— when broken is easily fixed
SUMMARY : priestly broke up with tish (yes!) uh, i mean… you watch him be pathetic and sad with his big wet green eyes.
PAIRING : boaz priestly x fem!reader (implied Latina)
CHARACTERS : tish (mentioned)
WARNINGS/TAGS : jealousy, breakups, fluff, tiny angst, innuendos, obliviousness x2
WORD COUNT : 2.7k
A/N : SURPRISE YALL, I’m back, heheheh. title from silverstein’s song. this fills the square “I’m having what you’d call a rough day” on my @jacklesversebingo card. lmao, this was nice to jump back into writing. I secretly like teaching y’all physics.
You remember the day Priestly showed up at the market in a disappointingly normal state.
No piercings, no colourful hair, no beard, no eyeliner. Just plain old California clothes, nearly looking Christian with his neat hair, and composed manners.
The only things that reassured you that Priestly was still Priestly after all, were the tattoos that peeked from outside the collar of a white dress shirt and the tiny holes in his skin where his piercings once belonged.
It was confusing at first, but he looked happy. Brighter.
You thought his parents were in town. Or that he became religious after all. Or that he joined a cult.
You teased him at first. He’d just give you this dreamy look and never said anything to ease your curiosity about his current state. He’d be out the door in a hurry, with a tiny bit of that Priestly swagger that told you he was definitely not brainwashed by a cult.
But the reason for the sudden change in him soon became clear.
One day, he walked into the store to buy groceries and other necessities with Tish. Hand in hand, the two of them. All giggles and shoves and smiles. The honeymoon phase. She’d kiss him on his cheeks, take his chin in her hand and press herself against him in an unnecessary manner to tell him something, and he’d look stupid, like he couldn’t believe she was there giving him affection.
Your stomach dropped at the sight of them.
You’d never felt the way you did before.
Yeah, there was a cringey-ness and aversion you always had for PDA and romance that you’d noticed in yourself for years, but it never bothered you like it did now. From watching Priestly and Tish be a couple.
But it also didn’t take you long to realise why it bothered you so much more. Why it was so much harder to ignore than if it were any other couple doing it. Why you felt rejected became clear.
You had feelings for Priestly.
What a dumb way to find that out.
Excuse the fuck out of yourself if you were too focused on your university courses and your job and your future and your personal life… to realise that you really actually liked him. Romantically.
You weren’t going to lie to yourself and pretend that you didn’t care at all when you were alone. You weren’t going to lie to yourself about the sting you felt. Or push away the feelings of jealousy and push down how upset you were and the other, million emotions you felt as you watched them go about their lives as a couple for months.
You never wanted to quit more badly than you did then, just to avoid having to see them get closer, clingier, more affectionate, serious. But it was the only way you could afford living in your dorm, to have enough to pay your classes, and afford your supplies and books...
You sucked it up and pretended that nothing was wrong. Like you didn’t even care about him. Like you never did.
It never really got easier, the only thing that became easy was pretending.
You blamed yourself for waiting too long. That’s what haunted you. If you’d just been braver. If you’d been more honest with yourself and him. If you’d had the courage to say what you felt. If… if…
It was torture.
The high California-in-the-summertime temperatures made you think that you were in Hell, but time passed and you accepted that your chance with him had passed. You told yourself to move on and be happy. For the most part, as long as you ignored them, it was easy to be happy again, to live your life and do whatever your wildest friend was doing to enjoy her summer.
But that happiness you’d seen in Priestly was gone by the time the fall semester came around. It took six long, horrible months for that happiness in him to fade away.
It didn’t last. Just like the spring and the summer.
Until one day you didn’t see her with him. And the next day he was alone again. And the next week; alone. And the week after that, too.
No Tish.
Just mopey, wet-eyed Priestley.
His stubble grew, his eyeliner returned—slightly smeared from tears.
No more Banana Republic, Tommy Hillfigure, or Calvin Klein. Just those ridiculous shirts that always made you smile.
He entered the store today again after a week.
The shop's bell rang and you looked up out of habit, and watched him with his gorgeous green eyes cast downward to the slightly dusty floor you were trying to sweep. God, you’d guess it was more of a depressing, someone’s-dead type of chime than a merry one—from the state of him.
His hair was a mess and slightly longer, it was not brushed or styled neatly. Like he woke up from a nap after breakfast and decided to go to the store because he remembered something he forgot before his nap.
You felt bad… at first.
His cheeks were pink and his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy from tears. He had darkened bags under his eyes. But as he moped around and you avoided being noticed by him out of awkwardness, you caught a glimpse of his shirt, which amused you: Hang in there, it gets worse, with a little thumbs up, too.
He came completely in black, too.
It was unavoidably funny. But you stifled your snort as you continued to sweep quietly, until eventually, you got lost in thought again. Your head filled with your to-do list before entering your final semester.
But you eventually found yourself in the same aisle as him. You swept the trash up into the dustpan as you watched him try to hold bread, bananas, napkins, and toilet paper in one arm while trying to take out a gallon of milk from the fridge.
You saw what would happen from a mile away and quickly released the broom and left the dustpan where it was to help him. Before you could actually get to him, the napkins toppled out of his hold and he mistakenly released the milk to grab it which caused the gallon to burst open when it fell to the floor like a ripe melon in the sun.
You gasped when the milk splattered on you, but you didn’t actually mind at all. Priestly, on the other hand, sighed heavily again, completely giving up.
He finally looked at you when you reached for the napkins he dropped and you smiled warily at him, hoping it appeared more reassuring than pitiful. You handed him the napkins and he murmured an apology, taking them from you.
“They say when you drop your food, it's because someone craved it,” you tried to make light of the situation but he didn’t even notice. He gently placed everything down on top of the shelf behind him with a deep sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” he frowned at the large white puddle, “I’m having what you’d call a rough day.” You huffed a soft laugh which made him raise a brow at you.
“Day? You’ve been mopey and pathetic for weeks,” you teased playfully, but he remained quiet. You figured you’d offended him or hurt his feelings because he sniffled and looked down at his hands.
Your face softened.
“I’ll pay for that.” He pointed to the spilt milk and broken gallon.
“It’s fine,” you reassured him. “Let me clean this up. I’ll help you when I finish.” You turned around to pick up some napkins you kept behind the counter and he made a sound of protest.
He followed you, you heard him walking behind you quickly. “I made this mess. I should clean it. Besides, it’s almost your lunch break,” he tried to stop you. You laughed softly and shook your head as you laid yourself over the counter to grab the napkins from underneath the counter, your feet dangled embarrassingly above the floor.
“Hey, it’s no trouble,” you dismissed, smiling triumphantly to yourself when you got up with the napkins. “Go be a customer and bring your stuff… take two trips this time. There’s no one else here.” You snatched the napkins away from him when he tried to take them from you.
He smiled a little.
It made you smile more earnestly.
“Okay… Fine…” he gave in hesitantly and followed you as you walked towards the mess he made. He picked up the stuff he left on the shelf and watched you squat down and lay some napkins over the puddle. The paper soaked the milk up and he slowly walked to the counter then returned as you finished up.
He stood there awkwardly at first. Still just watching you clean up and then you got up and smiled at him sweetly. He smiled back at you gently and your heart sped up the way it always did when he looked at you. Your stomach clenched happily, but you frowned and quickly stepped away from him to throw the wet paper towels away along with the gallon that had contained the milk.
“I’m really sorry,” he apologised again when you returned.
“Priestly, it’s fine, accidents happen,” you chuckled to convince him and eyed the new gallon of milk. “You ready?” You wiped your hands on your jeans despite still feeling icky.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly, then looked around at the unusually empty store. “You want me to finish sweeping for you? Or maybe… Do you wanna wash your hands? You look uncomfortable. I can wait,” he rambled.
You laughed at him, this was all too much for you so “early” in the morning. He instantly shut up and became flustered. His free hand flew up to the back of his neck and he laughed awkwardly.
“Well, if it matters so much to you, put the Closed sign on while I throw the stuff in the dustpan away and wash my hands. I’ll meet you at the counter in five.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically.
You rolled your eyes at the name, but walked away wordlessly to finish up. You actually were pretty hungry.
When you returned, Preistly had his hands in his trouser’s pockets, he was chewing on his lip, and his cheeks were red from embarrassment.
“What’s that thing you said earlier about dropping food?” He asked, trying to alleviate the thick tension that hung in the air around the two of you. You smiled as you scanned the items he needed.
“Oh, nothing,” you shrugged, “just a saying.”
He was quiet for a moment and then you looked up at him. He was already looking at you and your face instantly started to get warm again. You looked away as casually as you could to finish scanning the remaining items and neatly placing them inside a plastic bag.
“It was funny.”
“Ha, I guess…” you shrugged awkwardly and told him the price of his groceries.
“Right…” he took out random, balled up dollar bills from his back pocket despite having a wallet with enough space. You smiled curiously and took the money from him.
God, hurry and leave, you prayed internally as you placed his money in the cash register and took out his change. You dropped three quarters and a nickel into his hand when you began hearing the soft sound of rain hitting the windows and the concrete outside, and the delightful aroma of petrichor sneaking through the vents into the store.
“Fuck,” Priestly muttered, his fingertips grazed your palm and your body lit up like the second the temperature of the universe hit one billion Kelvin after the Big Bang, finally allowing neutrons and protons to form atomic nuclei as they hit and stuck to each other. “The worst day ever.”
You snapped out of your daze, disappointed, but not surprised at his obliviousness.
“I could give you a ride,” you offered with a shrug, taking your bag from inside the bottom drawer as he took his bag of groceries.
“I keep wasting your time…” he trailed off, but he did not decline your offer.
“That’s fine. Where do you live?” You made your way around the counter and walked past him to stand at the door and watch the rain slowly come heavier.
“You’re a stranger,” he joked, and you turned to roll your eyes at him. “What? You could secretly be a Mankiller.” You opened the door with a sarcastic laugh and squirmed as rain hit your face.
“Please, look at me,” you scoffed playfully, locking the door to the store once Priestly stepped outside with you.
“I am,” he said gently.
You looked up at him with your brows knitted in confusion. “Whatever. My car’s over here,” you brushed him off and quickly led him to your car.
You both sighed once you were safely inside the freshly cleaned car. He laughed to himself as he looked around inquisitively, but you didn't question him. You turned your car on instead to pull out of the driveway and asked him again where he lived as a Britney Spears song played on the radio. This time he finally answered your question seriously.
The conversation was light and you kept asking him about the sandwich shop he worked at and about his friends to avoid talking about yourself or his break up. It was basically small talk, bleh. The conversation was superficial because you didn’t want to get close to him, not now, not when he was freshly broken up and still clearly hurting.
He ran his hand through his hair once you parked outside his house, somehow he managed to make it look tame. He looked at the time and you waited patiently for him to get out so you could leg it and cry to your friend over the phone about how you were so not over him.
“Stay,” he proposed suddenly when he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I can make you a sandwich, I’m really good at that.” You shook your head at first and racked your brain for some excuse to get away. “Whatever you want, I’ll make it for you, I’ve even got some soda in the fridge. Please, I feel really bad.” You chuckled softly at him and the pleading eyes he gave you. They looked much wider and greener.
“Fine,” you gave in, “I’m really hungry, so… I guess I could stay for a bit.” He lit up slightly and started to get out of the car before you managed to turn it off. But you caught up with him as he kicked the welcome mat to the side to retrieve his house’s key.
“You want a sub?” He asked, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from making a joke out of that and nodded as you entered his messy house. Oh well, he’s been going through a breakup.
“Oh, God, I forgot it’s a mess,” he apologised when he looked at the star of everything around him. “Close your eyes, pretend you don’t see it,” he pleaded jokingly.
“As long as I don’t step in something squishy, we’re all good,” you reassured him with a small laugh. You followed him to the kitchen and figured he must be going through the not-eating breakup rather than the eating-my-feelings breakup.
“How big do you want it?” He asked you, setting the bag down on the counter and going to wash his hands.
“How much do you think I can take?” You asked before you could actually filter it out of your mind. He quickly looked at you, amused and intrigued while he dried his hands with a clean towel from inside his cabinet. “Kidding, how big is it?” He laughed loudly at your question which made you get more flustered, but he still gave you a measurement with his hands. “Half of that,” you tried to ignore his face and sat down before your knees gave out from embarrassment.
“If you can only take half of that, I don’t think you could handle me.”
Your mouth fell open. You were sure you stopped breathing for a few moments when your heart stuttered and your stomach lurched at the thought.
This time, you blinked at him in surprise, but your eyes stayed wide, and you felt yourself turn hotter before you both bursted out laughing.
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