Another idea!! Okay so, delinquent reader x a childhood friend who made a mistake.
Oc and reader were completely inseparable since childhood after their parents introduced them to each other. Oc was an energetic kid, always begging his parents to meet up with reader, while the reader was more shy. But him being shy didn't mean that he hated the company, actually he absolutely adored the other, looking up to him in a way. Everytime they would play oc would effortlessly make temporary friends on the playground, and everytime his playground friends tried pushing Reader away since he was quiet oc wouldn't allow it.
Until they started highschool, oc made friends with the “popular” kids. He started hanging out with them more and more, slowly pulling away from reader. Until one day he got an ultimatum, either to stay with them or reader, and he chose the popular kids. What oc didn't know was that his new friend group would start bullying reader, at first he's shocked, trying to stop it, but after a while.. he just starts silently watching.
This causes the reader to disappear from school for months after it got severe (bullying was for a few years). But when he came back, he was different. Snappy, temperamental, a delinquent. Oc seeing this realizes how much he's changed, that he's no longer the cute shy kid that looked up to him. Oc starts trying to fix things, but you choose if it works in this fic or not.
I'm so fucking sorry this is so goddamn long 💀
𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀? 𝗖𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀?
𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘅 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
just realized I never made a title for this oh my god anyways heres the updated version
You weren’t supposed to come back.
That was the unspoken rule, wasn't it? Once you vanished—after the bruises, after the rumors, after the final time someone shoved you down the stairs and Elian just stood there—you were gone.
No one expected to see you again. Not the teachers. Not the kids.
Certainly not him.
But here you are, pushing open the gates of West Ridge High like you own the damn place, teeth bared in a half-lazy, half-daring grin. It’s not real, of course. Just something you wear now, like your beat-up leather jacket and scuffed boots and that permanent slouch in your shoulders that says just screams problem starter.
And yeah, maybe you do start problems
Your hair’s longer. You’ve got a lip ring and bandages across your knuckles from a fight you didn’t win, but refused to lose. The office staff barely recognize you when you sign in.
Elian definitely doesn’t.
You catch him staring during first period.
It’s almost funny, the way he freezes when you walk in. Like a ghost just entered the room instead of a guy who used to braid clover chains for him during recess.
You take the seat furthest from him, ignoring the way he keeps glancing over like you might evaporate if he blinks too long.
You’ve already disappeared once.
By third day back, everyone knows not to mess with you.
Not because you’re loud. Not because you fight much, though you have made a name for yourself in backlot scraps behind the gym. It’s just the way you are now—quiet like thunder in the distance. People hear it, and they don’t wait to see the storm.
He corners you behind the vending machines after school, his hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets like he’s scared you’ll break his fingers if he tries to reach out.
"Can I—" he starts, but you already know.
You don’t look at him. "No."
He flinches. "You don’t even know what I was gonna say."
There’s a pause. You hear him shift, like he’s about to walk away. But then—
"I didn’t choose them over you. I—" He exhales, and it’s shaky. “I thought I had time. I thought you’d always be there.”
That stops you. Just a beat.
You turn, finally meeting his eyes. They're the same ones that used to sparkle when you brought him wildflowers. Now they're red-rimmed. Guilty.
"You watched me get torn apart," you say, voice low. “For years. Not once. Not twice. Every damn day.”
He swallows hard. “I was scared.”
He looks at you then—not like you're some broken thing he wants to fix, but like someone he misses. Truly, achingly. Like he’s been walking around half-alive and only just found the part of him he lost.
“I never stopped—” His voice cracks. “You were my best friend. My only real one. I just... I got so caught up trying to be liked. Trying to be safe.”
You’re quiet for a long time.
Then, without thinking, you say it.
“You could’ve been safe with me.”
After that, he doesn’t push.
An extra juice box left beside your locker. A sticky note on your desk that says “math test Friday” in familiar chicken-scratch. Someone tripping in the hallway only for Elian to be at your side a second later, ready to fight whoever touched you—until he realizes you handled it first.
But when you sit down at lunch one day and find him already at your usual spot, tray untouched, hands clenched in his lap, waiting—you pause.
Just once, he smiles. A little lopsided. A little broken.
But your leg brushes his under the table, and this time, you don’t pull away.
You still snap at him some days. Still storm out when something hits too close. You still hate the way he flinches sometimes—like he's expecting the worst from you.
And he still cries sometimes. Not in front of you, but you hear it in the way he says “I’m sorry” like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
He doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He just stays.
And maybe… maybe that’s enough for now.
Because there’s a quiet night—late spring, air smelling like rain—where you’re sitting on the hood of his mom’s car, both of you staring at the stars like you used to, and he whispers—
You don’t answer right away.
But you lean your head on his shoulder.
And it’s the first time he doesn’t cry when you touch him.
