#lemme just go

[fungusamongus93828]

[outer-andromeda]

... I couldn't resist doing more self-insert stuff whoops

Edit : Can't believe I have to add this in but the human in the picture is NOT Stanford Pines from hit cartoon Gravity Falls. Gabby is a self insert, which means he's literally based off of me. READ THE TEXT AND THE TAGS. istg people 💀

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[allimili]

Waiter waiter more elysia!y/n but it's them hugging smc in his other realm (what if their soul technically still resides in the spire they're just without a body and smc wants them to get a body so they'll be together again)

Not a hug but do you see it

[egophiliac]

Do you have any final theories/desires for Book 7 Part 12?

(slamming fists on table) I DEMAND MORE CHE'NYA

[alienssstufff]

PET POST UNIFORMS - JOEL - GRIAN designs for s10!

[etho-bdubs-gem]

[punksalmon]

[imfinereallyy]

Steve walks into his and Robin’s shared living room in the middle of the night to get a glass of water.

Mid gulp, Steve’s hears a soft “hey.”

Steve has only four years of the Upside Down to thank for not dropping his glass and shattering it everywhere. He knows the dangers of a little cut.

It doesn’t help the startled scream he releases.

Steve stares at his couch in horror as the intruder turns the light on.

Robins feet pound quickly into the living room, a metal baseball bat in her hands, “What do I need to kill?”

Steve says nothing. Instead, he points at their couch, where Robin turns and lets out a small gasp.

Because in the middle of their living room is Eddie Munson, famous rockstar and, more importantly, ex-best friend of Steve and Robin, who they haven’t heard from since 1991, sitting on their couch.

Shit.

🐝･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･✦ʚɞ

now with part 2!

pt. 3

pt. 4

[ricky-mortis]

I heard that Corey Dorris sang Show Stopping Number at Innit- so I present: Corey!Hidgens

[tojisun]

also i keep thinking about johnny and how he still goes around calling you his girlfriend even when you’re already broken up just cause it makes you reach out to him, texting angrily how not only are you broken up but you’re already talking to someone else. and johnny just goes, “kyle, right? yeah, s’my type too, hen.”

“fuck you,” you reply back.

days later, johnny sends you a selfie of him and kyle with a message that says, “he said i can join!”

“jesus,” you whisper, awed and horrified at the same time. maybe even a little interested too, who knows.

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Ratchet goes on vacation for a month and comes back with a baby, all of the autobots are baffled

Ratchet wants to keep the identity of the sire a secret until the colors at least come in (a couple months) but would like it to last until Torque can walk (a year)

Optimus hogging the sparkling is very in character of him so no one questions it

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Hi!! Your Cherik is so good and gorgeous 🤩🤩 If you don't mind wanna try to draw some Fall of X Cherik please?

thank you so much !!

i have a couple of ideas relating to the fall of x period specifically since theres. A Lot i wanna play with, so i hope this lil thing may be a satisfactory start :]]

and the obligatory bonus:

[gwentbleidd]

still my favorite thing about all this is that joey batey really woke up one day, said 'hell yeah queer jaskier' and made thousands of people SO mad

[z-1-wolfe]

And who will you be in your death?

[thewanderingmask]

so yea

1-2 months of on and off effort later IT'S MY FIRST EVER HERMITCRAFT (by which i mean exclusively tango tek) ANIMATIC

IN WHICH A MAN TALKS ABOUT BINARY FOR ALMOST 3 MINUTES (it's based actually. and was really fun to animate)

[slattlicker]

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * F O R G I V E   M E   N O T ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ a jschlatt x reader exes-to-lovers fic · chapter O N E ↳ 3.2k words · angst-heavy · college/uni au ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female!reader in mind ✦ (but all are welcome to suffer—i mean enjoy ♡)

you didn’t go to the party with him. you didn’t even think he’d be there. but it’s been months since you last saw each other— and somehow, you still ended up leaving together.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓   𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╮ ✧ alcohol mention / party setting ✧ yelling / heated argument ✧ references to emotional neglect ✧ complicated breakup energy generally ✧ mutual pining with unresolved tension ╰˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╯

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

the music’s loud. not club-loud—just rich-kid-who-doesn’t-care-about-his-neighbors loud. bass thumping through a house that definitely wasn’t designed for it. led strips blink between cotton candy pink and that harsh, electric blue that makes everyone look like they’re in a fish tank.

it smells like weed, cheap body spray, and someone’s vape juice trying way too hard to be mango.

schlatt adjusts his collar. black button-down, sleeves pushed up, untucked. he hadn’t planned on staying. just a pit stop—show face, nod at some guys he kinda knows, maybe steal a drink and dip before the vibe gets weird.

but then he sees her.

he doesn’t know who invited her. she’s not the type to show up at parties like this.

and especially not looking like that.

she’s wearing a dress he’s never seen before—black, silky, short enough to turn heads. it ties at one shoulder with a little bow that looks like it’d come undone with one tug. the fabric clings when she moves, the hem staying just low enough with each shift of her hips. she’s holding some pink drink in a solo cup, laughing at something, head tilted back just enough to show off her neck...and the simple jewelry adorning it.

and she’s not alone.

there’s a guy standing too close. shorter than schlatt, stockier build, blazer like he just came from dinner with his parents. the kind of guy who tucks his shirt in even when he’s off the clock. probably says “let’s do brunch sometime” and genuinely means it.

he’s talking to her like they’re familiar. too familiar. hand brushing her back like it’s casual.

schlatt sets his drink down without tasting it.

she still hasn’t looked his way. probably doesn’t even know he’s here. and that’s fine. totally fine. he didn’t come here for her.

but then she laughs again—soft, flirty—and drags her nails down the guy’s sleeve like it’s muscle memory.

and then, schlatt’s already crossing the room.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you hadn’t planned to stay long.

it was supposed to be a quick stop—say hi, nod along, maybe pocket a cookie on the way out. but the music’s actually decent, and for once, you look good enough to want to be seen.

the dress had been a risk. cheap silk, shoulder tie, hemline that made your friend raise her brows. you joked that you wanted to feel expensive tonight. maybe even make someone regret something.

not that you were thinking about him. not really.

you take a sip of your drink—too sweet, probably mostly fruit juice and vodka. the cup’s sweating in your hand. you laugh at something the guy in front of you says. ethan? evan? something with an e. he smells like overpriced detergent and keeps calling you gorgeous. it’s harmless. easy. a little ego boost.

and then—

something shifts. that invisible, skin-prickling feeling, like a storm’s about to hit.

you glance up without thinking, scanning the room.

and there he is.

schlatt.

black shirt. sleeves rolled. tall. broad. forearms flexed like he’s either about to punch a wall or shove them in his pockets. his eyes are locked on you—flat, unreadable, but intense enough that you forget how to breathe for a second.

he looks… tense. wound up. like someone stretched him too tight and now he’s holding it all in with nothing but teeth and spite.

you pretend you don’t notice. you force a smile, finish whatever joke evan-or-ethan was trying to tell. you keep your tone light. chill.

but you can feel him watching you.

and the next time you blink, he’s already in front of you.

“hey.”

 low. direct. just for you.

evan blinks. “uh—hey, man. i don’t think we’ve met—”

schlatt doesn’t even look at him.

“you good, sweetheart?” he asks, like you’d called his name and he just now found you in the crowd.

your mouth opens. closes. god. his voice still does that to you—warm and sharp all at once, like a wire under your skin.

“i’m—yeah. just talking,” you manage.

evan shifts, finally catching on that something’s off. “we were actually just talking about—”

“cool,” schlatt says, eyes never leaving yours. “you ready to go?”

you blink. “what?”

he’s already reaching for your drink. gently. confidently. takes it from your hand and sets it down on the nearest table without asking.

then he leans in, voice lower now. “let’s get out of here, doll.”

and… you go.

of course you do.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

he doesn’t look back to see if she’s following.

doesn’t ask why she is. doesn’t ask if she’s mad, or confused, or about to slap him for pulling that stunt back there. he doesn’t want to know. doesn’t want to risk hearing her say no.

she followed. that’s enough.

the hallway’s quieter. cooler. blue light spills from a strip along the baseboards, pulsing faintly with the music still booming behind them.

he finds the guest bathroom. pushes the door open. looks at her.

she pauses in the doorway—not scared. just sizing him up. like she’s trying to figure out if this is worth her time.

it makes his chest tighten.

she walks in anyway.

click. door shut.

she leans back against the counter. arms crossed, chin tilted, gaze unreadable. not defensive. not soft. just… waiting.

that look alone makes his jaw clench.

“seriously?” he mutters, low and sharp. “that’s what we’re doing now?”

she tilts her head like she’s bored. “doing what, j?”

he doesn’t answer. can’t—not when she says his name like that. not when she’s leaning there in that dress, acting like nothing happened. like he didn’t just watch some brunch-boy put his hand on her back like he had the right.

like he hasn’t been losing sleep thinking about her since the night she walked out and told him to grow the hell up.

she glances down at her shoes. exhales. “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“would it have changed anything?”

that lands. just barely—but he sees it.

“you’re the one who left,” she says. not loud. not cruel. just true. “you don’t get to show up and act jealous now.”

“i’m not jealous.”

she raises an eyebrow.

“i’m not,” he snaps again. “i’m… pissed.”

“at me?”

“at… everything.”

he drags a hand down his face. his jaw’s tight, his neck’s hot, and he’s starting to wish he’d just gone home instead of walking into this party like a dumbass with something to prove.

“he doesn’t know you,” he says, quieter now. “doesn’t even see you. not really.”

she doesn’t bite right away. just meets his eyes and asks, steady: “and you do?”

he looks at her. really looks. “i used to.”

that gets her.

her arms are still crossed, but her mouth opens like there’s something she wants to say. something she’s held in for a while. but it doesn’t come out—not yet.

the silence hangs, thick.

he steps closer. not enough to touch. just enough to feel the shift between them. he can smell her perfume again—familiar in a way that makes his chest hurt.

he doesn’t reach for her. he could. but he doesn’t.

instead, he looks at the tile. breathes out.

“…why’d you even come tonight?” he asks, voice low.

she hesitates. then shrugs. “wanted to feel wanted.”

that fucking stings.

“that guy didn’t want you,” he mutters. “he wanted the dress. the smile. the idea.”

she tilts her head. calm. “and what do i look like to you?”

he lifts his eyes.

and this time, he does touch her—just barely. fingers brushing her jaw like he’s not sure he’s allowed to, but can’t stop himself.

“like someone i shouldn’t have let go.”

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you blink.

once.

twice.

then you let out a laugh—sharp and mean. the kind that’s been sitting in your throat for months.

“oh, that’s rich,” you snap, stepping back so his hand falls away. “really fucking rich, schlatt.”

he looks confused. or like he wants to be.

“what—”

“you didn’t let me go,” you cut in, voice rising. “you disappeared. one day we’re making dinner, the next you’re just… gone. no calls. no texts. no ‘hey, i need space.’ nothing.”

he opens his mouth, but you barrel over it.

“you didn’t even say goodbye. do you know what it’s like to wake up and realize the person you thought was your forever just dipped without a word?”

his jaw tightens. “i wasn’t—”

“i’m still talking,” you snap. loud. shaking. your hands curl into fists like they’re trying to hold your ribs in place.

“i begged you to talk to me. to say something. anything. but you shut me out and left me with a mess you didn’t even try to explain.”

he scrubs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking toward the floor. “i didn’t know how to explain—”

“bullshit,” you cut in. “you didn’t want to explain. you just wanted to feel sorry for yourself in peace.”

that one hits. you watch it land. his whole face shifts like he’s been slapped.

but you’re not done.

“and now you show up—months later—acting like you get to be mad? like i’m still yours or something?”

he blinks. quiet. “you’re not?”

you laugh again, dry and bitter. wipe under your eyes with the side of your palm.

“i don’t know, schlatt. am i? because i sure as hell wasn’t the one who walked out.”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t even move.

and maybe that’s what sets you off again—how he just stands there like he gets to be the one hurting.

“you didn’t just leave. you disappeared. no explanation, no warning. like i was something easy to toss.”

he starts to protest—“that’s not—”

“don’t,” you snap. your voice cracks a little, but you keep going. “you didn’t even try. you just decided i wouldn’t get it. that i’d be something weighing you down.”

his jaw tightens. still nothing to say.

“you really think i wouldn’t have stayed? wouldn’t have sat through the ugly stuff with you?”

silence.

you swallow hard, blinking up at him.

“what about me was so hard to love that you ran from it?”

“i was scared,” he mutters, eyes on the floor.

you say nothing. let him sit in it.

he swallows. jaw clenched. “scared of how much i wanted it. you. us. all of it.”

his voice gets quieter. rough around the edges.

“it felt too good, alright? like... there’s no way something that good doesn’t crash eventually. and if it didn’t—then shit, that meant i was the one who’d probably fuck it up.”

he finally looks up at you. “so yeah. i bailed. because being the asshole who left felt safer than being the asshole who stayed and ruined it.”

you don’t say anything at first. just watch him. arms crossed. you wait him out.

then: “and now?”

your voice is quieter. but you’re not making this easy. he doesn’t get easy.

he swallows. shifts on his feet.

“now i know i wanna stay.”

you raise your eyebrows a little—but say nothing.

“i don’t mean, like, crash on your couch,” he adds, quick. “i mean—actually stay. try. show up. even if i don’t have all the answers. even if i’m still figuring out how not to screw it all up.”

he runs a hand through his hair, breath shaky.

“i kept telling myself i’d come back when i was better. when i had my shit sorted. but it never happened. and the longer i waited, the more i thought—what if i come back and i’m still not enough? what if you see me for real and realize it was a mistake?”

he finally meets your eyes.

“so yeah. i bailed. not because i didn’t care. because i cared too much, and i thought i’d ruin it. and if i waited long enough… maybe you’d stop waiting on me. maybe i could pretend you were fine.”

there’s a beat.

“but you weren’t. were you?”

you stare at him, unflinching.

“no shit, schlatt.”

he nods, jaw tight. he deserves that.

“i’m not asking to get back together. i know i haven’t earned that. i just… i didn’t want me disappearing the way i did, to be the way you see me for the last time.”

his voice doesn’t shake. it’s low. steady.

“i’m not saying we have to go back to anything. but if there’s a part of you that wants to see what i’m like now—without all the bullshit—i’ll be around.”

you let out a slow breath.

you should say no...or better, fuck off. you really should.

because you remember exactly how bad it hurt when he left—when you had no idea what you’d done wrong, when you kept rereading old messages trying to pinpoint the moment he started pulling away. you remember having to act normal when people asked about him. you remember pretending you were fine long before you were.

but you also remember the version of him that looked at you like you mattered. who sat on your floor eating cereal straight from the box while you edited essays. who talked to you like you were the only one in the room, even when you weren’t.

and now he’s standing here—awkward, guarded, trying. not perfect. not even close. but trying.

that’s what gets you.

not the apology. not the speech.

the trying.

so you say, “alright.”

your arms stay crossed. you’re not smiling. but your voice loses its edge.

“that’s fair.”

you look at him straight on.

“we’re not... fixed. still exes. still figuring shit out. but if you’re serious about showing up—cool.”

a beat.

“i’ll believe it when i see it.”

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

she said “that’s fair.”

she said “i’ll believe it when i see it.”

and somehow, that was the best-case scenario.

schlatt walks next to her in silence, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, trying not to overthink the fact that she didn’t walk away. she could’ve told him to fuck off. could’ve left him standing in that hallway. but she didn’t.

she’s not smiling. her arms are still crossed. but her voice had softened, just a little. that counts for something. right?

he doesn’t know.

the night air’s cold. he barely feels it. everything in his head is still spinning—things he should’ve said, or shouldn’t have said, or said too late.

was he too honest? not honest enough? did he actually sound like someone who’s changed, or just a guy trying not to lose something he already threw away?

he doesn’t know that either.

a couple drunk kids on bikes swerve past them on the sidewalk. she moves in closer without thinking. he shifts, automatically, keeping pace. it’s stupid—he’s not doing anything, just existing beside her—but the instinct to protect is still there, low and stubborn in his chest.

she doesn’t say anything about it. he’s grateful for that.

there’s music coming from a lit window up ahead. piano. off-key. he recognizes the chords from some half-forgotten pop song, but the sound still makes something in his chest twist.

he sneaks a glance at her. she’s staring straight ahead, expression unreadable. not cold. just somewhere far off in her head.

he wants to ask if she’s okay. he doesn’t.

instead, he says the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

“you still write in the mornings?”

she nods. doesn’t look at him.

“you still got that dumb little duck lamp?”

there’s the smallest pause. then: “yeah.”

he nods too. like that’s enough. like that confirms something he didn’t realize he needed to hear.

he doesn’t picture her often—not on purpose. but now he can’t help it: her legs curled up in bed, that lamp casting yellow on her face, her hand moving fast across the page.

it hits him how much he missed that. not the romance. just... her. the version of himself that existed when he was around her.

✦ Y/N’S POV ✦

you reach the front steps of your building and stop.

he stops too, hands still in his pockets, looking at the ground like it might tell him what to say next.

you don't offer anything.

you're not sure how you're supposed to say goodbye to someone who just cracked himself open in front of you. you’re not even sure if it was real. maybe it was. maybe he’s just good at saying what people need to hear.

but... it didn’t feel fake.

you’re still sorting through it. still holding pieces in your hands, not sure which ones are worth keeping.

he clears his throat, like he might say something else.

you beat him to it.

“i’m heading in.”

it’s not mean. just final.

his shoulders shift. he nods.

you don’t say goodnight. you don’t wait for him to walk away.

you just swipe your keycard, open the door, and let it close behind you.

the hallway light flickers, like always. you don’t turn it on when you step inside. just lock the door behind you and kick off your shoes in the dark.

your room is quiet. still. like it was holding its breath waiting for you.

you cross to the bed, flick on the duck lamp.

the glow is soft. familiar. it used to make you feel safe.

now it just makes you feel... full. in a way that’s hard to name.

you drop onto the edge of the mattress like your legs gave out.

you take off your earrings. set them on the desk.

undo the zipper on your dress. push it off your shoulders.

go through all the motions like muscle memory.

and then—out of nowhere—your throat catches.

no warning. no build-up. just wet eyes and a chest that won’t let you breathe quite right.

you wipe your face with the back of your hand like that’ll fix it. it doesn’t.

so you let it happen.

you sit there in your stupid little duck lamp glow, wearing an oversized t-shirt and smudged eyeliner, and cry.

not loud. not dramatic. just… release.

because tonight wasn’t supposed to be about him. it hasn't been about him for months.

but, your heart is still getting caught up on him.

✦ SCHLATT’S POV ✦

he doesn’t linger outside her dorm. the door shuts, and that’s it.

so he walks.

the cold cuts through him, but he barely feels it. his brain’s too loud.

she didn’t slam the door in his face. didn’t curse him out. didn’t forgive him either. but she said it was fair. said cool. said she’d believe it when she saw it.

that’s not nothing.

that’s a chance.

he runs it back in his head—how she looked at him, the sound of her voice, the little ways she let her guard drop without meaning to. that edge. that fire.

god, he missed that.

he rounds the corner toward his building, and something else flickers up behind his eyes—quick, out of nowhere:

her leaning out his passenger window, flipping someone off for cutting them off in traffic. her hogging the covers. her dragging him to the farmer’s market at 9am because “schlatt, you said you wanted to eat better, now get up.”

he exhales. sharp. almost a laugh.

it’s like the memories are bubbling back up now that he’s let himself look.

and they don’t make him want to crawl into bed and cry, strangely.

they make him want to get her back.

not with a big speech. not with flowers or bullshit.

with time. with proof. with action.

she said she’d believe it when she saw it.

alright.

let’s give her something to see.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * E N D   O F   C H A P T E R   O N E ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ chapter two will include comfort & softness, hopefully... ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊