mind,” his mom said softly, like she was afraid to spook him.
He didn’t answer. He just walked away, the noise of dinner slowly fading behind him until it was replaced by the quiet thud of his bedroom door closing.
Only then did his shoulders sag, all the fight draining out of him at once. He leaned against the door, eyes stinging, chest aching with everything he hadn’t said.
The next morning, Y/n left the house earlier than usual.
He didn’t wait on the sidewalk like he always did. He shoved his headphones on the second he stepped outside, music loud enough to blur the world into something manageable, something distant. The air was cold, biting, and he welcomed it—welcomed anything that kept him from thinking too hard.
He kept his eyes forward as he walked, pace faster than normal. Each step felt purposeful, like if he slowed down for even a second, he’d turn around. And he couldn’t do that. Not today.
He was halfway down the block when he heard someone calling his name.
“Muffled through the music at first. Then closer.
“Y/n—wait!”
He clenched his jaw and kept walking.
A few seconds later, a hand grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie, tugging him back just enough to break his stride. He stopped, breath sharp in his chest, and pulled one earcup off.
Daniela stood beside him, slightly out of breath, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, brows knit together in confusion and something sharper. “What the hell?” she said. “Why didn’t you wait?”
“Didn't feel like it.” Y/n replied flatly, eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder.
She studied him for a beat, clearly sensing the shift. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Did I do something?”
“No.”
“You didn’t text me back last night.”
He shrugged. “Was busy.”
Her expression hardened—not angry yet, but close. “You’re lying.”
He finally looked at her then, and whatever she saw in his face made her falter. His shoulders were tense, posture closed off, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he was bracing for impact. “Can we not do this on the sidewalk?” He asked, before shaking his head. “Actually, we can’t do this at all,” he mumbled.
Daniela blinked. “What?”
Y/n stopped walking entirely now, turning to face her. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt, but once the words started, he couldn’t stop them. “I think we should call it off,” he said. “The fake dating. All of it.”
The color drained from her face. “What? Why?”
“It’s done what it needed to do,” he said quickly, too quickly. “The rumors stopped. People moved on. We don’t need to keep pretending.”
Daniela stared at him like he’d just switched languages mid-sentence. “Pretending?” she repeated quietly.
Y/n swallowed. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat now, loud and unforgiving. “Yeah. Pretending. That’s what this was.”
Her brows drew together. “Since when?”
He looked away again, jaw tightening. “Since always.”
“That’s not true,” she said immediately, stepping closer. “You don’t get to rewrite the past few weeks like that.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m not rewriting anything. I’m just… being realistic.”
“Realistic about what?” Daniela asked. Her voice wasn’t sharp, but it was strained, like she was holding something back. “Because from where I’m standing, this came out of nowhere.”
Y/n rubbed a hand over his face, fingers catching on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Look, it’s just—people are starting to get weird again. And I don’t want to deal with it.”
“We’ve dealt with worse,” she said. “Together.”
The word hit him harder than he expected.
He shook his head. “That’s the thing. We shouldn’t have to.”
Daniela searched his face, eyes flicking over every small detail like she was trying to piece together a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense. “Did someone say something to you?”
“No.”
“Y/n—”
“I said no.” His voice cracked despite himself. He cleared his throat, forcing it back into something flatter. “This isn’t your problem. It never should’ve been.”
Her expression softened in a way that made his chest ache. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
He took a step back, putting a little more space between them. “I know, but I don’t want you getting dragged into… stuff because of me.”
Daniela went very still. “Stuff?”
He hesitated. Just for a second. Long enough.
Her eyes narrowed. “Did Jonah talk to you?” Y/n’s silence was answer enough. Her face flashed with anger then—real, sharp, protective. “What did he say?”
“I heard him while you two were talking but it—it doesn’t matter,” Y/n said quickly. “That’s exactly the point. None of it matters anymore.”
“It matters to me,” she snapped. “If someone said something that made you feel like this—”
“I don’t want to be your project,” he cut in, the words spilling out harsher than he meant them to. “Or your charity case. Or whatever this turned into.”
Daniela flinched like he’d struck her. “That’s what you think this is?” she asked quietly.
He looked anywhere but at her. “I think… I think you deserve someone who doesn’t make things harder. Someone people don’t look at sideways. Someone you don’t have to explain.”
The silence between them stretched, heavy and brittle.
Daniela’s voice, when she spoke again, was low and shaking. “So you’re just… done?”
Y/n nodded once, small and final. “Yeah.”
She inhaled sharply, eyes glassy but furious. “Fine,” she said. “If that’s what you want.” She turned on her heel and started walking toward school, steps fast and uneven.
Y/n stood there, frozen, watching her go.
It worked, he told himself.
This was better.
This was safer.
But as she disappeared around the corner, the ache in his chest didn’t fade.
It got worse.
The next few days were quiet.
Y/n kept his distance—walking past her house without stopping, slipping into school late, burying himself in homework or music or anything that let the world blur out. Daniela didn’t reach for him. She didn’t text. She didn’t try to corner him in the hallway like she usually did. It was… odd. Empty.
And he hated it.
He hated it because it made him notice everything he’d been trying not to notice: how much he wanted to hear her voice, how much he wanted her to steal a hoodie from him, how much he missed the warmth of her hand brushing his under the table, how much he missed the feeling of her kissing his cheek. Pretending they weren’t tangled up—emotionally, physically, always—was impossible now.
By the end of the week, it was unbearable. Lunch felt lonelier than it ever had. Walking home felt too quiet. Even the small routines—the ones that had made the acting easier—now felt like knives twisting: no hand to grab, no grin when he showed up, no teasing remark about something dumb he’d said.
It was on Friday afternoon, as he trudged down the block toward home, that he finally saw her.
She was sitting on the curb outside hia house, hood pulled up, shoulders slumped, phone in her hand as she waited for him. She looked up when he passed, and for the first time since the fight, her eyes met his without hesitation. “Y/n.”
Y/n froze. For a moment, the world narrowed down to her—curled up on the curb like she was trying to disappear, hood shadowing her face, yet still impossibly, undeniably her.
“Y/n,” she repeated, voice sharper this time, a tremor of something fierce running underneath. “Stop walking past me like I don’t matter.”
He stopped in his tracks, heart hammering, breath caught somewhere between panic and relief. “Dani—”
“No!” she cut him off, standing abruptly, hood falling back, hair falling messy over her face. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed. “You think you get to do that? Just… just walk away, pretend it’s easier for me or for you? Do you even know how ridiculous that is? Do you even know what you make me feel?!”
Y/n swallowed hard. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean?!” she laughed, bitter, and it cut right through him. “You think I care about what you meant? You don’t get to pretend this—us—was never real. You don’t get to call it off just because it’s hard for you!” Her voice cracked. Her hands shook. And then, suddenly, she was close enough that he could feel her heat, her pulse against his arm, and it was everything he’d been trying not to feel for weeks.
“I—” he whispered, voice breaking, “I just didn’t want to—”
“You didn’t want to what? Deal with your feelings? Deal with me?” she shot back, stepping forward so fast that he stumbled slightly backward. “You think you get to be scared and I just sit here? I’ve been scared too, Y/n! I’ve been scared every single day because… because I like you. Like, actually like you! I don’t care that this started as a stupid plan, I don’t care about the rumors, I don’t care about anything but you!”
Her words hit him like a tidal wave, knocking all the carefully constructed walls he’d built around himself straight down. He couldn’t breathe for a second, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
“Dani—” he breathed.
“No!” she cut him off, stepping so close that he could feel her warmth, smell the faint scent of shampoo he’d been missing all week. “Stop talking. Listen to me. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care about rumors or Jonah or… or anything else. I like you. I like you, and it’s not pretend. Not anymore. And if you can’t see that… then fine, I’ll scream it until you do.”
And before he could respond, she grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.
It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t the like light peck on the cheek she usually gave him in public. It was urgent, messy, desperate, everything he’d been denying he wanted all at once. He froze for just a second—then melted into it, the ache in his chest unraveling as he finally let himself feel everything. His arms went around her, careful at first, then tighter, like he could hold her close enough to make the fear disappear. It was like the kiss forced him to stop thinking, stop worrying, stop pretending.
When they finally pulled back for air, Daniela’s forehead was still resting against his. Her hands cupped his face, eyes bright and blazing and completely, painfully alive.
“You think you get to call this off?” she whispered, voice hoarse. “No. Not anymore. You’re mine. Or—well. Not in a possessive way. But you get me, right? You know what I mean?”
Y/n blinked, heart still racing, hands still trembling where they held her waist. “Yeah,” he said quietly, a little hoarse himself. “I… I get you.”
A small, triumphant smile tugged at her lips. “Good,” she murmured, and kissed him again—this one slower, softer, lingering, the kind of kiss that made everything else—rumors, fears, doubts—fade into nothing.
— dylan speaks!
alright there we go! i missed writing oneshots lowk i ain’t gonna lie lmao.
sorry if the style is different than usual btw!! on wattpad i normally write in 3rd person (which is the one that comes easier to me) and i still gotta get used to writing “you did this…” and stuff. as i mentioned before, i only realised already halfway through of my mistake, so i do apologise for that!!
sorry anon if the request took so long! hope you enjoyed it anyway :)