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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
notes: back to this insanity a week later well yes!!!! i have always wanted to do a seven pov for a fic and i feel like this one is perfect to do it for <3 there's just so many things going on in here that i felt like would benefit from having his voice in the mix too and i would like to think that i was able to capture that well 😭 seven and mc really do think so much of the same things about one another they drive me insane! if that wasn't already so clear.... also missing out on some of the information he shares in his pov would be horrible to not let y'all know about! yes this is 2k longer than the original and idk how else to explain that except by saying that he is insane and he possessed me and he's evil!!!!! LMFAO but i hope you enjoy! <3 as much as you can because like i said. he's evil
[read on ao3] [arabella's pov]
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
seven doesn't know why he's here.
that's the thought that's been turning around in his head ever since he got here, grabbing his drink off the bar top, taking a hesitant sip. his face twists in disgust. he doesn't know why he took the bartender's suggestion of ordering a club soda. it's gross. he should've ordered alcohol like any normal person at a bar would, but he doesn't feel normal. he hasn't felt that way in a long time.
he hasn't had a drop of alcohol and he's spiraling anyway. great.
he turns his attention to the patrons of the bar all around him. he spots some people he recognizes, but he makes sure to avert his gaze by the time they look his way. he doesn't feel like being sociable with anyone. ironic, considering where he's at currently.
he just needed to escape his apartment for the night. escape the thoughts that creep into his brain when he's alone with himself for too long. he'd thought it'd be good to get out and at least try to be around people who weren't his mom or the members of soft violence.
the idea came from the part of his brain that was rarely optimistic these days. he shouldn't have listened to it.
that much is evident when the lights start to dim in front of the makeshift stage and a girl with a guitar comes out to scattered applause. she looks so familiar. he's trying to think of where he might know her from when it hits him like a ton of bricks.
that's sarah.
arabella's friend sarah.
her name passing through his brain is enough to derail him completely, but a gut-wrenching thought comes to him that blows that one completely out of the water.
is she here?
no, she wouldn't be. she's been silent on all her social media accounts for a while, and the last time he saw her photographed was when she popped up in a photo dump rowan posted a couple months ago.
he hates that he knows that information, the fact that he even has a burner account in the first place, its sole purpose being to keep tabs on her. he knows it's not healthy, and it's fucking pathetic, but he can't help it. all he's ever known how to be is obsessive over her.
he downs the rest of his disgusting drink before he stands up, making his way to the entrance of the bar to leave. whether she's here or not, he still can't risk it. he doesn't know what he'd do if he saw her again, but he knows he doesn't want to find out.
he's almost to the door when he hears the chords of an all too familiar song. he whips his head around to look at sarah on stage, eyes widening. she can't actually be-
she starts to sing, and despite every bone in his body telling him to run, to get the fuck out of here, he can't get his feet to move.
so he stands there, like a deer in headlights, as sarah performs all i wanted.
-------------
he can't believe sarah played that song. arabella's song.
it wasn't enough that he thinks about her everyday, or that he dreams about her every night when he finally manages to fall asleep. arabella still has to somehow decorate his life like outdated furnishings, always there as a reminder of the time that's passed.
he should've left the minute he saw it was her friend performing. it should've told him he was in unfriendly territory and that he should've high tailed out of there, but he didn't, for reasons unknown to him, and now he's desperately trying to leave before anyone can see him and dare to ask him about said song.
he's not stupid. he knows if he sees any one of their mutual friends that'll be the first thing out of their mouths. and he can't do it. he can't take another round of 'damn, she fucking hates you' or 'don't you think it's crazy she wrote that about you?'
maybe it's for the best she hates him. he thinks it'd be worse if she didn't feel anything toward him at all.
besides, he's in a new band now and he's doing good. great, even. he has friends now that would never question his skill or what he brings to the table. they encourage his input, his songwriting, and they treat him the way friends are supposed to treat friends.
so why is he still so fucking worried about what his ex-girlfriend thinks of him? why can he never seem to let this go? he moved on from the rest of dead apple just fine.
he knows, deep down, why he can't move on from arabella, and the tattoo on his wrist burns as a reminder. he rubs it out of habit as he walks through the back hallway of the bar, trying to bury the impulse to look at it with every step he takes.
he keeps his head down as he moves with the crowd of people leaving through the back hallway of the bar, eager to put this whole stupid night behind him.
maybe he can get some takeout on the way home, so that this trip wasn't all for nothing. he should probably check-
shit. his wallet isn't in its usual pocket, his hands doing a quick search of his jeans and coming up empty. as if this night couldn't get any worse, now his wallet is gone.
he's never going to another bar ever again.
he stops in the hallway, turning back in the direction he came from, trying to think of when he last had it-
"hey," that voice stops him in his tracks completely. no. this can't be happening. no no no- "you dropped-"
he sees arabella a split second before she sees him, and that would be a torture in and of itself, if it weren't for the face she makes when she sees its him. her eyes widen, and a frown overtakes her features. why is she looking at him like that? it makes him furrow his brows.
shit, the wallet has-
he snatches it from her, putting it back in its rightful place in his pocket.
did she look inside of it before he saw her with it? no. surely not. she would've said something. she would have. she'd probably laugh in his face. what's worse? her knowing what's in there and making fun of him or knowing and not saying anything-
he's broken out of his spiraling by the sound of arabella clearing her throat, a slight flush to her cheeks. what the fuck was she thinking about just now? it's eating at him. he wants to ask, but he knows he can't. he shouldn't. "didn't expect to see you here," she finally says, voice weak.
"me either," he replies. during his spiral, he didn't get a chance to look at her properly, having zoned out.
he knows he shouldn't, but he allows himself this one thing by letting his eyes roam over her face. he wishes she looked like shit, but that was never something arabella was capable of. she's grown her hair out a little, jet black tresses sat halfway down her chest, and she still has her septum piercing, the silver of the hoop glinting in the light. her freckles that he used to love still dot her tan cheeks.
he looks down at her arms, disappointed to see they're covered up by her jacket. he wants to know if the tattoo is still there. it takes every bit of his self-restraint not to ask.
"yeah, well," arabella jerks a thumb behind her, and they both look over her shoulder to see nothing there. arabella chuckles. "well, sarah was there a minute ago. i only came to see her perform-"
fucking sarah. he's instantly reminded of her singing all i wanted and he's pissed all over again. did arabella tell her to do that? he wouldn't put it past her. "did you tell her to sing that song?"
"no," she bites, narrowing her eyes a him. "why the fuck would i tell her to do that?"
is she serious? he can tell the angry look on his face makes her squirm. good. "don't do that. you knew i was here-"
she laughs at him, and the sound is like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. "i didn't. believe it or not, i don't keep track of your whereabouts anymore."
please. if he has a burner account, she definitely does too. whatever. he has to leave. he can't do this, already starting to feel the effects of being in her presence for too long. "okay, whatever. i don't care."
he's walking away for all of two seconds before she's calling out to him.
"it seems like you do," she says, taunting him. great. he's been here long enough for arabella to start trying to push his buttons. of course she still knows how to do it. "i don't know why you're upset. it's a good song."
he knows all she's trying to do is rile him up, but it's working. she knows exactly why he'd be angry that he had to hear a song about him unprompted.
"i'm sure you feel that way," he snipes at her, hoping his voice is able to portray just how angry he is. the nerve of her to even say that to him. she has to know, not just for all i wanted, but how every song on that album affected him. it was his worst fucking nightmare.
your ex-girlfriend writes a whole album about how she hates you. about how the band you created together is better off without you. and every song drives that point home over and over again to where he knows if he thinks about it long enough, every scathing lyric about him will bounce around in his head until he wants to scream.
maybe that was the point. she couldn't possibly know that he still hasn't gotten over her, despite his best efforts. this album was made to ensure it wouldn't happen anytime soon. and she succeeded.
"i mean, better her singing it than me, right?" arabella asks him. he doesn't think so. although, the thought of seeing arabella perform any of those songs has his stomach in knots. it'd make him feel even worse than he already does.
that's another thing that's been bothering him. he hasn't seen dead apple doing any gigs since before the album came out. he knows he shouldn't care, but it's been eating at him. despite not wanting to see it, he's still been waiting for it to happen. he doesn't have time to pour over the possibilities before he watches arabella frown, a look of pain crossing her features before saying, "it's not like it's getting performed live otherwise."
he knows that look. it's the look she wore the last time they saw each other, when she came to his apartment to trade off the stuff they had of each other's. she had looked absolutely miserable, and he knows he didn't look that much better. but this look was… different. she had looked at him as if she wanted him to feel bad for her.
a realization dawns on him then. there haven't been any gigs because the songs are difficult for her to perform.
he wants to laugh. the songs are hard for her? she should try being the inspiration behind them.
“you've turned our relationship into a fucking spectacle and you expect me to feel sorry for you?” he challenges, his face growing hot. it's not even just the songs. it's her behavior after they came out. the subtweets about him. the liking of posts talking shit about him. doing nothing to stop her fans from attacking him, the other members of soft violence, and his own fans.
she's seemingly stopped doing all of that now, for whatever reason. maybe she just stopped caring. and the thought of that should make him feel better, but it doesn't. not when he still cares, so deeply and so stupidly.
“right, how could i forget! you can't feel sorry for anyone unless it's yourself.” those words out of her mouth feel like a punch to his gut. does she really feel that way? of course she does. she doesn't know him anymore.
he knows he's about to sound like a broken record, but he doesn't care. she needs to be reminded of the fucked up situation her and the band put him in, since she seems to have forgotten. “you let them kick me out of the band-”
a groan leaves her lips before she interrupts, “you didn't get kicked out! you left!”
“i didn't have a choice!” he didn't. he had no choices. the situation he was put in was impossible. the only thing he could do was run for the hills as fast as he could. why can she not understand that? this feels like that stupid night at the party all over again. trying to make her see reason and failing miserably.
she has the audacity to roll her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “you had plenty of choices, don't act like-”
“would you have stayed? if they did that to you? if your partner didn't even stick up for you when it happened?” he already knows the answer. she wouldn't have taken that shit. she would have told all of them to fuck off if it was her being demoted to backup singer. and he would've never let her think for a second that he was okay with that happening. he would've never done that to her. but unfortunately, it didn't happen that way, and when the time came, she didn't even fucking fight for him.
she laughs, apparently finding that line of questioning ridiculous. she shakes her head before saying, “that's bullshit and you know it. i voted to keep you as lead-”
the bare minimum. does she want a fucking medal? he cuts her off, exhaling, “like that fucking mattered.”
she gives him an exasperated look, slapping her hands down on her thighs in frustration. “what did you want me to do, seven? quit the band?”
“yes!" he blurts, his voice coming out louder than intended. they didn't need the band. they had each other. wasn't that enough? he foolishly thought it was. "and you wouldn't. because you got what you always wanted.”
she rolls her eyes at him again, looking completely done with this conversation. "what are you fucking talking about?”
it's the thoughts he doesn't dare think about for too long, because he knows he doesn't actually believe them. but there's no coming back from this conversation anyway. and right now, all he wants to do is hurt her even a fraction of how much she's hurt him. and so he does, using his fingers to list off reasons that feel like bile coming up in his throat.
“you want the fame, the attention, the recognition that comes from being a lead singer, the only singer. i was just a fucking obstacle in your way," he watches the way her face falls at his words, and he presses on despite the pain in his chest at the sight, "and the fact that you won't even admit that-”
“there's nothing to admit!” she cuts him off, her hands flying up in between them, eyes starting to shine with unshed tears. “you’re saying this bullshit as if you don't know me.”
that's the worst part, he thinks. he does know her, and he knows how deeply it would hurt her to say the things people in their scene and industry say about her constantly. but she doesn't deserve any kindness from him anymore, despite the internal battle that wages in his mind. of course he doesn't believe in what he's saying, but it's for the best if she does. and if he tries to convince himself that he does too.
“i don't know you.” liar. it feels like that word is written across his forehead. he'll always know arabella, and he knows that deep down to the core of his being. it's always been that way, and he doesn't know anything else. that's the problem.
she's looking at him in annoyance. he hates even after a year apart, she can still see right through him. “can you stop with the dramatics? for fuck’s sake, sev.”
hearing her call him by his nickname makes him flinch. it makes him think about all his past memories with her when she would call him that, and that's the last thing he needs right now. “don't call me that.”
she scoffs, moving to start walking away from him. he hates how much he doesn't want that to happen. “what fucking ever. i'm over this. fuck you and goodbye.”
“you came up to me!” he argues, and he knows how immature he sounds right now, but he's past the point of caring.
“to give you your wallet back?" she's looking at him like he's a fucking idiot, and maybe he is. she scoffs again. "you're right, i should've just stole it."
"you've already stolen enough from me," he fumes. the band, the songs he wrote, all taken from him. all the time and love that he gave to her, wasted.
she lets out a sardonic laugh, making him recoil. "are you fucking serious? you can't be."
his face burns in embarrassment. is everything he says a fucking joke to her? he's so sick of it. "glad to know you still don't take anything seriously," he says, blowing out an irritated breath.
she gives him a dirty look. "i take plenty things seriously. my mental health, for one. so will you please leave me alone and go haunt a different hallway?"
and what about his mental health? did she ever consider that when she tossed him aside? when she wrote a whole album about him? he's not going to let her stand there and act like she was the only person wounded by this situation. he shakes his head at her. “don't try and make yourself the victim right now-”
she interjects, her eyes blazing with anger. “why? so you can say that in another song? fuck off.”
he wants to laugh. of course she hates siren song, the most honest song about her that he's ever written. it's not like she has any room to talk. she has ten siren songs of her own, all on one album. but he likes that he managed to get under her skin. “i think it's pretty fair considering what you said about me.”
she looks so frustrated with him. good. maybe now she understands how he feels. “any lyrics in particular you wanna talk about? since it bothered you so much? i mean, god fucking forbid i write about my life-”
where would he even start? the lyrics are beginning to flash in his mind like neon signs, each one more blinding than the last. but they all say the same thing. something that's truly the worst part about all this, even worse than him still knowing her: the way she talks about him. he cuts her off to say, “you write about me like i’m the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
it seems to shock her into silence. is she really surprised he feels that way? no other ex of hers has gotten the type of lyrics or the amount of songs that he did. why is it so different for him? he knows why, but he wants to hear her say it. that this has affected her just as much as it's affected him.
“well?” he presses, feeling like he's on the edge of a cliff, and whatever she says is going to push him over, making him crash into the rocks below.
“you just…” she trails off, staring at him with the same intensity that she used to when she was trying to get him to understand her. “you really hurt me.”
no shit, he thinks. “you hurt me too-”
“i know,” she cuts him off, before closing her eyes for a brief moment. “i know. but you…” her voice cracks, and her eyes open again with tears brimming them.
he's suddenly hit with a wave of the emotions he used to feel whenever she would cry in the past. it was rare, but when it did happen it always made him feel hopeless. like he couldn't do enough to help her. knowing he's the reason behind these tears right now makes his own come to the surface, threatening to bubble over just like hers are now.
“you weren't there after everything happened,” she says, sounding like the words are stuck in her throat as she tries to say them. she looks down at her shoes. he hates that she won't even look at him, when she's being the most honest with him she's been the whole night.
“i didn't know what to do, and i couldn't talk to the band because i hated them for what they did to us, and i couldn't talk to you because you were gone and i-” she lets out a sob, her shoulders shaking and it takes everything for seven to not reach out to her and comfort her. to pull her in an embrace and apologize for everything. anything to get her to stop crying. anything to get him to stop crying too.
he feels so pathetic. all it took was arabella crying and he's right back to where he was before they broke up. still in love with her. still eager to be close to her. still wanting to be attached at the hip. his work in the past year to move on and get over her is gone in the face of her words and her tears, but it's not like it was working anyway.
“all i could do was write about it. writing about it was one of the only things that helped me get through it,” she lets out a ragged breath before continuing, “that and trying to drink myself to death.”
his heart clenches at that. right after they broke up, he swore off any alcohol, the drinks in his system that night at the party being one of the primary reasons their fight got so bad. so many things he said that he definitely didn't mean. just like tonight.
"and it just," she hesitates over her words, like she doesn't know if she should even be saying them at all, "it just seems like it was all for nothing. i was so upset and angry and it didn't change anything. i still lost you." she laughs, but it sounds so hollow. tears are still falling as she continues, "and it kills me because all i ever fucking wanted was-"
"don't." he can't let her finish that sentence. if she does, the last piece of him that's keeping him from folding and going back to how he used to be will shatter to the floor. he can't let that happen, even though he wants to. so badly.
she dares to glance up at him, and he feels his face heat in embarrassment. he knows they're sharing the same look, eyes full of tears, faces showing nothing but the pain they've caused each other, not just from this night, but from this whole year. the countless fights, the ghosting, blocking each other, writing songs about each other. the love that was lost and the hate that replaced it.
but he knows he doesn't hate her. he never could, as much as he tries. how could he ever do that?
"don't say it. please," he pleads, hoping she'll grant him this small act of mercy. he feels so incredibly vulnerable right now, like she's seeing all of him, just like she used to.
she coughs, wiping her eyes as she does it. “okay, yeah.” she lets out a dark laugh, as if she thinks the last five minutes were just a lapse in judgment for her. he starts to see the arabella from the past morph into the arabella he knows now before she says, “jesus, this is so fucking embarrassing-”
“it's not,” he interjects. it was always so hard for arabella to open up to him, and when she finally did, it felt like he unlocked something. a part of her that nobody else ever got to see. behind all the arrogance and the humor she uses to deflect, there was a girl who desperately just wanted someone to understand her. and seven did. earlier tonight he knows he didn't fully believe that, but he does right now. it seems so obvious to him in this moment. he'll never see arabella and not understand her fully and completely.
he's still in love with her. and as much as he's tried and fought against that truth, it's no use. she's rendered him defenseless. every single wall he tried to build to keep her out has fallen, and despite every part of him screaming at him to stop, he can't stop the words that leave his mouth.
“arabella, i-” i'm sorry. i'm sorry for ever leaving. i didn't mean any of the stupid shit i said. i love you. i never stopped. there's simply too many things he wants to say.
unfortunately, he isn't able to complete his sentence as he's immediately met with the feel of someone's hand on his shoulder, but it's not arabella. he rips his attention away from her to look at who the hand belongs to.
it's chase, one of his friends who is clearly very drunk and unaware of what he just interrupted.
“hey, man! how's it going?” he stumbles through his words, and seven wants to shove him away and tell him to fuck off.
chase finishes his drink before he finally seems to notice arabella standing in front of them, his eyes widening as he takes her in. "oh shit. was this a bad time?"
"dude, go the fuck away," seven snaps at him, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
“i…” arabella stammers, startling him. she looks trapped. like she's about to- “i should go,” she mutters as she turns and walks away, and he wants nothing more than to stop her. maybe-
“bella, wait-” using her nickname feels strange in his mouth, but it also feels like the most normal thing he's done all night. he just wants her to stay. he knows he shouldn't, but he does.
he doesn't miss the way her entire body freezes before she opens the door and walks out of the bar. out of this conversation, out of his life. again.
for some reason, chase is still standing next to him. he doesn't even notice, his eyes still trained on the door arabella used to leave, until he speaks.
"bro, what the fuck?" chase blurts, and seven turns to glare at him.
"fuck off," seven snaps and starts to walk away from him, but in the opposite direction arabella left. he can't risk seeing her again, as much as he might want to.
he makes his way through the bar, feeling like he's floating as he gets to the front door. he doesn't come out of his daze until the cold air from outside hits his skin, and he makes his way to his car, climbing into the driver's seat and shutting the door.
he doesn't turn the car on right away as he suddenly feels like his wallet is trying to burn a hole in his pocket. he knows he shouldn't, but he pulls it out and opens it.
the picture that greets him immediately causes a sob to escape past his lips.
it's arabella's senior yearbook photo. she's wearing the basic black drape the school gave all the girls in their class to wear in the photo, with her mom's pearl necklace around her neck. the only makeup she's wearing is mascara, and the freckles that fan across her cheeks are on proud display. her hair is straight and long, framing her face, and she's wearing the prettiest smile, her eyes so excited, as if someone behind the camera had just told her dead apple got signed to a major record label.
this picture is the version of arabella he fell in love with. he doesn't know why he ever tried to fight it back then. there was no point.
he holds the picture close to his face now, sniffling as he examines the speck of silver right underneath her nose. his favorite part about the picture. arabella had just got her septum piercing, freshly eighteen and free to do anything to her body now that she didn't need her parents permission. but the piercing was still a secret, knowing her parents would lose their minds if she got it before what her mom had called "the most important picture of her life." he can still see the roll of arabella's eyes as she told him. so, she had to flip the piercing up for the photo, and it did fool her parents, but seven knew. and he remembers the conversation so vividly it's like he's still there.
arabella's fiddling with the piercing, using her compact mirror to inspect how it looks. she turns her head from side to side, trying to see if it's noticeable from any angle.
seven, as usual, is watching her. it's become his favorite pastime as of late, with everything she does or says being so fascinating to him.
he grimaces at the thought. he thought this stupid crush on her would have went away by now, but as he watches her, he's beginning to realize that this feeling is taking root and staying there. for how long, he doesn't know. a delusional part of him wants it to stay forever. the rational part of him is telling him to shut up.
arabella snapping her compact shut breaks seven out his thoughts, offering her a smile as she glances over at him, hoping she didn't notice him staring at her.
she gives him a teasing smile. "you're staring again, sev."
heat rushes to his cheeks. of course she noticed. she notices everything he does, even when he doesn't want her to.
he rubs his hand on the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "sorry," he mutters, face growing hot. "i zoned out." liar.
she doesn't fully believe him, her eyes giving him a once over. her gaze always feels so intense, and these weird feelings he has for her has dialed that up to a million.
she looks away to move further up in the line that's moved since they first started talking. he almost sighs in relief.
she turns to look at him again, a frown on her face. he wants to kiss it away. whoa. where the fuck did that come from? he doesn't have any time to unpack that before arabella says, "is it noticeable?"
he knows she's talking about her piercing. he hates that her parents even care about something as stupid as that. and it's her senior picture anyway. who cares?
but he knows she just doesn't want an argument with them. if they somehow found out about it they would lose their shit and that's the last thing arabella wants.
"it's not," he reassures her as they move up in the line again.
"okay," she says timidly, like she's trying to her best to believe him.
"bella, it's gonna be fine," he tries to convince her, hating that her parents have the power to make her this nervous. it's not an emotion she wears often, so when it does rear its head in times like these he wants nothing more than for it to go away.
"i know," she sighs. "it's just a lot of pressure. this picture has to be perfect."
"it will be," he smiles at her. because it's you, and you've never taken a bad photo in your life. but he doesn't voice that.
she smiles back at him and his heart feels like it's gonna explode if she does it for too long. suddenly though, they both realize that she's up next in line and she quickly opens her mirror back up to check herself one more time.
"okay," she lets out a breath, trying to dispel her nerves, running a hand through her hair. "how do i look?"
gorgeous, he wants to blurt out. it takes every ounce of his self control not to. the shitty lighting of their school auditorium would make anyone else look horrible, but not arabella. she's somehow glowing, her bright eyes settling on him, looking at him expectantly.
"you look fine," he says instead, rolling his eyes good naturedly.
she huffs in fake annoyance, smiling at him. "gee, thanks. tell me how you really feel, sev."
he wants to laugh. if i told you how i really felt, you'd hate me. i'd ruin this friendship. i can't jeopardize that. i can't risk losing you forever.
"you don't need me feeding your ego," he teases, hoping that the playful tone in his voice hides the thoughts in his head.
she laughs. he wants to bottle up the sound.
luckily, the photographer calls her name before any of his embarrassing thoughts about her slip through his mouth.
the memory fades away and all that's left are the silent sobs that wrack his body as he sits in his car, holding the picture in his hand so delicately as if it'll float away. he takes everything in him to place the photo back in his wallet and close it.
he knows he should've thrown it away, he knows it shouldn't be in his possession anymore in the first place, but it's always been there. as soon as he got it he put it in his wallet and it stayed there. even after the vote and the breakup, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it, making him feel so fucking pathetic as he wipes his eyes with his sleeve.
how can he ever expect to get over her when he always has the knowledge of that? that despite everything, he can't get rid of one fucking photo. he got rid of everything else.
the night seems to finally catch up to him as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. being in arabella's orbit used to overwhelm him in all right ways, but now, as he tries to stop himself from crying again, it just feels like the worst kind of overstimulation.
seeing her cry shouldn't have made him so close to forgetting about all the horrible things that have transpired between them. he knows that's why she did it, to just make him feel bad for her. she's always had a flair for the dramatic, like when she used to run away during dumb arguments with him and he'd follow her-
is she doing that right now? if he went to the back exit of the bar, would he see her right outside the door? waiting for him to come and find her, like how he used to?
no, he thinks. that's fucking ridiculous. there's no way she remembers ever even doing that, and she'd probably laugh at him if she knew that he did.
whatever stupid fantasy he knows his brain is trying to come up with, it has to stop. he has to get over this, once and for all. he needs to get rid of that picture. he needs to stop listening to that stupid album that's about him. he needs a complete and total break. he needs to hate her. it's much easier to do that than whatever the fuck happened to him tonight.
even as he thinks it though, it feels wrong. he can't hate her, but he knows he has to try. the alternative is much worse.
notes: so um yeah. LMAO i've had most of the argument that takes place in this fic written out as just dialogue for a whileeee now and i guess finally figuring out a way seven and arabella would even approach each other in this scenario reinvigorated me to sit the hell down and finish this! this fic and the seven pov that will soon follow have consumed me everyday for 2 weeks straight. LMFAO the day i'm posting this it will be exactly 2 weeks since i opened ellipsus and let the sevenbella brain worms take over. but i'm so glad they did! i hate to say that i'm extremely proud of this because that seems kinda corny but i am genuinely so happy with how both of these fics turned out 😭 it was a struggle to get there but i got there and that's all that matters! i hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as i had fun writing it despite all the angst LMFAO also the title is inspired by no room in frame by death cab for cutie <3333 if you listen you'll understand why!
[read on ao3]
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
arabella enters the venue, immediately enveloped by the warm air that smells like stale beer and cigarettes. it's a familiar smell, having performed in this exact type of setting countless times before, but it doesn't help settle her nerves as she walks around the dimly lit bar. she sees a few familiar faces, and she supposes that makes sense, considering she's here to see one of her friends perform.
after ordering a drink from the bar, she makes her way to the front of the stage, sitting down at a table and taking a sip. alcohol is starting to taste more and more like water to her, but she ignores that thought in her brain. no spiraling tonight. she's here to enjoy herself and support her friend.
more people start crowding around the stage and she sees more people she knows. some of them smile at her in recognition, others glare at her and turn to gossip with who they're with. any other time she'd confront the latter group of people, but she doesn't have the energy. and besides, she's not here to start anything. she knows they're only acting that way because they're friends with-
nope. not tonight. she takes another swig of her drink.
she hears the chatter of all the people around her, so many different people catching up and hanging out, and she's sat here, alone, with only her drink to keep her company. she decides to check her phone to pass the time, seeing a text from rowan lighting up her screen.
you free tonight? got an idea for a song and need your expertise :)
she chews the inside of her cheek as she contemplates responding. any other time she'd be itching to write a song, or work on one, but she doesn't have the energy. didn't they just release an album? what's the rush? she doesn't think there's anything else that needs to be said at the moment. or rather, anything else she needs to say. the latest dead apple album was cathartic in a way to get out everything she was feeling, but it was also mentally exhausting. it's the most honest she's ever been in her writing, and although she is proud of it, it drained her creatively, and she doesn't know if she has anything left in her.
but she knows rowan isn't that interested in songwriting, he just wants an excuse to talk to her. but it's been awhile since she felt she could talk to the band about anything. and what she wants to talk about… she knows they wouldn't be receptive, not even rowan. that she doesn't know if she can keep doing this. being in a band. singing, performing. nothing feels the same anymore. nothing feels right.
the stage lights start to dim, and arabella puts her phone face down on the table. she can deal with all that another time.
her friend takes the stage, and she smiles. this is what she's here to focus on. nothing else.
----------------------
"i can't believe you played that song."
sarah laughs as she takes a sip from her water bottle. "i had to. especially since you were here."
sarah did an acoustic cover of all i wanted, the closing track off dead apple's newest album.
"well, you did great," arabella starts before her face turns into an arrogant look, "not as great as me, but it was still good."
sarah shoves her playfully. "you're lucky i like you, bella. and that i like your song."
"uh huh," she states, giving her friend a knowing smile.
"i'm glad you came out tonight," sarah says, smiling at her. arabella can barely even meet her gaze.
to say she's become a bit of a recluse would be an understatement. she barely leaves the house anymore, only to go to the grocery store or run errands. and when she's at home, she's bed rotting until she has to fulfill her basic needs for survival. she used to be at bars and clubs every night, being the life of the party at every opportunity, and tonight she was so anxious she considered skipping out on this altogether.
"me too," arabella agrees, despite the words sounding like cement in her throat. she hopes her friend doesn't pick up on it. luckily, she doesn't, and arabella decides to change the subject.
"have you heard back from that label you auditioned for?"
"ugh," sarah groans, rubbing her face. "no, not yet."
arabella gives her a sad smile. "you'll hear back soon, i know it."
her friend chuckles. "i hope you're right."
arabella gets that arrogant look on her face again. "i always am."
they share a laugh as arabella takes a sip of her drink. they're pretty much the only people in this back hallway of the bar, save for the occasional person walking by.
she senses a group of people walking past but her back is turned from them as she listens to sarah talk about the other gigs she has lined up this month.
she hears something fall on the floor behind her with a soft plop and turns around to look at what caused the noise.
it's a wallet, plain black and worse for wear. she bends down to pick it up.
"hey," she calls out to the group retreating, glancing at sarah before she starts walking, "you dropped-"
she looks toward the direction the group went and is met with the last face she wanted to see tonight.
seven lawless is staring right at her, eyebrows that are at first raised in surprise but quickly furrow in contempt.
he angrily snatches the wallet from her grasp, stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans.
he doesn't look any different than the last time she saw him. granted, it's only been a year, but she feels like a whole different person these days. he's wearing his usual bandana around his forehead, and his hair is a little bit longer. his eyes are still the same. the same ones staring at her as if he's trying to spot any differences too.
she hates that he looks good. she wishes he looked the way she's felt since ever since he left. maybe that would be the thing that finally made her feel better, if he looked as horrible as the thoughts and nightmares she's had about him over the past year.
but he doesn't. seven still looks like the version of him that she fell in love with, and her heart flutters in her chest as she gazes at him.
great. one year without him and all it took was seeing him in person for five seconds and she's right back to being pathetically in love with him, if she ever even stopped. she knows she didn't. she just hopes he can't see it on her face. knowing him, he probably can, and she's never felt as embarrassed as she does right now.
she clears her throat. "didn't expect to see you here," and she grimaces at how meek she sounds.
"me either," he says, voice hard.
"yeah, well," arabella gestures behind her where she assumes sarah still is, and looks to see her gone. what the fuck? she shakes her head and chuckles. "well, sarah was there a minute ago. i only came to see her perform-"
"did you tell her to sing that song?" he asks in an accusing tone, eyes searching her face for any sign that she did in fact tell sarah to do that.
she's taken aback. sure, maybe she's dumb for thinking her and seven could manage small talk, considering the last time they spoke, they screamed at each other, but she didn't expect to get questioned about something as ridiculous as that.
"no," she says, resolute, her eyes narrowing. "why the fuck would i tell her to do that?"
the dark look he gives her sends a shiver down her spine. "don't do that. you knew i was here-"
she laughs, the sound full of disdain. "i didn't. believe it or not, i don't keep track of your whereabouts anymore."
not to mention that you blocked me on everything. how would i even look? but that's a question for only her mind.
he looks bored of this whole conversation. "okay, whatever. i don't care." he starts to walk away, but not if arabella has anything to say about it.
"it seems like you do," she calls out, taunting him. she can't help it. even when they dated, she loved pushing his buttons. it's a different kind of pushing now, but it still comes naturally to her. if anyone knows how to get on seven's nerves, it's her. "i don't know why you're upset. it's a good song."
he turns back around to face her, looking murderous. she shivers again.
"i'm sure you feel that way," he sneers, voice full of condescension. arabella's fists clench at her sides.
"i mean, better her singing it than me, right?" she inquires, face growing hot. "it's not like it's getting performed live otherwise." there's been a distinct lack of gigs for dead apple lately. and she wants to chalk it up to not searching for gigs when she normally would, but she knows if she had to perform any of these songs, she'd choke. her throat would close up and she'd run off stage, embarrassed and upset and on the verge of a panic attack. something they don't tell you when you write a whole album about your ex: the songs are hard to sing. especially when you're not over him.
seven understands exactly what she's implying. “you've turned our relationship into a fucking spectacle and you expect me to feel sorry for you?” he questions, eyes blazing with the same anger she saw at the party.
she's not going to apologize for writing about her life. and he knows that, intimately. did he forget about all the songs they poured over together? he's well versed in the many different ways an "arabella break up song" can take shape, even more so now that the muse is him. there's been exes she's written about before seven, and there will be exes after. he's not special, despite her mind and her heart fighting against that line of thinking. of course he's special. he's-
“right, how could i forget! you can't feel sorry for anyone unless it's yourself.” she turns her brain off to do the one thing she knows how to do: provoke him. make him angry with her. not to mention the fact that what she's saying is true.
“you let them kick me out of the band-”
not this again. she groans before interrupting him, “you didn't get kicked out! you left!”
his hands are at his chest, placing an emphasis on his words, eyes wide with anger as he says, “i didn't have a choice!”
she rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “you had plenty of choices, don't act like-”
“would you have stayed? if they did that to you? if your partner didn't even stick up for you when it happened?”
she laughs in disbelief, shaking her head. “that's bullshit and you know it. i voted to keep you as lead-”
he cuts her off with a exhale through his nose. “like that fucking mattered.”
she slaps her hands down on her thighs, exasperated. “what did you want me to do, seven? quit the band?”
“yes!" he almost yells the word, saying it as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "and you wouldn't. because you got what you always wanted.”
she couldn't roll her eyes any further back into her head if she tried. exhausted and sick of his fucking riddles, she snaps, "what are you fucking talking about?”
he starts listing things off with his fingers. “you want the fame, the attention, the recognition that comes from being a lead singer, the only singer. i was just a fucking obstacle in your way," his gaze is burning into her, eyes full of nothing but contempt for her. "and the fact that you won't even admit that-”
“there's nothing to admit!” she exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, her heart clenching in her chest. “you’re saying this bullshit as if you don't know me.” and how could he even say that to her? he knows, better than anyone, the ridiculous shit people say about her. that she's fame hungry, she's arrogant, she's rude, she's a bitch. she could go on. she thought that didn't matter to him. who knew it actually did? not her. and the realization makes tears prick her eyes.
“i don't know you.” clearly, she wants to say. but even as she thinks it, she knows, deep down, it's not true. they knew each other better than they knew themselves. that can't just go away, no matter how much time has passed.
right?
she wills herself to keep the tears at bay by tapping into her annoyance with him, with this whole conversation, with this whole night. “can you stop with the dramatics? for fuck’s sake, sev.”
he flinches, as if she just stabbed him. “don't call me that.”
all she can do is scoff. “what fucking ever. i'm over this. fuck you and goodbye.”
“you came up to me!” he argues, sounding like a child throwing a tantrum.
“to give you your wallet back?" she scoffs again. "you're right, i should've just stole it."
"you've already stolen enough from me," he seethes, and it takes her a second to realize he genuinely believes what he just said.
she can't help but laugh. he makes a disgusted face at her as she does it, recoiling from her. "are you fucking serious? you can't be."
"glad to know you still don't take anything seriously," he huffs.
she scowls. "i take plenty things seriously. my mental health, for one. so will you please leave me alone and go haunt a different hallway?"
he shakes his head. “don't try and make yourself the victim right now-”
“why? so you can say that in another song? fuck off.” just the reminder of siren song makes her clench her jaw. seven wrote about her as if she was nothing more than a demon that only came into his life to wreak havoc and break his heart, which is the furthest thing from the truth. she understands her reasoning is hypocritical, considering she wrote an entire album about him, but she doesn't care. her songs were honest. siren song is anything but.
he seems to enjoy that it bothers her because his eyes glint with amusement for a brief moment before they harden back into resentment. “i think it's pretty fair considering what you said about me.”
it's not fair at all. if things were fair, siren song wouldn't exist in the first place because seven wouldn't have had a reason to write it.
she lets out an irritated breath, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion. she's sick of this. and who the fuck is he to talk about anything she wrote anyway? “any lyrics in particular you wanna talk about? since it bothered you so much? i mean, god fucking forbid i write about my life-”
“you write about me like i’m the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
the statement, and the hurt in his voice as he says it, shocks her into silence. her mind wants to blurt out, you're not, but has she given him any indication otherwise? of course he thinks that. don't they both feel that way about each other?
“well?” he questions, staring at her as if he's staring down the barrel of a gun. as if what she says next, no matter what, is going to kill him. but he needs to know. arabella hates that even now, she knows exactly what he's thinking. but it's seven. how could she ever forget?
“you just…” she starts, eyes never leaving his face, trying and failing to search for the seven that knew her so well. he still has to be in there, somewhere. “you really hurt me.”
he grits his teeth before interjecting, “you hurt me too-”
“i know,” she cuts him off, “i know. but you…” her voice cracks and she feels tears starting to form again. she hasn't felt this pathetic in front of seven since the party.
“you weren't there after everything happened,” she chokes out, squeezing her eyes in an attempt to get the tears to stop, but they don't. she casts her gaze to the floor. she can't look at him right now.
“i didn't know what to do, and i couldn't talk to the band because i hated them for what they did to us, and i couldn't talk to you because you were gone and i-”
she's full on sobbing at this point, her shoulders shaking. she hardly ever cries, and the idea of doing it in front of seven when he hates her is almost too much to bear. but she can't stop, the words and the tears starting to tumble out of her like an avalanche.
“all i could do was write about it. writing about it was one of the only things that helped me get through it,” she hiccups, “that and trying to drink myself to death.”
"and it just," she stammers, unsure, even in the face of the only person who could possibly relate to this feeling, "it just seems like it was all for nothing. i was so upset and angry and it didn't change anything. i still lost you." she lets out a bitter laugh before continuing, tears streaming down her face, "and it kills me because all i ever fucking wanted was-"
"don't."
she grimaces before she looks up at him, and almost gasps at what she sees. tears in his eyes and a look of regret. regret for what though, she doesn't know. that he ever ended things? that can't be right. he hates her, if this entire argument has been any indication. doesn't he?
"don't say it. please."
she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. “okay, yeah.” she lets out a dark laugh, coming back to her senses. she doesn't have any right to be crying in front of seven of all people. he probably thinks she's insane. she's getting to that point too. “jesus, this is so fucking embarrassing-”
“it's not,” he cuts her off and her eyes widen. he's looking at her the way he used to. a whirlwind of memories play in her head where she remembers this exact look in every single one. before he would comfort her after a bad argument with her parents. after he had listened to her talk about some shitty ex.
“arabella, i-”
her name out of his mouth has her tensing up and hates the goosebumps that form on her skin because of it. she can't focus on that for too long though, because someone walks by and jostles seven, breaking them both out of the arguing they've been doing for the past thirty minutes.
“hey, man! how's it going?” the man slurs, clearly drunk and very unaware of what he just walked into.
seven looks absolutely murderous. she thought the look on his face right now was only reserved for her whenever they argue. seeing it aimed at someone else is strange, but it's for a good reason. any normal person could walk by and tell that the interaction they're having is one you shouldn't interrupt, but the cup he tips back and finishes is an obvious sign he doesn't understand what's happening.
the man finally seems to gain some sense of self-awareness when he looks at arabella, his eyes widening at her appearance. "oh shit. was this a bad time?"
"dude, go the fuck away," seven snaps, hands tightening into fists.
this whole situation feels suffocating and overwhelming. she has to leave. now.
“i…” she hiccups, “i should go,” she mumbles as she turns on her heels and walks away, praying she'll even see the exit through the blur of tears that cloud her vision.
“bella, wait-”
her heart clenches in her chest when she hears her nickname leave his lips. it feels wrong but right, completely foreign but also like coming home. she doesn't dare look back at him as she gets to the exit doors and pushes them open.
the cold weather hits her immediately as she steps outside, making her pull her jacket tighter around her as she goes to stand off to the side of the bar's brick exterior.
the weight of everything that just happened hits her like a freight train and she lets out a violent sob, covering her mouth with her hand as if that'll stop this reaction from coming out of her.
she came here to watch sarah perform. to get out of her own head for the first time in months. how did that turn into her worst fucking nightmare?
she quickly turns to face the exit, a thought entering her head so fast it's enough to give her whiplash.
whenever she and seven would argue (although it was never to this degree), she had an over dramatic habit of running away. as if it would make the arguing stop. and without fail, seven would follow close behind, calling her name until she eventually stopped to turn and look at him. and he'd apologize for whatever he said, and she'd do the same. however stupid the argument was, they could never stay mad at each other for longer than five seconds.
she's watching the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, heart beating so hard and so fast that it feels like it's trying to burst out of her chest. she knows the likelihood of him running after her like he used to are slim to none.
and yet.
here she is, waiting, hoping the door will fly open and she'll see him, with his eyes searching around before they finally land on her, and he'll smile the way he used to smile at her, and they'll both forget the past year ever happened and he'll take her in his arms and-
she's snapped out of her daydreaming by the door actually opening. but it's not seven.
a group of people file out, giving her strange looks as they walk past. she knows she probably looks crazy to them, standing in the freezing cold with tears and mascara running down her face.
she turns away from the door. she sniffles and wipes her face with both hands, grimacing at the makeup that stains her fingers as she pulls them away.
she feels so stupid. in what world would seven ever chase after her again? that seven loved her. this one hates her. the sooner she realizes she's never going to have him again, the better off she'll be.
but how is she supposed to ever let go of him? the tattoo on her wrist burns as a reminder.
she closes her eyes and tilts her head up toward the sky, silently praying it swallows her up, away from this bar, away from her emotions, away from this universe where the love of her life wants nothing to do with her. just away.
she feels something wet touch her skin and her eyes fly open, only to see snowflakes start to fall, making their way down to her.
she takes in the space around her, the snow beginning to blanket the ground, the light posts, and a nearby bench. it makes her smile, possibly the only genuine smile she's had in months.
things are pretty bad for her right now, and it's probably going to stay that way for a while, but in this moment, as she feels snow seeping into her hair and clothes, seemingly cleansing her of this god awful night, she knows it won't stay this way forever.
she might have lost seven, and she might never fully recover from that. but she has herself. she has her band. she has her music. she'll fill the space he left with the things that matter the most to her. she'll care for herself the way he used to care about her.
pairing: griffin reign x f!mc (arabella aveiro), m!seven lawless x f!mc
word count: 4.1k
warnings: a makeout! a little bit of hand stuff! a little bit of oral! A LOT of wanting someone you can't fully have! a little bit of wanting SOMEONE ELSE you can't have! please do not read if you're not 18+! contains spoilers for chapter 5!
notes: this fic has been a long time coming i literally created the document for it in february of 2024 😭 and the power of chapter 5 reinvigorated me to finish it so everyone say thank you to amy <3 it's insane realizing that there's some things i touch on in this fic that are actually in a chapter of infamous maybe i am a psychic who knows.... kidding obviously LMAO also it makes me soooo incredibly nervous to write smut 😭 there's only a little bit of it but i think it turned out okay! the title is inspired by love song by lana del rey, i didn't realize how much of this fic was literally the lyrics of this song until i was listening to it and thought.. oh! arabella is burning through griffin and vice versa, seven is burning through her, and the alcohol is too! also yes i had to mention seven in this fic. arabella is still in love with him after all LMFAO anywho! i hope you enjoy <3 and final warning: do not read if you don't want chapter 5 spoilers!
[read on ao3]
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
arabella finally finds space against the wall of the club that isn't occupied and firmly plants herself against it, sighing when she does. normally, she'd find herself right in the middle of all the dancing and celebrating, but she just can't bring herself to.
not when she's waiting for someone.
that someone in particular, is griffin. she almost laughs as she takes a swig of her drink. if you had told her when she was younger that she was waiting on a text from griffin reign, the man she’s idolized since she was a teenager, she would've laughed in your face.
her younger self would’ve also asked how seven fit into all this, and that makes her shake her head as if to clear that thought out of her brain. not the time, she thinks to herself.
if she wanted to think about seven, she wouldn’t be hooking up with griffin.
hooking up with griffin, she smiles. now that’s something i enjoy thinking about.
she’s not really sure how it all exactly started. sure, they flirted with each other here and there, but arabella didn’t think anything would actually happen between them. he’s married, for one. and two, what are the odds someone as famous as him would ever entertain a barely famous botb contestant?
but that night at his house in ohio changed everything. pouring over old misfit alley memorabilia, listening to old demos, griffin singing to her right before she kissed him.
and that kiss. greedy and full of desperation, both of them so eager for more. if she thinks about it long enough, she's able to feel it as if it was still happening.
that kiss was better than any drug she's ever taken, better than the alcohol that touches her lips as she takes an impatient sip, eyes cutting to the phone in her hand, willing itself to turn on, blinking with a notification. the text she finds herself waiting on lately, as much as she hates to admit it.
she's never been at anyone's beck and call. she's never been the type of person to wait by the phone in the hopes that whoever she's seeing will reach out.
but it's griffin fucking reign. there's very little she wouldn't do to be in his presence, to have him kiss her the way he does, to have his hands-
she's brought out of her fantasies by her phone finally pinging.
on the corner of 1st and main
she quickly walks out the back door of the club and into the alley behind it. she offered an excuse to her bandmates as she left, saying something along the lines of ‘i need fresh air’ and ‘it’s just too loud.’ if they questioned her later, she'd just tell them she went back to the hotel.
it's not exactly the most foolproof plan, but they seem to accept her excuses and go back to enjoying the party as she ducks out of the venue.
she makes her way through the alley way, going the opposite direction of the paparazzi that crowd around the entrance of the club. she walks about two blocks before she spots the black town car that's become a fixture in her life as of late.
she checks over her shoulder one more time before making her way to the vehicle, almost jogging in excitement as she grips the door handle open and jumps inside.
she doesn't even have time to close the door before griffin’s doing it for her, pressing against her as he does. one second later and his lips are on hers, his hands finding purchase on her hips and she lets out a hum in relief, satisfaction, happiness… there's simply too many emotions coursing through her at the moment to accurately describe the effect he has on her. she deepens the kiss, his mouth opening as her tongue slips inside, and one of her hands moves to grip the back of his neck.
no one ever prepares you for this, she thinks to herself. how could they? oh, here's what it's like to kiss your idol. here's what to do and not do. there's no playbook, no protocol to follow, not like she'd listen anyway. she's already breaking a million rules even being in this moving car with him, alone, with the partition rolled up and the windows growing foggy.
when they finally pull away from each other, both sharing the same shit eating grin, arabella's the first to break the silence.
“what a hello.”
he laughs, running a hand through his hair, the other one still on her waist. “couldn’t wait any longer.”
his eyes take her in fully, hands now moving to her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “plus, you got in wearing this,” his fingers play with the end of her dress, inching the fabric up slowly as he continues, “and expected me to not throw myself at you?”
her whole body heats at the compliment, planting a quick peck to his lips as a thank you.
“you're lucky i don't rip it off right now.”
she smirks, challenging him. “what's stopping you?”
his smile grows wider as he pulls her into his lap, kissing her again. he only breaks the kiss to pull the dress over her head, throwing it onto the floor beneath them.
the air conditioning in the car hits her skin just as his hands start to roam up and down her sides, mouth moving from her jaw to her neck, then down to her collarbone. he bites down, and it takes everything in her to not let out a moan, biting her lip to keep one from spilling out.
he tuts. “let me hear you, arabella.”
the demand in his voice is enough for a light groan to leave her mouth, and he hums approvingly as his lips make their way back to her own, capturing them in what is definitely one of the best kisses she's ever had in her life.
again, something they don't prepare you for: how good of a kisser griffin reign is. he knows exactly what to do to leave her breathless and dizzy and wanting more.
when it comes to him though, arabella doesn't think she'll ever have enough.
that much is evident when he pulls away and she's filled with such a strong sense of longing, something she always feels when one of their kisses ends too quick for her liking. she just wants to kiss him again.
she grips his jaw with her hand and pulls him to her again, which makes him chuckle.
“someone's eager,” he breathes into her mouth, the taste of cigarette smoke and liquor the perfect concoction for her to latch onto.
“can you blame me,” she says in between kisses, biting his bottom lip. he moans and she feels a swell of pride that she brought that noise out of him.
he pulls away again, and she almost groans out of frustration. he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear as he gazes at her.
she feels something shift in the air as they stare at each other. when this started out, they both agreed on a casual thing. as casual as it could be between a host of battle of the bands and a contestant.
somewhere along the way, there's been moments where she's in deeper than she realizes. and the same can be said for him, if the way he's looking at her right now is any indication.
she knows, deep down, they're both using each other as a distraction. she's using him to get over seven, to take her mind off the competition, to block out the drama. he's using her to ignore all his obligations as a host, as a mentor, as the front man of his very successful band, as a husband…
but the way he looks at her now, light only cascading their faces as they ride past street lamps and stop lights, she thinks this stopped being a distraction for them a while ago.
but that's not something either one of them is going to confess anytime soon.
she raises an eyebrow. “what?”
he shakes his head, seeming to snap out of whatever he was just thinking about. his thumb taps against her cheek once, his hand still cradling her face.
“sorry. zoned out for a sec.”
right.
she laughs. “no one's ever zoned out while i've been in their lap before. i must be doing something wrong.”
she moves to sit back in the other seat. “guess i’ll just-”
his response is quick, hands going to her hips and holding her in place.
“nope,” he quips, smirking. “you're staying right here.”
“i think i want to go a little lower,” she replies as she shimmies down off his lap and onto the floor.
she places one hand on his thigh as the other starts to fumble for his belt, undoing it and popping the button open on his jeans. she starts to palm him through his boxers, eliciting another groan from him.
“and you said i was the eager one,” she teases as she leans her head down to leave kisses on his stomach.
his hip jerk, and she smiles against his skin.
“you’re the one on your knees for me, rookie,” he laughs as she lifts her head up to glare at him.
“i’m about to suck your dick, and you're calling me rookie?” she moves her hand away from him, only for griffin to grab it and guide it right back to where it was.
“you're right, i should know better by now,” he concedes, and her body heats at the reminder of their past rendezvous, and the anticipation of what's to come.
“exactly,” she mumbles against his skin, feeling the goosebumps rising on his stomach from the action. she doesn't think she'll ever get over the way his body responds to anything she does.
she pulls his boxers down, revealing another way his body responds to her. he's watching her with bated breath, as if he can't figure out what she's going to do.
she gives him her best smile before spitting in her hand and wrapping it around him, making his hips jerk again.
she slowly starts moving her hand up and down, and griffin puts his hands in her hair.
"you don't have to be so gentle," he half complains, half moans and she scoffs.
"sorry, your majesty," she teases, slightly squeezing him. "i didn't realize i needed pointers on how to jerk someone off."
he groans. "you don't," one of his hands moves to her hand, the one that's stroking him. "just. please."
"griffin, are you begging?" she lets out a laugh, the sound bouncing around the backseat they're occupying. “did you miss me that much?”
his gaze suddenly turns into a look of uncertainty, like he's about to say something he knows he shouldn't. arabella stops what she's doing to give him her full attention, moving her hand to rest on the top of his thigh.
“yeah, i did,” he says, voice coming out uncharacteristically quiet, like he's afraid if he says it loud enough she'll call the whole thing off and tell him to just drop her off at her hotel.
she'd never do that though.
his eyes dart around her face, and she knows he's silently asking her if she feels the same way.
“i missed you too,” she reassures, because it's true, she always misses him, and she swears she hears him sigh in relief before the typical smirk she's grown too familiar with takes over his features, eyes darkening.
“good,” he starts, smiling at her as he guides her hand to him, wrapping her fingers back around him. “but don't think you're getting off easy for making me admit that. just wait until we get to the hotel.”
arabella grins mischievously. “what's going to happen at the hotel?” she starts pumping her hand faster, which she can tell makes it hard for him to speak.
his hands tighten in her hair as a response. “you'll see,” he chokes out at the same time she presses a kiss to the tip of his dick.
he seems to regain his voice for a moment when he says, “show me how much you missed me, arabella.”
the tone of his voice, demanding and low, sends a wave of pleasure through her and she takes his words as an incentive to give him the best head he'll ever get in his entire life. she starts leaving kisses on the side of his shaft, starting from the bottom and going upwards. she gets back to the tip and takes it in her mouth, looking up at griffin as she does.
his pupils are blown, and he's looking at her like she's the most breathtaking sight to behold. if she wasn't so infatuated with the taste of him, she’d be teasing him for the look on his face right now.
she starts taking more of him into her mouth, and once she’s taken him fully-
a phone rings.
the sound makes them both jump in surprise. arabella pulls away from him, wiping her mouth.
“fuck,” griffin mumbles in frustration, grabbing his phone off of the backseat. when he sees who's calling, his whole body freezes.
“what?” arabella asks, but griffin’s attention isn't on her anymore as he answers the phone.
“hello?”
“griffin, where are you? it's late-”
it's victoria.
fuck.
arabella’s already pulled away from him, but the sound of victoria’s voice makes her feel like shit. she feels like a child being scolded, still on her knees in front of griffin, and she knows this looks as pathetic as she feels.
she's pulled out of her thoughts when she hears victoria say, “there's a shoot tomorrow morning, you promised you'd be home early tonight.”
griffin finally tears his gaze away from the car window to look at arabella. conflicting emotions cross his features for a brief moment before he frowns.
“i did promise that, didn't i…” he trails off, biting his lip as victoria tells him something else.
arabella gives him a sad smile as she grabs her dress from beside her on the floor and puts it back on, the sting of rejection settling into her bones and making it hard not to succumb to the negative thoughts swirling around in her head.
he's married, you idiot. what made you think he'd ever choose you over his wife?
she gets back into her seat and stares out the window, trying and failing to ignore the pain in her chest as griffin wraps up the phone call.
once he hangs up, she feels the emotional shift in this now very small backseat. she doesn't want to look at him. not when she can feel his eyes burning through her.
“i gotta go home,” griffin finally says, letting out a sigh, pulling his pants up before he leans up to the partition and opens it to tell the driver the change of plans.
she feels tears prick her eyes, and she thinks it'll be even worse if a teardrop falls. the last thing she wants griffin to see is her crying over this. this is what she signed up for, and she knows that.
why does it hurt so bad anyway?
once griffin settles back into his seat, he grabs her hand, willing her to look at him.
when she does, he has a look on his face that she can't quite place. is he sad their time was cut short? maybe. but it doesn't matter.
“sorry,” griffin offers, along with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and arabella feels like her stomach is folding in on itself.
“it's fine,” she tries to state plainly, hoping her voice doesn't give away the hurt she feels. she doesn't know what else needs to be said at this point.
he's still holding her hand. and it should feel comforting to her, but it just feels suffocating. how ironic.
but she doesn't let go. he intertwines their fingers together and rests it between them on the seat, his thumb rubbing her hand in a back-and-forth motion.
she turns her gaze back to the window, and can't help but feel so... cold. how can she go from feeling on top of the world to falling back down to earth in a matter of minutes?
it shouldn't even be affecting her this much. it's not like her and griffin haven't been interrupted before. hell, the first time they hooked up they were interrupted in a very similar fashion. it's a pattern, at this point. but this time just feels... different, she guesses. he told her he missed her, for fuck’s sake.
but it's not any different. she knows what she's in for with griffin. again, she knew what she was signing up for.
she leans her head against the car window now, recognizing the familiar streets that lead to her hotel.
god, she thinks to herself. what the fuck is she even doing?
as they pull into the hotel parking lot, griffin squeezes her hand. she tears her eyes away from the window to look at him.
he cups her face with his other hand, giving her a small smile before pulling her in for a kiss. it's the softest he's ever kissed her before, and as she kisses him back, it takes everything in her to not crumble right then and there. both of his hands are cradling her face now, as if she's the most precious thing he's ever held in his life.
but she's not. as much as she wants to be, she's not. she needs to remember that.
they pull away from the kiss.
“goodnight, chosen one,” he attempts to joke, but even as he says it, his face betrays the notion that this situation is even remotely funny.
she wants to laugh, though. he's going home because victoria asked him to. she doesn't really feel chosen.
she wants to say, ‘i wish i was. i wish you'd choose me. just once.’
but all she can offer him in return is a soft sigh. “goodnight, griffin.”
he's searching in her eyes for something, but she doesn't know what. does he want her to beg him to stay? to say fuck it and go through with their plans, victoria be damned? what good would that do either of them?
she climbs out of the car and shuts the door behind her. she watches the car peel away immediately afterward and makes her way to the doors of the hotel.
once she's inside, she beelines to the elevator, hoping and praying she'll be the only one on it at this time of night. she knows she looks like a mess, hair disheveled and lipstick smudged, her dress wrinkled.
thankfully, no one's in the elevator as she walks in, pressing her floor number before she leans against the wall, the doors closing as she feels the past twenty minutes start to catch up to her.
her mind is plagued with the same question she asked herself in griffin’s car.
what the fuck am i doing?
__________________
arabella's back in her hotel room, out of her dress and into her pajamas as she takes her makeup off in the bathroom. she splashes cold water on her face, reaching for a hand towel to wipe off the remaining residue on her skin.
usually after she sees griffin, she wants nothing more than to just stay in the afterglow, not even bothering to clean up her appearance until she absolutely has to.
now though, she wants the remnants off of her as fast as possible.
as she wipes the towel over her mouth, she's reminded of the way griffin kissed her before she left the car. it was just so… soft and unlike the way they normally kiss. it's usually rushed and hurried, as if they're on borrowed time, which they usually are. she can't remember the last time her and griffin had unlimited time together, if they ever have.
she touches her lips again, this time with her finger, looking up in the mirror as she does. she lets out a gasp, seeing her eyes widen as she realizes something.
she hasn't been kissed like that since…
she hasn't been kissed like that since seven.
once he's in her brain, she can't get him to leave. she still remembers the last time they kissed, the memory coming back to her in full force as if it happened yesterday. seven always kissed her softly, he always took his time when his mouth was on hers, always cradled her face in his hands as if she'd bolt the minute they pulled away.
griffin doesn't do any of that. or didn't until tonight, at least. and sure, they've had tender moments together, but it's nothing compared to the moments she once had with seven.
nobody compares to seven. and the question that she never dares to ask herself rears its head, staring at her plain as day as she watches herself in the mirror.
what if no one ever will?
she has to get out of this bathroom. she quickly dries her face off and yanks the door open, racing to her bedside table to grab her pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and grabbing the lighter next to it. she's lighting the cigarette before she even opens the doors to her balcony.
the cool night air quickly envelops her as she settles into her chair outside, pulling the cigarette from her mouth and breathing out a shaky exhale, the smoke floating above her.
as she puts the cigarette to her lips again, she brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping an arm around them.
she feels tears start to prick her eyes again. she can't help but laugh at herself pitifully. hooking up with griffin was supposed to end this… thing she still has for seven. he's her absolute idol. isn't that an upgrade in and of itself? someone so larger than life she almost can't believe she has him?
she lays her head down on her knees as she scoffs. she doesn’t even have griffin. he's married.
at least with seven she was never the other woman.
she takes another drag of her cigarette. she watches the smoke leave her mouth, billowing out of her and into the night sky.
she shouldn't even be thinking of seven right now. he hates her, and that's proven everytime they're forced to interact on this tour.
and yet here she is, staring at the city skyline before her, smoking to calm her nerves but failing miserably as she comes to terms with the fact that using griffin as a distraction isn't working anymore.
she can kiss whoever she wants, pretending it's him, she can close her eyes when she's with griffin, secretly imagining it's seven, but it gets her nowhere but where she is right now, in this moment.
she's still in love with seven.
but where does that leave her? stuck in this endless cycle of pining for someone who wants nothing to do with you, while also pining for another person whose full attention she doesn't even have?
she just wants to be chosen. the memory of griffin calling her chosen one before they departed echoes in her brain and the nickname has never felt more ridiculous than it did when he said it an hour ago.
her options are her ex-boyfriend who'd probably be ecstatic if she left this tour or her very famous idol who can never put her first because he's married.
if she was placing bets on which one of them would choose her, she'd lose all her money.
she takes one last hit of her cigarette before she moves and stomps it out, throwing the butt in the trash can as she walks back into her hotel room.
she settles into bed, pulling the covers over her as she reaches for something on her bedside table again.
griffin’s flask.
she almost can't bring herself to unscrew the cap, but she does, downing what's left before she puts it back. the alcohol burns her throat as it makes its way through her, settling in her stomach as she lays down and stares up at the ceiling.
she glances over at the alarm clock on her nightstand. she has three hours before she's supposed to be awake for filming.
she sighs. this tour isn't even her main concern right now, and it's supposed to be.
maybe that's what she needs to finally do. no more distractions, she tells herself. this tour needs to come first.
yeah, she thinks but even as she dozes off to sleep, flashes of griffin and seven cloud her brain, the alcohol not helping in the slightest. that's easier said than done.
warnings: angst and a confession <3 but at what cost?
tags: @masonscig @farahhauville
notes: yeah idk what i'm doing either! i've fallen (haha) into the worst fallen hero hole imaginable it's all i can think about as of late and this fic is the proof of that. basically arabella tells ortega how she feels. and they discuss the past. just a tad. as a treat! anyway i hope you enjoy 🙏 the title is inspired by unknown/nth by hozier because i listened to it a lot while writing this and it feels fitting. you'll find out why if you read!
[read on ao3]
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
love is as foreign of a concept to you as anything else. feeling safe. grounded. at peace. you know you'll never feel any of those things. and if you have, it's never for long.
why would love be any different?
could it be different? allowing yourself to feel something other than anger, or fear?
no. what a stupid thought. it should be entirely out of the equation.
but the way ortega is looking at you right now is making you question it. for the second time in your life, but with the same person, seven years later.
the person you were then - sidestep, the vigilante, the sidekick - could have seen herself following through with it. but fear and anger always came rushing back to bring you to your senses.
now, there's a whole lot more to deal with.
the person you are now - retribution, the anarchist, the villain - can't get caught up in this. you're lying to him. constantly. more than you ever did in the past. almost everything you say to him is a lie.
except for those rare occasions when you let your true feelings slip. that you love him back, despite everything in you telling you not to. what you just told him, and why he's looking at you the way he is right now. as if you're the only thing on this earth that matters to him, his brown eyes lighting up with the adoration you've tried getting adjusted to ever since he found you back at that diner. his eyes are crinkling in the corners, more than they ever did seven years ago. the smile on his face still gives you butterflies, like it did when you first saw it.
there's a beat of silence, the only sound occupying his apartment being the ceiling fan swinging above you both, a futile attempt to cool down the temperature in the infamous los diablos heat.
futile also because your own body feels like it's overheating, sweat accumulating on your forehead, your hands warm and clammy.
“you love me.”
you roll your eyes. “don't make me repeat it.” even though you want to. until the words don't make sense anymore. until you grow tired of saying it, but part of you knows you never would.
a knowing smile graces his face. you want to hurl. “i won't.”
he holds your hands in his, one of his thumbs rubbing over the jagged edges of a scar you don't remember how you got. there's so many, you gave up trying to.
“i wish i had told you,” he starts, uncharacteristically nervous. “i wish i had told you all those years ago.”
would it have changed anything? a part of you wants to believe it would have. a stupid, stupid part of you wants to believe that.
“it would have made things worse,” you decide, refusing to meet his eyes. “it would have made…”
even now, you can't bring it up.
the heartbreak incident. jumping from the roof. vaguely hearing screams that you know came from him. your skull cracking against the pavement. being put in an ambulance. being taken to-
he tilts your chin up, taking in your wide eyed expression and your heavy breathing.
“it's okay,” he assures you, and you desperately want to believe that. another stupid part of you.
“it wouldn't have made it worse,” he says, “i was in love with you then, too. i should have told you, bella. i’m sorry i didn't.”
his eyes shine with unshed tears, and it takes everything in you to not respond with tears of your own.
it makes no sense. you've fought him, broken his nose, put him in the hospital. cleaned his blood from your suit, your gloves.
and yet, this makes you feel something. remorse. regret. that foreign feeling of love that you're still trying to understand.
you don't deserve him. you didn't then, and you certainly don't now.
“it's okay, ricky,” you finally respond. “we didn't know.”
he chuckles. “no,” he pushes a strand of hair away from your face, and you hate how calming it makes you feel, “but now we do, and we have all the time in the world to make up for it.”
time.
how much do you really have left? being here, in this moment, on his couch, inching closer and closer to each other. you almost didn't realize you were doing it.
as his lips meet yours, warm and familiar, you want this moment to last forever.
you know it can't. it won't.
but for now, you'll enjoy it. even when it all inevitably comes crashing down around you.
notes: so i’ve had this idea of “rewriting” the late night bus scene with seven in @infamous-if for a while now and actually had most of it written down and just… stopped for whatever reason! but i dusted her off and she's here in all her glory <3 for a mc like arabella specifically, i just wanted her to be a tad bit meaner and madder than what was allowed and i love venting my frustrations with seven in fic form! this fic wasn't inspired by the lorde song i just thought the title was literally perfect for it <3 without further ado…
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
arabella flips through the pages of her songwriting notebook, procrastinating on what she set out to do before bed. any other time lyrics would be pouring out of her but… well, she doesn’t exactly know where to start.
the past month has been overwhelming, to say the least. winning the last spot for battle of the bands, getting accused of cheating for said spot, finding a new drummer, practicing for hours on end everyday, figuring out what to pack, orion telling her she can’t bring her entire wardrobe on tour.
she finally has time to herself, which she’s begun to realize is going to be a luxury moving forward, but she can’t get her thoughts to come out onto the page.
she sighs, clicking her pen incessantly, as if doing that is going to give her the breakthrough she needs. maybe she just needs a change of scenery. who knew her incredibly small bed wouldn’t offer up any inspiration besides a joke song she wrote with devyn earlier about how badly the tour bus smells.
she sits up and pulls the curtain back before slipping out and trudging to the main area, notebook and pen in hand. she stifles a yawn before she opens the divider that separates the beds from the living room.
one look around and she instantly wishes she had stayed in her bunk.
she sees seven sitting at the table. because, of course, who else would be up at this time of night? his back is to her, but it looks like he’s… writing. or, writing something and then immediately crossing it out.
she almost laughs but stops herself.
he lets out a sigh before running his hands through his hair, and she’s hit with a wave of… deja vu? nostalgia? nausea?
her hands clench at her sides, fingers twitching as she resists the urge to walk over to him and push the strands of hair away from his face, something she used to do so often when they were together. she wonders if he ever thinks about it, when she would tease him for wearing a bandana but was seemingly never able to contain his hair within it.
the overwhelming feeling subsides and she has control over her body again. she walks over to the other end of the table, avoiding seven's intense gaze as she feels him staring at her, doing what feels like trying to burn a hole right through her.
she doesn't say anything as she sits on the couch, getting comfortable as she reopens her notebook. she still feels him staring at her.
she came here to write. seven being here shouldn't be a hindrance, but as she tries and fails for the millionth time to put words on the page, she wonders why it feels this way. she used to be so comfortable in his presence, almost always being joined at the hip. they would always be up at odd hours, trying to figure out lyrics to the new songs they were working on.
together. always together.
she can't succumb to that type of thinking right now. not when he's the closest he's been to her in nearly three years and yet so far away. he put that distance between them, and she understands why, but sometimes she wishes the never ending ocean of separation where he ends and she begins wasn't so wide. she just wishes this wasn't the way things were.
but they are. and for the past three years she's tried coming to terms with that, failing miserably at every turn because as much as she wants to hate him, and a part of her really, really, does, she can't bring herself to commit to it fully. how ironic, she realizes, when giving all of herself to him came as easy to her as breathing.
she shakes her head and puts her focus back to her notebook. she's barely written two lines when she hears his voice.
"aveiro."
she grimaces at the way he says her last name. is that really all she is to him now? he can't even call her arabella? there was once a point in time when all she loved hearing was the sound of her name coming from his lips because she knew it was safe there. safe from the people in her life and on the internet who told her she was too arrogant, too rude, too bitchy to survive in the industry they’re in. but she never cared about that, and neither did seven.
she knows, and she's known for a while now, that she won't ever have that sense of safety again. and maybe that’s why he won't call her that.
"what made you choose me?"
she wants to laugh. three years apart, a dozen songs between them clearly about one another, and that's the question that's eating away at him? she knows it's been bothering him because she can feel the uneasiness coming off him in waves. no matter how hard she tries, she'll never be able to just see him. she'll always see the emotions underneath everything he says and does.
"choose you?" she asks.
"when it came down to it, you chose my band. why?"
she decides it's best to be logical in this situation. he can't get mad about that, can he?
"i just thought it made the most sense. underground wastebasket are unpredictable and volatile, if you haven't noticed."
he makes a face and she realizes that was probably the wrong thing to say. but what does he want her to do? admit that she's still so pathetically in love with him? admit that given the choice, of fucking course she's picking him? she would pick seven over anything and anyone, and despite everything, that'll never change.
"what?" she asks, but it comes out as more of a demand. he’s the one asking stupid questions in the middle of the night. he should be grateful she was coherent enough to give him the response she did, the exhaustion and their close proximity taking a toll on her brain.
"nothing about you makes sense to me, but alright."
it used to, she wants to say. i used to make more sense to you than i did to myself.
she scoffs instead, which makes him grimace. good. "does it really matter who i chose?"
"yes."
he says it so quickly it makes her want to laugh, but the sound dies in her throat. she’d rather die than let him hear a genuine laugh from her.
"i'm just trying to figure out what you’re planning."
it takes her a second to realize he’s being dead serious. "what… i'm planning?"
"this is a competition and i'm not clueless, aveiro."
she’s changing her last name by the end of this tour. she rolls her eyes as far back into her head as they can go before laughing pitifully. "you caught me. i'm currently on a mission to ruin your life.” she reopens her notebook and clicks her pen. ”any big allergies since we last spoke? i have to make sure what to spike your food with."
he glares at her. "you're not funny."
which is seven speak for ‘that was funny, but i hate you so it's not.’ she's getting pretty good at this. at this rate, they'll be back together again in no time.
ha.
“you used to laugh at every fucking thing i said.” she blurts out, sudden anger surging through her.
“and look where that got us,” he replies, not even sparing her a glance as he doodles in his notebook. seriously?
“yeah, my humor definitely explains the stick up your ass and why you left-”
he looks up at her now, barking out a dark laugh, his face full of nothing but contempt for her. “we are not discussing that shit tonight.”
she shrugs. he wants to treat her like a villain, she’ll gladly accept the role. “seems as good a time as any. i can tell chuck to park and we can hash this shit out tonight. because i, for one, am tired-”
“oh, you’re tired? how do you-”
“think you feel?” she scoffs. even now, he's minimizing how she feels because how could she possibly understand. “you’re forgetting that i know you. and don’t fucking interrupt me.”
“i’m not doing this with you. you’re acting like a child-”
“oh, that’s fucking rich-”
they stop talking over each other once they hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. they both turn to look and see avina standing in the doorway looking extremely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of their neck.
arabella realizes that seven wasn’t writing alone after all. he was writing with avina. she doesn’t understand why it hurts the way it does, but it makes her stomach drop and makes her feel stupid all at once.
“um,” avina starts, attempting to break the tension still in the air, “maybe we should-”
“don’t worry, i was just leaving.” arabella interjects, quickly grabbing her things from the table. she wants to look at seven before she leaves, but decides better on it. she doesn’t think she could stomach seeing the all too familiar look of hurt on his face. the look he always wears in her dreams before she snaps awake, sweating and shaking.
she knows she shouldn’t, but her body moves against her wishes and her head swivels to look back at the table. seven’s back is to her and avina has their arm wrapped around his shoulders, comforting him in the aftermath. claiming a job that was once hers.
a rage bubbles up inside of her and before she can think better of it, her mouth starts moving, calling out, “have fun writing another song about me. good luck!”
she quickly climbs into bed so she doesn’t have to hear any kind of response, pulling the curtain closed with as much force as she can muster.
her head is throbbing now, and she groans softly as her face hits the pillow. she feels hollow. arguing with seven when they were friends always made her feel uneasy, and that feeling only amplified when they started dating.
three years later and that same anxiety creeps its way back into her heart and leaves her utterly exhausted, hands shaking, with tears pricking the corners of her eyes. god, she feels pathetic. they're not even through the first night on this bus and she's breaking down over an interaction that she escalated.
she wants to blame this all on seven, but she knows deep down she brought this on herself. when they were together, arabella thought that seven only brought out the best in her. three years later, and she knows he’s capable of bringing out the worst in her too.
her phone buzzes beside her in bed and she checks the notification. it's from rowan.
open up.
she rolls her eyes, wanting to text back that he could just open the curtain on her bunk if he really wanted to talk. but she knows he's doing it so she can hide the fact she's been crying before she faces him.
and she hates that. she fucking hates that he knows how she gets dealing with seven, and yet ignored her feelings so blatantly earlier.
she quickly wipes her eyes before sitting up and pulling back the thin curtain to reveal rowan standing there, if a little awkwardly. he's in his pajamas, hands in his pockets.
“hey,” he starts, not exactly sure what to say. “you... okay?”
he grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth, and if looks could kill, arabella would have just struck him down.
“right,” he chuckles nervously. “stupid question.”
she feels that rage from before, quietly simmering and now back to boiling, face growing hot. “yeah, a stupid ass question, rowan.”
his eyes widen. “i’m sorry, i-”
“can you just leave me alone?” she interrupts, voice cracking at the end of her question. “i know you're trying to be helpful, but i really don't want to talk to you right now.”
“arabella-”
“no,” she says, tone sharp and laced with venom, “you got what you wanted earlier, and now i’m cashing in my favor. we’ll talk later.”
he looks like he wants to protest, but he sighs instead. “okay.” he gives her one last look before walking back to his own bunk.
she groans in frustration before pulling the curtain back closed again. she's going to have it ripped off and they haven't even been on this bus a full day.
tears prick her eyes again and it takes everything in her to not succumb to how awful she feels.
this is all she's ever wanted. she should be happy to be on tour with her best friends, competing in battle of the bands. making a name for herself. finally achieving her dreams.
so why does she feel so bad? why does the past, it seems like, always come back to haunt her?
she glances at her songwriting notebook again and picks it up, along with her pen. she opens it to the first blank page she can find and quickly starts writing down lyrics, her brain going a million miles a minute.
this tour better be fucking worth it, she thinks to herself as she keeps writing.
it has to be.
for everything she's been through, something has to finally work out in her favor. something to make up for everything she's lost and overcome.
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my queue the next week is just me rbing the content i've posted on my if blog so apologies for that. but u also get to see pretty art so. is it really that bad i don't think so LMFAODKNSNENS
can’t go wrong with pining while fucking as a trope. truly it has it all. pining. awkward sexual situations. weapons grade insecurity for all parties involved. the desperation as they inevitably fall further and further while hating themselves for being unable to stick to the contract of no strings attached. etc. you understand
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