BLUE

you were the girl teachers trusted with classroom keys, the one who stayed behind to help stack chairs after football games, the one who remembered birthdays without needing reminders. you smiled at everyone, remembered names, laughed easily.

girls borrowed your clothes. guys found excuses to walk you to class. even the kook moms adored you.

"such a sweetheart," they'd coo whenever they spotted you carrying groceries for your grandmother or volunteering at the charity galas your parents dragged you to.

you had friends everywhere. at lunch there was never an empty seat around you. your phone buzzed every five minutes with someone asking if you wanted to hang out, go to the beach, come over after school.

you belonged and maybe that was why rafe cameron hated you or maybe "hate" wasn't the right word because hate implied distance. hate implied indifference. rafe noticed everything.

he noticed the way people smiled brighter when you walked into a room. he noticed how every conversation somehow drifted back to you. he noticed that when he walked through the country club, heads turned out of obligation.

when you walked through they turned because they wanted to. he'd watch from across the room, drink in hand, jaw clenched beneath a fake smile as another group gathered around you.

you never asked for attention. he told himself you were fake. that nobody was that nice. that eventually everyone would see through you. they didn't. they only seemed to love you more.

"you starin' again?" topper asked one afternoon.

rafe scoffed, taking another sip from his beer. "don't flatter yourself."

topper followed his gaze anyway.

there you were, sitting cross-legged on the dock with sarah, laughing so hard your head tipped back. kelce had wandered over at some point, trying to tell some awful joke, and within minutes half the marina had somehow joined the conversation.

like moths to a flame.

"people like her," topper shrugged.

"don't know why." rafe's grip tightened around the bottle. "they'll get bored."

they didn't. if anything, they only seemed to like you more with every passing week. and rafe... he only grew more obsessed. if there was one thing rafe cameron couldn't stand — it was not being the center of someone's world.

it starts so small that nobody notices. least of all you. rafe starts inserting himself into your life under the guise of coincidence.

he's suddenly at every bonfire. every party. every charity event your parents insist you attend. he doesn't talk to you much, doesn't need to. he just watches. listens. learns.

he learns who your closest friends are. who you're closest with in class. which teachers adore you. which boys keep finding reasons to ask for your number. he files every little detail away, waiting.

"you know she's too good for this island," kelce laughs one afternoon, watching you help a little kid retrieve a frisbee from the water.

rafe doesn't laugh. "yeah?"

"yeah."

his eyes never leave you. "she won't be."

the first rumour is harmless. or... harmless enough. someone mentions you'd been talking badly about another kook girl behind her back. you stare at her in complete confusion. "i never said that."

she shrugs. "that's just what i heard."

you brush it off. people gossip, it happens. by the next week, everyone's laughing together again.

or so you think.

then someone tells topper you'd called him arrogant. someone tells sarah you'd said she only got attention because of her last name. someone tells one of your friends that you'd been making fun of her behind closed doors.

every single time you deny it. every single time, they believe you. mostly. "people just like stirring shit," sarah says with a roll of her eyes.

you nod. exactly. that's all it is.

except it doesn't stop. it keeps happening. different people, different stories. always believable enough to make someone pause. always just cruel enough to sting. you begin noticing conversations stopping when you walk up. smiles that don't quite reach people's eyes anymore. group chats going quiet. plans somehow happening without you. you tell yourself you're imagining it. you have to be. just last month everyone loved you.

rafe notices before anyone else. he notices the way your smile falters for half a second when your friends leave without inviting you. he notices you checking your phone more often, waiting. he notices you sitting alone outside during lunch one afternoon, the seat beside you empty.

he walks over without asking. "mind if i sit?"

you blink up at him. surprised. "...sure."

he drops into the seat beside you. "rough week?" he asks.

you let out a small laugh. "am i that obvious?"

"to me."

your shoulders sag. "i don't know what's going on."

he hums thoughtfully, like he's considering it. "people can be cruel."

it's almost funny. he's the first person who's shown you kindness all week. you smile at him, small & grateful. "thanks."

rafe smiles back for the first time in days. the plan is working. and soon he'll be the only person you have left.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

soft!simon ghost riley who blinks as the next day, you accidentally slam into his broad chest, mistaking it as a wall. automatically, his hand comes to steady you as you blink up at him. after a whole twenty seconds of staring at each other, he quickly drops his hand and tries to step away, "watch where ya goin'."

you don't seem to acknowledge the comment, "you're simon, right?"

"it's ghost to yer, rookie." he responds and walks off.

soft!simon ghost riley who, despite that comment, seems to get used to you more. whether it's you trying to talk to him at lunch or saying his name sometimes, he seems to naturally gravitate to you more. by surprise, a few weeks later, he even makes several comments, all painfully awkward but still sweet.

soft!simon ghost riley who finds himself searching for you like it's instinct. already keeping your seat empty during lunch, even to a price's raised eyebrows, looking for your figure amongst any others.

soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't even realize he's doing it until one afternoon soap slides into the empty chair beside him with a grin.

"thought you were savin' that seat."

simon barely glances at him. "wasn't."

"then why'd you keep lookin' at the door every five seconds?"

he doesn't answer. he doesn't have one.

soft!simon ghost riley who notices you're having a rough day before anyone else does. you don't complain, don't make a fuss, but he sees the tired look behind your smile and the way you keep rubbing at your temples.

the next morning there's a hot cup of coffee waiting on the table where you usually sit. you ask around. soap shrugs. gaz swears it wasn't him. price just gives simon a knowing look that simon pretends not to notice.

soft!simon ghost riley who catches himself slowing his pace so you don't have to rush beside him. he'd spent years walking ahead of everyone, expecting them to keep up.

soft!simon ghost riley who starts talking to you more without meaning to.

"don't forget your gloves." "weather's gonna turn." "eat somethin'."

they're short, gruff little reminders that shouldn't mean anything.

soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't like being touched. years of training, years of surviving, years of convincing himself that distance was safer. so when your fingers accidentally brush against his while you're both reaching for the same folder, his whole body stills.

you pull your hand back immediately. "sorry." he only hums, but he doesn't move his hand away either.

─── © #BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

toji waits until you're halfway down the street before opening the bag. inside is still-warm katsu curry, a bottle of water & a chocolate bar with a little sticky note folded in half.

please don't skip dinner.

that's it. no number. no name. nothing. he stares at the note for a long time. "weird." then quietly eats every bite.

he expects never to see you again. instead, three days later... you're back. same convenience store. same shy smile. same ridiculous amount of groceries in your arms. you stop when you notice him sitting on the curb. "oh." your face brightens. "hi."

toji blinks. "hi"

you hesitate. "did you like the curry?"

he almost lies. almost says it was terrible just to see your reaction. instead: "yeah"

your smile grows impossibly bigger. "good."

"that's it?"

you tilt your head. "what else would i say?"

"most people would've asked for somethin'."

"like what?"

"money."

you laugh. "i already spent my money on the curry."

he stares. you genuinely seem confused by the conversation, like kindness costing something has never occurred to you.

it becomes... a thing. every few days, you'll "accidentally" buy too much. an extra sandwich. an extra coffee. an extra pastry. and every single time, you insist you couldn't possibly finish it alone.

toji stops arguing after the fourth visit. mostly because he's starting to realize arguing makes you sad. he weirdly doesn't like that.

eventually, he learns your routine. every tuesday and thursday after work, always stopping at the same store, always carrying too many reusable shopping bags because you refuse to use plastic ones. always smiling at the old cashier & always waving goodbye. it's sickeningly wholesome.

he hates how much he starts looking forward to it. "you got a name?"

you blink, "yeah."

"you gonna tell me?"

you giggle which completely throws him off. "only if you tell me yours first."

"toji."

you repeat it quietly, like you're testing how it sounds. "toji."

he pretends it doesn't make his heart do something weird. then you tell him your name & he repeats it once. you're not sure if it's the street lamp lihgting, you'd think he was smiling.

the first time it rains while you're talking, you immediately panic. "your bag!"

toji looks over. "what about it?"

"it's getting wet!"

before he can stop you, you're dragging the heavy duffel beneath the shelter with both hands, huffing from the effort because it's apparently filled with bricks.

"there." you beam. "better."

"thanks."

"of course."

weeks turn into months. toji eventually admits he's sleeping in his truck. "that's... slightly better than the bench? do you have blankets?"

"yeah."

"are you lying?"

"maybe."

the next afternoon you show up with two thick blankets. "my closet was getting crowded."

he raises an eyebrow. "really."

"okay, i bought them."

"thought so."

you never pity him. that's what he notices. you don't look at him like he's broken or dangerous, or someone to avoid, you ask him about his day, tell him about the stray cat that's started following you home. complain about your boss. laugh over dumb internet videos.

you talk to him like he's just a person, not dirt under your shoe. it's infuriating. he'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

one evening you find him outside the store again, except this time he's standing. clean clothes, fresh haircut, a little less tired around the eyes.

you notice immediately. "you look different."

he scratches the back of his neck. got a job."

your face lights up so brightly he actually has to look away. "toji!"

before he can react, you've thrown your arms around him. the hug lasts maybe two seconds which then ends when you suddenly realize what you've done. your eyes widen. "oh my gosh—i'm sorry!" you immediately let go, mortified. "i should've asked first—"

"you happy for me?"

you blink. "of course."

he nods once. then quietly says, "do it again."

"...what?"

"the hug."

your cheeks turn pink. "are you sure?"

instead of answering, he opens one arm awkwardly like he hasn't hugged someone in years. maybe he hasn't. you smile, step forward and this time, when you wrap your arms around him, he hugs you back carefully. he closes his eyes for just a second, breathing in the faint scent of laundry detergent and vanilla.

home.

he doesn't know why that's the first word that comes to mind. he just knows that for the first time in a very long time... he isn't thinking about where he's going to sleep. he's thinking about whether you'll be waiting outside the convenience store on thursday.

after that, things change so quietly that neither of you notices at first.

he's still waiting outside the convenience store on tuesdays and thursdays, except now he isn't there because he's hungry.

he's there because you're coming.

you still bring him coffee some mornings, even though he now has enough money to buy his own. you still insist on splitting pastries in half because "they taste better when someone else steals a bite."

toji rolls his eyes every single time.

then steals the bigger half.

he learns the little things about you before he learns the big ones. that you always tear the sleeves off your coffee cups because you fidget when you're nervous. that you hum absentmindedly while reading ingredient labels. that you can't walk past flowers without stopping to smell them, no matter how rushed you are.

you're soft in ways he doesn't think the world deserves. toji has spent most of his life believing kindness always comes with conditions. people are nice because they want something, they expect something. eventually they'll remind you of everything they did for you. but you never do. you never bring up the meals. it's almost unsettling.

one afternoon he finally asks. "why?"

you look up from where you're trying to untangle the strap of your tote bag. "why what?"

"why'd you help me?"

your brows knit together like the answer is obvious. "you looked like you needed it."

"that's it?"

"yeah."

"you didn't even know me."

you smile softly. "i know."

his first paycheck isn't much. after rent on a tiny apartment and replacing clothes that have seen better days, there isn't much left over. still.

the following thursday, he gets to the convenience store before you. he waits outside, hands shoved into his pockets. when you finally appear, smiling the moment you spot him, he awkwardly holds something out.

it's a paper bag. you blink. "what's this?"

"bought too much."

you look at him. "toji."

he shrugs. "couldn't finish it."

you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth. "you're terrible."

"learned from you."

inside is your favorite sandwich. the strawberry milk you always buy and a chocolate bar. tucked inside is a tiny sticky note with handwriting so bad it takes you several minutes to decipher it.

please don't skip lunch.

your eyes immediately sting. "you kept the note."

"yeah."

"why?"

he looks at you like you've asked the dumbest question imaginable. "'cause you wrote it."

you don't realize you're crying until he sighs. "aw, don't do that."

you sniffle. "i'm not."

"you're literally cryin'."

"happy crying."

"still counts."

you laugh through your tears and, without thinking, throw your arms around him again.

this time he doesn't hesitate.

his arms wrap around your waist almost instantly, pulling you close with a quiet little huff, like this has become the most natural thing in the world.

months later, you're helping him unpack the last box in his apartment. it's tiny. the couch barely fits. the kitchen only has enough room for one person at a time. the bedroom window sticks whenever you try to open it. you think it's perfect. "you've got a home."

toji looks around the room. "yeah."

but he isn't looking at the apartment anymore. he's looking at the girl kneeling on his living room floor, carefully placing cheap mugs into the cupboard like they're priceless antiques.

the girl who fed a stranger because she thought he looked hungry and who bought blankets without making him feel like charity. who never once looked at him with pity, just warmth.

he walks over before he can think too hard about it. "hey."

you glance up. "hm?"

he crouches in front of you, takes your hands. "i got somethin' to ask."

"okay."

he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking strangely nervous. "you've been buyin' me food for almost a year."

you giggle. "i have."

"think it's about time i returned the favor."

"toji."

"let me take you to dinner."

you smile. "that's your big question?"

"yeah."

"i thought you were gonna ask me to help build ikea furniture or something."

he snorts. "don't push your luck."

you laugh, squeezing his hands. "i'd love to."

the smile that spreads across his face is small, crooked. so unbelievably boyish that it barely resembles the guarded man sleeping on a park bench all those months ago. you don't think you'll ever get tired of being the reason for it.

years later, whenever someone asks how you met, toji always tells the story wrong. he'll lean back in his chair, completely serious, and say, "she wouldn't stop feeding me."

you'll gasp dramatically. "that's not true!"

"is."

"i offered you one curry!"

"then coffee. then pastries. then blankets."

everyone laughs.

you bury your face in your hands. "i was just trying to help."

toji reaches over, intertwining his fingers with yours beneath the table. his thumb brushes across your knuckles. "i know." his voice is quieter now, only meant for you. "best thing that ever happened to me."

and every single time he says it — he still sounds like he can't quite believe someone as kind as you stopped walking that first afternoon. all you thought you were doing was buying lunch for a stranger.

you never realized you were giving him a reason to believe life could be gentle again. or that one warm paper bag and a little sticky note would eventually lead him home.

rafe stood a few feet away, jaw tight, eyes glassy with frustration.

“nothing happened,” he snapped for what felt like the hundredth time.

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “right. because texting her at three in the morning while i’m asleep upstairs is totally nothing.”

“you’re twisting this.”

“am i?” your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated yourself for it. hated that he still had the power to make your chest ache just by looking at you.

rafe ran a hand through his wet hair. “i didn’t cheat on you.”

“no,” you whispered. “you just got real close.”

he looked away first. if he really thought he was innocent, wouldn’t he look you in the eye?

“you know what’s funny?” you said quietly. “i defended you to everybody.” his expression shifted slightly. “my friends told me you’d hurt me eventually. sarah told me you destroy everything you touch.” your throat tightened. “and i still chose you.”

“don’t make me sound like some monster.”

you stared at him in disbelief. “you did that yourself.”

the words landed hard. ou watched them hit him. for a second, rafe looked exactly like the boy you fell in love with instead of the hurricane everyone else saw — wounded, terrified, unraveling at the seams, but then his face hardened again. “i said i was sorry.”

“you said you were sorry after i found out.”

his mouth opened, then closed. there was nothing he could say to that. rain dripped from your eyelashes as you looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly every memory felt poisoned. every kiss. every “i love you.” every promise whispered against your sweaty skin at two in the morning. you wondered if he’d texted her after kissing you goodnight. the thought made you feel sick.

“did you love her?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

rafe’s head snapped up instantly. “what? no.”

“then why her?”

his breathing slowed, uneven. “she didn’t know me like you do.”

your lips trembled. “so you wanted someone easier.”

“i wanted something that didn’t feel so serious all the time.”

you physically flinched. “serious?” you repeated softly. “i loved you.”

“i know.”

“no, rafe, i don’t think you do.” your eyes burned as tears finally slipped down your cheeks.

he stepped toward you then, panicked. “baby —”

“don’t.”

the single word stopped him cold. you wiped at your face angrily. “i would’ve stayed through anything with you. you know that? every fight. every bad night. every awful thing you’ve ever done.” your voice broke. “and you still threw us away for something meaningless.”

rafe looked devastated now. ypiu wanted him to hurt even half as much as you did. “i never wanted to lose you,” he said quietly.

“but you were okay risking it.”

another silence. another truth he couldn’t deny. you remembered the first night he told you he loved you. he’d held your face so carefully, like you were something fragile. now you realized fragile things were exactly what rafe cameron destroyed best.

“i hate you,” you whispered.

his eyes filled instantly. “no you don’t.”

he knew that despite the betrayal, despite the humiliation clawing at your chest, some horrible part of you would still answer his call if it came at 2 a.m.

you hated that he knew that. you hated that it was true.

“please don’t leave.” rafe whispered

for one terrifying second, you almost gave in. almost let him hold you. almost forgave him just because he looked broken but then you remembered the messages. the flirting. the secrecy. the way he made you feel crazy for noticing the distance between you. suddenly the boy in front of you wasn’t your safe place anymore. he was just the person who ruined it.

“you already left me first.”

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

rafe who absolutely abuses the fact that you're shy. not in a cruel way. in a "i think watching you get flustered is the funniest thing on earth" way. he'll lean against the kitchen counter while you're making breakfast and just stare, not saying anything, just looking at you, until eventually you look over.

"...what?"

"nothin'."

"then why are you looking at me like that?"

"because you're pretty."

soft!reader who is ridiculously affectionate without even realizing it. you'll walk past him and automatically fix the collar of his shirt, brush invisible lint off his shoulder, absentmindedly tuck messy strands of hair behind his ear or straighten his necklace & smooth your thumb over his jaw.

they're all such tiny, unconscious acts of love. rafe notices every single one and every single one makes his chest feel strangely full.

rafe who starts finding excuses to be close to you because physical affection becomes his favorite language. one hand resting on your knee while he's driving, pulling your chair closer to his instead of moving himself. standing behind you while you're cooking just so he can wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. "what're you making?"

"you've asked me four times."

"forgot."

liar. he just likes hearing your voice.

soft!reader who gets overwhelmed in loud places like crowded parties, big family gatherings and especialyl too many conversations happening at once. eventually your smile starts fading, your hands fidget and you get quieter.

rafe notices before you even realize it yourself. "c'mon."

"where?"

"outside."

no questions. no attention drawn to you. he just quietly takes your hand and lets you breathe for a while.

rafe who secretly loves how excited you get over tiny things. ducks at the park, fresh flowers at the grocery store, dogs hanging their heads out car windows. even finding heart-shaped rocks on the beach.

you'll stop everything just to point them out. "look!"

and every single time... rafe looks. not at whatever you're pointing at. at you.

soft!reader who always falls asleep first during movie nights. it doesn't matter how invested you are. twenty minutes in and you're gone, curled up against his side, your breathing slow with the movie still playing quietly in the background.

rafe never wakes you. just turns the volume down, pulls a blanket over you and spends the rest of the movie absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, not paying attention to the screen at all.

rafe who cannot handle it when you cry. genuinely. anger? he knows how to deal with anger. tears? absolutely not. he panics every single time.

"hey." "hey, sweetheart." "look at me." "talk to me."

seeing you cry makes something deep inside him twist painfully. he'd rather take a punch than watch your heart break.

soft!reader who always reaches for his hand without thinking. crossing the street? hand. walking through a store? hand. standing in line? hand. watching fireworks? hand. it becomes so automatic that one day you reach beside you while distracted... and accidentally grab someone else's hand. you look up, horrified, and immediately let go. "i'm so sorry!"

the stranger laughs. rafe is bent over laughing so hard he can barely breathe. "baby..."

"don't."

rafe who absolutely melts when you're sleepy. sleepy you is somehow even softer. your words start slurring together, you get clingier. your eyes keep drifting shut while you're trying to stay awake.

"m'not tired."

"sweetheart."

"hm?"

"you're literally asleep."

"no'm not."

"...you answered three seconds late."

"did i?"

soft!reader who always believes the best in people. sometimes to a fault and rafe pretends it drives him insane. "he was probably just having a bad day."

"or he's just an idiot."

"rafe."

"what?"

"be nice."

"for you?" he sighs dramatically. "fine." only because if kindness matters to you he'll try. even if it doesn't come naturally to him.

rafe who starts becoming gentler without even noticing. his voice softens when he talks to you. he knocks before walking into rooms you're in. he catches himself lowering his volume when you're startled. he becomes more patient, more careful. loving someone as gentle as you makes him want to deserve your softness instead of overwhelming it.

soft!reader who has absolutely no idea how beautiful you are. you'll walk past mirrors without looking, shrug when people compliment you, genuinely believe they're just being polite. it drives rafe insane.

he looks at you and sees sunlight, sees kindness, sees every good thing he's convinced he doesn't deserve. somehow you still don't see what he sees. so he tells you. every single day. until one day, years later, you smile when he calls you beautiful instead of looking away and rafe quietly decides that might be his greatest accomplishment.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who pops by your house almost everyday and with different excuses. "hey, is topper here?" "forgot my keys" "needed to ask your mom somethin'", etc.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who, if you look close at every single family photo you've had together, from seven to now eighteen, he's constantly near you, by a one person distance max, and in the short occassion he's not, you can bet his eyes are on you.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who makes sure that there's food for you whenever you're around him. cookout? he's slipping half of his food onto your plate. dinner? you'll find that you have the most servings.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who's only had one girlfriend in the entire nine years you've known him. you remember when you were fourteen, sobbing your eyes out in your bed as top told you the news, only to find that they'd mysteriously broken up a week later.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who tells topper to go easy on you without you knowing. the pair will be hanging out, topper's feet up on the table while rafe scratches his arms.

"dude, she's been pissing me off so much."

"i'm sure you piss her off too."

"nah, not to the -"

"go easy on her."

older!brother's bsf!rafe who's given you flowers every valentine's, a tradition that started when you didn't get one that made you bawl your eyes out when you were much younger but just stuck. you who doesn't know that he gives them because he wants to, not because you think that topper's forcing him too.

older!brother's bsf!rafe who's always been the only option for you, he's just waiting patiently for you to see it.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

it starts with a smile. that's the cruel part. nothing about it feels fake. rafe starts sitting beside you in class, walking you to your car after school, bringing you coffee exactly the way you like it, even though you never remember telling him your order.

he listens when you talk, really listens, almost a little too earnest. he remembers little things, asks about your exams, texts you good luck before presentations, holds your hand like it belongs there.

against every instinct telling you to be careful... you fall. slowly. completely. how could you not? he makes you feel chosen. like out of everyone in the world, somehow he looked at you and decided you were enough.

the bet is supposed to end after he gets you to say yes. that's what they agreed, except it doesn't. somewhere between fake dates and real conversations, rafe forgets which parts were supposed to be pretending.

he starts looking for you in crowded hallways, starts saving seats beside him automatically, starts smiling before he even realizes you're the reason.

one night topper laughs. "dude."

rafe looks up. "what?"

"you've already won."

rafe blinks. "...yeah."

"so dump her."

something ugly twists in his stomach. "shut up."

topper grins. "don't tell me you're actually into her."

rafe doesn't answer.

if only he'd ended it then. if only he'd told you. if only he'd chosen honesty before someone else did. maybe things would've been different. instead... you overhear it. not even the whole conversation, just enough. "best hundred bucks i've ever spent."

someone laughs. "can't believe she actually fell for it."

then another voice. quieter. "it wasn't like that." rafe.

your heart stops.

"don't start acting guilty now."

"i said it wasn't like that."

"because now you're in love with her?"

more laughter. someone whistles. you don't stay long enough to hear the answer. suddenly you can't hear anything over the sound of your own heartbeat.

he finds you twenty minutes later, sitting in your car, not crying. he knocks gently on the window but you don't look at him so he opens the door anyway. "baby."

"don't." your voice is flat, completely emotionless. "just... don't call me that."

rafe's stomach drops. "you heard."

you laugh once. it's the emptiest sound he's ever heard. "heard enough."

"please let me explain."

you finally look at him. your eyes are completely hollow. "which part?" he freezes. "the part where you asked me out because someone paid you?" silence. "or the part where everyone else knew except me?"

he opens his mouth. nothing comes out. there isn't a version of this story where he isn't the villain.

"it started as a bet." the words barely leave his mouth and you flinch anyway, like they'd physically hit you. he notices. god, he notices and he hates himself for it. "but i swear to you—"

"don't." your voice cracks for the first time. "please don't ruin every memory i have by telling me the moment you started liking me."

rafe's entire chest caves in. that's exactly what he was about to do. he was going to tell you the first date was fake but the second one wasn't. that the coffee became genuine. that every text after a certain point was real. that he fell in love somewhere along the way.

but listening to himself now... it sounds pathetic. like he's asking for credit because eventually he developed a conscience.

"i love you."

the confession comes out desperate. broken. too late. you close your eyes. for a second, he thinks you're crying but instead you whisper, "that's what makes this so much worse."

he doesn't understand. then you look at him. "now i'll spend the rest of my life wondering which parts were real." your voice trembles. "was our first kiss?" he says nothing. "the night at the beach?" nothing. "meeting your family?"

his silence isn't because the answer is no. it's because every answer sounds wrong now. every memory has been poisoned. every happy moment comes with an invisible asterisk. started as a lie.

—

the next few weeks are unbearable. rafe calls but you don't answer. he texts. you block him. flowers appear at your front door. you leave them outside until they wilt. he writes letters you never open. people tell you he's miserable, that he stopped going out, that topper tried apologizing too.

you don't care or at least that's what you tell yourself forgiveness isn't the difficult part. trust is, and trust, once broken like this doesn't simply grow back.

months later, he sees you by accident. you're standing in line at a coffee shop. you look happy, not completely, but happier, healthier.

he almost walks away. almost. instead old instinct cause him to quietly says your name. you turn, smile disappearing. not because you still love him and not because you hate him. looking at him feels like opening an old wound just to check if it still hurts.

it does.

rafe swallows. "can i ask you something?" you nod once. "do you think..." his voice catches. "do you think you'll ever forgive me?"

you look at him for a long time. long enough that hope begins creeping into his chest then you smile small. "i already have." his heart leaps until you continue. "that's how i stopped being angry." he frowns. "but forgiving you isn't the same as wanting you back."

the words settle between you gently.

"i believe you loved me." your eyes glisten. "i just don't want to think i'll ever stop wondering when you started."

and that's the tragedy of it. rafe knows the answer. he could tell you the exact day. the exact hour. the exact moment pretending became real but it wouldn't matter.

love born from a lie still has to live with one, and some cracks don't disappear just because you regret making them. sometimes the person you hurt heals. they just learn how to heal without you.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

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