JEALOUS!ART X READER.
PART 4.
a/n: hiiiii i’m sorry i’m literally evil.. it’s been a year daddy!!!! i’ve been wanting to write more in my fics, so we have another mix of smaus and writing!!! pls enjoy 💋💋
part 1
part 2
part 3
—
she opened the app with fingers trembling like moth wings. drew’s page. a carousel of screenshots. texts ripped out of context. photos from months ago with captions twisted into knives.
“cheating whore.”
“hope art was worth it.”
“funny how you act innocent when you’re on your knees for your best friend.”
her face burned. the room tilted. the silence screamed.
her first instinct wasn’t even heartbreak—it was shame. not because of what she’d done (nothing, nothing, nothing) but because of what people would now believe.
art stirred. turned. blinked at her with sleep-slowed eyes, the worry rising as he took in her expression.
“what is it?”
she couldn’t speak, just handed him the phone.
he read it once. then again. jaw tight, mouth a straight line that trembled only slightly.
“he doesn’t get to do this to you,” he said, voice low. “he doesn’t get to twist things.”
her throat burned. “but people will believe him.”
art sat up, ran a hand through his hair. looked at her like she was something fragile, yes—but not broken.
“then let them believe what they want,” he said. “i know the truth. you do too.”
her fingers went slack.
the phone slid from her hands and hit the carpet with a soft, traitorous thud.
she folded forward, slow then all at once, like paper creasing under rain—arms around her stomach, head pressed to her knees, trying to hold herself in. but the sob tore through her chest without warning, and then another, and then another.
it was ugly.
guttural.
art was beside her in less than a breath.
“hey—hey,” he said, panicked, the word breaking. “no, please—what—what can i do?”
his voice cracked on please.
she couldn’t look at him. couldn’t speak. the pain swelled inside her like a tide, rising fast, drowning her in shame and hurt and the fear that this—this version of herself, shattered and humiliated—would push him away forever. but art stayed.
he knelt on the bed beside her, his hair messy, his eyes puffy from sleep—a hand hovering before it landed on her back, trembling.
his palm moved in slow circles, but he was shaking too hard to make it steady.
“you don’t deserve this,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “you know you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re no cheat. we didn’t...” his words quietened. it was true. they hadn’t done anything intimate. was it bad if she wished they did?
she shook her head, hands covering her face, tears pouring through the cracks in her fingers.
“they’re gonna think it’s true,” she choked. “they’ll think i lied, that i—that we—”
“fuck them,” he said, too loud, too raw. then softer, “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”
his other hand brushed her hair back. his eyes were red now, too.
“i hate seeing you like this,” he said, close to crying himself. “it’s like—god, it’s like someone’s reaching into my chest and ripping everything out. i just want to fix it. i’d do anything to fix it. i never fucking liked drew, you know that? never thought he was good enough.”
and then she remembered.
his text.
“i’m in love with you, y/n.”
last night, amidst her panic about the stanford gossip page posting about her and drew—he’d sent it. she hadn’t replied. couldn’t.
it was only six words.
just thinking about it again knocked the air out of her, just like drew’s horrible messages did—only this was a different panic. because maybe she reciprocated it.
she looked up at him, finally. saw the way his eyes searched hers, desperate. his bottom lip was trembling.
“why did you tell me you loved me last night?” she whispered.
he blinked, startled. “because i couldn’t hold it in anymore. because you were so sad. and you’re so beautiful… and i couldn’t stand the thought of you going home to someone who didn’t see you the way i do.”
her breath caught in her throat.
“and now this happens,” he went on, voice breaking again. “and it’s like—i confessed something real and instead of kissing you forever, making you mine— i’m watching you fall apart because of someone who didn’t deserve one second of your love.”
her eyes filled again. not from shame this time. not from fear.
“i hate drew, y/n. i absolutely despise that fucking prick.”
his words were firm, but from the way he looked at her, so soft, it was like she was all he’d ever waited for.
“i’m sorry i didn’t say anything,” she whispered. “i was scared.”
“i’m scared too,” he said. “but i’m not going anywhere.”
his thumbs were still on her cheeks, catching the tears as they fell, brushing her skin like he was memorising the shape of sorrow. and she was crying again—not from fear this time, but from the unbearable kindness in his voice, the way he held her like she was something sacred.
her hands moved slowly, unsure, reaching to hold his wrists. she looked at him—really looked—and saw him trembling just like she was. his eyes glossy, mouth parted like he was afraid of what might happen next.
and then, almost without thinking, she whispered, “then don’t go.”
and leaned in.
their foreheads touched first, like a prayer. a pause. a promise.
and then, finally their lips found each other.
it wasn’t perfect. it was messy and wet and trembling. he kissed her like he had waited forever but wasn’t sure he was allowed. she kissed him like she might break from it, and maybe she was.
they were both still crying. she could taste salt on his mouth, couldn’t tell whose it was. didn’t care.
his hands slid to cradle her jaw, holding her steady. her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt like she needed to anchor herself to something that wouldn’t hurt her. the kiss deepened slowly, like a secret unfolding between them, years in the making. it wasn’t lust. it wasn’t a firestorm. it was gentler, more devastating—it was real.
when they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved far. foreheads resting together. breathing the same air. they both sniffled from the tears.
art let out a soft, broken laugh. “i’ve wanted to do that since we were sixteen.”
she smiled shyly. “me too.”
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