#warhorseweekend

[warhorseweekend]

holy shit I can’t hes moaning on stage omffgg I’ve been replaying this video all day

yall think he sounds like that fr 👀👀👀

[warhorseweekend]

— ties (baby if it hurts so bad, tell me why it hurts so bad)

2hollis x fem!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, breakup, established relationship, drug use/abuse (pills & cannabis), alcohol use/abuse, crying, mental health, depression

synopsis: before going on tour, you and Hollis breakup and it causes you to cope in unhealthy ways.

w/c: 6.5k

a/n: hello everyone! I’m finally back, this fic is different than anything I’ve written before to just bare with me, also i tried something different and put quotes from the song “ties” which this fic is based off of (if u haven’t listened pls listen it’s so peak) in different scenes which i think fit the theme :) enjoy!

❝that summery autumn❞

The week before tour felt like the last quiet breath before a storm.

Hollis spent the first two days glued to you, head in your lap on the couch, thumb tracing slow circles on your thigh, hair falling into his eyes because he refused to tie it back. You’d play with the ends of it, twisting the blonde strands between your fingers.

“Stop,” he’d whisper with a small smile, eyes closed. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“That’s the point,” you murmured back.

He’d laugh, soft and warm, and tilt his head so you’d keep touching him. He clung to you that whole week without saying he was scared to leave. Without admitting he didn’t know how to be away from you for that long. Without talking about how the last tour was manageable until the nights got too quiet.

But it showed in the way he held you.

Longer.

Tighter.

A little more desperate.

And you felt it too.

——

Everything was fine until he waited until 11pm to pack.

He kneeled on the floor throwing clothes into his suitcase with zero aim, clothes half-folded, shirts balled up like laundry he didn’t want to do.

“Hollis,” you laughed, sitting behind him. “That’s horrible. Let me help.”

He didn’t turn around. “It’s fine, babe.”

“No it’s not,” you said, reaching over to refold a shirt. “Why are you rushing—”

“I’m not rushing,” he muttered.

“You are. You always do this.”

He exhaled sharply. “I said it’s fine.”

Something about his tone made you pause.

He wasn’t angry, just wound too tight.

“Hollis…” you whispered, hand brushing his back. “Baby. I’m not trying to piss you off.”

He froze, then slowly leaned back so he was resting against your knees. He tipped his head up, eyes tired but soft.

“I know. I know,” he said, voice gentler. “I’m just—there’s a lot.”

You kissed his forehead. He kissed your hand.

Everything felt normal again.

But the first crack had already formed.

⸻

Two days later, you were eating noodles together, sitting on the counter while he stood between your legs, stealing bites.

He had one hand resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing your skin like he didn’t realize he kept doing it.

He was rambling about the tour, venues, setlists, cities, until he dropped the sentence that changed the air:

“Management said… probably no guests this time.”

You went still.

“Oh.”

He kept eating bites like he didn’t notice the way your stomach dropped.

“It’s just logistics,” he said. “Hotels, flights—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly.

He finally looked at you. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You are.”

You looked down at your noodles. “I just thought… I don’t know. That you’d want me there.”

“I do want you there,” he said, too defensive, too fast.

“Then why does it sound like it doesn’t matter?”

He set the food down and sighed, tugging at his hair.

“Because I can’t do anything about it. And every time something sucks, you think it’s because of me.”

“That’s not fair.”

He exhaled deeply, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But the hurt was already sitting between you.

It took a few minutes before he stepped closer, touching your cheek with the hand that was holding your thigh a moment before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I want you with me. Every damn second.”

You leaned into him.

But the second crack lingered.

——

❝what’s wrong? I see it in your eyes.❞

It was the night before the flight.

The room was dim, the air too quiet. You watched him zip up his suitcase, muscles tense, jaw tight. You could feel the distance forming even though he was three feet away.

“Did you pack the necklace I gave you?” you asked.

He paused.

“Not yet.”

“Do you want me to grab it?”

“No,” he muttered. “I’ll get it.”

“You forgot it,” you said, almost teasing. “Just let me—”

He zipped the suitcase shut hard.

Not loud.

Not angry.

Just… frustrated.

“Why,” he said softly, “are you making everything a big deal lately?”

The words stung instantly.

“I’m not,” you whispered.

“You are,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Every little thing turns into… something.”

“I just want you to think of me while you’re gone—”

“I already think of you,” he snapped, voice strained. “I think of you constantly. You act like I don’t care.”

His tone wasn’t mean, it was scared.

But it didn’t change the ache.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands.

He sat down too, not touching you.

“We’re both stressed,” he said quietly. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

You nodded.

But neither of you truly believed it.

The third crack wasn’t loud. but it was deep.

——

❝I’m cutting out my lights.❞

You can feel it the second he walks into the room.

The air is wrong.

Not angry.

Not distant.

Just… tight. Like he’s holding something back so hard it’s physically hurting him.

Hollis drops his bag by the door and doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Did you eat?” he asks, but the tone is flat. Automatic.

Like he’s asking because he should, not because he’s actually here with you.

“You said you wanted to do this right,” you say quietly.

That makes him freeze.

He closes his eyes, inhaling like he’s bracing for a hit.

“Baby… I’m trying.”

❝tell me could you even try?❞

“No you’re not.”

You step closer, voice trembling. “You’re shutting me out. Every day it’s something else. You’re cold, you’re quiet, you don’t talk to me unless I ask first—”

“I’m stressed,” he snaps, then softens instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry… I’m just—tour is coming up, management is on my ass, the guys are calling me nonstop, everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

“So you’re taking it out on me.”

He doesn’t argue.

That’s the first sign something is really wrong.

You cross your arms.

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

He swallows. Hard.

“It feels like everything I do is hurting you.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “Every time we argue, I go to bed feeling like shit. I wake up feeling like shit. I don’t want us to resent each other.”

“So you want to break up.”

The way his eyes widen, like you ripped something out of him, is the answer.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t choose this.

But he nods anyway.

❝we’re cutting off our ties❞

“I think we should… for now.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your chest collapses.

“So you’re doing this because you’re overwhelmed?”

“Yes,” he admits instantly.

“But I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Tears burn behind your eyes.

You look down because if you look at him too long, you’ll scream.

He steps forward like he wants to hold you, then stops himself.

That tiny hesitation breaks both of you.

You could hear him crying faintly on the couch when he went to sleep that night. 

——

❝give me a chance to come outside and say hi or bye.❞

The next morning is silent.

Not peaceful, just numb.

He moves around the house quietly, touching things that remind him of you.

He hesitates every time his fingers skim something of yours.

At the door, suitcase in hand, he pauses.

“You don’t have to come,” he mumbles.

But he wants you to.

You can hear it.

You grab your sweatshirt and follow him out.

The drive to the airport is quiet except for him occasionally whispering,

“I’m sorry,”

like he can’t stop apologizing even when he said this is what he wanted.

When you pull up to the departure lane, he unbuckles slowly, avoiding your eyes.

You both get out of the car anyway.

“You don’t have to walk with me inside,” you say, voice flat.

He flinches.

“I want to,” he says quietly.

But you shake your head.

Because you can’t handle it.

You hug yourself.

He watches your hands wrap around your own body like he wishes they were his arms instead.

He steps closer.

He hesitates, shifting on his feet.

“Please don’t be mad,” he whispers.

“I’m not mad,” you lie, voice barely steady.

“I’m confused.”

“Because of the tour?” he asks.

He swallows hard.

You stare at him.

“You’re leaving with your whole friend group,” you say, voice trembling. “Everyone gets to go. Except me.”

His face falls.

Instant regret.

Instant guilt.

“That’s not why—”

“It feels like it.”

His eyes instantly drop.

He can’t even argue.

“Hollis, if you didn’t want me there… you could’ve just said that.”

“I did want you,” he says, voice cracking. “I just—there were rules, and schedules, and management stuff, and everything was blowing up at once, and I didn’t know how to balance anything. I handled it wrong. I know I did.”

You look away so he doesn’t see your eyes glassing over.

“I just feel like I’m not part of your life anymore,” you whisper.

His breath shakes.

“You are,” he says desperately.

“You are — that’s the problem. You matter too much and I’m scared I’m gonna mess everything up while I’m gone.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Please believe me,” he pleads.

You don’t answer.

Just… stand there.

He takes one tiny step closer.

“Can I…?” he gestures like he wants one last hug.

You hesitate.

❝you gave me a glance and looked away.❞

And that hesitation hurts him worse than any breakup could.

He pulls you into him anyway — gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

He buries his face in your shoulder.

His hands tremble on your back.

You don’t hug him back, you’re too numb and broken.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers, voice completely breaking. “So much, every second.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

He pulls away too fast, like he’s afraid he won’t be able to leave if he holds you any longer.

“Have a good tour.”

That’s the coldest thing you’ve ever said to him.

And it breaks him.

He flinches.

He picks up his suitcase with shaking hands.

He bites his lip so hard it goes white.

“Bye,” he whispers, like the word is hurting him.

He turns and walks toward the sliding airport doors.

Halfway there…

he stops.

You watch his shoulders rise like he’s about to turn around.

He doesn’t.

He keeps walking.

And disappears inside.

The second he’s out of sight, your whole body sinks.

Your throat tightens.

Your eyes burn.

The airport doors swallow him.

Your last glimpse of him is his hoodie hood slipping over his head like he’s hiding himself from the world.

You whisper to nobody:

“You didn’t even want this.”

And that’s the part that hurts more than anything.

You drive home with your hands shaking.

Your chest feels hollow—like someone scooped out something important and forgot to put it back.

You open your phone.

His messages from last night stare at you.

I’m sorry.

I just need space.

But underneath all that coldness…

you can still feel the part of him that didn’t want to let go.

You curl up in bed, pull the blanket to your chin, and finally let yourself cry.

You cry so hard your ribs hurt.

You cry until you fall asleep.

You cry until the room feels empty in a way it never has before.

Because deep down…

you know he’s hurting too.

You feel it like a bruise under your ribs.

And somewhere in that airport terminal, hood pulled low, eyes wet,

Hollis is probably thinking:

I shouldn’t have let her walk away like that.

Hollis sinks into his seat and pulls his hood over his head immediately.

It’s not even for comfort.

It’s to hide the fact that his eyes are still red.

The guys are settling in around him, laughing, shoving carry-ons into the overhead bins, talking about setlists and cities, normal stuff.

But everything sounds muffled.

Like he’s underwater.

All he can see in his head is you standing outside the airport, arms wrapped around yourself, voice cold even though your eyes looked shattered—

“Have a good tour.”

He grips the hem of his hoodie hard, knuckles white.

He didn’t miss the way your voice cracked.

He didn’t miss the way you didn’t watch him walk inside.

He knows you turned around as soon as he did.

He knows you cried.

He feels it like a bruise on his ribs.

He swallows hard, trying to breathe normally.

Trying not to lose it.

Nate drops into the seat next to him with a loud sigh.

“You good?” he asks.

It’s innocent. Casual.

Hollis’s stomach drops.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His voice is too soft. Too hoarse.

He hopes nobody notices.

But they do.

Of course they do.

Ryan leans over the seat in front of him.

“Where’s your girl? y/n?” he asks. “She’s not coming to the airport or what?”

Hollis stiffens.

The question slices through him clean.

He stares at his hands. “We, uh… we’re not together right now.”

Silence.

Complete, shocked silence.

Then:

“Bro, what?”

“Since when?”

“Hold on—wait, what happened?”

Too many voices, too loud.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep it from trembling.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mutters.

But that doesn’t stop them.

Jonah sits back and studies him.

“You look like shit. Did you sleep?”

“No.”

“You eat?”

Hollis stays quiet.

Ryan glances over from the row behind him.

“You okay?”

He nods once.

A lie.

An obvious one.

Roman nudges his shoulder gently.

“Was it bad?”

Hollis doesn’t answer for a long time.

The flight attendants walk by.

Someone in the back is laughing.

A baby is crying somewhere.

And all he can think about is how your voice shook when you said goodbye.

Eventually, he whispers:

“It was my fault.”

The guys go still.

No jokes.

No teasing.

Just waiting.

Hollis shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat.

“I was stressed,” he mumbles. “Everything was… too much. Management, rehearsals, shit at home. I kept shutting her out. She called me out on it. And I just—”

His throat tightens.

A tear slips down before he can stop it.

He wipes it away fast.

“I pushed her away,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to break up. I swear I wasn’t. It just… happened.”

Roman looks at him softly.

“Do you want her back?”

Nate says.

Hollis’s jaw clenches.

He nods immediately.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “More than anything.”

Another tear escapes.

He turns toward the window so none of them see.

But they do.

They all do.

A shaky exhale leaves him.

He pulls his hood lower, trying to hide the way his face is crumpling.

He’s barely holding it together.

Outside, the plane begins taxiing.

The engines rumble beneath him.

And all he can think about is you, your voice, your face, your silence, the look in your eyes when he said it was “for now.”

The seatbelt sign dings on.

The plane lifts off.

And that’s when the truth finally hits him:

He didn’t just leave you behind.

He left a part of himself with you.

And for the first time since he walked away,

Hollis lets his head fall into his hands and whispers to himself—

“I shouldn’t have let her go.”

You wake up to sunlight cutting across your bedroom like it’s laughing at you.

The room smells like smoke and something sharp from the night before.

Your head pounds, and your stomach twists like it’s doing somersaults.

You remember the pills.

The weed.

The little bit of alcohol you took to push yourself past everything.

It worked, in a way.

You didn’t cry yourself to sleep like last night.

But it didn’t fix the ache either.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You stare at it for a long moment.

The light is bright, almost accusing.

A new notification.

Then another.

Then a string of messages.

It’s from all of them: Nate, Roman, Ryan, Jonah.

You hesitate.

Your thumb hovers.

You know you shouldn’t open them.

You know it’s going to hurt.

But you do anyway.

Nate:

“Hey. U okay?”

Roman:

“Yo u there y/n? Haven’t heard from you.”

Conceal (Ryan):

“Hey. Hollis, he’s a mess. Just checking in on you too.”

Jonah:

“Stop ignoring us. Stop ignoring him.”

You blink at the screen.

Your heart stutters.

You scroll down.

Then there it is.

A message from Hollis.

But the text has been deleted.

You tap it anyway; nothing. Just a blank bubble, gray and empty.

Somewhere in your chest, a sharp pang cuts through the haze of last night’s self-medication.

He wrote something. He thought about you.

Then deleted it.

And you can’t help but imagine:

Did he want to apologize?

Did he want to say he loved you?

Did he want to beg you not to hate him?

You press your thumb against your lips, heart hammering.

Tears sting your eyes despite the haze of alcohol and pills.

You drop the phone back onto the bed.

You curl up under the sheets.

And the emptiness hits harder than the hangover ever could.

Because it’s not just the break-up.

It’s the not knowing.

It’s the deleted words that haunt you worse than the ones you actually saw.

And somewhere, deep down, you know:

Hollis is hurting just as much as you are.

Maybe more.

But that doesn’t make the pain any easier to swallow.

——

The second night, repeat.

By the third night, your body aches with exhaustion, hangover, withdrawal.

The bed has swallowed you whole.

Three days.

Three fucking days.

You haven’t left it.

Haven’t showered properly.

Haven’t eaten more than a bag of chips or whatever junk you can reach.

Your phone lies face-down on the nightstand.

Every buzz, every ping, ignored.

Hollis has called. Repeatedly.

Texted. Constantly.

Even his friends have tried reaching you.

But you don’t care.

You can’t care.

You scroll through social media out of habit, more like a reflex than curiosity.

And there he is.

Hollis. Smiling. On stage. Living. Performing. Laughing with his friends.

The videos hit you like fire and ice.

Anger. Sadness. Rage.

Why does it feel like he’s already moved on?

Like you’re stuck here rotting in your bed while the world watches him live his life?

You throw your phone across the room.

It clatters against the dresser.

Screen lights up again with another text from Hollis.

Another missed call.

Ignored.

Hollis: Please. Pick up. I need to hear your voice.

Hollis: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. Just… answer me.

You ignore it. All of it. Every call, every text, every voicemail.

But curiosity kills a little piece of you each time.

The voicemail light blinks again.

You reluctantly swipe open the first one:

Hollis’ voice, cracking, sounds like he’s on the verge of tears in a voicemail

  “Hey… I just… I miss you. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. Please… I’m begging you. Call me. Just call me once. I need to know you’re okay.”

Your chest tightens.

Another one:

“I don’t even know how to say it… I fucked up. I was stupid. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m an idiot. I—please, please… just answer me. I hate this.”

You mutter under your breath, bitter:

Fuck it. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck everything.

Another voicemail:

“I can’t… I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to breathe right now. Please, please, just one word. Anything. I need you to answer me.”The first night, you take pills to sleep. Smoke in between, little sips of whiskey.

Videos. Clips. Stories.

Hollis on stage, lights flashing, crowd screaming his name.

Laughing with the guys. Hands in the air.

Someone filming him from the side, close enough to see his grin.

And something snaps.

All boiling together until your stomach twists into a knot so tight it hurts to breathe.

Your phone buzzes again.

A text.

Another.

Call.

Hollis.

You don’t answer.

You don’t even look.

You stare at the videos again.

Your chest burns.

Your hands shake.

Why him? Why them? Why everything?

Finally, after hours of pacing, crying, and swearing at the screen, in the mirror, you make a decision.

You call your friends.

You get ready.

Fast, reckless, fueled by everything you’ve swallowed, smoked, and poured into yourself.

❝shots poppin, everybody’s watchin, pointing them cameras at you.❞

By the time you hit the party, you’re a mess.

Everything’s too loud.

The music’s too loud.

Your body feels like it’s vibrating too fast, too slow, and you don’t care.

You’re on pills.

A little something to drink.

Smoking more than you should.

Your vision is hazy.

Your thoughts are tangles.

You’re insanely fucked up completely high, gone.

You laugh at something someone says but the sound doesn’t even feel like you.

You move across the room.

You dance.

You stumble.

You spill a drink.

You don’t notice.

You do this for weeks. But then… suddenly; 

And then Ryan sees you.

Not in person. Not in the crowd.

On someone’s story.

He’s scrolling while standing backstage with Hollis and the guys, on tour.

The camera pans past the living room chaos of the party and there you are, blurry in the background.

Hair messy, eyes red, fumbling, swaying.

He stops mid-scroll.

Furrows his brows.

Does a double take.

“Holy shit…” Ryan mutters under his breath.

He taps Hollis’s shoulder.

“Dude… look.”

Hollis, already stressed and exhausted from the show, grabs the phone.

And there you are.

High. Messed up. Completely out of your mind.

He freezes.

The sound of the music from the story somehow fills his chest like it’s crushing him.

Every laugh. Every stumble.

Every frantic movement is burned into his mind. Hollis’ hands won’t stop shaking.

He stares at the phone Ryan just shoved into his hand.

The screen is still playing the video of you at that party, hair wild, eyes red, swaying, laughing.

He can’t move.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t think straight.

“Dude… she’s… she’s…” Ryan’s voice trails off.

Hollis shakes his head.

He can’t even look at the rest of the guys, all leaning over his shoulder, eyes wide, realizing the gravity of the moment.

Weeks.

Weeks he’s been trying to call, text, check in, make sure you’re okay.

Every single day.

And you… you haven’t responded.

Not a single word.

He scrolls through his own messages, hundreds of unsent, unanswered texts, missed calls.

His chest twists, a sharp, burning knot.

“You’ve been… trying to reach her this whole time?” Rom asks quietly.

Hollis doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Because he’s thinking about that one video.

That tiny, blurry, fucked-up version of you in the background, moving through the chaos of a party like a storm he can’t touch.

He swallows hard.

His throat is dry.

His hands tremble as he presses his thumb to the screen, trying to pause it, trying to make it stop.

“I… I just… I don’t…” he mutters.

Nate puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve gotta calm down bro. She’s alive. That’s the important part.”

Hollis doesn’t hear him.

He doesn’t hear anyone.

He just stares at the video over and over, each frame like a punch to the chest.

Later, in the hotel room, alone.

The lights are low.

The city hums outside, distant and indifferent.

He’s pacing.

Hands in his hair.

Phone on the desk, screen lit with unanswered messages.

He’s been trying for weeks.

Weeks.

And now… just now, a call comes through.

Your name flashes on the screen.

He doesn’t think.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He hits answer.

“Y/N?” His voice cracks instantly.

“Holli? Mm is that youu…? I… I… I miss you…” Your voice is broken, raw, crying, messy.

“Oh… baby…” He swallows hard. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

“I… I can’t… I’ve been…” Your words slur. Your breathing is uneven. “I’ve been… I’ve been so… and… and I can’t—”

Hollis’ heart twists.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, wait, are you high right now? how high are you?” His voice is frantic but gentle.

“Fucked… out of my mind…” You sniffle, hiccuping mid-sentence. “I just… I miss you… I miss you so much…”

Hollis swallows the lump in his throat.

He moves to the window, staring out at the city lights that look like every other city he’s been too, fuck nothing could compare to you. “You… you scared me, baby. I’ve been trying to reach you… every single day. Every day I’ve been calling, texting, trying to make sure you’re okay…”

Your crying gets louder.

“I… I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”

He closes his eyes, heart hammering.

His hands shake on the window sill.

“You’re alive, that’s all I care about right now. Just… just breathe for me. Please… please breathe.”

“I… I… I need you… Hollis… I can’t…”

He pulls the phone closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know… I know, baby. I’m right here. I’ll stay on the line. I won’t hang up. Just… just tell me everything. I’ve got you. Always.”

Your sobs echo into the receiver.

And he lets himself tremble, finally, letting the weight of weeks of worry, fear, and helplessness crash over him.

Because he knows right now, in this exact moment, all that matters is that you’re alive.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you stay that way.

The rest of the tour is a blur.

It’s been a blur

Every city. Every stage. Every crowd.

He’s there. Performing. Smiling. Laughing with the guys. But his mind is never off you.

Every night he checks his phone.

Every night, he texts you: “Are you okay?”

“Please, just answer me.”

“I miss you.”

Every night, he waits.

And every night, he gets nothing.

Nothing except that one phone call from that night, the night you were completely fucked out of your mind, crying, slurring, barely coherent.

That call is now the only thread connecting you two, and it’s tearing him apart.

He’s watching you unravel from hundreds of miles away, powerless.

Weeks pass.

The tour ends.

The last city. The final show. The applause fades.

And all he can think about is getting back to you.

The second the plane lands in LA, he doesn’t go to his house.

Doesn’t go back to the guys’ place.

Doesn’t even think about unpacking.

He grabs a uber. Hands trembling. Heart hammering.

He’s rehearsed it a million times in his head. What he’ll say. How he’ll see you. How he’ll fix it.

❝Forget the models and bottles

I need your love in full throttle❞

But he knows there’s no rehearsal for this.

He arrives at your street.

The city lights blur around him.

His chest is tight. His stomach a knot.

And there it is. Your building.

He climbs the stairs two at a time, ignoring the weight of his suitcase.

He stands in front of your door.

His hand hovers over the wood.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Hollis’ fist hovers over the door.

He’s breathing hard. Heart racing. Eyes glassy.

“y/n…” he whispers, voice cracking before he even knocks.

“I’m back… please… I’m here.”

It feels like forever.

Then… footsteps.

The door cracks open.

And he sees you.

Everything he’s been holding in, all the weeks of worry, fear, heartbreak, and love, it all hits him at once.

And for the first time in weeks, he’s finally face-to-face with you.

You swing the door open… stare him down for a second in shock, and then slam it shut.

Hard. So hard it rattles the frame.

Hollis staggers back a step, ears ringing.

His chest tightens.

His hands clutch the wood like he’s holding himself together.

Hollis knocks.

Then knocks again.

Then harder, panic rising with every second you don’t answer.

“y/n—wait, wait—PLEASE!”

His voice breaks.

He’s not yelling.

He’s begging.

You stand on the other side of the door, chest heaving, palms shaking, anger and heartbreak tangled so tightly you can barely breathe.

“Why should I let you in?!” you shout through the door.

“You fucking left me! You broke up with me! You walked out right before you left for tour and acted like it was nothing!”

Hollis presses both hands to the doorframe, shaking.

“I KNOW! I KNOW I DID! I was stressed, I was losing it, I was scared—”

“And then you were acting weird and cold and distant for DAYS before you even left!” you throw back. “Don’t act like you didn’t push me away first!”

“I didn’t WANT to!” Hollis chokes out.

“I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was protecting US. It was stupid. It was—fuck—Y/N, I was wrong.”

You freeze.

That’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

“And then,” you continue, voice trembling with fury, “you go on tour with all your friends, you look like you’re having the time of your life, and I’m here feeling like I don’t exist!”

“I wasn’t having the time of my life,” Hollis snaps back, but not angrily, desperately.

“I called every day. I texted every day. I was freaking out thinking you hated me. I saw ONE video of you high out of your mind and I thought I was losing you. I thought I already did.”

Your throat closes.

You whisper, “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose… I just… I couldn’t answer. I was too out of it. Too sad. Too everything.”

Hollis goes silent.

The tension in the air shifts.

It softens.

Just enough.

You open the door a crack.

He’s standing there, eyes red, tear streaks across his cheeks, breathing like he ran the whole way here.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And suddenly, the anger drops out from under both of you.

Not because it’s gone.

But because you both suddenly see it, how stupid the whole thing was.

How easily it all could’ve been prevented.

How much pain came from things that weren’t even truly about each other… just fear and stress and miscommunication.

You swallow hard.

He does too.

❝push me right to the edge.❞

And then your eyes fill with tears so fast you can’t hold them back.

Your breath catches.

Your face crumples.

A sob falls out of your mouth without warning.

Hollis reacts instantly.

He steps forward and pulls you into him so tight it knocks the air out of you.

One hand behind your head.

One arm around your waist.

Like he’s been waiting weeks to touch you.

Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

❝can we make it right?❞

“I’m here,” he whispers into your hair, voice trembling.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here now. I swear I’m not leaving again. I’m here.”

You bury your face in his chest, gripping his hoodie with shaking hands.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you cry.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I care so much it was killing me,” he murmurs.

“I never stopped. I never will.”

You cling to each other like you’re both trying to make up for every second you lost.

For a moment, there’s no anger.

No touring.

No missed calls.

No stupid breakup.

Just you and him.

Holding onto each other like it’s the only thing keeping both of you breathing.

I Here’s the next scene, soft, emotional, a little messy, but full of that deep, aching love where he just wants to take care of you.

Your hands are still gripping his hoodie when your knees suddenly go weak.

You don’t even mean to.

Your body just… gives out.

A sob rips out of your chest, loud and broken, and you fold into him completely.

“Hey—hey, baby,” Hollis whispers, catching you before you can fully collapse.

His arms slide under you, holding you upright.

“Come here. Come here… I got you.”

You can’t stop crying.

It’s like every emotion you shoved down for weeks is clawing its way out all at once,

the fear,

the heartbreak,

the anger,

the loneliness,

the love.

“I’m s-so— I’m just— I can’t—” you hiccup against his chest, voice shaking violently.

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

His voice is soft, steady, the gentlest you’ve ever heard him.

“I know, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry. Let it out. I’m right here.”

He slowly nudges the door open with his shoulder and guides you backward into the apartment, still holding onto you like he refuses to let you fall again.

“Let’s lay down,” he whispers.

“Your eyes are all swollen… c’mon, sweetheart.”

You let him guide you to your bed, your legs barely working.

He sits you down first, then kneels in front of you, his hands warm on your thighs.

Your face is covered in tears.

You keep gasping, trying to breathe, but every time you look at him, your chest cracks open again.

“It hurts,” you cry, voice breaking. “Everything hurt so bad. I didn’t know what to do, Hollis.”

His face twists like your pain is physically killing him.

❝baby if it hurts so bad, tell me why it hurts so bad.❞

“Oh baby…”

He comes up beside you and wipes your cheeks with both thumbs, slow and gentle.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry baby I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, more tears falling.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whisper. “I wanted you.”

He swallows hard and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You have me,” he whispers.

“You always had me. I was just too stupid and scared to show it right.”

Your breath hitches again and another wave of tears spills out. He pulls you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Shhh… shhh… I got you,” he whispers.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your sobs start to slow into little gasps, your body exhausted from crying so hard.

Hollis gently shifts back onto the bed, taking you with him, holding you like you’re something fragile he’s terrified to lose again.

“Try to sleep, baby…”

His hand strokes the back of your head, slow and rhythmic.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m right here.”

Your breathing starts to even out as your eyes flutter weakly.

“You’re not… leaving? Right?” you mumble, barely awake.

He cups your face, brushing your stray tears with his thumb.

“Never again,” he whispers.

“I’m staying right here, with you. Sleep, angel.”

And with your face tucked into his chest, breathing in the scent you’ve missed for weeks, your body finally relaxes.

You fall asleep on top of him, cheek pressed to his heartbeat, his fingers softly tracing your back…

And Hollis keeps whispering into your hair, even long after you’re out:

“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m not losing you again.”

You wake up slow.

Your eyes are puffy, your head heavy, your body sore from crying…

but the first thing you feel is warmth.

A chest rising gently beneath your cheek.

Fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.

Breath moving through your hair.

Hollis.

You blink, lifting your head just a little.

He’s awake—

watching you with the softest expression you’ve seen on him in months.

His eyes are tired, red around the edges, but there’s something tender in them… something like relief.

“Morning, angel,” he whispers, voice rough like he barely slept.

His hand slides up to your jaw, thumb brushing softly.

You swallow, throat dry.

“Hi…”

He sits up a bit, one hand supporting your back so you rise with him instead of away from him.

He’s being so gentle. Painfully gentle.

“You scared me,” he says quietly.

Not accusing.

Just honest.

You look down, and he immediately tilts your chin up with his fingers.

“Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You do.

His eyes soften even more.

He takes your hand slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

He brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it.

Once.

Twice.

Then again, right in the center, lingering like he’s trying to memorize it, like he did at the beginning.

“I missed you so much,” he murmurs against your skin.

Your chest tightens.

You breathe out shakily, and he holds your hand with both of his like he’s scared you might disappear.

He lifts your other hand and kisses that one too. Then your wrist.

Then the inside of your wrist.

Then the soft skin near your thumb.

Every kiss is slow, careful.

You whisper, “Hollis…”

He meets your eyes, really meets them, and your breath catches in your chest.

“I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he says.

His voice is raw.

His thumb strokes the back of your hand.

“I was stressed and scared and I pushed you away, and that’s not an excuse. I know that.”

You feel tears threaten again, but softer this time, not chaotic like before.

“I just… I didn’t understand,” you whisper.

“You left acting like we weren’t even together anymore.”

He flinches, guilt washing over him.

“I know,” he says quietly.

“I fucked up. And I kept fucking up. And then when you stopped answering, I thought I’d lost you for real… and it killed me.”

You shift a little, sitting closer without meaning to.

His eyes flick down for a second… to your shoulder… to your lips… then back up.

He swallows.

His hand comes up slowly, brushing your hair from your shoulder.

“Can I…?” he asks softly.

You nod.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

Then another.

And another.

Gentle.

Warm.

Your skin tingles under his lips.

“Hollis…” your voice comes out breathy without your permission.

He freezes for a second at the way you say his name.

Then he lifts his head, cheeks flushed, eyes darkened with something warm and heavy.

“I forgot how good it feels,” he whispers, “to be close to you… to touch you like this.”

Your breath stutters.

His hand slides up your arm slowly, fingers brushing your skin like he’s relearning it.

You look at him.

He looks at you.

The room shifts.

Not rushing.

Not overwhelming.

Just… heat.

Soft, aching heat.

He leans in closer, forehead brushing yours.

“I missed you,” he says again, but this time it’s almost a confession.

His breath hits your lips.

“And I don’t ever want to push you away like that again. I want to fix this. I want you.”

Your heart stutters hard.

You whisper, “Then stay.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like that one word just broke him open.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

Then, softer:

“Not ever again.”

His hand cups your cheek, and he kisses your palm again.

One day it will be the same.

[warhorseweekend]

—you feel it too, don’t you?

2hollis x fem!reader

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, drug use (cannabis), high kissing, fluff, making out, late night walks, mentions of drinking, mutual pining, late night conversations, emotional intimacy, hollis and you smoke together.

synopsis: you and hollis ditch a party and go for a late night walk, things change as you share a joint and realize your crushing, and he might be too.

w/c: 7.6k

The party was too loud. Strobe lights cut across the room in harsh flashes, and the bass thumped through the floor like it wanted to push through your chest. You hadn’t planned on staying long, and already the crowd felt heavy, buzzing with fake laughs and forced energy.

Hollis leaned against the counter, half-drained drink in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket. His posture was casual, almost bored, but you could see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes skimmed the crowd like he was watching something absurd from afar. You clutched your own drink, barely half gone, and noticed how it felt warm against your palm.

“You look so over this,” you murmured, sidestepping closer so your words didn’t get swallowed by the music.

Hollis glanced at you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You think?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a tired edge to it. He swirled the liquid in his cup lazily. “I’ve been counting the minutes since we got here.”

You laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I thought it was just me. Everyone’s trying too hard, and it’s… ugh. I don’t know. Feels like we’re pretending to be into this.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip, then set the drink down on a nearby ledge. “Pretending is a good word for it,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know half these people. And the other half… I don’t care about. Honestly, I’d rather be anywhere else right now.”

You nodded, leaning against the wall next to him. The heat and the flashing lights felt oppressive, making your skin crawl slightly. “Same. And it’s so loud my head’s already spinning.”

He glanced at you, eyes softening. “I guess we could… leave,” he said after a pause, voice quieter, like he was testing the idea.

“Yeah?” you asked, surprised, but grinning. “You’d actually bail mid-party?”

Hollis chuckled, shrugging, the smirk back on his face. “Why not? I’m not exactly invested, and neither are you. Let’s just… disappear for a minute, huh?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I like disappearing.”

He nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “I like disappearing with you.”

You felt your face heat up… he wasn’t flirting though— was he?

And just like that, without announcing it to the rest of the group who were having fun, you both walked toward the side door, your half-full drinks forgotten on the ledge. The night suddenly felt like it was stretching out just for you two, quiet and alive outside the pounding chaos of the party.

The bass dulled the second the door closed behind you, replaced by the hum of chatter and the sharp smell of smoke from the handful of people loitering outside. You kept your head down as you followed Hollis, slipping past a group laughing too loudly by the steps. For a moment, you swore you caught Roman’s voice carrying through the crowd, and your heart skipped.

“Don’t look back,” Hollis muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. His hand brushed your elbow, guiding you forward like it was second nature. “If they see us, they’ll drag us back in.”

You fought a smile. “God forbid.”

When you reached the edge of the driveway, the noise of the party blurred into the background. The night air was cool, brushing your skin in a way that felt instantly calmer than the humid heat of the house. Hollis exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all night.

“Finally,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I was two seconds away from climbing out a window if you didn’t say something.”

You laughed, tugging your jacket tighter. “So you were dying in there too.”

“Dying is an understatement.” He shot you a crooked grin, eyes glinting in the dim streetlight. “Whole time, I was thinking, ‘Please let y/n hate this as much as I do, so I have an excuse to get out.’”

Your stomach flipped, though you tried not to let it show. You shook your head, pretending to roll your eyes. “So what—you were counting on me to be your escape plan?”

“Always,” he said easily, but then his voice softened. “I mean… hanging with you’s better anyway.”

The words hung between you, warm and weighted, though he quickly glanced away, stuffing his hands into his pockets like he could play it off.

You didn’t push. You’d been friends for long enough to know when to let things slide. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse skipped at his admission.

“Okay,” you said after a beat, trying to steady your voice. “So… we escaped. Now what? Where are we gonna go?”

Hollis glanced up at the night sky, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Somewhere quieter. Somewhere we don’t have to yell over shitty music and worse conversations.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “That narrows it down a lot.”

He chuckled, kicking at the sidewalk with his boot. Then his eyes flicked back to you, more serious now. “There’s a park a couple blocks over. Swings, empty benches, grass that probably hasn’t been cut in weeks…” He shrugged, but there was something deliberate in the way he said it. “It’s better than this.”

You smiled, something light sparking in your chest. “A playground at midnight?”

“Why not?” He shot you a grin, boyish, him, Hollis.

You couldn’t help laughing at the picture in your head. “What if there’s like… kids’ toys everywhere? Or what if someone’s mom shows up and yells at us for loitering?”

Hollis tilted his head, grinning wider, teeth flashing under the streetlight. “Then we run.“

The way he said it—the idea of it being the two of you, running side by side, laughing in the dark—made your chest feel weirdly full. You tucked your hands deeper into your jacket pockets to hide it.

The walk stretched quiet after that, but not an awkward kind of silence. More like the streets were listening in. Your shoes scuffed against cracked pavement; his boots clicked steady beside you. Every so often, his arm would swing close, close enough that your sleeve brushed his, and neither of you pulled away.

When you turned the corner, the park came into view; small, almost forgotten, the chain-link fence bent in places, swings swaying faintly though the night was still. Hollis slowed first, scanning the emptiness like he’d claimed it just for the two of you.

“See?” he said softly. “Told you. Perfect.”

You followed him in, the grass damp under your shoes, and dropped into one of the swings. The metal was cold, the chains squeaking as you tested your weight. Hollis sat in the one beside you, long legs stretching out, head tilted back to the faint stars.

For a moment, it felt like time stopped just the creak of the swings and the night breeze.

Hollis broke the silence, voice low. “I don’t know why I even go to those things anymore. Feels like everyone’s just… trying too hard. Talking, but not saying anything real.”

You twisted a little, studying him through the dark. “So what are you looking for, then?”

He let out a breath, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh. His eyes found yours, holding. “This. Just this.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced a smile, trying to play it off. “Sitting on playground swings at midnight?”

“Exactly,” he murmured, but his gaze lingered a little too long, like he meant something else entirely.

You were about to push off the ground when Hollis shifted in the swing beside you, the chain squeaking faintly as he dug into his jeans pocket. His eyes flicked to you, quick and unreadable, before he pulled something small and crumpled free. The dim streetlight caught on the paper, and your heart stuttered when you realized what it was.

A joint.

Your eyes went wide. “No way.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, lazy and knowing. “What? You thought I dragged you all the way out here with no plan?”

You laughed, shaking your head, but your pulse picked up anyway. “You didn’t tell me we were making this an actual escape.”

“That’s half the fun,” he murmured, already sparking his lighter. The flame flared, painting his cheekbones gold before vanishing, leaving only the soft glow of the moonlight and distant street lamp. He inhaled slow, the smoke curling against the cool night air, then tipped his head toward you.

He held it out, between two fingers, and for a second you hesitated—not at the offer, but at the way his eyes lingered like he was waiting to see what you’d do.

You took it, your fingers brushing his, a feather-light touch that still managed to send something sharp through your chest. You brought it to your lips, inhaling, the burn familiar but sweet. It made your lungs ache, made you cough, but you were smiling through it.

Hollis chuckled low, the sound warm in the dark. “You’re rusty.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, still grinning as you handed it back.

He took it back, his fingers grazing yours again, longer this time—maybe on purpose, maybe not. Either way you’d been coming to the realization during this sesh that you were crushing.. hard

Hollis’ grin tugged wider as he set it to his lips, like he knew something you didn’t. The glow lit the edge of his jaw, the faint gold in his hair, the small crease that showed up in his cheek when he smiled for real. You caught yourself staring a little too long, blinking when he glanced over.

“Guess I’ll have to teach you again,” Hollis said after an exhale, smoke spilling out in a lazy ribbon that drifted between you.

You snorted, trying to hide the way your pulse jumped. “Oh, please. You’re acting like you’re some kind of pro.”

He laughed—low, unhurried—and the sound sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the night air.

“I am,” he said, feigning offense, leaning toward you just enough to make you roll your eyes. “Ask anybody. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah? World’s Slowest Smoker?” you teased, kicking your shoes against the dirt to sway the swing.

That earned you a laugh, soft but unguarded. “Nah. World’s Chillest. Don’t be jealous.” He passed the joint back, his fingers brushing yours again, lighter this time, like he was daring you to notice.

You took it with a mock-serious expression. “Fine, then. Let’s see if the worlds chillest smoker can handle me keeping up.”

Hollis smiled, tilting his head at you, a glint in his eyes that felt like more than just friendly.

The swings creaked, the air cool around you, and the joint flickered between you both—an easy rhythm, a secret shared, the night stretching like it was just the two of you in the world.

The second drag hit, your chest warmed in a way that made your muscles loosen, your fingers tingling from the contact with Hollis’. You swung slowly, boots brushing against the damp grass, letting the creak of the chains punctuate the quiet night. The smoke curled around your heads, thick in the cool air, carrying the faint scent of burning pine, weed, and something sweeter you couldn’t place, maybe it was your perfume and his woody cologne mixed.

Hollis smirked, tilting his head at you, a glint in his eyes that felt like more than just friendly. “Try me.”

You looked down, noticing the faint ember had dimmed. The joint had gone out between your fingers. Before you could say anything, Hollis noticed too.

“Hold up,” he said softly, leaning forward. “Here.”

He struck the lighter once, the small flame flickering between you. “y/n, wait—” he murmured. He leaned in close, steadying the joint between your lips, his hand cupped around the lighter to shield it from the breeze. The flame caught, brushing your face in soft orange light. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a second the air felt too still—too much.

You exhaled, the smoke rising between you in a slow ribbon. “Got it,” he said, voice low, the lighter snapping shut. He lingered just long enough for your pulse to trip over itself before leaning back again.

The smoke curled upward again, thin and blue in the streetlight. You exhaled, smiling faintly, and Hollis stayed close a beat longer than necessary before leaning back in his seat. The air between you buzzed—quiet, full of unspoken things—and the smell of grass and smoke wrapped around both of you.

The world felt smaller now, like the swings, the trees, the faint streetlight above you were all holding their breath.

At first, it was playful. Your legs kicked against the ground, chasing his swing just slightly, laughing when he swerved and nearly lost his balance. “Hey, careful!” he called, laughing, though his tone carried a warmth that made your chest ache in a good, sharp way.

“Oh your so done.” You said through laughs, leaning back and letting the swing tilt, hair falling over your face in the dim light. You caught his eyes through the strands, and something about the way he held your gaze made your heartbeat jump, like he was seeing more than just your messy hair and crooked grin.

Hollis smiled, swinging in slow arcs, the joint balanced lazily between his fingers. “You’re being dramatic.” His voice had that low, teasing lilt that made it impossible not to smile. But when he laughed, it came out slower, softer, almost like he wasn’t entirely playing.

You laughed too, brushing your hair behind your ear, leaning forward on the swing to catch your breath. The smoke hit you fully now, slower and heavier than before, the edges of your vision softening, the world around you blurring. You could feel your body sag into the swing, shoulders loosening as the tipsy warmth crept up from your chest as you slowed down your swings.

Hollis’s eyes softened in the streetlight glow. He tilted his head toward you, and for a moment the teasing vanished, replaced by something quieter, more deliberate. “You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Yeah,” you said, though your words were slower, the smoke lingering on your tongue, your mouth felt like tv static as you swung gently, letting the motion calm your heartbeat. “Just.. kinda warm.” Your hands gripped the chains loosely now, and your head tilted slightly as you studied him. His posture was casual—leaning back—but there was something in the tension of his shoulders, the faint clench of his jaw, that betrayed him. You noticed it, and your chest tightened in that familiar, sharp way.

He hummed, eyes flicking to your hands on the chains, then back to your face. You caught the subtle clench in his jaw before he smiled again—small, a little crooked.

And sitting there, under that dim glow, it hit you all at once—how close you were, how easy it felt, how bad you were crushing.

“I can’t believe we actually ditched the party,” you said finally, voice soft, playful again but slower, drowsier in the smoke-haze. “Everyone in there trying so hard, pretending to care about everyone else… it’s exhausting.”

Hollis exhaled, smoke curling up like a lazy ribbon. “Yeah,” he said, voice slower too, heavier. “Sometimes the parties are fun, I guess. Big lights, loud music, all that. But…” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “It’s all fake. People just networking, trying to be seen, be connected, be… whatever the hell they think is important. And it’s tiring. I can’t… I can’t do that all the time.”

You watched him, the way his eyes flicked up toward the sky for a second before landing back on you, intense and unguarded. You could see the honesty there, even through the playful glint that never left his mouth completely, like he wasn’t expecting or trying to make anything serious.

“I get that,” you murmured, voice softer now, moving back and forth on the swing without really thinking. One hand played with the chain absentmindedly, the other rested on your knee. You tilted your head, hair falling to one side, letting your gaze linger on him. “I’ve been at enough of those parties. Everyone pretending like they’re having fun, trying to outdo each other, like happiness is a competition. And I… I hate it. I hate that fake energy.”

Hollis nodded slowly, leaning forward just enough so that your swings were parallel. “Exactly.” His tone was softer, thoughtful now. “I like being out. I like people sometimes. But I don’t like feeling like I’m acting. Like I’m performing. You know?”

You did know. And you noticed how he shifted, fingers tracing absent patterns on the swing chain as he looked at you—really looked at you—with something he never usually let anyone see. Vulnerable. Honest. And maybe a little scared of what he’d feel if he let it all out.

“Is that… why you like nights like this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “No lights, no cameras, no one expecting anything from you?”

Hollis smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Yeah… I guess. It’s nice to just… be.” He tilted his head, eyes flicking to you as you rocked gently on the swing. “With someone who… you know… doesn’t need me to be anyone else.”

Your heart thumped again, something unspoken between you in the air. You swung a little slower now, letting the silence stretch, letting the smoke curl and fade, letting the heat from your chest spread in a way that was equal parts dizzying and comforting.

Your chest tightened before you could stop it. The words hung there, smoky and fragile, like he didn’t even realize how much they hit. You swallowed, swinging slower now, the chain creaking softly between you both. The air buzzed faintly, weed, night air, and something electric you couldn’t name.

You could feel it building, that quiet awareness of him. The way the streetlight caught in his hair, the way his voice dropped when he got honest, the way he never seemed to look at you too long, but when he did, it was like he was memorizing something.

Your heartbeat was too loud. You should’ve said something light, but instead, your voice came out softer, lower, almost trembling around the words.

“You ever think about… what you want?” you asked, more quietly now. Voice soft, almost hesitant. “Like… in a relationship? Not just… the parties or the fun stuff, but… the actual stuff?”

It slipped out before you could stop it. The air shifted immediately—quieter, heavier. You felt his gaze on you before you even looked up.

Your heart thumped underneath your ribs.

Hollis’ lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at you, really looked at you, eyes flicking down, then back up, meeting yours. For a second, all the usual playfulness faded, and what replaced it made your stomach flip, raw, honest, unguarded. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted finally, slow, careful. “I want someone real. Someone who doesn’t care about the lights or the fake smiles. Someone who… I don’t know… wants me the way I want them. Not… just for the night or the attention. Someone I can actually be myself with. Someone I don’t have to play around for.”

You didn’t realize you’d stopped swinging until the silence settled in again, thick and fragile. Your heart pounded so hard it almost hurt. The glow from the streetlight caught in the smoke between you, blurring everything except him.

You tilted your head, tracing the rim of the swing chain with your fingers, letting your hair fall in your face just enough to hide the small smile that tugged at your lips. “That sounds… nice,” you whispered.

“It is,” he said, voice barely above yours, but it carried in the night like it was meant only for you. He glanced at you then, subtle, careful, like testing the waters, and you felt your chest tighten. The line between playful and something more felt thinner than it ever had before.

—

After a couple of hits, the smoke was doing its work. Your limbs felt lighter, your laughter came easier, spilling out into the quiet night air. Hollis tilted his head back, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that shimmered in the streetlight, and you couldn’t help but laugh again at the way it hung in the air.

“You’re acting ridiculous,” he said, though the corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide his own grin.

“Me? Look at you!” you shot back, pointing a finger playfully at him, swinging just a little higher now. “You’re like middle schooler trying to fit in.”

He groaned dramatically, leaning back, nearly tipping off the swing. “Nah.. im.. sophisticated.” He leaned over toward you as he said it, fingers brushing against yours again on the chain, subtle, teasing.

You felt it. That small jolt, like static electricity from the touch. You laughed louder, kinda embarrassed, covering your face for a second, hair falling forward in a messy curtain, but your eyes never left him.

The joint was almost finished, small and crumpled between his fingers now, glowing faintly. Hollis leaned closer, just enough that the heat from his shoulder brushed yours, that familiar, lazy closeness you’d gotten used to when you were just hanging out alone.

“You know…” he murmured, eyes flicking up to yours, that playful smirk softening, “this is wayyyy better than that party.”

You tilted your head, hair slipping behind your ear, chest still light from the smoke. “I’ll say,” you whispered, voice soft, still grinning. “Much better than people pretending to be something they’re not.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through the chains of the swing. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he inched closer, just a little, like he was testing the waters. The brush of his knee against yours was light, tentative, but enough to make your pulse skip.

“Don’t… don’t you feel it?” he teased lightly, voice low, almost daring. His fingers twitched near yours again, just close enough to make contact if you didn’t pull away.

You shook your head, trying to play it cool, but your chest fluttered and your pulse betrayed you. “Feel what?” you asked, and it came out higher, softer than you meant. You caught the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth, the way he looked down at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He leaned just a fraction closer, letting his shoulder brush yours, barley there— but it sent warmth crawling up your neck. “This.. Us. Being… like this. Like what I was talking about, Feels kinda nice.”

You laughed, soft and a little breathless, tugging at the swing chain as if you could steady yourself. “Yeah, it does.”

The joint was down to the last inch, glowing faintly in the night. Hollis held it up, eyes flicking to you with that teasing glint that was all Hollis—like he was daring you to ask for it, or to say something, “Guess that’s it,” he said, voice rough with a laugh that didn’t fully come. He pinched the burning tip, extinguishing it carefully, his gaze never leaving yours. The faint scent of smoke lingered, sweet and earthy in the cool air.

The night felt electric then, the laughter and smoke fading into something quieter, heavier, warmer. And neither of you moved away, both aware of the small space between your bodies, the subtle brushing of skin, the teasing glances that said more than words ever could.

You tilted your head back toward him, and for the first time you really looked at him—his eyes red, glassy, a little unfocused, but still holding that playful shine. You couldn’t help it; a laugh bubbled out of you.

“You’re high as hell,” you said suddenly, breaking into a stupid grin you couldn’t control.

Hollis’ mouth curved into a wider smile, and he shook his head slowly, his shoulder brushing yours again. “Holy— yours too, your like gone.” he shot back, his voice thick with amusement. He tried to stifle his laugh, biting his lip, but it broke through anyway, soft and genuine.

You couldn’t stop smiling either, you laughed again, covering your face for a second, but it didn’t hide the way you smiled stupidly. When you dropped your hand, leaning forward a little. Your elbow found your knee, your cheek finding your hand, your hair spilling slightly into your face. The swing shifted with your weight, creaking softly. You sat there like that, looking at him through the messy strands, eyes heavy but full of something you couldn’t name.

Hollis turned slightly toward you, the swing creaking with the shift of his weight. His grin softened into something smaller, steadier, his eyes tracing over your face like he was seeing it for the first time in this light. He leaned back just enough to catch the whole picture, then shook his head lightly.

“What?” you asked, a little self-conscious under his stare.

His smile deepened, quiet and sincere now. “You’ve got… this tiny freckle,” he said, pointing vaguely near your cheek, “right here. Never noticed it before.”

You blinked, startled, your hand half-lifting to touch your cheek. “A freckle?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, still smiling, his eyes lingering. “It’s cute.”

The word hung there, heavier than either of you expected, and his gaze stayed on you a moment longer than friends would usually allow.

Your fingers hovered near your cheek where he’d pointed, but your eyes stayed on him, the quiet in the air turning heavier. You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair slip further into your face, and whispered back, almost without thinking,

“Well… you’ve got that mole. On the right side of your neck.”

Hollis blinked, caught off guard, his hand instinctively brushing at the spot. “This?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve always noticed it.”

His brows pulled together just a little, a soft crease of surprise. “You have?”

You nodded again, slower this time, eyes flicking from the curve of his neck back to his face. “Of course I have.”

Something changed in the way he looked at you then—his smile eased into something gentler, almost reverent, like the haze of the high had burned away just enough to show what was underneath. His eyes lingered, red and glassy but focused entirely on you.

His eyes lingered, red and glassy but focused entirely on you. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t find the breath.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” His voice was low, rough in a way that made your stomach flip.

You froze, your cheek still balanced against your palm, and let out a soft, nervous laugh. “You’re high.”

But he didn’t even flinch. He leaned in a little, elbows resting on his knees, gaze never wavering. “No,” he said, firmer this time, like he needed you to believe it. “I’m so serious.”

The words hit heavier than you expected. Your throat tightened, a tiny gasp slipping before you could catch it. You pressed your back against the cold swing set chain, trying to anchor yourself, but the moment kept pulling you in.

You whispered it so quietly you almost hoped he wouldn’t hear. “You are too…”

His lips parted slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. The air between you shifted, denser, quieter, charged. Neither of you moved for a beat, and then, without meaning to, you did.

Your bodies leaned toward each other, just a fraction at first, like magnets testing the pull. You tilted your head, and he followed without hesitation.

His hand lifted slowly, trembling almost imperceptibly before it found your face. Warm, steady, his palm cupped your cheek like it was something fragile.

Your breath caught, lashes lowering as your eyes fluttered shut. You braced, every nerve in your body waiting for the weight of his lips on yours—

—but instead, you felt the faintest press of warmth against your cheek. Right over the freckle he’d pointed out.

Your eyes flew open, startled, and there he was, impossibly close, lips brushing your skin with a gentleness that made your chest ache. It was teasing, yes, but there was something reverent in it too, like he was trying to tell you without words that he’d noticed everything about you.

When he pulled back just slightly, he didn’t go far. His face lingered, breath fanning yours, noses brushing like the space between you wasn’t meant to exist at all.

And then—your lips grazed. Barely. A fleeting touch that wasn’t quite a kiss, wasn’t quite not.

You felt it before you saw it: the curve of his smile ghosting against your mouth. He was teasing you, dragging it out, savoring the tension that had your hands trembling in your lap.

“Hollis…” you whispered, your voice so soft it cracked. Or maybe it was “please.” You weren’t sure which escaped, only that it was everything you’d been holding back.

That broke him.

The smile faltered, deepened into something hungry, tender, and then he closed the last inch.

His lips met yours slow at first, deliberate, like he was learning the shape of you. Warm, soft, and certain. His thumb stroked your cheek as if coaxing you deeper, and you melted into it, leaning forward until the swing’s chains rattled softly beside you.

The kiss deepened just slightly, enough to leave you dizzy. You felt the press of his nose against yours, the lingering curve of his mouth when he finally, reluctantly pulled back—only far enough to breathe against your lips.

“You don’t know,” he murmured, words barely breaking the kiss, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You didn’t even have time to answer his confession before his lips were on yours again. Hungrier this time, no hesitation.

The swing beneath you swayed with the push and pull of your bodies, the chains groaning quietly as you leaned into him. His hands, everywhere at once, skimming your jaw, sliding down your neck, splaying across your hip as though he couldn’t decide which part of you he needed most.

You gasped into him, the sound muffled by his mouth, and he caught it, deepening the kiss until you swore you could taste the warmth of the joint still clinging to him. Your own hands found him blindly, one in his hair, the other gripping his t-shirt at the shoulder, pulling him closer, closer.

He groaned low in his throat, almost like he couldn’t believe you were letting him, couldn’t believe this was happening, and pressed you back against the cold chain of the swing. His nose brushed yours again as his mouth broke from yours only to trail at your jaw, your pulse, lingering like he was memorizing you.

“Hollis…” you breathed, tilting into him, dizzy from the high and the way he was touching you like you were fragile and necessary all at once.

He laughed softly against your skin, a warm, breathless sound that made you ache. “God—”

And then—

His phone buzzed hard in his pocket.

He froze, forehead still pressed to yours, both of you panting. His hand slipped reluctantly from your hip to fish it out, the glow of the screen harsh in the hazy dark.

“Fuck,” he muttered, seeing the name.

“Who is it?” you asked, voice still raw from kissing him.

He turned the phone so you could see the contact name: Nate Dih.

You thought in your head; why the fuck did Hollis have Nate saved as ‘Nate dih’? Anyways..

Reluctantly, he swiped to answer, biting his lip nervously and bringing it to his ear with a sharp, “Yo.”

Nate’s voice blasted through the tiny speaker, half laughter, half annoyance. “Where the fuck did y’all go?”

You clapped your hand over your mouth, muffling a laugh at Nate’s voice, but Hollis shot you a look that was half exasperated, half up to something.

Then another voice piled in, loud and chaotic—Ryan. “Bro, are you serious? We been waiting—”

Then Roman, almost shouting over him. “Hollis. Don’t play dumb, we saw you sneak out with y/n—”

And Jonah’s dry, unmistakable tone, cutting through them all: “Yup. Knew it.“

Hollis squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile.

“They’re literally all on the phone?” you whispered, wide-eyed.

He leaned back just enough to look at you, eyes still red and glassy, lips swollen from your kiss.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, breaking into a grin, shaking his head.

For a second, Hollis didn’t even try to talk over them. He just held the phone away from his ear, staring at it like it was possessed, while Nate, Ryan, Roman, and Jonah all shouted over each other in different cadences—laughter, slurred curses, demands, jeers.

Ryan’s voice rose above the rest, cracking from how hard he was yelling: “we all know why you left with her—”

Roman chimed in, louder: “Don’t act like you’re not literally at a playground right now I can see your location Holli—”

Jonah, dry as ever: “Told yall he’d fold.“

And then Nate again laughter bursting through the phone, “Bro. BRO. I’m drunk as fuucck—”

Hollis’ lips pressed together, his shoulders shaking like he was this close to losing it. You had both hands clamped over your mouth, eyes watering with laughter you couldn’t contain.

Finally, with a flat little sigh, he brought the phone back to his face. “Y’all sound like fuckin’ animals,” he muttered, voice sharp but cracking with the grin he was holding back. Then, without another word, he hung up.

Silence rushed back into the night, broken only by the squeak of the swings and the faint buzz in your head. You couldn’t stop laughing, muffled and breathless into your hand, and Hollis dropped his head into the crook of his arm on the swing chain, shaking silently.

When he looked up again, his grin was wide and helpless, teeth flashing in the streetlight. “We should probably get back,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed laughter.

You nodded, still trying—and failing—to stifle your giggles. “Yeah,” you managed, your chest aching from how hard you were holding it in.

The high made it all sharper—the ridiculousness, the way your stomach still flipped every time his knee brushed yours, the taste of him still lingering on your lips.

Neither of you moved right away.

You just sat there, grinning like idiots at each other, trying not to laugh and failing all over again.

The air felt cooler when you finally pushed up from the swings, the night carrying that soft, empty hum of a neighborhood long asleep— or at least you’d hope you guys hadn’t woken up. Hollis stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, head ducked a little, the faintest grin still pulling at his mouth like he couldn’t fight it even if he tried.

You fell into step beside him, your arms brushing now and then, little static jolts that neither of you commented on. The streetlights stretched you both out in gold and shadow, your footsteps echoing faintly against the sidewalk.

“They are so annoying,” you said, still laughing under your breath.

Hollis snorted, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “And the way we gotta hear them sober, too?“

You grinned, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Roman sounded like he was about to blow a vein.”

“Roman’s always two drinks from a stroke,” he muttered, shaking his head, but the smile in his voice gave him away. He pulled his phone back out, glanced at the screen, buzzing with notifications, and groaned. “They’re still going like three missed calls and a million texts.” He said over exaggerating and putting his phone on dnd.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh again. “Are they ever gonna let you live this down?”

Hollis finally gave in, laughter spilling out of him low and rough. He tilted his head back for a second, eyes glassy in the glow. “They don’t even know what they’re on about.”

That sent your stomach flipping again, for some odd reason, the way he said it, heat curling low and quick. You ducked your head, hoping the night hid your smile.

The two of you walked a little quieter after that, the silence not awkward but heavy, charged. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, stealing a glance at him. His hands were still buried in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, but every so often his eyes slid to you, quick, like he was checking—like he couldn’t not look.

Finally, he let out a small laugh, softer this time. “Kinda glad we dipped, though.”

You raised a brow. “Kinda?”

He smirked, finally looking straight at you, and there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch that implied something deeper. “Really glad.” He corrected himself.

Your cheeks burned, but you smiled anyway, the swing of your steps lighter.

You walked in silence for another block, your shoes scuffing against the cracked sidewalk, the cool night air settling warm in your chest. The street opened up into a quieter stretch—empty, except for a single streetlamp flickering softly overhead.

Hollis slowed, his boot dragging once before he stopped completely. You turned to face him, brows raised, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you. Really looked. Like the party, the calls, the noise, all of it had been background to this.

Your heart thudded unevenly, and suddenly you were too aware of the way your hair fell across your cheek, the way your hand gripped your jacket at the hem. “What?” you whispered, a nervous laugh breaking the quiet.

He shook his head, smiling faintly, eyes sweeping over your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping low. “Just… happy we didn’t stay at that stupid party.”

The words hit harder than you expected, a rush in your chest, your breath catching before you could stop it. You swallowed, looking at him through your lashes, voice small. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” He said it firm this time, like he wanted you to believe it.

And then he was closer, so close that the light glinted off his lashes, his red, glassy eyes locked on yours. The world felt like it had slowed down, just the two of you in the halo of that flickering lamp, the air charged and soft at the same time.

You shifted, almost without thinking, stepping a fraction closer. He noticed. His lips curved like he was fighting a smile, but his hand came up anyway, brushing your hair gently away from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek, his thumb resting light near the corner of your mouth.

The touch made your breath shiver. Your lips parted, your chest tight, and before you could overthink it, you tilted your face toward him just slightly. Enough for the space between you to narrow until you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

When he finally kissed you, it wasn’t rushed, it was soft, deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every second of it. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of quiet reverence, and your knees almost buckled at the weight of it, the sweetness mixed with the lingering haze of the high.

When he pulled back just barely, your foreheads brushed, and he whispered again, like it was a secret only you could have.

“Really happy.”

Your breath hitched at the words, your chest clenching so tight it almost hurt. Before you could even form a reply, his lips brushed yours again—softer this time, testing, like he couldn’t resist.

You leaned into it, sighing against his mouth, and the sound seemed to undo him. He kissed you deeper, not rough, not hurried, but with this hungry kind of insistence, like each one wasn’t enough. His hand slid further along your cheek, cupping your face and his other hand covering your hip fully now, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

It turned into a series of soft, breathless kisses—one after another, barely pulling apart before finding each other again. A little messy, teeth grazing, lips curving into quiet smiles between them. The kind of kisses that made your whole body hum, that made your fingers twitch with the urge to hold onto him.

At one point, you whispered his name against his lips—“Hollis…”—and it sent a shiver through him. He tilted his head, kissing you slower this time, like the sound had melted something inside him.

Your hands had found his shirt without you realizing, fingers curling in the fabric at his side. He didn’t move them, didn’t say anything, just let you hold him like that, his own forehead pressed to yours, breathing your air between each kiss.

The night was silent around you, the only sound the faint squeak of the swings in the distance and the soft, wet catch of your lips meeting again and again.

Finally, when he pulled back a fraction, both of you were smiling, helpless, stupid, drunk on the moment. His nose brushed yours, his lips still grazing yours as he whispered, low and unsteady:

“Can’t stop…”

After making out for god knows how long you guys finally head back to the party finding the guys after going through the crowded house.

Roman was on the couch, trying to balance a beer can on his forehead while Nate filmed him, laughing so hard he could barely keep the camera steady. Jonah had fallen asleep sitting upright, hair half over his face, and Ryan was pacing near the kitchen island, phone flashlight on, lecturing no one in particular about “hydration being the key to longevity.”

You and Hollis stood still, staring.

Ryan finally noticed you, turning his flashlight toward your faces. “Where did you two go?” he demanded, squinting dramatically.

Hollis shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Out.”

Before anyone could dig further, Nate called out from the couch, “Bro, let’s just Uber. None of us are driving.”

“Yeah,” you said, already pulling out your phone.

The group corralled themselves somehow, half-asleep, half-laughing—into an Uber big enough to carry everyone, the windows fogged from laughter and exhaustion.

Hollis slid in beside you, his hand brushing yours briefly in the dark, and when you met his eyes, there was that look again, the one from under the streetlight. Quiet, knowing, impossible to ignore.

He leaned close enough for only you to hear and whispered, soft and warm, “You look so pretty right now.”

You looked at him and blushes so hard you just wanted to kiss him; “You too.” you said whispering softly.

The Uber’s heater hummed low as the city blurred by outside, streetlights stretching into gold streaks through the fogged windows. Everyone was half-mumbling, half-laughing for the first few minutes, the kind of tired laughter that comes at the end of a long night.

You leaned your head back against the seat, your eyes growing heavy. The joint, the walking, the soft air of the hills—it all started to catch up to you. You felt the warmth of Hollis beside you, his jacket brushing your arm every time the car turned.

Before long your head tipped sideways until it found his shoulder. He went still for a second, startled, then let out the smallest breath, shifting just enough so you could rest comfortably. His hand hovered like he wanted to adjust your hair out of your face, but he stopped himself.

From the front seat, Nate turned around, phone already out. “Aww, look at this—”

“Don’t, bro,” Hollis muttered, but it was too late. The soft click of the camera shutter sounded, followed by a chorus of muffled laughter.

“Fine, fine,” Roman whispered, “but tell me that’s not cute.”

Hollis just shook his head, but a small, involuntary smile crept up anyway. He looked down at you—your lashes brushing your cheeks, your breathing slow and even, and felt something settle heavy and certain in his chest.

He leaned his head lightly against the window, letting their laughter fade into the background.

Yeah, he thought, glancing once more at the photo on Nate’s screen before the brightness dimmed.

It really was nice.

The ride was quiet after that. Streetlights blinked across the car in soft waves until they pulled up in front of his house. Everyone stumbled out, half-awake and mumbling their goodbyes.

When the car stopped at his house, the others stumbled out, still laughing and half-asleep. Hollis helped you out last. You were groggy, murmuring something incoherent, and he guided you inside, careful and quiet.

He led you to the guest room, the same one you’d crashed in before after late nights like this, and helped you sit on the edge of the bed. You blinked up at him, barely awake.

“Sleep,” he said softly.

You nodded, already sinking into the pillow as he pulled a blanket over you. For a long moment he just stood there, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, the faint smile that lingered even in your sleep.

Then he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face, switched off the light, and stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

[warhorseweekend]

I think everyone needs to see this photo

[warhorseweekend]

bro the way he’s bouncing is doing something to me

[warhorseweekend]

💭—thinking about this era of Hollis

he looked so good without all the makeup and wig and just his extensions and smudged eyeliner…🙇‍♀️

[warhorseweekend]

guys oh my god he’s so hot

I literally can’t I’m foaming at the mouth rn

[warhorseweekend]

I love this hair on him so much