applesauce 😋🍂

you met chris forever ago, or at least it feels that way to you. you’re eight, maybe nine, and he’s got a missing tooth and grass stains on his knees. it’s late summer, the air thick with the hum of cicadas and the smell of cut grass, and you’re both running through sprinklers in your backyard, screaming with laughter.

he slips, falls, and pulls you down with him. mud splatters your cheek, and you squeal, pushing him away, but he’s already smiling, the one that would stay with him all through the years. he reaches over, wipes the dirt off your face with the hem of his t-shirt.

he’s got you through everything. through scraped knees and middle school heartbreaks, through the years when life feels too big and too loud. it’s always chris.

by the time high school rolls around, you’ve become one of those pairs that people whisper about in hallways. chris joins the football team, you join the cheer team. you’re known as the golden duo. the quarterback and the cheerleader. best friends turned something you can’t even name.

you still remember the first game of the season, the way the crowd roared when his name was called by the announcer, the way your voice went hoarse cheering for him. he looked at you from the field, sweaty and shining under the floodlights, and it felt like the whole world stopped for a second. like his eyes found yours, and everything else just…blurred.

you’re inseparable. mornings spent walking to class together, his backpack slung over one shoulder and yours bumping against his. afternoons on the bleachers after practice, his head in your lap while you trace patterns on his arm. nights where he climbs through your window just to talk, both of you whispering in the dark about the future, about college, about dreams too big for your small town.

however, it happens after one of the biggest games of the season. the bleachers are shaking, the crowd screaming, the air electric. chris scores the winning touchdown in the last few seconds, the sound of the whistle nearly drowned out by the chaos.

you’re cheering, heart pounding, pom-poms forgotten. he’s swarmed by his teammates, helmets clashing, arms thrown around him, but then his eyes find you through the crowd. just like always. and before you can even think, he’s running. straight toward you.

you barely have time to breathe before he’s there, arms around you, lifting you off the ground. the noise of the stadium fades, the floodlights blur into gold. he’s laughing against your hair, breathless and alive, and you’re smiling so hard it hurts.

and then he kisses you.

it’s clumsy and perfect, all teeth, tongue, and adrenaline, but you feel it down to your bones. you feel the years of friendship, of late-night talks and quiet promises, all wrapped up in one moment under the bright, endless lights.

the crowd erupts around you, but for you it’s just him. his hands in your hair, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you smiling like you’ve finally figured it out, like this was always how it was supposed to be, meant to be.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waitin’ to do that,” chris laughs, his hair falling over his eyes, effortlessly, his helmet in his hands. you don’t know it yet, but this is the beginning of everything. when loving chris still felt easy.

later on, by the time senior year starts, you and chris are the couple everyone knows. your names get said together like one word, like you’re not two people anymore, just this perfect thing everyone else wants. you hold hands in the hallway, he carries your bag between classes, you wear his jersey on game days. it’s everything you used to dream about when you were little, tracing hearts into your notebooks and pretending not to stare at him during lunch.

but somewhere between practices and pep rallies, something changes.

you start noticing how heavy it is, the pressure on his shoulders. coaches pulling him aside after practice, everyone talking about college offers and scholarships and the nfl like he’s already halfway there. you try to be the calm in all of it. you put on your bow before games and paint little red hearts on your cheeks, cheering until your throat burns, waiting by the locker room doors just to kiss him when he walks out.

he always smiles when he sees you. but sometimes, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. the stress makes him short-tempered. the late-night calls from recruiters, the essays he’s too tired to write, the constant pressure to be perfect, it all starts spilling over. you try to help, try to tell him to breathe, to slow down, to be a good girlfriend and comfort him, even when you’re struggling yourself. but he hates feeling weak. he hates being told what to do.

so, the small arguments begin. “you don’t get it,” he says one night, running his hands through his hair, voice rough. “you think this is just about football? it’s everything. it’s my whole future.” you don’t say it out loud, but it stings. because for so long, you were his everything.

the night of the big rivalry game feels like the peak of it all. the stadium is packed, the energy different, heavier. you stand with the cheer team, pom-poms tight in your grip, watching as chris takes the field, every movement sharp, tense, desperate.

he’s not playing like himself. he’s playing like someone with something to prove. the game is brutal. bodies colliding, whistles blowing, the score tied in the final minute. chris goes for the risky play, one the coach told him not to take, and it backfires.

the other team scores. the whistle blows. the crowd goes silent. you can see it in his face, that mix of disbelief and fury, and before you can stop yourself, you’re walking toward him as the team trudges off the field.

“chris, what was that? why would you—”

“not now,” he snaps, brushing past you. his tone is sharp enough to cut. but you follow him. “you could’ve just listened for once! you didn’t have to be a hero, you could have hurt yourself!” he turns, eyes burning, voice breaking under the weight of everything he’s been holding in.

“you think you know everything, don’t you? you think just because you smile for the crowd, you’ve got this all figured out? newsflash, you don’t know what it’s like to have everyone expecting you not to fail.” you go quiet. the crowd’s still there, eyes on you both. and something about the way he says it, the way he looks at you makes your chest ache.

“maybe i don’t,” you whisper, “but i’ve always been on your side, chris. you know that.” he just shakes his head, jaw tight, and walks away.

and that’s it. the final whistle. the last real thing between you. after that, the silence grows louder than any fight ever could. he stops showing up to walk you to class, you stop going to his games, only cheering at away ones. your friends stop asking what happened, because everyone already knows.

but you still see him sometimes. in the hallways. at lunch. and a few months later? laughing with someone else, a girl who wears his jersey now.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you tell yourself you’re happy for him. but every time you see her fingers tangled with his, every time he laughs the way he used to laugh with you, it feels like another piece of the past slipping through your fingers.

and you start realizing that maybe the worst kind of heartbreak isn’t the kind that ends in screaming and crying. it’s the kind that fades quietly, until one day you wake up and realize you’ve lost the person who knew you best.

you tell everyone you’re fine, though. you learn to smile when people mention his name, to cheer at games you don’t really care about, to pretend the air doesn’t go thin every time you catch sight of him walking hand-in-hand with someone else.

it’s easier that way. easier to pretend that you’ve moved on, that what you and chris had was just one of those high school things. bright, fast, and meant to burn out. but you never really stop thinking about him.

senior year blurs by in flashes of noise and motion, prom photos, last exams, graduation caps flying into the air. you see him across the field that day, surrounded by his friends, his new girlfriend clinging to his arm. he doesn’t look your way, and you don’t either.

but you feel him. you always do. summer starts and the town slows down. everyone’s packing for college, saying their goodbyes, making promises they’ll probably break. you’ve learned that chris is planning to go pro in football, and you’ve both committed to different colleges. your room becomes a mess of boxes and memories, clothes you won’t wear again, posters you’ve outgrown, pieces of your childhood that suddenly feel too heavy to throw away.

you’re sitting on your floor one night, sorting through an old drawer, when you find it. a stack of polaroids. you thumb through them slowly, one where you’re both twelve, covered in mud, grinning wide. one from your first football game as a cheerleader, his arm slung around your shoulders, one where he’s kissing your cheek after the win that changed everything.

you stare at that one the longest. the way his hand rests against you, the way your eyes are closed, smiling like you already knew it’d be forever. and then, at the bottom of the drawer, you find his hoodie.

the faded red one he used to throw on after practice. you’d steal it constantly, and he’d always tease you about it, pretending to be mad until he’d finally just smile and let you keep it. you bring it to your face. it still smells like him, that faint mix of grass, cologne, and something warm you can’t name. and for a second, it’s like you’re back there again, under the bleachers, the lights flickering above you, his voice low against your skin.

something in your chest cracks open. you grab your keys without thinking. you don’t even slip on shoes. you just run. the summer air is hot and heavy as you sprint down the street, the pavement rough beneath your feet. your lungs burn, your heartbeat loud in your ears. you don’t know what you’ll say when you see him, you just know you can’t let it end like this. not without trying.

you reach his house, chest heaving, heart pounding. his driveway’s half-empty, only his mom’s car still there. his bags and car are gone.

so is he.

you stand there on the sidewalk, breath catching, staring at the spot where his car used to be. you imagine him already halfway out of town, windows down, music playing, the world waiting for him. and you realize you’re too late. there’s no goodbye, no one last look, no words to tie up the ending. just silence.

the hoodie is still clutched in your hands, the polaroids tucked into your pocket, and you feel the weight of every memory press into your chest. you turn back toward home, the sun starting to rise behind you, the sky soft and golden. you walk slow.

you don’t cry, not right away, not until you’re halfway home and it hits you that he’s really gone, that everything you were has been packed away with him, thrown into the backseat of some car headed for a new life that doesn’t have you in it. you whisper his name once, just to hear it out loud again. it feels strange on your tongue. and when you get back to your room, you fold the hoodie neatly and put it in your suitcase. you tell yourself it’s just a hoodie. but it’s not.

it’s everything.

©𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

💌: helloooo….i’m back to writing angst…