solis

Paranoia should be ranked number 1 in the top 10 worst things to feel. If there is a list like that in the first place. 

Just as she finished her final year of high school, she finally managed to break up with Valarr. 

Valarr Targaryen, her first love, her greatest mistake. 

He was perfect in the beginning, even in that weird talking stage, which teenagers fumble around nervously in. It was their last year of high school, and right at the beginning of September, when everyone returned from the summer break, he admitted he’d adored her since middle school. Hadn’t that always been her favourite book trope? Childhood friends to lovers? Valarr brought her flowers on Valentine's Day, would buy her chocolate, and ice coffee at lunch. He was rich, had more than enough money to spare on measly two dollar ice coffees from the joint nearby. It was nice like a dream or those stupid little romcom movies she could never admit to watching. 

It was around December of that year, things went to shit. It didn’t happen all at once. It would have been easier to understand if it had, but it didn’t. There hadn’t been a fight, no moment where the metaphorical violins screeched in the background and she realized she was dating the villain. Maybe she could point out the day it started. Winter break, when she went to his house for the first time, red-cheeked from the cold, greeting his father and mother with big smiles, giving them the cake she stayed up late making. His father, with mismatched eyes just like Valarr’s, smiled politely and thanked her for the cake as he pat her head lovingly. His mother kissed her cheek and called her sweetheart. You were a middle child, the mature one, the smart one, the one who didn’t need attention. So getting attention for once made you feel nice. His little brother Matarys had been eager to try the cake and complimented her endlessly. She remembered Valarr looked pleased. 

Later, alone in his room, it was warm. The windows fogged over while snow collected outside. She remembered standing awkwardly by his door, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie because she had never been inside a boy’s room before and Valarr was her first-ever boyfriend. There had been stupid things she looked at instead of him— the dragon figurines, posters, books stacked in neat towers, a guitar mounted on the wall. “Come in. What’re you standing there for?” he laughed

They hadn’t done anything. Mostly because she didn’t even if he so clearly did, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of her jeans. They just kissed, and it was so nice, his hands so warm each time they slipped under your top. She remembered laughing into his mouth because his hair kept falling in his face and tickling her cheeks. He grinned then, all soft edges and sleepy eyes, forehead resting against hers. He looked at her like she’d hung the stars herself. “I’ve got you now,” he murmured so quietly she almost missed it.

At the time, she smiled and kissed him again— all clumsy because she wasn’t good at it— because she thought it was sweet. It was funny how memory worked because thinking back to it, those words sounded different now. 

➽─────────❥

The thing is, Valarr had never been overbearing. Not like those men in the movies or TV shows. He was kind and patient and knew her limits, didn’t text a billion times a day to know where she was. She felt stupid sometimes just thinking about the way she acted, thinking that maybe it had been her own fault for getting so entangled so fast. A little bit after turning 18 she’d sent him a picture. Nothing too crazy. She had started working out past the every day gym classes at school. She looked nice, and oh she just wanted to be called pretty. It’d been hard to find the right angle after unbuttoning her jeans and undoing the zipper. The pretty little bow and lace waistband of her panties were visible. A thin silver waist chain she brought from some store was clipped around her waist and her tight crop top hiked up further. Her face wasn’t visible in it, just her body, just what she wanted him to call pretty. The photo looked like something she could find on Pinterest. She thinks it would be easy to find a similar one so no, it wasn’t crazy. Definitely not scandalous. It could easily be counted as those work out progress photos she’s seen on Instagram.

She sent it without thinking too hard about it. No, she was thinking too hard about it. She ended up putting her phone in her pocket and going to see what her family was up to so she wouldn’t die from anxiety. They barely looked at her when they came down. Her younger brother was starting high school next year, her older sister was starting her Master's and graduating after earning her Bachelor’s. There were more important things because well… She never made herself seem important. She was always the easy one, the independent one, the one who cried less, the one who adapted quicker, the one who didn’t need gluten-free, egg-free, lactose-free, and all that other bullshit eldest and youngest children need. She never needed help because she had already done it herself and never caused trouble. 

“The Targaryen boy is lovely,” her mother said

“And rich,” her father said with a snort, “if you two stick it out, we won’t have to worry about you”

She smiled weakly at them because what else was she supposed to do? That was what people did, right? When their parents reduced their future to a financial convenience and a pretty boy with good breeding. 

That night, she told herself she wouldn’t overthink the message, but Valarr left her on read, and it was making her tummy whirl with anxiety. She lay in bed, sort of shaking, contemplating deleting the photo until she saw those three dots.

fuck what the fuck you need to give me a heads up next time I nearly had a stroke you’re so fucking pretty is this what you’ve been hiding from me under your hoodies? I’m so fucking lucky you’re so beautiful

Her chest did something so wonderfully strange. Sure, it took a while but she got the validation she wanted. But now she couldn’t stop imagining his hands all over her and actually saying those things outloud. She turned on her front and screamed into her pillow. It was nice. It was so so nice feeling so wanted. That was the problem, she later thinks. Not that she wanted it— but how easily it wrapped around her ribs and convinced her it was safe. She sent more pictures the following days. Nothing with her face in it, but pretty ones that made her feel good when she looked at them too. One that looked like they belonged on Pinterest, pretty lighting, pretty bras. Nothing fully nude. Valarr would drool and get touchier when they saw each other at school, hands lingering over her waist and back. He guarded his phone more closely after that, not letting any of his friends touch like he used to. That made her feel even safer because boys their age would jump at the opportunity to show their friends. 

The first breakup happened for a reason she couldn’t remember. It wasn’t even a breakup, actually. Just her telling him she couldn’t do this anymore, that maybe it wasn’t working out. Teenagers had erratic feelings. Valarr rejected it quick and simple, telling her she was just overwhelmed with things going on at home.

The second happened after a fight about her going out with her friends, a mixed friend group with an equal amount of boys and girls that looked like a group date.

The third was her doing something stupid, making her friend dress like a boy and pretending that she was cheating by sending videos of her and her friend in compromising positions. Valarr only found it funny and caught her quickly, teasing her.

we can take prettier videos these are such low quality 

It wasn’t even anger, not really. She stared at the screen until it dimmed, then it lit again, because he was typing.

you’re so cute when you try to act like that btw don’t do that again though i don’t like sharing what’s mine even if it’s with your friends you’re too pretty for me to share

Her thumb hovered. There it was again, that word. 

Mine.

She used to think it was sweet. Like something out of a romance novel, something soft and dramatic and doomed in a good way. Like devotion. Like certainty. Like being chosen so completely it erased the edges of all the things that used to hurt. Now it just felt… tight. Like a hand around her wrist that didn’t quite leave bruises. She typed back something small.

it was a joke

The dots appeared instantly.

i know but still don’t like it you at home?

She glanced around her room even though no one had asked to see it. As if the question itself made her feel watched. The curtains were half drawn. Her laundry chair was a collapsing mountain of hoodies and jeans she kept meaning to fold. Her phone charger stretched across the bed like a lifeline she hadn’t earned.

Yeah

good call me later

Not can you, not do you want to, not even a question, just a direction. Her chest tightened again, that familiar little twist she kept mistaking for excitement when things were still good. When things were easy to label. She didn’t reply.

A minute passed, then tww then her phone buzzed again.

you seen my message?

She swallowed.

yeah

A typing bubble. Longer this time.

don’t ignore me

Her fingers went cold. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? How fast it shifted. How quickly a conversation that started as playful could start to feel like she was standing too close to the edge of something she couldn’t see properly. She put the phone face down. That made it worse. Because now she could still feel it vibrating against the mattress like a heartbeat she wasn’t answering. When she finally picked it back up, there were more messages.

i’m not mad just talk to me you’re being weird again

Weird again. That phrase sat somewhere behind her ribs. She tried to remember the last time she had been “weird again.” It blurred together too easily—too many small moments of her pulling back, him stepping forward, her apologizing without quite knowing what she’d done wrong. Her screen lit up with a call.

Valarr 💕

She stared at his name until it stopped ringing then immediately, it started again. She answered on the third. “Hey,” she said, too quickly, too bright.

His voice came through like he was already close. “There you are.”

Not hi. Not are you okay. Not anything that sounded like concern. Just relief, threaded with ownership so subtle it almost passed for affection. “I was just—” she started.

“You were ignoring me.”

She blinked. “I wasn’t— I just didn’t see—”

“You saw it.”

Her throat tightened. “Valarr—”

“Don’t do that,” he said, softer now. Like he was correcting her. “Don’t start acting like I’m the problem.”

Silence filled the space between them, thick and immediate. She sat down on her bed without realizing she was still standing. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said. “It was just a joke with my friends.”

“I know.” But it didn’t sound like understanding. “You’ve just been… off lately,” he continued. “Since break up attempt number… what, three now?”

Her stomach sank. Of course he counted.  She tried to laugh but it came out wrong. “That wasn’t— I wasn’t keeping count.”

“I am,” he said lightly.

Her grip tightened on the phone. There was a sound in the background on his end—laughter, maybe, someone else in the room, music too low to identify. Sometimes she thinks Valarr has shown his friends those photos. “I don’t like when you do that stuff,” he added after a moment. “The jealousy jokes. The breaking up thing. It’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“No?” His tone lifted slightly, like he was humoring her. “Then what were you trying to be?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out because she didn’t know how to answer without making it real. “I just…” she started again, then stopped. Her eyes fixed on the wall across from her, blank and pale. “I don’t know. It felt like a joke at the time.”

“You’re stressed,” he said gently, like he’d decided for her. “You always get like this when things pile up. I get it.”

That again. Explaining her to herself. She pressed her lips together. “I’m not stressed,” she said, quieter than she meant to. 

A soft exhale on the other end, almost fond. “Okay,” he said, like he was indulging her. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hesitated. “Wait—”

“I’m picking you up after class.”

It wasn’t asked, wasn’t discussed. “I didn’t agree to that,” she said, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.

“You don’t have to,” he replied. “You’re overthinking everything lately. Just sleep, yeah?”

And then he hung up. The line went dead so quietly it almost felt like nothing had happened at all. She sat there for a long time with the phone still against her ear then she slowly lowered it. Her reflection in the darkened screen looked unfamiliar. Not different—just… slightly misaligned. Like a version of herself caught in the wrong lighting. Outside her room, someone laughed downstairs, a door closed. She exhaled shakily and told herself, very carefully, that nothing was wrong. It just felt like something was.

➽─────────❥

For a while there are no breakup attempts until one night when he says some mean things to her in his room when she came over. It’s been so long she didn’t remember what he said. Weirdly enough her tears turned to making out like those couples in the movies. She could faintly feel his phone camera capturing the moment. Close up, pretty lighting with the sun setting outside his window light them both up in gold. “Is that what I need to do to calm you down?” Valarr asked, lounging back against his pillows while she sat, straddling his hips

Her face was hot in embarrassment. “I— no, you—” she stammered like she usually did and Valarr hushed her as he twisted his fingers in the hem of her shirt “That’s not— I don’t need to be calmed down.” 

Valarr watched her for a second, eyes half-lidded, like he was bored of the version of her that hesitated. “You always do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”

“This.” His fingers paused, still holding her shirt. “Act like I’m hurting you when I’m literally just trying to talk to you.”

Her stomach twisted. That wasn’t what she was thinking but the second she tried to correct him, she already knew how it would sound coming out. Valarr obviously thought she was going to try to fight again. To her surprise instead of his usual shushing and kissing, he pulled up the hem of her shirt, shoving it into her mouth. “There. Hold it there”  

Her breath hitched so sharply it hurt. The cotton tasted like detergent and something faintly metallic—her own panic or maybe her bath and Body Works body spray. She grabbed instinctively at his wrist, not hard enough to mean anything, just reflex. Valarr didn’t even flinch. He just watched her like she was doing something mildly inconvenient, like she was talking too much and he’d found a way to pause her. “Good,” he said, almost absently. “You always get so loud when you start spiralling.” 

She made a sound around the fabric, protest, confusion, something that didn’t translate into language anymore. Her heartbeat was everywhere at once— in her throat, in her fingers, in the spot where his hand still held her shirt bunched between her teeth. Valarr leaned back further into the pillows like he was settling in to watch a movie. “Don’t pull it out,” he added, calm. “Just stay like that for a second.”

Her eyes flicked to his face. He looked… normal. That was the worst part. Soft hair falling into his eyes. Sunlight cutting across his cheekbones. The same boy who had once bought her iced coffee and kissed her like she was something fragile and holy. “See?” he murmured. “You’re already calmer.”

She wasn’t. She was suspended, like her body had forgotten what to do except exist in small, tight pieces. Her hands hovered uselessly at his wrist, then dropped to his chest, then stopped moving altogether because every instinct felt wrong and uncertain. Valarr’s free hand came up to her jaw. He tilted her face slightly, studying her like she was something he was trying to figure out again. “I don’t get why you keep doing this,” he said, quieter now. “Breaking up. Taking it back. Acting like I’m the problem when I’m literally the only one who actually shows up for you.”

Her stomach dropped at the words, heavy and familiar. She tried to shake her head, but the fabric stopped her from doing even that properly. It came out wrong, small and desperate-looking instead of firm. Valarr sighed like she’d disappointed him. “You don’t even like being alone,” he said. “You told me that yourself.”

Her chest tightened so painfully it almost felt like relief to stop thinking. Because he was right about that part. She hated being alone. She hated the silence in her house, the way nobody noticed when she stopped talking for hours. She hated how easy it was to disappear in her own life. He shifted, pulling her closer by the waist like she weighed nothing. His eyes flicked down and she watched that mismatched gaze she adored turn dark. “Fuck. you really came to break up with me wearing something this pretty?”

She flinches, startled a little, when his thumb touches her bra, exposed because he’d lifted her shirt to shove it in her mouth. The pretty lacy one from Victoria's Secret she secretly bought. The pink lacy one with the little gem stone heart in the centre. Now she felt dumb. Why did she wear that to his house to break up with him? Maybe Valarr was right. Maybe she was being stupid. She watched him pick up his phone and snap a picture, his hand on her bare waist. “Fuck…” Valarr murmured, looking at it “You’re a fucking masterpiece”

He finally lets her pull her shirt out of her mouth before showing it to her. At least he was right. She looked good. Her face wasn’t in it. At least not the whole thing, just her top lip which was closed over her shirt. His hand looked huge on her and the sunset lit her body up so pretty, light reflecting off the gemstones in her bra. “Look at how you’re sitting on me” Valarr murmured, looking away from the picture to look at how she straddled his hips

He looked away, throwing his head back and groaning like he was in pain. Wasn’t it these moments that made her want to stay, made her falter? Being treated like this? She stopped telling her friends about it; they told her that Valarr was literally obsessed and that the fact he doesn’t share the pictures around like the other boys in their grade was a win for her. 

It’s the end of the school year when she finally accomplishes it. Their school decided to host graduation and prom on the same day. Morning time was graduation, and prom in the afternoon, more like an celecration than what it traditionally is. Valarr was valedictorian; her parents didn’t come. She started to cry at the end when Valarr’s mother took photos of her. Alone, not just with Valarr. It almost made her feel guilty that night in her prom dress as she made Valarr sit down in the banquet hall while their classmates were piling out. 

She broke up with him, and he agreed. 

He told her fine.

She told him to delete the photos of her, and Valarr's expression faltered just a bit.

Valarr said fine.

Was it?

9 months. She spent 9 months with Valarr. If you were being technical she spent 3 months with Valarr and spent the next 6 trying to leave him.

Someone like that doesn’t just… Let you leave.

➽─────────❥

She spent the summer alone. Turns out most of her friends weren’t really her friends. Because she and Valarr weren’t together, she didn’t ask him to hang out either. All by herself, she moved into the university dorms in August, loneliness crushing her as she watched her parents drive away. They were paying for everything but how were they going to pay for her loneliness?

The first week of university is supposed to feel like a beginning. That’s what everyone keeps saying. Orientation leaders with forced smile, posters with pastel fonts, people laughing too loudly in hallways that still smell like fresh paint and floor cleaner. Everything is supposed to feel like a clean slate. She keeps waiting for it to happen.

It doesn’t.

Her dorm room is small in a way that feels less like cozy and more like unfinished. Bare walls. A desk that wobbles if she leans too hard on it. A mattress that still has that plasticky stiffness underneath the sheets she brought from home. She sits on it most evenings with her knees pulled to her chest, phone face-down beside her like it’s guilty of something.

She tells herself she’s fine.

She tells herself it enough times that it almost starts to sound true.

Maybe it was the lack of support system that was making this harder. Maybe it was the fact she wasn’t paid attention to at home that made it harder. Or maybe the worst part is that everything that was wrong was someone else’s paradise. Her parents gave her money, Valarr at the end of the day had always been loving… If she told anyone, she’d sound spoiled and ungrateful. So she never did. She kept it to herself as she made friends with the girls in her dorm. They were nice. Kind. Listened when she finally opened up about Valarr. Then came the paranoia when one of her roommates, Natalie, said: “What if he didn’t delete the photos?”

That’s where it started and hasn’t stopped since.

That same week, in your criminology class the professor was talking about revenge porn. Those photos and videos couldn’t be counted as revenge porn. She remembers the lighting more than anything else. The way her room used to look in the evening when the curtains were half open and everything turned gold and soft. She remembers thinking she looked pretty. That was the whole point. Not dirty. Not scandalous. Just… pretty. Like something curated for aesthetic purposes. They were something you could find on Pinterest. Something to incite more envy than lust. But still.. it was her, and she wasn’t an influencer. “Non-consensual distribution of intimate images,” the professor says, clicking to the next slide. “Sometimes partners can threaten the distribution of these images. It’s something that happens often on campus so I hope you’re all being safe—”

On the slide is a definition, bullet points, clinical, detached language that makes it sound like something that happens to other people— people with worse luck, people who didn’t know better. 

Her fingers tremble as she pulls up iMessage on her macbook, scrolling down to find Valarr’s contact and messaging him fast.

Hey. I know it’s been a long time but it’s been bothering me Have you deleted those photos? And the videos? 

The message sits there longer than she expects it to. Delivered, not read. That tiny grey word feels like a weight pressing into her chest. She stares at it so long the screen dims, then brightens again when her cursor shifts. Her hands hover over the keyboard, then fall still. The silence in her dorm feels too loud—hallway pipes ticking, someone laughing faintly outside, a door slamming somewhere down the corridor. It’s ridiculous how quickly her brain fills the empty space he leaves behind.

He’s busy.

He’s in class.

He’s ignoring you.

You broke up with him, why would he want to talk to you?

He’s angry.

Her stomach twists at the last one because anger always meant something different with Valarr. She shuts the laptop halfway, then immediately opens it again because she remembers she was still in class and had to focus on the lecture and not if her ex-boyfriend still had those borderline nudes of her in his camera roll. Her eyes keep flicking off her Google Doc anyway, to the top right corner of the screen where the notification would appear when he answers. 

No reply.

Ten minutes pass.

Then twenty.

The notification finally appears, but it’s not the text beneath his name. It says photo attached. Without thinking, she clicked on the notification, and her heart dropped seeing a photo of herself. It was… It was one she forgot about. That one where Valarr had coaxed her to try what he called a dap pen. She’s bent over his dresser, not unclothed exactly, she just has no top on, just the pretty pink bra he loved so much and her jeans. He’s taking the picture from behind, his clothed crotch pressed to her ass, fingers under the closure of her bra. Her face is visible in the mirror just barely but it’s unmistakable that it’s her. The sound of the laptop snapping shut is too sharp for a room that’s supposed to feel safe. Heads turn. Not many—just enough. A girl at the next table pauses mid-sentence. Someone in the back shifts in their chair. The world keeps moving, but she feels like she’s been momentarily lifted out of it and set back down wrong. Her hands stay on the lid like she can press the image out of existence.

No.

No, no, no—

Her throat tightens so fast it makes her dizzy. It’s not real. It’s not happening right now. It’s old. It’s just old. It’s just old but he still has it even when he said he’d delete them. She asked about them and he sent the most scandalous one. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck— Her pulse is already sprinting ahead of her thoughts, dragging them behind like loose thread. She stands too quickly and her chair scrapes. The sound is humiliating in a way she can’t explain, like she’s already done something wrong even though she hasn’t moved yet. “Sorry,” she hears herself say automatically, to no one in particular.

She doesn’t think she’s ever left a room so fast. It was like the universe was warning her by making revenge porn a topic in lecture today. Her legs wobble as she walks back to the dorm building. Her head spun, stomach aching from nausea, as she fumbled with her key fob, getting into the building. She doesn’t remember deciding to go up the stairs. Her body just does it—like if she moves fast enough, the feeling won’t catch up. Like embarrassment has a physical speed limit, and she can outrun it.

One floor then another. Her breath keeps snagging halfway through her chest, turning into something uneven and thin. Every landing looks the same: beige walls, dull lighting, a fire safety poster she’s already seen too many times this week. In case of emergency, as if anything about this feels like something she can label cleanly as an emergency and not just… her life again doing that thing where it quietly falls apart in her hands.

By the third floor, her fingers are shaking so badly she can’t tell if it’s from fear or anger or something worse she doesn’t want to name. Finally comes the fourth floor, and then at the end of the hall, her dorm room. Her roomates her here. It was the middle of the day, barely 2 weeks into the semester, why would they be here? She stumbled to her room, locking the door behind her. “Fuck fuck fuck” she sniffled, tears falling as she let her bag fall to the floor

She sank to her knees on the floor, pressing her face to the side of her bed. Panic seized her quick, heart beating at what felt like a thousand times a minute, so hard and so fast her ribs began to ache. Pressing her hand to her sternum didn’t help either; neither did those stupid breathe in and out slowly techniques they show you on YouTube. In her head, her professor’s voice echoed and in front of her eyes were the lecture slides. 

“Crimes like these aren’t often reported due to shame and fear of double victimization—”

“Societal pressure—”

“Victim blaming—”

Her hands fumbled for her phone, opening up the text thread, hoping maybe she hallucinated it. No, she didn’t. The photo was still there. Just the photo and nothing else. Her phone falls from her hands and a pained noise left her lips. She’s been happy in the photo— high for the first time, safe with him. Nothing happened that night. Nothing. They just smoked and Valarr called her pretty and they napped and ate and made out. Nothing past that but the photo would make it look like something did happen. Her breath came in short, ugly pulls. She pressed her palms hard into her eyes until she saw color explode behind her lids—reds, whites, fractured light, anything other than the image still burning in her head.

Her phone vibrates once. She can see the message preview on her lockscreen:

Valarr Did I scare you baby?

A nervous whimper left her lips. Another vibration.

Valarr I didn’t mean to scare you

Then more vibrations but this time not a notification, Valarr’s caller ID flashed on her phone. Her hands shake as she slides to accept, no option for decline. It was like even her phone was against her. “Hey,” Valarr says softly like nothing is wrong, like he didn’t just detonate her entire chest cavity with a single image.

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her tongue feels too heavy, stuck to the roof of her mouth. She sits there on the floor of her dorm room, knees pulled in, phone pressed so tightly to her ear it hurts. “Baby?” he prompts gently. “You there?”

Her breathing is wrong, too fast, too shallow. She tries to speak and it breaks halfway out. “Wh-why did you send that.”

She hears shuffling on the other side. “You’re crying” He says, sounding concerned “oh no, I really scared you, didn’t I? I know you told me to delete them but I couldn’t help it, pretty girl. And then you asked me and I should’ve just said ‘no I didn’t delete them’ instead of sending a photo. Were you in the middle of class?” 

Her throat tightens so hard it feels like the words might physically get stuck there. “You… you shouldn’t have sent anything,” she manages, but it comes out wrong—thin, fractured, like she’s apologizing more than accusing.

There’s a pause on the line. Then Valarr exhales, soft and patient, like she’s being difficult in a way he expected. “Okay,” he says gently. “Okay, I hear you.”

Her chest loosens for half a second—stupidly, reflexively—because that tone is familiar. The one that used to mean he was going to fix it, the one that used to mean she could stop shaking. But then he continues. “I just don’t think you’re looking at this the right way.”

Her fingers curl around the edge of her bedsheet so tightly it hurts. “What?”

Another small sigh like she’s the one slowing things down. “You’re spiralling,” he says, calm as anything. “You sent me that message out of nowhere in the middle of class asking about stuff we already talked about months ago. I got worried. I thought something was wrong.”

Her stomach drops. “That doesn’t— I didn’t—” Her voice cracks, and she hates it immediately. “I was asking a normal question.”

“You’re crying right now,” he says again, still gentle. “So something is wrong.”

Silence swells between them. In her room, the air feels too small to breathe properly in. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he adds after a moment, softer now. “But you can’t just disappear on me and then act surprised when I react.”

Her mouth opens then closes. Her thoughts are moving too fast to catch any of them properly, like she’s trying to grab smoke with her bare hands. “I didn’t disappear,” she says finally. “We broke up.” 

Valarr doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—almost amused, almost fond— “You’re still doing that?”

Her skin goes cold. “Doing what?”

“This thing where you act like we’re strangers,” he says. “We’ve known each other for years. We were together for nine months. You don’t just erase that because you got scared one day and said a word.”

Her grip tightens again. “I didn’t get scared,” she says, but it sounds weak even to her.

Valarr hums like he’s considering it. Like he’s grading her answer. “Okay,” he says again, easy. “Then why are you like this right now?”

She doesn’t answer. Because the truth feels too big to fit into words that won’t make her sound insane. He will tell her she’s overreacting and he’d never send those photos around, that it was only a coincidence that her professor was talking about revenge porn when he sent that old photo. “You know I wouldn’t actually hurt you,” he says softly.

Actually.

Like there’s a version of him that would, and a version that wouldn’t, and she’s supposed to feel grateful for the one she got. Her voice comes out quieter. “Then why did you send it?” 

Valarr was quiet for just long enough that she almost thought the call had dropped. But then he laughed. Not loudly, just one soft breath through his nose. "Because you asked."

She stared at the stupid Spider-Man bedsheets she bought out of nostalgia. "...What?"

"You asked if I deleted them." His voice was patient, almost puzzled by the question. "So I answered."

"That's not—"

"You wanted proof."

"I wanted you to tell me they were gone. Maybe answer with a simple yes or no—"

"I couldn't do that."

Her heartbeat stumbled. "...Why?"

Another pause. "Because I'd be lying."

The words settled over her like snowfall. Her fingers went numb around the phone. "You promised."

"I know."

"You promised me."

"I did."

"So why—"

"I couldn't." He said it so simply.

Not wouldn't, couldn't, like the difference mattered, like it excused everything. She squeezed her eyes shut. "You..." Her voice trembled. "You were supposed to delete them."

"I tried."

Her breathing hitched. "...What?"

"I tried." A small chuckle. "I even opened my photos."

He sounded almost embarrassed. There is the sound of people laughing on his side, a little shuffling like he’s walking. Maybe he’s at his own university. "I got through... maybe six."

Six.

She couldn't remember how many there actually were.

Twenty?

Forty?

More?

Every pretty sunset.

Every mirror.

Every carefully angled picture she'd spent twenty minutes taking because she wanted him to tell her she looked pretty. "I couldn't keep deleting them."

"...Why?"

"Because they're you." The answer came instantly as if he'd been waiting to say it. "I like looking at you."

She felt sick. "You don't own pictures of me."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

"I said I know."

"They're mine."

"They're both of ours."

"No." Her voice cracked. "They're mine."

"They're memories."

"They're my body."

"I know." His calmness was unbearable.

Every sentence she threw at him dissolved into the same impossibly gentle tone like she was throwing rocks into the ocean. "You think I'm some kind of monster now."

"I didn't—"

"You do."

"I never—"

"I scared you." His voice had become quieter, sad almost. "I hate that."

She swallowed. "Then delete them." Silence besides the background noise of wherever he was. "...Valarr."

Nothing. "...Please." 

Another long pause before he finally spoke. "I don't think deleting them would actually make you feel better."

She laughed but it came out broken. "What?"

"I think you'd just find something else to worry about."

Her stomach lurched. "I wouldn't."

"You would."

"No."

"You've always worried."

"I am worried because you still have them."

"I've always had them."

"You said—"

"I know what I said."

"So you lied."

"I changed my mind."

She couldn't breathe. People weren't supposed to admit things like that. Not so calmly, not like discussing the weather. "...Valarr."

"Hm?"

"I don't understand you."

"I know."

"I broke up with you."

"I know."

"We're not together."

"I know."

"So why..." She couldn't finish.

Why are you talking like nothing happened?

Why do you still call me baby?

Why does it feel like I'm the only one who remembers we ended?

His answer arrived anyway. "I've been giving you space."

Her eyebrows knit together. "...Space?"

"For the summer."

She felt the room tilt. "I thought..." He laughed quietly. "I figured you'd come back."

"What?"

"You always did."

No. No, she didn't. She— Her mind stumbled.

First breakup.

Second.

Third.

Fourth.

Every single one had ended with her apologizing.

Or crying.

Or kissing him.

Or somehow walking away still holding his hand.

Every single attempt.

Except graduation and prom.

Except—

Her stomach dropped. "...You didn't think I meant it."

"I knew you meant it." His correction was immediate. "You were hurting."

"Valarr—"

"You were overwhelmed."

"No."

"We just graduated."

"No."

"Your parents weren't there."

She froze. "...What?"

"I remember." His voice remained gentle. "You were crying while my mum took photos of you."

Her throat tightened. "You kept looking into the audience… I figured..." He hesitated. "...if I loved you enough, you'd come home."

Home.

Not back.

Home.

Something inside her ribs twisted painfully. "You told me once." His voice softened further. "'I feel safest with you.'"

She remembered saying it. She wished she didn't. It had been after another dinner where her family forgot she'd won an academic award until two days later. He'd held her, she'd cried, she'd whispered it into his hoodie without thinking. Safe. She'd called him safe. God. She had. "You said..." he continued quietly, "...that when you're with me you don't feel invisible." 

Tears blurred her vision and she just starts to sob. No wailing, just hiccuping sobs. “Oh no no no, baby” He sounded heartbroken for a second then quickly when on to console her “Hey, hey… listen listen. You know we go to the same Uni? I’m in the same dorm building… I uh… I never reached out. I waited. I kept my distance, hm. I’ve been seeing you around but I stayed away. Do you want me to tell you my room number so you can come over? We can—”

“I miss you” She whispered through tears, cutting him off

There is silence. From Valarr at least but there is still the background noise on his end. She shakily looked down at her phone. They’d been talking for 23 minutes. She didn’t realize how quickly time had passed. She shakily pressed the phone to her ear again, chewing at her thumb. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice dropped into something achingly gentle, the same voice that used to ask if she wanted the last fry, the same voice that used to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear. “You want to come to my room?”

She finds herself nodding but then remembers he could see her. “Yes…”

“I’m on the 6th floor. Room 617… I’m pretty sure my cousin’s gone out…” it sound like he’s opening a door “Daeron!?— yeah he isn’t here. C’mon baby”

“Okay…”

➽─────────❥

The elevator is broken so she has to climb another 2 floors to the top. She’s shaking the whole time, pulling her hood over her head so the people passing her don’t see her crying. There were 6 floors for the dorm building. The floor at the top was the singular rooms you shared with a roommate. No separate rooms, just one big room and an attached bathroom. Valarr’s family was very family-oriented. Of course he’d have chosen that room to share with his cousin. Up on the 6th floor, she's crying again, quieter now. Not the sharp, panicked sobs from before. Just the kind that leak out of someone too exhausted to keep them inside.

Room 617.

The numbers blur together before she finally finds it. Her fist hovers over the wood, three knocks and the door opens almost immediately. Valarr looks as handsome as ever. His hair is shorter, the white streak almost brighter. “There you— oh no” he grabs her by her shoulders and quickly guides her inside

The room smelled like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It looked... lived in. Two desks. One unmade bed, the other perfectly clean. A stack of textbooks with sticky notes poking from every direction. Someone—Daeron, probably—had left instant ramen cups beside a gaming console. It’s so normal-looking it hurts. The door clicked shut behind her. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice was so soft it almost hurt. "Come here."

She didn't remember moving. One second she was standing by the door, hoodie half-zipped, wiping uselessly at her face, the next she was buried against his chest. His arms folded around her like they had hundreds of times before. The crying came back all at once, ugly enough that she couldn't apologize between breaths. Her forehead pressed into his sweatshirt while his hand rubbed slow circles over her back. "It's okay," he murmured.

"I'm sorry—"

"No."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You don't have to apologize." His hand slid into her hair after pulling her hood off, smoothing it down. "I've got you."

Her stomach tightened despite herself. "I didn't know what to do," she whispered.

"I know."

"I've been so scared."

"I know."

It’s easy for him to lift her off the ground, hands finding themselves under her thighs. She’s carried to his bed, the clean one obviously, and he sits on the edge with her in his lap, first toeing off his own shoes, then tugging hers off easily. “C’mon,” Valarr murmured and scooted backward on the bed till his back was against the wall. “Tell me what’s wrong, hm. What happened?” 

She doesn’t answer immediately. Not because she doesn’t know—there’s too much to say, it spills up against her teeth and makes it hard to breathe—but because none of it feels like it will come out right. Nothing ever comes out right with him. It always gets reshaped halfway through, like he’s already decided what she meant before she’s even finished speaking. She shivered against him as he rocked her back and forth in his arms. “I… You’ll do that thing again if I tell you…”

Valarr doesn’t move at first. There is just that slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, his hand still combing through her hair like he’s soothing a frightened animal. “Do what thing?” he asks softly

It’s that tone again. That very familiar patient, curious tone like she’s the one introducing confusion into something perfectly understandable and simple. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie anyway because even after 2 months, her body never got the memo they were broken up. “I don’t know how to explain it” she whispers

“Don’t then. Just talk; I’ll stay quiet”

It should feel comforting, but now this tightness in her ribs doesn’t match the softness of his dorm room or the warmth of his arms or the way he’s holding her like they were 17 again. “I say something and you make it sound like I’m confused and overreacting or didn’t mean it and make me feel crazy”

Valarr is quiet for a long moment, but he never stops rocking, never stops his fingers in her hair. “I… Didn’t realize I was doing that,” he murmured. “Is that why you left me?”

She freezes at the question. Not because it surprises her— nothing with him really surprises her anymore— but because of the way he says it. Soft and curious like he’s genuinely trying to solve a problem he didn’t know existed. “I…” She almost starts sobbing again

“Okay okay” He stops her, “let’s not have this conversation right now. Tell me what happened”

She swallows hard, but it feels like swallowing glass. Her throat aches from crying and her face is wet. She tries to sit up a little but his arm tightens around her waist. “I… Well one of my roommates was telling me about this girl in her hometown that got her nudes leaked” its a lie, she wasn’t about to tell him she told them about him “and then the next day— today— in my crim lecture the prof was talking about revenge porn and… And I just got nervous because it felt like those things like in the movies—”

“Uh huh”

“—a-and I just texted you because… Because… Just in case… Then you responded with the picture and n-not just any picture but that picture and i-it felt like you were threatening me” The words spilled out fast like vomit 

Valarr stared at her for a long moment then he let out a breath through his nose. It was almost like a laugh. “A… Threat?” he repeats gently like he really isn’t trying to laugh

The look on his face is filled with pity. Her stomach twisted immediately seeing it. “I didn’t… I… No…” her wobble looking at him 

“Hey hey, no” Valarr held her face “I’m just trying to understand. I can… I can see why it freaked you out. It was bad timing, my choice of photo was terrible… Fuck I’m so sorry”

He presses the hand that was on her face to her chest. “Your heart’s beating so fast…”

Her heartbeat stutters under his palm. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly, as he rubs the centre of her chest. “I just—when I saw it I thought—”

“You thought I was threatening you,” Valarr finishes, still gentle.

She nods, too fast. He brings both his hands up to hold her face. “That makes sense,” he says and relief hits her so sharply it almost hurts because for the first time ever he’s not blaming her “My timing was shit. I don’t even know what I was thinking sending that to you. I… fuck… I should’ve just answered with a proper yes or no. I’m so sorry.” 

She nods too quickly; it feels safer than speaking. Valarr exhales, and his shoulders drop a fraction like the whole situation is finally resolving itself into something manageable. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, good. Come here.”

He pulls her in again before she can decide whether she wants to move. Not forceful—never forceful in a way anyone could point to later—but immediate, certain, like the decision was already made and she was just catching up. Her cheek ends up pressed against his chest again. His heartbeat is steady unlike her own.  “I think,” he says softly, fingers sliding back into her hair, “you’ve just been alone with this for too long.” 

She lets out a shaky breath against his sweatshirt. “I wasn’t alone,” she says, but it comes out muffled.

Valarr hums. “You kind of were.”

His hand moves slowly up and down her back, measured, like he’s calming something skittish. “You didn’t tell me you were spiralling like this,” he continues. “You didn’t tell me you were getting scared again.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to get scared…”

“I know… I know… But being lonely always makes you scared and you’ve been alone for two months” Valarr whispers after pressing a kiss to her clothed shoulder “But it’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay. You still have me”

“I do…?” She hates how small she sounds 

His fingers keep moving through her hair in slow, patient strokes. Not hurried. Not uncertain. Like he’s done this exact thing a hundred times and she’s only now remembering how to breathe properly under it. “Of course you do,” he says at last, as if it’s obvious. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Her throat tightens. She shifts slightly in his lap, just enough to create space between them, but his arm adjusts instantly—casual, natural—closing the gap again without making it feel like anything happened at all. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “It just… felt like I didn’t.”

Valarr lets out a soft exhale through his nose, almost amused but not unkind. “That’s because you’ve been isolating yourself. You do this thing where you disappear into your head and then convince yourself everyone else left you there.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Because it sounds wrong. But also… too close to something she’s afraid to name. “I didn’t disappear,” she says weakly.

“You stopped talking to me,” he corrects gently. “You stopped talking to your friends. You broke up with me and then expected your life to just… keep feeling normal.”

Her fingers curl into the hem of his hoodie. “I didn’t stop talking to them… They stopped talking to me”

He looks down at her. “Oh? Oh… Oh I didn’t know that. You had a falling out?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m sorry” he kisses her ear

The past two months come spilling out. Saying it for the first time outloud reminds her just how miserable life has been without him. She wonders if maybe… Just maybe life was better with him? It’s so stupid. He’s terrible. She knows that. She knows it the way you know a stove is hot even before you touch it. So why does her body still lean into him like it’s remembering something safer than her brain can explain? Valarr’s hand is still moving through her hair. Slow. Certain. Like nothing in the world has ever been complicated between them. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, softer, pressing another kiss somewhere near her temple. “I didn’t realize it got this bad for you.”

Her throat tightens. He says it like what she’s describing is weather. Like it just… happened to her. “I didn’t mean for it to get bad,” she says quietly, and hates how easily it comes out like an agreement.

“You never do,” he replies, almost fond. “But don’t worry. I’m here now. It’ll be okay”

He pulls back and unzips her hoodie, easily pulling it off the rounds of her shoulders. “I missed you” The words fell from her lips a lot easier than she wanted

Because at the end of the day, life has been easier with him. 

Valarr is already shaking his head before she even finishes the sentence. “I missed you too,” he says, and there’s a small smile in it, soft at the edges, like he’s trying to make the moment safe again. “I’ve always missed you.”

Her breath catches at that. Something in her chest loosens without permission, traitorous and immediate. His hands don’t stop moving. They never really do. One stays at the small of her back, steadying her there like she might drift away if he lets go. The other smooths over her shoulder, lingering where her hoodie used to be, like he’s remembering her shape underneath it. “I didn’t know you were struggling like this,” he continues quietly. “I thought you just needed space. I thought you’d come back when you were ready.”

“I—” Her voice falters. “I did come back. I didn’t mean to. I just— I got scared and—”

“And you spiralled,” he finishes, gently, like he’s offering her the right word. “Yeah. I get it.”

She flinches a little at how easily he says it, like it’s a pattern he’s seen before and knows how to handle. Like she’s predictable in a way that makes her feel both seen and… smaller. Valarr shifts her slightly in his lap so she’s more comfortable, more settled against him. It’s careful. Practiced. He’s always been good at making things feel like comfort even when she can’t quite tell what direction she’s being guided in. “You don’t have to handle things alone,” he says. “You never did.” 

Valarr leans forward slightly, resting his forehead against hers for a second—light contact, grounding, familiar. When he speaks again, his voice is softer than before. “You don’t have to test me like that, okay?” he murmurs. “If you’re worried about something, just ask me directly. Don’t disappear. Don’t do the breakup thing. Don’t assume the worst and run.”

Her throat goes dry. “I wasn’t trying to test you,” she says. 

“I know,” he replies immediately. “You just don’t trust things staying good.”

Valarr helps her out of her clothes. It isn’t something they’ve ever done before. Maybe they’ve been only topless around each other, not this though. She’s been in a bikini around him because his house has a indoor pool but… This was a different. Her cheeks flush watching him undress to his boxers and get into bed with her. He’s still so handsome… “What are we doing?” she whispered

“Cuddling”

“We’ve never done it like this…”

“No, but it’s nice isn’t it?”

It is nice. That’s the worst part. How easily her body accepts it before her mind can argue. Valarr is already settled against the pillows, like he belongs there more than she does. Like this room was always arranged with two people in mind and she’s only now remembering her place in it. He reaches for her without hesitation, tugging her closer by the waist so she ends up half-sprawled against his bare chest. She’s half laid on top of him, nearly skin to skin for the first time. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not,” she lies automatically.

His hand pauses for half a second—just long enough for her to notice—then resumes its slow movement up her back. “You are,” he corrects gently. “It’s okay. It’ll stop soon.”

That it’ll stop soon does something strange to her. Like he’s talking about a storm passing, not her body reacting to him. She stares at the wall over his shoulder. It’s bare except for a faint shadow where something used to hang. A frame, maybe. Or a poster. The emptiness feels too intentional. “I don’t understand how we’re just…” Her voice breaks before she can finish.

“Here?” he supplies.

She nods against him. Valarr exhales, almost soft laughter without humor. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

It isn’t said like a question. More like she’s missing something obvious. Like she’s the only one confused by gravity. His fingers trace slow patterns at the base of her neck. Not quite comforting. Not quite anything she can name cleanly. “You came here,” he says. “You miss me. I miss you. We’re talking.” 

“We broke up,” she whispers again, smaller this time. Like repeating it might make it more real.

Valarr tilts his head slightly to look down at her. His expression doesn’t change much—just that familiar patience, the one that always makes her feel like she’s being gently corrected instead of disagreed with. “Do you want to get back together?”

“Yes…”

She feels a little stupid. He rubs a warm hand down her back. “Do you want me to make it better?”

She looked up at him, his mismatched eyes warm. She didn’t remember agreeing. Barely remembered anything after how and sweaty it got in his room. She knew to be worried. “What if Daeron comes back?” her voice was shaky, face flushed red as she watched him come up from between her thighs, wiping his chin and mouth

Valarr just smiled warm and soft, lowering himself over her and told her not to worry. It’s overwhelming. All of it. His chest presses against hers then against her back after turning her over. This pressure in her tummy never leaves. His weight pressed down on her mercilessly. The rush of emotions and sensations left every nerve ending on fire. She’s pressed into a deep arch that makes her muscles stretch near painfully. There is a hand on the back of her neck, holding her head down as he presses kisses going down her spine while his hips rock, knocking the breath from her lungs. “I’ll make it better. I swear I’ll make it better” Valarr whispered, tone reverent

Tears prick her eyes. “Too deep” she whimpered, voice muffled by the pillow her face was pressed into 

Every drag of him sent sparks shooting up her spine. How did she get here again? She doesn’t remember. She didn’t remember saying yes, doesn’t remember allowing him to remove her bra or panties. It didn’t seem to matter right now though as he pressed himself harder against her. “That’s it, let yourself feel it” he rasped, breath hot against her neck “forget about everything else.”

Valarr leaned down to press more open mouthed kisses along her shoulderblades, teeth grazing sensitive skin. She cries when she hears him whisper “I love you”