𝐿𝒜𝒞𝐸𝒴 🧸ྀི

Sometimes if he closes his eyes he thinks he can picture her, her tinkling laughter drifting over her shoulder, her face turning towards him, so he can never quite see her not in motion. That’s what loving her has done to him.

Chris flops over onto his back, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Finding her contact, he waits for the line to connect, desperately anticipating the click.

“Sun, are you calling me again already?”

Her voice picks up after the second ring, soft and teasing in a way that makes something in his chest unclench.

Chris smiles, pressing the phone tighter to his ear as he smiles up at the ceiling. “Missed you.”

“We talked this morning. And you always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

She lets out a little laugh, not the big one he always tries to get out of her, but enough. He can hear her shifting in bed, can imagine the way she probably curls her legs up to get comfortable, the light hum of music always playing faintly in the background.

“What are we listening to tonight?” he asks.

“Fleetwood Mac. ‘Silver Springs’ is playing right now.”

“Someone break your heart Dais?”

She laughs again, small again. “No no, not yet,” she drifts off, and Chris waits for her to speak, work her magic, unknot him just through her voice leaking into his ear, and her listening in return. “Are you alright, Sun? You sound sad.”

He doesn’t deny it.

They talk like that for a while… floating in that safe space only the two of them know how to keep. He tells her about a dream he had, something stupid involving a vending machine and getting stuck in an elevator. She teases him about it. He tells her about his day, the way everything feels heavier than it should. She listens. She always listens. And then does it some more. 

For someone who yearns to hear her voice so much, Chris sure does a lot of talking, he realises.

“Hey,” she says softly, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve gotta go soon.”

His stomach tightens, right under his left rib and he unclenches his jaw, already realising the anxious tick. “Right. You working?”

“Mhm.”

“Right.” He tries to keep the edge out of his voice, fails a little. Sits up in bed, head hanging slump below his shoulder. The whole room feels darker now. “Gotta go be charming and sexy for strangers.”

“It’s not like that, Sun.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence hums between them.

He shifts, voice quieter now. “Do you talk to them the way you talk to me, Dais’?”

“Sun…”

“Just tell me.”

She exhales. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say it’s different.”

“You’re different.”

“But you still do it.”

“It’s my job.”

“And what am I?” Chris inhales sharply at the end of the question, the inflection cutting him deep in the abdomen like he’s just impaled himself. Pulling the weapon out then, he continues. Might as well bleed all over. “Side hustle? A hobby? Experience?”

On the other end, Daisy flinches, just slightly. She hopes Sun doesn’t hear it in the way her breath catches, in the way her throat seems to tighten. His words cut, not because they’re cruel but because they sound like they’re born out of the same loneliness that made him call the hotline in the first place. And she hates that. Hates that she’s the cause of it this time.

“You’re not—don’t do that. You’re not a hobby.” Her voice is firm but shaky at the edges, like a bowstring pulled too tight. She presses her free hand into the blanket bunched across her lap, grounding herself. “You’re not.”

“Then what are we doing?” Sun’s voice is quiet, but the quiet makes it worse, it’s like he’s speaking directly into her chest, where the question can lodge itself and twist.

Daisy stares into the dark of her room, eyes unfocused. She wants to tell him everything. That he’s probably so much more than enough. That she’s only ever been in love with one guy, and for years longer than he’s ever known her. And that she knows she should give up all the rules, her stupid crush, if it meant not hearing that hollow note in his voice again. But the words knot together, impossible to untangle without breaking every boundary they’d promised to keep.

Her lips part, then close again. The silence stretches long enough that she can feel the weight of it pressing against both of them.

“I have to go,” she says finally, voice smaller than she intended.

Sun doesn’t reply, and the absence of his goodbye stings sharper than it should. She waits one beat longer, hoping he’ll soften, offer her something to hold onto, but nothing comes. So she ends the call herself, thumb trembling as she presses the button.

The sudden quiet in her room feels cavernous.

On the now dead other end of the line, Chris stays frozen, phone pressed to his ear long after even the static of her breathing goes quiet, as if keeping it there could conjure her back. His chest is tight, his jaw locked, but underneath all the ache is something else, something uglier.

The thought of someone else hearing her laugh right now. Of her saying goodnight to another man with the same soft cadence she’d used for him this morning. Of her offering kindness that feels like it belongs to him alone.

The jealousy hits like a wave, rolling sharp and unrelenting through his ribs. He wants to shake it off, to tell himself she’s just doing her job, but the animal part of him, that tortured rageful man, keeps growling: she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

And then there are the other images, darker still. Her mouth parting to whisper what someone wants to hear. Her words dipping into fantasy, coaxing, pretending, giving pieces of herself that he’s told himself were his alone, even after their lines drawn in the sand.

He hates it. Hates that he can’t decide which version guts him more: the thought of her tenderness being stolen, or her body, her breath, her desire being imitated for someone faceless.

He presses the phone harder into his palm, jaw aching. Logic tells him to let it go, to respect the line they’ve drawn. But jealousy isn’t logical. It’s loud and sour and hungry.

It rots for hours after she hangs up, continues to even after he’s decided to just have a quick rinse, not change his sheets or clean the room that he wants her in but be ashamed for her to see as of late.

And before he can think better of it, his fingers move of their own accord.

He dials the hotline.

Just to see.

Just to know.

His fingers move on instinct.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then, “Hello?” 

It’s her voice, just a little breathless, settling quickly into that practiced warmth he’s never heard from her at the start of their calls. The professional cadence.

Chris’s throat goes dry. He almost hangs up right there. But instead, he clears his throat, pitching it lower, rougher. “Uh… hey.”

There’s a pause on her end, just long enough that he can picture her tilting her head, slipping into the role. “Hi there,” she says, gentle, coaxing. “Rough night?”

His pulse skitters. She doesn’t know it’s him. To her, he’s just another voice in the dark. He swallows hard, leans back against his pillow. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” The words come out deeper, slower, a stranger’s.

“Mhm,” she hums softly, and it twists something in him—because it’s not quite his Daisy, not the one who teases him about vending-machine dreams or tells him what song is on her stereo. This version is… careful. Smooth around the edges. “You called the right place, then.”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek. He waits, just to hear what she’ll do, how she’ll handle him. But she doesn’t push, doesn’t slip into anything filthy unless he asks her to. She just stays steady, listening, holding the silence like it’s a gift.

It’s not the same. It should be a relief, but it stings instead. Even as he works himself slow, not quite enough to soothe the inevitable ache she brings, because it feels wrong, this time. 

He hears himself exhale. Drops the act for one bare second. “Thanks,” he mutters, low, almost tripping over the word. Then, before she can answer, he hangs up.

The dial tone hums in his ear. He tosses the phone onto his chest, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight.

He wanted proof that she wasn’t giving away what she gives to him. And he got it.

So why does it feel worse?

line dividers by @chrisssiren and vintage phone dividers by @httpssturns ꨄ

a/n: i know it's been months since i updated them but i hope we still like this au?? tried to channel some @slushysturniolo angst vibes with this and also listened to this lovely little madison beer/angsty playlist while writing. sorry i just love sharing what i was doing whilst writing this i think it's fun shbdjshdbhjsf. hope u enjoy!!!!!

thank you sm for reading!!!!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated 💗