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softsunnyy · 2 days ago

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let's take some time

Jack asks you to take a break when the relationship starts to go in the wrong direction. And you suffer, but at least you believe you're both experiencing the same thing… until you see videos of a party at a bar and start to believe it was always one-sided.

4,3k words.

angst, angst, angst, but happy ending. Reader is kinda the problem here tbh, but at the end of the day they're just two fools who don't know how to handle their feelings.

as always, poorly written.

when the words left his mouth, you exhaled, as if he'd punched you in the stomach, though it didn't really take you by surprise. Jack and you had been having problems for the past couple of weeks, with arguments that left the air tense and made you cry in your moments alone. The relationship seemed to be slipping through your fingers, and you didn't know how to get it back. How to get him back.

and you let the days go by, trying to maintain a positive attitude and not look for trouble, but everything seemed completely useless in the face of chaos, since any comment could turn against you, and your boyfriend had made that very clear. Jack was becoming more and more distant, distracted, and a pain in your chest tried to warn you of this, tried to make you feel uncomfortable or insecure, but you wanted to ignore it and believe in the love you have for him, and that's how you find yourself facing this situation.

“i think we should take a break. I don't think this is doing us any good,” he tells you, looking down, too hurt to meet your eyes, missing the way you blink rapidly, trying to push away the tears that are starting to form, while your throat aches and your hands clench into fists on your thighs, making your knuckles turn white.

you opened your mouth a couple of times, trying to start a sentence, but no sound came out, your mind clouded. The silence stretched for a couple of seconds, until he finally looked at you. His red, irritated eyes making you think for a moment that this might be hurting him too, and then you dared, you asked him the only question you could think of.

“are you sure of this?” “do you want this?” you wanted to ask him too, but you couldn't; you didn't know what to say, what to do. You didn't know if the right thing to do was to fight for his love or let him go. You're not even sure he feels the same way you do, even though you're looking into his eyes, like you've done a thousand times.

and he hesitates, he stops for a moment, and then in a very quiet, raspy voice he says, “yeah… i think it’s for the best.” And then the decision was made, because you would never do anything to make him uncomfortable, and if he wanted to take some time, you would give it to him, even if it hurt you deeply.

so he removes most of his things from your apartment—like some hoodies, his underwear, his shampoo, his toothbrush, and much of his essence—while you look at him with complete sadness, feeling like he’s also taking a part of your soul.

and he talks to you, tells you he’ll bring your things from his house, that you won’t have to worry about going there, but you don’t pay much attention, because you feel your body cramping, a constant, stabbing pain in your chest, and an emptiness in your stomach that makes you want to throw up your entire lunch.

when he leaves, you can't even cry, not right away, not even when he said goodbye at the door, giving you one last kiss as if it were a final goodbye, as if there were no way back. Instead, you can only stare at the wall, sitting on your couch, your head completely lost, your body too heavy.

it's like something has been ripped from inside you, as if something is missing and your heart wants to escape from your chest to find it. But physically, you remain there, sitting on that couch you chose together, unable to blink, unable to eat.

and when the days begin to pass, it's slow, everything moves too slowly. The house feels cold, the sky is always gray, the food is less appetizing, and your routine becomes more and more tedious. Your friends try to make you laugh, convince you to go out, to try to have fun, but you get bored quickly, you just wanna go back to your room and lie on your bed in the fetal position, crying yourself to sleep while you think about how he must be feeling.

you try to think it's mutual, that maybe he feels bad too and will soon regret this, but hours, days pass and you don't get a single text from him, a single call from his brothers, a single comment from his friends. And when you see them on the street, they give you a sad smile, as if you had broken up, as if there's no other option, and you can't return the gesture, so you just look at the ground and keep walking.

you wanna avoid him, forget everything related to him, but his face is all over the city, and you see him, on the way to college, on the way to work, on commercials, news, even food boxes, as if life were playing a trick on you, forcing you to see his huge smile all the time, while he enjoys doing what he loves, probably not caring about you as much as you do about him.

and you wanna leave, you wanna visit your family, go away for a month if necessary, but you wanna disappear from the city. So you wait, you do your best to finish your classes, to wait until you can request time off from work, and then you take them with you as far away as you can, trying not to cry, not to pick up your phone, not to watch television.

and the first two days worked; you're laughing, watching the stupid things the people you love do just to see you smile; and life feels fresher, your shoulders don't hurt as much, the puffiness under your eyes is going down... until that saturday night comes, when everyone has gone to sleep and you decide to turn on your phone. Your finger slides across the screen, traveling between apps, answering messages, until you open instagram and see that one of your friends posted a close friends story. And something inside you told you not to look at it, to close everything and go to sleep, but you dared anyway. Then you saw a video. It was a party, at a bar you recognized perfectly. And there's music playing in the background, so you don't hear much, but you recognize Trevor, laughing too loudly while elbowing someone. The camera pans a little, and then you see him.

Jack.

wearing a white shirt, with the top three buttons undone, sweat pouring from his skin, and a huge grin on his face. You can tell from his eyes that he's drunk, and from the way they laugh, you know he's really having fun.

you don't know when you stopped breathing, but you realized it by the sharp pain in your chest. Your hand shook, and the image was frozen, still in the calm, happy expression of the one who's supposedly still your boyfriend. And now you wanna throw up, you want to stop watching, but your eyes see the time, and you realize the video was uploaded a couple of minutes ago.

he's partying. That's what you thought, over and over again.

and you couldn't stop yourself. You watched every video, every photo, every update from the friends you had in common, seeing the whole group partying, posting captions like "he's backk," "mission take the dog out: done," while you felt the annoyance taking over.

you spent weeks crying, not knowing how to move forward, clinging to the things he left behind in your home, like a false promise that he'd come back, that this wasn't over. You spent nights remembering that last kiss, thinking about the thousands of things you wish you'd done differently. God, you even had to leave home, taking your family and going to the furthest place your savings would allow to get him out of your head.

and he's celebrating.

your throat closes, and you try to forget him, to go to sleep as if nothing had happened, but nightmares attack you, and you spend the night tossing and turning on your mattress, with different images of Jack forgetting you, changing you, leaving forever while you rot in that rented house.

now, what you don't know is Jack's perspective, because you don't talk, because you're trying to keep the no-contact agreement, so you miss out on the hell he's been living. He's been like a zombie for weeks, and arguing with everyone, friends, brothers, even his parents. Crying every night as he thinks about the things he would have done differently; remembering the stupid things he said to you in every argument, and replaying the images of how your light faded because of him, like he's a poison destined to kill you from the inside out.

rejecting invitations, messages, calls. Getting up only to go play hockey, then going back home and sinking deeper into his misery, while he stares at the hoodie he never returned to you, hoping you won't notice, or that you won't say anything about it. It was his favorite, because it used to be your favorite. And it still smells of you, of your perfume that he bought you so many times before it ran out. Of your perfume that he bought again almost by instinct, and that now rests on his sink. Perfume he used to spray on the pillow, so he could sleep imagining you were still there.

nights convincing himself he made the best decision, because he couldn't bear to see you so sad because of him, while he breaks a little more with each passing day, feeling like all the fun and light in his life disappeared along with you, as if you owned his soul.

and his friends worry. Can you blame them? Jack used to be a party animal; fun, always there when you wanted to have fun, the best guest at any party, and that didn't stop when you started dating, but it has stopped now that you're not together, and they can firmly say they've never seen him so... lost. So out of his mind.

and they don't know what to do. They don't tell him about the times they've seen you, the things they've heard, they just try to get him to come out, but nothing works, until one day they all arrive together, opening the door to his house, turning on every light, settling in like they´re allowed. And Trevor and Alex drag him out of his bed, pulling at his feet as he tries to kick them, his voice hoarse from crying, but feeling so weak that fighting was useless.

together, they choose clothes, a cologne (your perfume, by accident), and force him to brush his teeth before leaving, leaving him with no other choice.

unfortunately, they take him to that bar, where you two went thousands of times to see bands play, to relax, to forget everything. And now each of those memories has come flooding back, making him feel dizzy, making his stomach turn, and unconsciously trying to walk back to the exit, only to be stopped by his friends. So he ends up drinking again and again, forgetting each drink, feeling lighter and dizzier.

he laughs at stupid things, and Trevor´s the best to keep him laughing. He sees phones near him, recording, taking photos, but he feels like he's floating, completely lost, sweaty, and forgetting for a moment everything that's happened in the last few weeks, as if it never happened.

and the hours pass, he keeps drinking, keeps having fun, and gets closer and closer to everything going dark. Then that song comes on, the one that made you laugh, the one you mocked so many times, claiming that '80s artists would be embarrassed, but you still danced with excitement, as if youth were eternal, as if euphoria were the only thing running through your veins, making him feel full of energy, even if it was the last song, at 2, 3, 5 in the morning. And then he begins to discreetly distance himself from his group, taking advantage of the alcohol to make them lose sight of him until he leaves the bar, holding onto the wall with difficulty, until he gets a little farther away from the music, taking out his phone and quickly dialing the number he couldn't forget even if he were almost passed out from drunkenness.

your phone vibrated, once, twice, three times, until you poked your head out from under the covers, your nose stuffed, your eyes swollen, and your throat destroyed, picking up your phone in irritation and answering it without first looking at who was calling.

“hello?” you asked, your voice raspy and making you wince. In the background, you could hear a bit of music, voices, and you frowned, confused, about to look at who was calling you.

“that song is playing.” You recognized his voice immediately, though the words came out too relaxed, almost incomprehensible. You sat up in your bed immediately, suddenly on alert.

“Jack?” you asked, though you didn't need confirmation. Still, he hummed, affirming it.

“that song is playing, the one that says…” and he began to sing, very poorly, slurring his words, getting the lyrics wrong too often. You were perplexed, not knowing how to interrupt him. “You hate that song,” he said when he finished.

“Jack, why are you calling me?” you asked, feeling the ache in your heart. One of your hands played with your blankets, trying to maintain your composure, even though hearing his voice broke you even more.

“i needed to tell you… because you’re not here,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the universe. As if he wasn’t calling his girlfriend, with whom he took some time, at 5 in the morning.

“yeah, well, i think we both know why,” you replied, harsher than you intended. And for a moment he remembers, remembers everything, so he falls silent, trying to think of a response. Suddenly more sober than he'd been all night.

“shit, i'm sorry, i don't know what i was thinking,” he said, completely remorseful, closing his eyes as he ran a hand over his face in frustration.

“it´s fine, now, since you remembered, go on having fun now that you're a free man.” And you hung up, knowing your voice had cracked on the last words; letting him go, when it was what you feared most. You began to sob, unable to stop yourself, throwing your phone to the other end of the bed, curling into a ball as your body shook violently, as if you'd ripped off the band-aid, and with it, something in your heart.

Jack, for his part, remained silent for a few seconds, the phone still pressed to his ear, but not hearing anything. And he tried to think, even in his state. He tried to reason, to guess what you were referring to, and then he remembered the photos, the videos. He thought about how everything must have looked, how you must have felt, and he wanted to throw up, feeling guilty, dirty, even though he hadn't done anything to anyone, but knowing that his actions had caused you some kind of harm.

and that night, he tried to go to your house, to look for you, to apologize in person, but you didn't open the door, so he ended up falling asleep outside your door, until one of your neighbors woke him up in the morning; a kind woman who always looked at you two with nostalgia, but now looked at him with pity. She told him you had gone on a trip, and told him when you would be back.

so he waited, day and night, trying to look presentable, but failing every night when he looked you up on social media again, or when he opened his gallery again and found all the photos, the videos.

he found himself replaying that nearly two-minute video of you over and over again; of you putting bows in his hair while you shared one of your precious bits of gossip, not realizing he was recording you until you looked down, blushing, laughing, and accusing him of having evidence against you, as if you were committing the biggest crime.

and he would unconsciously smile, seeing your big smile, your displays of affection, your little things that make you so special, and then he would fall back into that spiral of anguish, of guilt, knowing he had ruined everything by asking for that time; letting you go, as if he were giving up on the relationship.

when he felt like this, so sad, so lost, he always turned to you, to your arms, to your love, because you´re his light, his sun, the person who brought him back down to earth and reminded him that it's okay to make mistakes, to doubt, to want to do things differently, but that he shouldn't let himself be consumed by the "what ifs"; using his doubts as motivation to make positive changes, to stop falling and start climbing, even if it was at a slow pace. You had always been there to hold him, to take his hand and show him that he wasn't alone. But this time... this time you couldn't help him, because you both let go of each other's hands. And Jack doesn't know what to do.

for your part, your vacation was ruined, with nightmares every day, but trying to put on an act in front of your family; using all your energy to look fine in front of them, and being completely destroyed when everyone went to sleep. So exhausted that afterward it was almost impossible to move, every muscle feeling tense, hurting like shit.

and you're afraid to go back, to face reality, but the date is getting closer and you know it's time, so you pack your things, sighing heavily and returning to your apartment, which you know will be cold, lifeless, with his hoodies folded on your bed, as if waiting for you, without his scent, without his warmth.

the surprise comes when you arrive and a figure is waiting for you in front of your door, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking down, and wearing a cap over his hair, which is longer than the last time. He seems to sense your footsteps, so he raises his head and meets your eyes, which are wide open.

“Jack…” you whispered, in disbelief, walking slower and slower, as if he might vanish when you finish approaching. And he waited for you, not coming closer, afraid that you might run away from him after all. “What are you doing here?” he could hear how tired you were in your voice, even though your eyes still had a bit of their usual sparkle.

“i think we need to figure some things out,” he replied, seeing you frown, confused. Still, you let him in. And he moves with uncertainty as if it were his first time there.

“sit, i just wanna grab a bottle of water,” you instructed, leaving your suitcase by the entrance and starting to walk toward the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” you asked, trying to sound normal, even though your heart was pounding, about to burst out of your chest.

“no, thanks,” he replied, distracted, looking around, noticing that you hadn’t taken down the pictures of the two of you, and paying special attention to one of his favorite photos; one from when you were 15 and you went to see one of his games for the first time. He still remembers how all his friends spent weeks teasing him about how nervous he was, but it was all worth it when you kissed his cheek, congratulating him on his goal. God, his brain had stopped working at that moment.

when you returned to the living room with your water bottle in hand, you found him looking at the photos, and something inside you ached too much, so you decided to speak as you went to sit down, far enough away from him to contain your urge to jump up and hug him.

“what do you wanna talk about?” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and, slightly blushing, he went to sit down, all too aware of the distance between your bodies.

“i made a mistake,” he said bluntly, impatiently, watching your eyebrows rise, and missing the way your heart skipped a beat, as if he had just said the magic words.

“what do you mean?” you asked, in a low, weak tone, as you opened your bottle so you could take a sip; your throat suddenly dry.

“i thought i was doing the right thing by letting you go,” he cleared his throat, but still didn’t stop looking into your eyes. “But losing you has been really hard, and i hate it.”

“it didn’t seem like it,” you commented, with some venom in your voice, remembering that party where you saw him alive, in his element. “I saw you laughing, celebrating, and our friends saying they were ‘bringing you back,’ as if our relationship had completely turned you off.”

“it wasn’t like that,” he interrupted, frowning, almost offended. “They were, but because i was..." he paused for a moment, trying to find the words "i stopped talking to them, i cried every day, i missed you too much. And they came that night, all together, picked me up, and took me with them.”

“to that bar.”

“to that bar,” he affirmed. “They had no idea, and i wasn't gonna ruin their night, so i decided my best option was to drink and drink until i could let loose and enjoy myself for at least a couple of hours,” he explained, but he still saw some doubt in your eyes. “I know that when you met me, i liked to have fun, maybe too much, but i didn't go to that bar looking for trouble, or an adventure, or whatever you think happened,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft, so as not to turn this into an argument. “God, i even called you. I got away from them and called you when that song came on.”

“it's a terrible song,” you commented, still weak, and after being silent for a few seconds, processing his words, taking another sip of water. And you saw him smile a little, relaxing his shoulders.

“it is, but i needed you to hear it,” he sighed. “For a moment i forgot everything that had happened, and i thought it would be the same as always, that you would answer me, that you would laugh…” he tried to get a little closer, regretting it when he saw you tense up. “But that didn’t happen, and when i listened to you, when i understood that you were hurt and believing something that wasn’t that way… i came here.”

“you what?” you choked on the water, looking at him with a frown, but surprised. “It was around 5 in the morning, Jack, something could have happened to you.”

“i know, but i stayed here, and in the morning mrs. Winnicott told me you had gone with your family, and that you would be back today,” he explained.

“so you just came to my apartment to try to win me back,” you said, though there was no venom behind your words and he just shrugged.

“did it work?” he asked, hopeful.

you were silent for a couple of seconds, considering everything. You stopped looking at him, and instead looked at your hands. He waited patiently, feeling his heart pounding like never before, completely terrified at the thought of losing you.

“there are things we need to work on, Jack, you know that, right?” you asked, looking at him again, seeing him nod. “We can't go back to the way we were, because i don't think i can stand more days of just arguing with you. Not again,” you continued, and he listened, really listened. “I want my boyfriend back, but i need you to promise me that we're gonna try, really try.”

“we'll make it work, i promise,” he replied without hesitation, reaching out to take your hand. This time you didn't stop him.

and feeling his warmth broke you, so you threw yourself into his arms, holding him as tightly as you'd ever had before, listening to him begin to sob, his face buried in your neck, his hands clinging to you, as if you could disappear at any moment.

there are still so many things left to say, so many boundaries to set, but for now you just enjoy the feel of his body against yours, like that 16-year-old Jack, who curled up on you when he felt he was failing, or that 17-year-old Jack who threw himself at you when he knew his dream was about to come true and he could take you with him.

you missed him, you missed him so much that you don't wanna let go, you can't, and you hold onto him with the same intensity, your tears running down your cheeks, but with a smile so huge it lit up his world once again.

it wasn't perfect. And you're young, you're gonna make mistakes, you're gonna cross boundaries, you're gonna get to know each other a little better. But right now, there's only one thing you're both clear about: you don't want to separate again. Not when you've both already found your home in each other's arms.

you're the end game; you just have to learn to live with whatever that means and comes with.

but you'd do anything, just for him.