Love Letters
Synopsis: You can’t keep them, but you can’t burn them either. So, you give the love letters back to him. Greaser AU.
Warning: nicotine usage via cigarette smoking
Word Count: 892
Pairing: fem!reader x greaser!unspecified Stray Kids member
You never really realized how many love letters he had written to you until you are forced to get rid of them. Most of them are on notebook paper, but others, like the one for your birthday, are on pretty stationery. Each one you touch brings back bittersweet memories, and you do your best to tamp down any old feelings you have for him.
However, you can’t bring yourself to throw them out or burn them. Instead, you place them in the cardboard box along with the old leather jacket he gave you. Going steady, he promised. Going stealthy was more like it. With a heavy sigh, you shut the box and wait for him to pick you up. It’s cruel, breaking up with him on a date night, but whatever was between the two of you was never really a relationship. You blink away the tears forming and watch the street from your bedroom window.
Three days ago, you told him your parents would be out tonight on their own date, so he pulls right into the driveway. Even seeing his car — that stupid, souped-up flip-top that he’s so proud of — hurts. You should have known you meant nothing to him when he always tried to hide you from his friends during all those dates to the drive-in. He honks twice, and your stomach is heavy with dread as you walk downstairs to meet him.
“Hey, babe,” he greets, an easy grin on his face. He gets out to open the side door for you. “What’s with the box? Got a present for me?”
Avoiding his gaze, you slowly say, “I’m breaking up with you.”
He’s silent for only a beat. “What? We’re going steady, aren’t we?” He reaches for your arm, and you pull away. “C’mon. I gave you my jacket.”
“An old one that you don’t wear anyway! That’s not going steady at all.”
You can see him rolling his eyes, and you know there’s going to be a deflecting excuse rolling off his tongue. It happens every time you bring this up. You accepted them all before, but not tonight.
He shrugs off his current jacket, the name and symbol of his greaser gang emblazoned across the back, and hands it to you. “There. Happy?”
It appeases you for a moment, and you shove back at him. “No! You act like you don’t know me at school, we never go to any dances together, and anytime we go see a movie, you always make sure your friends don’t see me. That’s not going steady at all,” you repeat, voice trembling more and more by the second. “You care more about your reputation than me. Now, leave.” You dump the box into the backseat of his car, ignoring his protests, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t think it would be this hard.
Every word is true, but you’ve seen him in the summer without his greaser buddies around — sweet, kind, almost a near opposite of what his facade is. You snuck around with him for months, hoping that side of him would appear outside of your trips to remote hilltops. The love letters were a sort of consolation he came up with; you could have the part of him you wanted, and he could be the person everyone expected him to be. You waited for him to do more, but the secret summer version of himself never fully revealed itself to everyone. You finally grew tired of waiting.
“So this is it? You’re just gonna give up on us then? Huh? Just like that?” he harshly says. He fumbles for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He has to flick the lighter three times before a flame appears.
Your voice is shaky and small when you tell him, “Just leave. We’re over.”
He takes a drag, the white smoke stark against the evening sky, not a single sound from him other than his slow breaths. You stand in front of him, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t look at you, and you can’t tell if he’s sad or mad or anything. Finally you whisper goodbye and turn to go back inside the house.
“What’s in the box?” he asks, his voice taut as a bowstring.
You stop and face him. The cigarette dangles between his fingers, and he looks every bit like a true greaser with his slicked back hair and leather jacket. You almost laugh. Look at yourself in your neat ponytail and pastel pink sweater. The two of you were never supposed to be together.
“Your old leather jacket and the letters you wrote,” you manage to get out. You swallow thickly. “I figured you would want them back.”
“I don’t want ‘em.”
“I don’t either.”
You rush into the house before he can say anything else. The door shuts with a slam, and you lean against it, hyperventilating and trying to push down the rising lump in your throat. Through the living room curtains, you watch as he grounds his cigarette on the driveway pavement with the heel of his foot and burns rubber down the street. When his car is out of view, you sink down onto the floor and sob into your hands.
It was never meant to be, you tell yourself. It was never meant to be.
~ ad.gray
53 notes
·
View notes
esteelauderkr
Verified
눈 속에서 피어난 한 송이 장미 같은 윤아의 골져스 룩 🌹
✻ #더블웨어골드쿠션 을 가볍게 발라 생기촉촉 피부
✻ #러브립스틱 310 #바레드 로 물 머금은 𝙍𝙀𝘿 립 연출
✻ 엔비 #핑크립밤 으로 촉촉함을 더해 마무리
#DoubleWear #WearConfidence
#PureColorLove #PureColorEnvy
#더블웨어골드쿠션 #자연광쿠션 #완벽커버
#EsteeAmbassador @yoona__lim
📸 @marieclairekorea
Photos link: 1 2
4 notes
·
View notes