𝗇𝖺𝗂𝖺

the soc boy, james, is perfect on paper.

that’s the problem.

clean-cut. polite. drives you home after dates with one hand resting carefully on the steering wheel. opens doors for you. calls you “pretty girl” like he practiced it in a mirror beforehand.

everybody says you’re lucky. even your friends.

especially after the breakup with sodapop curtis.

“you needed somebody stable,” one of them tells you one afternoon while fixing your lipstick in the diner bathroom. “not another greaser boy who breaks your heart.”

you nod, because maybe they’re right. maybe stability is supposed to feel like safety. maybe love isn’t supposed to ache.

so you keep trying.

you let the james hold your hand at football games. you laugh at the right moments. you kiss him goodbye under porch lights and tell yourself this is what moving on feels like.

but every single time he touches you, you think of soda.

it’s horrible.

you’ll be laying beside your boyfriend, eyes fixed on the ceiling while he talks softly about college or parties or his parents’ lake house, and all you can think about is the way soda used to laugh into your neck when he got tired.

the way he’d hold your wrist absentmindedly while falling asleep.

the way loving him never felt careful.

one night, your boyfriend kisses you slowly, sweetly, trying so hard to make you feel loved.

and you almost start crying, because when you close your eyes, it’s not him.

it’s soda.

you hate yourself for it. it makes you try harder after that.

you throw yourself deeper into the relationship like maybe effort can force feelings into existence.

but then soda starts showing up again. not publicly.

just little things.

him waiting outside the dx after your boyfriend drops you off.

his hand brushing yours for too long when nobody’s looking.

late-night drives where neither of you acknowledge what’s happening until suddenly he’s kissing you like he’s starving.

and every time afterward, you tell yourself it’s the last time.

every single time.

until one night soda pulls away first, forehead resting against yours in the dark front seat of steve’s car.

“we gotta stop doin’ this,” he whispers.

your stomach drops instantly and it’s not because he’s wrong.

because he sounds devastated saying it.

outside, rain taps quietly against the windshield. soda’s hands stay gripping your waist like he physically can’t make himself let go yet.

“you got somebody else now,” he says softly. “and i don’t wanna make you into somebody who lies.”

the thing is you already are. so you laugh once, it’s small, and broken.

“soda,” you whisper, “i think i’ve been lying since the second we broke up.”

he looks at you then.

and suddenly all the words you’ve been swallowing for months start climbing up your throat at once.

“i tried so hard to move on,” you admit shakily. “i wanted him to be enough. he’s good to me and he’s kind and he gives me everything he can, but . . .”

your voice cracks, “but every time he touches me i think about you.”

soda goes completely still, yet the rain gets louder.

you look down fast, ashamed now that it’s finally out in the open.

“i know this whole thing between us is temporary,” you continue quietly. “and i know you probably don’t feel the same anymore, so we don’t gotta keep doing this after i end things with him. i just . . . ”

“stop that.”

the word comes out rough.

you blink up at him.

soda looks wrecked. his eyes are glassy, jaw clenched tight like he’s been holding something back so long it physically hurts. “you think i don’t feel the same?” he says quietly.

your breath catches.

“soda-”

“i’ve been miserable.” his voice shakes slightly. “do you know how bad it hurt watchin’ you climb into that guy’s car every night?” he laughs once through his nose, frustrated with himself. “i kept tellin’ myself if you were happy, then i should leave it alone, but then you’d look at me like that and . . . God.”

he drags a hand over his face. “i never stopped lovin’ you.”

the words hit like a bruise.

you stare at him silently while the rain blurs the windows around you.

soda’s breathing is uneven now too. “i tried,” he admits softly. “i tried bein’ okay without you. tried actin’ normal around the guys. but everythin’ felt wrong after you left.”

neither of you says anything for a long moment. the only sound is the rain against the roof of the car.

then soda reaches up, brushing his thumb lightly over your cheek “hey,” he whispers.

then he kisses you.

not desperate this time.

just honest.

his hand cups your face carefully like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he holds too tight, and when you kiss him back he exhales shakily against your mouth like he’s finally coming up for air.

when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours.

“i missed you,” he murmurs.

you let out a quiet laugh.

“yeah?”

he nods, “every day.”

this time, when you kiss him, neither of you pulls away first.

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The knock comes just after midnight.

You almost ignore it.

Whoever it is knocks again, softer this time, like they’re already expecting you to send them away.

When you pull the door open, your heart nearly stops.

Benito stands on your porch, rain dripping from the brim of his cap. His clothes are soaked through, curls plastered to his forehead, his chest rising too fast like he’d run all the way here.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

“…Beni?”

His eyes meet yours.

They’re bloodshot.

He looks exhausted.

Like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

“Can I…” His voice cracks before he even finishes the sentence. He laughs at himself, embarrassed. “Can I talk to you? Please.”

You should say no.

The breakup had been months ago.

Months of silence.

Months of pretending you didn’t still look for him in every crowd.

But something in his face makes your hand loosen on the doorknob.

You step aside.

He whispers a quiet, “Thank you.”

The second the door closes behind him, he just… stands there.

Like he’s forgotten every word he’d rehearsed.

“I’ve probably rewritten this conversation a thousand times,” he says with a nervous laugh. “None of them started like this.”

“What are you doing here?”

He looks at you, and the smile disappears.

“I miss you.”

Just like that.

No excuses.

No small talk.

“I miss you so much it actually hurts.”

You don’t answer.

Because if you do, you’re afraid you’ll cry too.

“I kept telling myself you’d be happier without me.” His voice shakes. “So I stayed away.”

He wipes his face, frustrated when more tears replace the ones he just brushed away.

“I thought if I loved you enough, letting you go was the right thing.”

He laughs bitterly.

“It wasn’t.”

He looks down at the floor.

“I haven’t been okay.”

Silence.

“I can’t eat without thinking about you stealing food off my plate.”

“I still reach for my phone every time something funny happens.”

“I still…” His voice catches. “…I still sleep on one side of the bed.”

He laughs through tears.

“That’s pathetic.”

“It’s not—”

“No, it is.” He shakes his head. “Because I broke my own heart.”

His shoulders finally cave.

“I lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me because I was too stupid to fight for us.”

A tear slips down his cheek.

Then another.

“I’m so sorry.”

He’s crying now.

Not the kind of crying where someone tries to hide it.

The kind where they can’t.

His breathing stutters as he wipes at his face over and over, but it doesn’t help.

“I love you.”

The words come out broken.

“I’ve always loved you.”

“I never stopped.”

“I never will.”

He takes one careful step toward you.

“I’m not asking you to pretend none of this happened.”

“I’m asking…”

His voice breaks so hard he has to stop talking altogether.

He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to get himself together.

When he looks back at you, he’s completely falling apart.

“…Please.”

Another tear rolls down his face.

“Please give me another chance.”

“I’ll spend every single day proving I deserve you.”

“I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I don’t care if it takes months.”

“I just…” His breathing hitches.

“I can’t do this without you anymore.”

“I can’t.”

You cross the room before you even realize you’re moving.

The second your arms wrap around him, he lets out a shaky sob into your shoulder.

His hands grip the back of your sweater like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I thought I lost you forever,” he whispers.

“You almost did.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are swollen, cheeks damp, completely stripped of the confidence the rest of the world knows him for.

Just Benito.

Just the boy you fell in love with.

You brush your thumb across his cheek.

“I still love you.”

His face crumples.

“Really?”

You nod.

“But you’re earning my trust back.”

A watery laugh escapes him.

“I will.”

He kisses your forehead instead of your lips.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he’s been given something he never thought he’d get back.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.”

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