Ruinous

You were crying. Black, mascara filled tears trampled down your cheeks like they wished for an escape, jotting down onto your white blouse with little care.

The bottle in your hand slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor but not shattering. No, you weren’t that lucky. The noise is enough to stir them though, and force James and Sabrina apart, lips puffy and eyes hazy.

You can tell they weren’t expecting visitors. Sabrina opens her mouth as if to say something but you don’t give her the chance, shaking your head as more tears fall. Somehow, you laugh. The irony of it all.

When you stumble away from the doorway of the bedroom, you hear ruffling followed by a soft ‘don’t’. Typical. James, ever the conflict avoider. His name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that you swallow as you navigate through the house, ignoring the stares of people you pass who are undoubtedly gossiping.

You take the steps two at a time, unsure if you’ll fall but not really caring if you do. The tears have not stopped, and each time your hand slides down the handrail it grips tighter. You can feel your chest closing, gasping for air that seems like it’s running out.

You stumble past a couple of people who you’re sure you’d recognise if you weren’t so hasten in trying to get out of this fucking house, when the front door finally comes into sight. It’s wide open, spewing in what little light is left of the day, and there’s more people outside than you would’ve liked.

The fresh air feels like a slap to the face. People out here look too, wondering on what’s happened, but you don’t care, stumbling towards the gate at the front and out into the street.

And right into someone.

Admittedly, this is the last thing you’d like to have done. They don’t move when you crash into them, only chuckling lowly as you pull back and mumble a string of apologies.

“S’okay,” the voice makes you look up. Now, you’d like to shoot yourself. Right between the eyes. As if your luck can get any fucking worse. Any worse.

“You okay?” He asks, feigning compassion. You’d know it better than anyone, because as the stars would have you, the person you crashed into was Rafe Cameron.

Rafe Cameron, your number one sworn enemy since you’d started your law degree two years ago. He’d been the prick sat in the back who’d always had better answers than you or corrected you when you were wrong. He did better in everything and made sure to rub it in while he was at it.

“Peachy. Great.” Your response is nothing short of bitter, pulling back from the suffocating air of his circle. His friends, like hawks, observe closely in the back and you know this will be a new line of torment from them.

Rafe raises an eyebrow, briefly looking you up and down before nodding his head once. “If you say so.”

You’re undoubtfully glad the interaction ends there, Rafe pushing past, hawk friends following, into the open gate of the party.

When you reach your dorm and the door shuts behind you with a soft click of the latch, it all comes out. There’s pictures of you and James on your wall that are ripped down, as well as the ones with you and Sabrina- the brunette smiling in each of them not the one you witnessed at that party.

You’re still in shock; reeling from the entire idea. How long had it been going on? How long had they played you for a fool? They certainly made you look like a fool, your face streaked with mascara, eyes red- fat black blobs of dried tears resting on your blouse.

The texts begin soon after. You’re lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling when the first few come through. You know it’s Sabrina because you have a different text chime for her.

Please talk to me 8.45pm

I’m sorry 8.46pm

I’ll make this up to you 8.46 pm

It just.. happened 8.52 pm

The last one makes you scoff, wiping a tear from your eye and chucking your phone across the room. It clatters against the wall next to your desk before falling to the floor with a depleted plop, like the phone is fed up too.

It just happened? How does cheating with your best friends boyfriend just happen? It doesn’t, is the answer. Whatever was going on had obviously happened with intent. Your mind is racing trying to think of all the different times you could’ve noticed something, anything- and before you know it, it’s seven am.

You haven’t slept a wink. You dress for class half heartedly, almost forgetting to pack your laptop into your tote bag and putting two different shoes on. In any other situation, you’d have laughed.

You scrape your hair up out of your face, observing your puffy eyes in the mirror before deciding to take off what remained of your makeup.

Your door creaks open as you pop your head out, half expecting to see Sabrina stood there waiting for you like she has been for the past two years- her room right down the hall for yours. She isn’t there. No one is, in fact, the hallway quiet like it’s Christmas and you’re the only one left in dorms.

You trudge down the hallway, phone and keys in hand, pushing open the doorway to the elevator room, mind numb. You weren’t sure how you were going to do in class today. You’d thought your brain into pure exhaustion.

The cold November air hits you like a ton of bricks in a smothered pillowcase and you grasp your hoodie tighter to your body, observing the few other students walking to their own classes. Lucky bastards. Someone even skips past you, headphones on, bag swinging as they catch up to their friends.

Jealousy bites at your insides. Sabrina had been your only friend, really. Anyone else you knew were through her or James.

“Hey sunshine,” an arm slings over your shoulder and the voice makes you repulse. Topper Thornton. One of Rafe’s hawks. You duck under his arm, swerving round to step back in front of him and speed up your pace.

“Woah, what’s with the hostility?” You can hear the malice in his grin, the way he steps back in line with you as he leans down a little. “I’m just here to give you a shoulder to cry on, if you need it.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop it, feet speeding up their pace as you reach the law building. You’re hoping the conversation will end here, as you swing open the door- but topper follows you in.

“Not in the talking mood ey? Shame,” he clicks his teeth, shadow looming over you as you both head into the classroom- of the class that topper does not attend. He goes to beeline for Rafe and Kelce, but stops again, lowering his mouth to your ear.

“I heard it’s because you didn’t put out.” Your eyes widen, hand gripping your phone and keys so tightly you’re sure they could snap. It feels like your lungs are collapsing, internally setting ablaze- and all you can do is dart your eyes to Topper as he loudly laughs, making his way over to Rafe and Kelce.

You think you’re shaking. A tear threatens your waterline, teasing you.

Not here, not now, you tell yourself. Rafe shakes his head at topper, jaw set. Topper soon stops laughing, taking a seat near Kelce, who falls into conversation with topper. You can see Rafe staring. Why is he staring?

It takes all you’ve got to not burst into tears. The tear slips from your waterline and lands down on your hand and you turn numbly, taking a seat. You fiddle with your keys once again, feeling the heat rushing up to your cheeks.

So everyone knew then. Already. The rumour mill was insane at the college- you’d seen it force Alice mack to quit her course when everyone was sending it around that she’d fucked a gay guy to get some dick. Insane.

And now they’d turned on you. The classroom falls silent as the chair next to you scrapes and someone takes a seat in it. They don’t say a word, but you know who it is.

And you want to crush his head like a watermelon. James offers you a tight lipped smile when you eye him for a second, scowling as you turn your focus back to your keys. Your knuckles are turning white from how hard they’re grasping the keys.

It your post whatever-the-fuck-you-experienced-last-night haze, you’d completely forgot he was in your class. It’s how you met, afterall.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. You feel the tears well again, images of him and Sabrina flashing across your mind like a neon sign advertising the betrayal- as well as replaying the first day when you’d been nauseous as fuck to start at this college with no friends and he’d taken the chair next to you, introducing himself.

“… and I’m really sorry, y’know. You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” James hushed voice whispers, ears turning into the last part. You can feel his presence ever looming, turned in his chair to look at you.

Your eye twitches. You know everyone is watching but would they turn an eye to you bashing his skull against the table?

“It’s not like we intended for it to happen, it just-”

“Happened?” You snap, lifting your head to meet his eyes. He looks taken aback for a second, before smiling and nodding.

“I’m glad you understand.”

Oh boy. Oh fucking boy. “Understand?” You can feel your blood boiling.

James nods his head again. “We can still be friends, y’know. No hard feelings.”

A gasp sounds from behind you but you’re so far away mentally that you barely register it. There’s pure silence in your head right now, and it scared you.

“No. Hard. Feelings?” You repeat, hand gripping your keys so hard it feels like they’ll snap in two. James smiles, almost laughing, as he pulls his laptop from his bag.

“Yeah. I’m so grateful you understand.” The ticking you think you hear from the clock is actually in your head, you realise, and you scoff.

“I hope you fucking die, James. I hope someone bites your dick off and shoves it down your fucking throat you bastard. You and Sabrina deserve each-other.” His eyes widen at your outburst, uncomfortably shifting in his own seat.

“I don’t think there’s any need for-” he begins, slowly opening his laptop. You cut him off, standing from your seat.

“You don’t tell me what I need and don’t need. You cheated on me, and now you’re trying to play the good guy. Go fuck yourself you pretentious asshole.” This time you hear someone whistle from the back of the classroom, and you’re confident it’s topper. You grasp your bag from the back of your chair, storming towards the door as the professor enters.

Who the fuck needs class anyway?

The tears come as you fall out of the law building into the bite of November cold, winds lashing against your cheeks. You’re not sure what to do now. Your brain is well and truly shut down. Across the park from you is a couple sat together on a bench, huddled together among the cold.

Jealousy bites upon your spine once again. Fuck this. What the fuck.

You turn on your heel, intent on heading back to your dorm to wallow in your self pity when someone calls your name. Shoulders sagging, you turn around- expecting James.

Rafe Cameron stands at the door of the law building, zipping up his fleece as he canters down the steps, bag slung over his shoulder in that effortless model like way he’s always got going on.

He takes the few steps it takes to reach you, and then grins. “That was pretty awesome.”

You quirk an eyebrow, no doubt looking like a homeless woman. “You followed me out here for that?”

Rafe rubs his hands together, still grinning. He falls into step with you as you continue to walk. “No, actually. I heard, and I’m sorry. It’s a really shitty thing for them to do.”

The idea of rafe Cameron offering you anything other than pure sarcasm confuses you, and you stop in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at him.

“Okay, Rafe, what do you want because I don’t know if you can tell but I’m not in the mood for you to torment me-”

Rafe’s hands grasp your shoulders, stopping you mid sentence. He leans down, so he’s eye level with you, before speaking.

“No, no. Look, I did some thinking last night after I found out and I think I have a proposal, of sorts, for you.”

You scoff, pulling away from his hands and continuing the walk to your dorm. You go to pull open the door but Rafe closes it with his hand, leaning against it to prevent you from getting in.

“Look, Rafe, whatever joke you’re running here I’m not interested.” You sigh out, readjusting the straps of your tote bag on your shoulder, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets after.

Rafe, undoubtedly, raises his hands in self defence. “No joke. Sisters life. Only a mutually beneficial proposal for you to hear if you’ll grant me that pleasure.”

You sigh again, weighing out your options. Option a: go back to your dorm and rot in bed, thinking about the existential life crisis you’re currently having, or option b: you can hear Rafe Cameron, one of your least favourite people, out.

An hour later you sit in a coffee shop just outside of campus, nursing a cup of steaming coffee that’s too hot for you to drink right now. Rafe settles into the chair across from you, cup of something to his own desire steaming up towards the ceiling.

You drum your fingers on the table, waiting for him to begin.

“So.” You hum along with Rafe’s first word, dancing fingers along the top of your cup. The anger had long since dissipated, leaving a numbing feeling. No sadness. Just nothing.

“So, I did a bit of thinking.” Rafe takes a sip of his- now coffee, as you can see- and pulls a face, swallowing. “Hot.”

He places his cup back down. “I think you and I have something for each other that we could benefit from, you see.”

You roll your head on your neck, leaning further down into the chair. “And that is?”

Rafe grins, leaning back, one arm bent over the back of his chair. “I need help with classes. You need help showing that wet sock what he’s missing out on.”

You snort, loud, causing the couple to the left of you to glance over. You mouth sorry before a hand comes up to cover your mouth, laughing more.

You’re not sure if it’s because of Rafe calling James a wet sock- or the fact that Rafe Cameron needs tutoring. It must be both.

“You’re taking the piss?” His lips press into a thin line, slowly shaking his head as if the idea of him needing help in class is completely baffling.

“No ma’am, I am not. He is in fact a wet sock.” You snort again, sinking down further into your seat when that couple looks over again, obviously displeased.

“Not about that Rafe. The other thing. The tutoring.” This time, he nods.

“The uh, the end of year exams are coming up in a month and I am short of shit at revising for them, let alone sitting them.” He clears his throat, eyes looking around the coffee shop before settling back in on you.

You sit up straighter. “Thee Rafe Cameron, the one who always corrects my answers in class- is asking me for help?”

He scowls. “Yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it or I won’t hold up my end.” He takes another sip of his coffee.

“Oh yeah? And what’s your side exactly?”

“Oh,” rafe grins, straightening out in his chair. “I pretend to be your sexy, hot and talk of the campus bounce back boyfriend that will put that wet sock to shame.”

Ruth’s bookshop goes unnoticed by many who pass on the boardwalk of figure eight. The quiet, quaint little shop filled to the brim with all different genres, so much so that some are piled on the floor- is a beautiful place to work.

You love it. There’s plants in any places that they would fit, soft Melodic music fluttering around.

And the smell. Gods, you loved the smell. This place is your version of heaven, and the fact that you get paid to organise the books, read them, and serve the occasional customer as they come and go is amazing.

Willow, the bookshop cat, a tiny tabby, is also an extra. She makes for great company when it stretches hours between customers, or when Ruth isn’t in the shop- which admittedly, isn’t often anymore. She leaves you alone to run the shop most of the time, off spending time with her family.

You don’t mind spending most of your time here. After college, a gruelling four years studying literature in California, you welcomed the salty sea air of Outer Banks with open arms. A break, you’d called it.

But since you’d started working in the bookshop, the break had become a little more… permanent. To the displeasure of your parents of course.

‘You can’t work in a bookshop for the rest of your life,” or ‘I spent all my money on your degree and this is what you do with it?’

Your parents weren’t exactly the best, or the most supportive. Years upon years of them barely paying attention to you, shoving you into the arms of a nanny and trying to buy you off with expensive things, college tuition included, did them no favours.

Maybe this was you rebelling. A big ‘fuck you’ to your mom and dad, for feeling like you only existed to them when it was beneficial. Here’s what I’m going to do with my degree: nothing.

Today is an exceptionally slow day, aircon on full blast as willow rolls around on the counter looking for love. You’re nose deep in a book about nature cycles, patting the cat every so often as she rolls her head to the side for your scratches.

You reckon you’ve had around five customers, and the slowness on days like this sometimes makes you wonder how Ruth keeps the shop going. It serves as a gentle reminder that she’s rich, just like your own parents, when she stops by the shop sometimes, adorned in expensive clothing and accessories.

Sometimes you wish she were your mother. She’s always super nice to you, acting in ways your own mother couldn’t.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens and you perk up, eyes over the edge of the book. Willow hips off the counter to see what’s happening, rubbing up against some of the shelves. You see nothing but a tall mess of brown locks disappear behind one of the shelves, and you let your eyes fall back to your book.

If they need you, they’ll ask. The book you’re reading is getting particularly interesting, anyway. You can hear the slight patter of willows feet following whoever is in the store, and they’re getting closer to the counter.

“S’cuse me,” A voice interrupts your reading. It sounds oddly familiar, and you bookmark your page before placing your own book on the counter. A smile traces your lips at the sight of the books placed on the counter.

As long as the lemon trees grow and The Nightingale. Two utterly moving books, ones that had made you cry. A little.

A glance up at their purchaser has you doing a slight double take internally. The guy stood in front of you- of whom you knew you recognised, briefly, now you think about it, is Rafe Cameron.

He was in your year in school for most of the high school life until he suddenly just stopped turning up. And as you look at him now, he looks exactly as you remember. Floppy curtain bangs, piercing blue eyes that you’re sure you’d caught across the canteen a few times- kakis and a polo with a fleece.

Same guy. He grins lopsidedly, head slightly tilting to the left. “Done observing me? Can I pay for my books?”

Your cheeks nod and you grasp for the books, turning them over and fumbling with the scanner. You sure as hell weren’t one to judge but these did not seem like his type of book.

To be honest, he looked like he’d never read a book in his entire life. The memories of being sat in the library and listening to countless tutors trying to teach him simple scholarly lessons flashes for a second as you scan the second book, and you conclude. These are not Rafe Cameron books.

“Your total is fifteen dollars today,” you reply, letting the sentence linger in the air as he searches for his wallet. He picks a twenty dollar bill out, crisp as the day it was printed, and places it on the counter.

“Keep the change,” you nod and push the twenty into the cash register, watching as he picks up his books and begins to walk away. Just like that. One of your weirder experiences with a former class mate, but you’d take the short interaction over a stupendously awkward one anyday.

“Have a nice day,” you call out as he reaches the door, and he hesitates. Your fingers furl around the hard cover of your book as he turns and you immediately regret saying anything. Fuck customer service.

“Yeah, I think I will.” The door bell chimes as he steps out into the heat of the boardwalk, and you’re confused as ever. Certainly an interaction at least.

Ruth messages you at about three o’clock asking how many customers you’ve had. When you respond with six, she tells you close up shop and go and enjoy your day.

How ironic, considering the rest of your day that you’d planned consisted of going home and curling up in bed for a nice nap. You wrap up closing, leaving the till draw in the safe and locking the back room. Willow meanders by the front door, knowing exactly what time it is.

Usually, she’ll follow you all the way home, almost like she’s making sure you get home safe, before wandering off to presumably join her friends. When you open up on a morning she’s sat on the front step of the shop, waiting to be let in and fed.

She meows at you as you do your final once over of the shop, before joining her at the door and crouching down to her.

A scratching behind her ears makes her purr. “You’re excited to go see your friends, huh?” Her eyes glint as if agreeing and you laugh to yourself, standing straight and opening the door. Willow filters out onto the path. You flip the open sign around to say closed and grasp your keys, shutting the door and locking it.

An exasperated sigh leaves someone behind you. You turn, pulling the key out of the lock.

Rafe Cameron. He’s got that cheesy grin on his face again, books held under one arm as the other is reaching back, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Closing?” He asks, as if it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You quirk an eyebrow, jingling the keys in your hand.

“Yeah. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Returning them already?” You query, causing him to laugh, breathily.

“Uhhhh, no actually, I just forgot one,” his arm falls to his side, waiting. Like you’ll open the store for him again just for one book.

“What, those two very complex and thick books won’t still you over until tomorrow?” The annunciation on the words makes him flinch, despite his best efforts to not show so. You see.

“Okay, okay, no need. They’re actually not for me, they’re for my sister,” he tuts, looking to the side, down the board walk. “You know, it doesn’t matter, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He turns. Slowly. Like he’s waiting.

“Okay! Bye,” willow meows as you begin to walk in the opposite direction towards your house, and you hear him stutter.

“What? You’ll won’t even open back up for one book?” He sounds incredulous. It makes you giggle, dropping the shop keys into your bag. You glance over your shoulder, to see him a few feet from you, obviously having moved.

“No. It’s not worth the effort of reopening everything. You can come back tomorrow.” Your hands reach up to readjust your toe bag strap on your shoulder, setting a slow pace down the board walk with willow. She pads inbetween your legs, purring and rubbing up against each leg.

Your house is empty when you arrive home. No surprise there. The high ceilings and white marble of the front foyer mimic something of a liminal space, to you at least. There’s pictures on the wall, the few that your parents had taken with you and of you to make the place feel more homey.

It was far from. Since you grew out of the age of needing a nanny, it was mostly just you in the house. The occasional times your parents would be home, they’d be in their bedroom sleeping, or in their offices working.

There was no family here. Your room, in your opinion, was the only room of the house to have any life, any character. Most of the walls were lined with bookshelves, of course, and your messy bed that you hadn’t made this morning sat in the center of the room. There’s two big bay windows right across from the bed, overlooking the beach and ocean that had convinced your parents to buy the house in the first place. It’s a mixture of greens, all walls and carpets and beddings- the only colour in the house.

It was your space. You drop your bag into your desk chair, huffing a strand of hair out of your face as you loosen it from the claw clip you’d had it in all day. Sinking into your bed, it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

The days evens play back in your mind as you drift off.

Your phone rings again and despite your best efforts to silence it, the noise does not cease. A groan falls from your lips as you lift your head from the pillow, hands grasping around the edges of your phone, eyes squinting to adjust to the brightness of the screen.

Maysilee.

She’s ringing, for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you roll your eyes before swiping to answer and bringing your phone to your ear.

“Hiiiiii! What’re you doing right now?” Her sweet, high pitched voice trails through the phone and you pull it away from your ear for a second, before bringing it back.

“I was asleep,” her tut is immediate. Despite being your best friend, the two of you could not be anymore different. She liked parties and shopping and looking like she belonged in money all the time and you liked books, sleeping and pretending you didn’t exist to the world.

“Why sleep when you can come to my house for this get together?”

“Maysi, no. You know I don’t like stuff like that.” A tut again.

“Cmon, you never come! It’s only a few people I promise.” You can hear her manicured nails tapping against a glassy surface of some sort, and that she’s in one of those moods where she won’t take no for an answer.

If you did say no, she’d turn up at your house. That’s just the type of person she is.

“May…”

“Look, no ifs or buts. You don’t even have to drink. Just come and hang out with me.”

You weigh out your options. If you say no, you’re going. If you say yes, you’re going. It’s a lose- lose on your end no matter what.

Reluctantly, you sit up in bed, checking the time on your phone before bringing it back to your ear. “Okay, sure. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

The squeal she makes is enough to shatter glass. “Finally! See you soon babe, love you.” She hangs up almost immediately, giving you no time to change your mind.

Half an hour from now would be seven. Clambering out of bed in the same clothes you fell asleep in, you trudge over to your closet. You weren’t exactly the type to be flashy with your clothes. Or revealing. The most you’d wear is a skirt, but even then it’s a decent length and you have tights on.

You opt for a brown sweater and black skirt, knowing if you turn up in anything else Maysi will be directing your straight to her own closet and forcing you to change.

Once you’re changed, you re clip your hair up and out of your face before slipping into your shoes that you usually wear, a pair of Mary Jane’s. It’s now fifteen minutes until you said you’d show up, and you debate changing your mind and just not going at all.

Maysi would kill you. Like she knows you all too well, a text from her pings on your phone reminding you to turn up or else. A threat. A promise of threatening actions.

Maysilee is not someone to fuck with. The air is slightly colder when you step out of your front door, a breeze sweeping through the trees and bushes that adorn your front garden.

You’re suddenly thankful that Maysi lives a few houses down. When you arrive, there’s a few more cars outside than you expected and a ‘few’ people lingering out on the front garden.

A little get together. You should have known.

Maysi’s house is warm. In the sense that she has lots and lots of family memories around, and the house looks like it’s lived in. It makes you envious. Maysi greets you in the foyer, pulling you through her house to the kitchen, the island in the middle simply stacked to the brim with different types of alcohol.

“Now, I know you said no drinks, but how about one?” She grins at you and beckons towards the extensive array of drinks.

“Maysi, no. I’ll just have some lemonade or something.”

“Boo. You’re boring. You’re lucky I love you though.” She boops your nose with one manicured nail, arm wrapping around your shoulder as she leads you to the soft drinks section of the island.

One lemonade later and an abandonment by Maysilee, you find yourself out in the back garden. There’s a lot less people out here than in the front garden and the house itself, the conversation quiet and mulling along the same level as the best of the music in the house.

You know this garden like the back of your hand, Maysi’s mum loving her garden like a child. It’s full of flowers, and ornaments, and you know there’s a secret little seating area hidden behind the gazebo that you can’t see thanks to the wall of trees.

It makes a perfect place to hide out until it’s an acceptable time to go home.

“I’m telling you man, she’s gonna go right for it. He’s got this irresistible charm with women,” a male voice, slightly chopped through the trees. The guy is stood in the gazebo, and you can see the top of another head stood close by.

It feels wrong to eavesdrop, but you’re not really, if you think about it. They’re having a conversation in a public space and you just so happen to be nearby. And interested.

“Nah man, I don’t think so. From what he’s told me about today, she’s got some wit about her. I don’t reckon she’ll fall so fast.” The other guy responds. You wonder what, or who, they’re talking about.

“You reckon? Well, we know what I’ve bet on,” poor girl. Whoever these guys were, and the mystery third guy who seemed to be playing with some poor girls feelings- you felt bad.

Another third voice calls the two guys away from the gazebo and you wrinkle your nose as they begin yelling, quietening as they further away from the gazebo.

The stars are out tonight. It’s easy to see them here when there’s no light pollution, and they’re beautiful. Having lots of time to read books means you’re quite clued in on a lot of things, and constellations are no exception.

“Pretty cool aren’t they?” You recognise the voice. Rafe stands at the edge of the little seating area, looking upwards too. He’s dressed in jeans and a simple brown shirt, hair seemingly groomed into neat side bangs instead of the unruly ones you’d seen him in earlier.

You take a sip of your lemonade. “They’re not so bad, I suppose.”

Rafe smiles, hands finding home in his front pockets. “Say, do you know any names of those… star configurations?”

You splutter on your lemonade. “Star configurations?”

“Yeah, can’t remember the word.” He quips, moving to one of the seats near your own.

“Constellations, That’s what they’re called.”

“Yeah right. That word. Do you know any?” He grins, pulling a bottle of beer from seemingly thin air.

You point upwards, at a set of stars that look slightly like a sand timer. “That one that looks like a sand timer is Orion. Named after the hunter from Greek mythology.” Rafe leans towards your side slightly, looking for the area you’re pointing towards. A small ‘ohhh’ escapes his lips when he notices it.

“Cassiopeia is that weird ‘W’ looking one. Named after the mother of Andromeda.” You point towards another.

Rafe nods. “Guess you’ve got a lot of free time in that book shop huh?”

You blush, a little. You’re thankful for the guise of nighttime to hide the fact that you’re blushing to begin with.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He takes a swig from his bottle, slightly turning towards you. You notice how much closer he’s really got, and shuffle back on your seat.

“So what’re you doing here? Doesn’t really seem like your kind of place,” you scoff. If only. Why else would you be sat outside on your own?

“It’s not. Maysilee forced me to come.”

“Ah. Makes sense, she’s a.. character, that one.”

A snort slips from you and you cover your mouth of sheer embarrassment. Rafe chuckles, one hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

“You’re half telling me, she’s my best friend. I get that twenty four seven.”

“My condolences.” Rafe expresses, holding a hand over his heart. It makes you giggle, hiding it behind a sip of your lemonade.

“Thanks Rafe, but don’t you have better places to be?”

“No better place than the present.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure those books aren’t for you?”

Rafe raises his hands like he’s been caught. “Got me. Just trying to impress the pretty lady at the bookshop.”

Your heart stutters. Stops, if you must. Your cheeks heat again, and you’re sure if you couldn’t feel the thrum of your pulse in your neck you’d be dead.

You don’t know what to say.

The awkwardness of the situation has you pulling at the cuffs of your jumper, lemonade cup long forgotten on the seat next to you. Like he can sense your discomfort, Rafe backtracks.

“Sorry, sorry. Too forward. I won’t take it back though, cos’ it’s true.” He stands from the seat, chugging the rest of his beer. From where he’s stood now, you can see the glint in his eyes.

Like there’s something else there. The same glint you used to see when you’d catch his eye in high school. When he was doing something he shouldn’t be.

“See you tomorrow, bookshop.” The pet name grates the back of your throat. You’re stuck the suspended silence of the downhill run of the end of the conversation even when you reach your own home, and your room.

Sleep does not come so easy tonight.

It was awfully cold in New York. The sun had set a long time ago and the night had settled in, bringing a cold chill and light snow fall along with it. You’d say this was your favourite time of year had you not forgotten to bring your coat with you this morning; the polarity of how warm it was compared to now was shocking.

“-So we could like, totally go see that when it comes out in cinemas,” MJ turns to you, walking backwards as the two of you exit the lecture hall in the media building of NYU. You can already feel the chill of the air outside without even being down the steps to the main lobby yet- possibly because so many people are leaving around this time, desperate to go home to their warm beds or whatnot- and the doors have constantly been open.

You nod your head, adjusting your tote over your shoulder and descending the steps that open up into the main hall.

There’s a few people littered about, some in groups, some stood alone.

You notice him, stood over by the bottom of the stairs. He’s got his earphones in, slightly hunched over with his backpack barely hanging onto his left shoulder. He hasn’t seen you yet- as a matter of a fact, he hasn’t even looked up from his phone yet.

Peter Parker was a strange man. He didn’t have many friends, other than you and MJ and Ned- although Ned wasn’t around as often as you would have liked after high school. It had crossed your mind plenty of times that if Ned hadn’t moved to Europe to study- peter wouldn’t have clung onto you and MJ like he had.

“Oh hey, it’s Peter.” MJ nudges you, smirk on her face as she calls out to him. A few heads in the lobby turn but you’re specifically watching his, the way he pulls a bud out of his ear, looking up the stairs that you’re coming down. He smiles at MJ and waves before his attention is on you, watching every step you take.

“He’s so gormless.” MJ mutters to you and you have to resist the urge to hit her.

That was the other thing you knew about Peter Parker. He had this strange obsession with you- according to everyone else, anyway. You couldn’t see it- because in your eyes he clung to MJ as much as he did you- but every time she pointed it out you couldn’t help but find yourself looking, just to make sure she wasn’t right.

So far, she wasn’t. You felt that he held that same appreciation to MJ just as much as he did you- especially since you thought that he had a crush on her at one point.

The both of you reach the bottom of the stairs, at which MJ and Peter do some weird fist-bump handshake thing as you stare on.

"Okay, let's go, because I'm starving," He finally says and you hear MJ agree, as they both begin to walk in front of you, talking about some nerdy stuff you wouldn't understand.

You're happy they leave you out of the conversation anyway, because it gives you more time to stare at the beautifulness of New York when it snowed. You couldn't have given less of a shit that it was light snow- because any snow made you all happy and giddy.

It's falling heavier now, yet bustles of people still gather on the sidewalk as if it's one of the sunniest days on earth. A dog trots by you, shaking off the snow on its back which flicks onto your leg, and its owner shoots you an apologetic smile as they carry on.

You reach the corner where you separate from MJ and Peter quicker than usual, but you leave it down to the fact that you've spent so much time zoning out watching the snow.

"Hey, are you not coming with us?" Peter's the one to ask, he and MJ stood in the middle of the sidewalk you're veering away from them, down the street that takes you towards your apartment.

You shake your head and MJ groans, throwing her head back before looking at you. "You're so boring." She throws, lifting her hand to give you the finger.

"I'm tired," you say, which is, in all honesty, true- you just can't be bothered being away from your bed anymore- especially after a day of sitting in those uncomfortable lecture hall chairs and MJ talking off your ear all day.

"Boohoo, stop crying about it and come get food," MJ demands, beckoning with a glare for you to join them on their side of the path.

You shake your head again, and as if your body was helping, a large yawn comes forward and out of your mouth. "M' going home. Goodnight guys."

MJ boos at you but turns, accepting your answer- sort of, whereas Peter stops and smiles at you.

"Get home safe." His voice is sincere, warm.

He's not like that with me, MJ's voice sounds in your head. You smile at him before he waves a final goodbye, turning and jogging to catch up with MJ.

-

By the time you’ve settled into your bed with your largest shirt on- you’re quite tired. Despite your obvious yearning for sleep, you turn your tv on and go straight to Netflix- choosing a show that you’ve had saved for ages but haven’t actually gotten around to watching.

You find out it’s actually quite boring. Like every other night, you end up picking up your phone, scrolling endlessly through tik tok until you will yourself to sleep.

Tonight, however, is different. You’re on the brink of sleep, so close, when a video pops up on your for you page that doesn’t quite belong there. A girl lip-syncs along to teachers pet by Melanie Martinez, the lighting red and all she has on is a skimpy outfit. Towards the end of the video, a hand reaches out and grasps at her throat, pulling her out of frame before the video ends. You watch it the first time in shock, and then the second time again out of curiosity- then jealousy- and then something else.

A tingle. Small, but noticeable. You wish it was you, in that video. You groan, not having the effort to do anything to yourself tonight and shut your phone off, chucking it beside you and turning over into your pillow more.

As you close your eyes, you imagine Peter. His hand, around your neck. Because now you think about it- you’ve noticed his hands. Always so veiny. You bet they’d look really good-

Your eyes snap open. The hairs on your arms raise and you can feel your pulse beating that much faster. You frown.

Had you really just fantasies about Peter?

Peter Parker?

The small beat between your legs is hard to ignore in the passing moments, but you’re still mad at yourself for thinking of Peter how you just did.

But you can’t help it. Now you’ve opened the door- everything is just flowing out.

His hair- you’re ashamed to admit that you’d love to rub your hands through it- and god, his arms when he wears tight shorts or short sleeved ones are just-

The wetness in your panties doesn’t surprise you. Your hands reach for the hem of the cover, tossing it off you to expose the bottom half of your body, where your shirt has risen up and exposed your pink cotton panties.

You throw a worried look to the window for a second, worried someone might be watching you- but then you remember that the apartment building across has no windows facing yours and it would be awfully weird for someone to be up on the fire escape at this time.

Delicately, you push your panties to the side and slide your finger through your folds, gasping at the slick you collect. You’ve worked yourself up that much mentally that when you touch your clit, you jolt slightly.

Peter watches you from the opposite building. He’s certain you can’t see him, because he can see all of you and that includes when he saw you checking for anyone watching. He knows it’s wrong. He can feel himself growing as he watches you slip a finger inside yourself, back lifting slightly off the bed and he knows he should leave but he just can’t.

He only came to check you got home safe, because he cared about you. He would have gone home and dealt with himself later.

But here you were, touching yourself so intimately and so delicately that he just couldn’t look away. He had only been imagining that it was him doing those things to you for months- and with every tug of his cock, he imagined it was you, or that sweet cunt of yours.

That was only his imagination. He had it pretty spot on- but by god, had he never imagined you to look how you did when you were in pleasure. And your pussy too- it looked so much better than his dreams, clit all swollen, dripping with wetness from what he assumed was you being turned on for quite sometime.

Is this what you ditched dinner plans to do? He wished he could know what you were thinking about that would make you like this.

He knew it was wrong. MJ had told him so many times to just drop the ball and ask you out so she could stop seeing him drool over you- but he couldn’t quite muster the courage.

This seemed good enough for him at the moment.

You’re working yourself in a beautiful way, teetering closer to your high with every stroke of your finger inside your sopping cunt. Your mind is occupying you with the thought that this is Peter, Peter, Peter! who is pleasuring you so well yet you’re too orgasm drunk to give a shit that you shouldn’t suddenly be thinking of him in this way.

Peter needs to be closer. He’s scared that he’s gonna forget this moment, and he needs to nap every part of your sweet, sweet body because he knows he’ll never see you like this again. He’d be surprised if he’d be able to look at you full stop after today.

He hops down the scaffolding on the top of the building to the fire escape, not having to worry about other windows because there are none. He knows you wouldn’t be exposing yourself like this right now if someone else had their window anywhere near yours.

He goes down further than he would have liked but now he’s level with your window, slightly encased in the shadow but not enough for him to be hidden. He hopes you’re too preoccupied fucking yourself to notice him- but all thought is lost as he’s closer to your cunt than before.

Muffled cries spill out from your mouth and drift out to Peter- he can’t quite make them out, but he relishes in them, loving that you’re loud. His eyes can’t leave you, or the way that you push up your shirt to expose your small, barely-coving-your-tits- lacy bra that you pull down to roll one of your nipples between your fingers.

His eyes drift down to your pussy, silently groaning as you add two more fingers into you. You’re going incredibly fast, and Peter can hear the faint squelching coming from you as well as seeing the dripping of your wetness, falling onto your bed.

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold on.

And then you moan his name.

He thinks he’s hearing things at first, so close to his own orgasm just from watching you- when he hears it again. Loud and clear.

“Peter, Oh m’fuck,” you whine, so close to coming. A breeze stop you, halters you- but by the time you’ve craned your head up to look who it is, he’s already fallen to his knees at the end of your bed, arms wrapping around your legs and pulling you close to him.

You pull your fingers out of yourself, shocked, and try to scoot away from him, but Peter doesn’t budge, wild eyes staring up at you from in between your legs.

“I heard you. Heard you, okay. Gonna take good care of you.” You’re quite confused as to how Peter was just outside your room- ready, listening- but you’re also annoyed because you had been teetering on the brink of your orgasm when he interrupted.

“Such a pretty pussy,” He tells you, spreading you open with his fingers. His touch alone has you keening, falling back into the bed. You’re still not sure why or how he’s here but you’re not about to complain.

At least not at the moment.

He collects some of your slick with his index finger, spreading it about and making a mess- not that you weren’t already a mess, having worn yourself out on your fingers so bad that you had left a spot on your bedsheets- but you loose all thought as he pushes his finger inside you, long and slender and just oh so much longer than your own.

He curbs it upwards, watching your reaction when he finds your sweet spot and keeps his finger toying at it. You gasp, chest heaving and coil winding quicker than before. The sensation of him, Peter, the man that you were just fantasising about, touching you has your head spinning and your mouth begging for more.

And who was Peter to deny you? This was one of his favourite dreams, one of his best fantasies.

He adds another thick finger in, the stretch bigger than your three and you cry out. But he isn’t done yet, when his mouth attaches to your clit, slurping loud and clear with intent. Your eyes flutter shut- so, so close already, when his mouth detached from you and his free hand reaches up to grasp your jaw.

“Look at me. Watch me eat your cunt or you’re not gonna cum.” Your eyes snap open and meet his, which are impossibly darker than before, and as soon as he’s sure you’re looking at him, he bends back down and reattaches his lips to your pussy, fingers setting an unrelenting pace inside you.

“Please, pl, m’gunna cum,” you whine, hands finding purchase in his hair and tugging. Peter feels his dick twitch in his pants at your action, which only spurs him on, pushing into you even further and lapping at you faster.

You whine, particularly loud and Peter feels a gushing run past his fingers and out your opening. He laps, removing his fingers to let his tongue swirl around your hole, lapping up everything that’s coming out.

In the midst of everything, Peter feels himself let go, fuelled but his grinding against the edge of your bed and the sheer hotness of the situation. He’s not even embarrassed- because he’s been fantasising about this and you for months and the real life thing is so much better than what he could have ever imagined.

He’ll allow himself the embarrassment this once.

Your chest is heaving, nipples peaked and breath erratic. That’s like nothing you’ve ever had before, even better than your ex boyfriend and even better than your fingers. You’re pretty sure Peter made you squirt, something you’ve only ever seen in porn.

The thought of Peter makes you snap out of your cum drunk state, eyes looking down at the boy who’s also heaving between your legs.

“How did you get into my apartment, Peter?”

He panics. This moment was so perfect- everything he ever wanted- and he panics. Still, he shoots you a lopsided grin.

it was a normal conversation between friends. you laid on sapnaps bed, he sat at his desk. honestly, you were only half-listening to anything he said,, he was rambling about the menial,, his friends and a conversation they had earlier about jerking off. 

“and ive never done that so i—”

oh? 

“you've never jerked off?” you perked your head up, interrupting him quite unapologetically. “like, ever?”

sapnap looked at you from his chair with furrowed eyebrows. he was confused, were you really that surprised? you held his gaze, searching for an answer from him. 

“not really? maybe when i was younger,,” he said nonchalantly. “i just never really,,, did.”

“you get boners though, don't you?” you asked, genuinely intrigued now. you were in the vicinity of a man that didn't jerk off, you were going to ask as many questions as possible. “you just leave it? not even an orgasm?”

“nope, i normally just wait for it to go away,” he said, swivelling his chair back around to answer a message on discord. he seemed to have dropped the conversation, but your mind raced.

watching him,,,, just seeing him sit there, so much more innocent than you had ever thought. it flipped something inside of you,, he had missed out on a world of pleasure, and the thought that you could introduce him to that? it played on repeat in your mind. sap was so pure, you wanted to break that. corrupt his mind, his body, his innocence. 

“can i teach you?” you blurted out. sapnap froze at his desk, you saw his breath catch in his lungs,, and you smiled. 

“you uh,,,” he said, turning around to look at you. it was then that you noticed how pretty he looked flustered, his ears were tinged with pink. “why?”

“i want to make you feel good,” you shrugged. “you can say no if you want to, sap. we are friends, its not that big of a deal.”

he sat still for a moment, watching you. you worried that you had crossed a boundary, but then he nodded, ever so slightly,, but he nodded. “,,, okay.” he said, quiet and pretty, your stomach flipped. 

“okay,,” you replied, getting up from his bed and walking over to him. you smiled at sap before sitting across his lap, so you were half facing him. his hands instinctively reached for your hips, but he stopped himself before he could touch you. 

“its okay,” you hummed, grabbing his hands and placing them gently on your hips. “you can touch.”

sapnap gulped, nodding lightly at your words. you brought your hands up to either side of his face. “you're sure about this?” you asked, and he nodded again. “can you say it? just so i can hear it from you.”

“im sure,” he cleared his throat, meeting your eyes. “i want you to,,, i want you to teach me how to feel good.”

“good boy,” you smiled. your hands fell to his belt buckle,, you tapped it gently. “take this off for me?” 

you hopped off his lap, and brought your hands to the hem of your shirt. you waited for him to undo his belt and slip his pants down,, and you pulled your shirt over your head. sapnap practically choked at the sight.

“what's that for?” he asked, and you smiled. 

“visual aid,” you hummed, returning to your seat on his lap. you played with the waistband of his boxers, brushing your fingers gently over his stomach as you did so. “can i take these down for you?”

sapnap inhaled sharply, toying with his fingers as he nodded. he was shy, and you loved it,,, he wouldn’t be for long. you pulled his boxers down far enough for his dick to spring free— he was hard, and you couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips.

“sorry,” he mumbled, his face was red.

you shook your head. “dont apologise, love. this is good, means we can get started.”

you took his hand in yours, throwing him a comforting look as you did so. guiding his hand to wrap around his cock, you then enveloped your hand over his.

“like this,” you hummed, gliding saps hand up and down his dick slowly, guiding his hand with yours. “feel alright?”

“feels,,,, feels weird.”

“i know, love,” you cooed. “it’ll feel good in a sec, just keep doing that for me okay?”

“mkay,” sapnap whispered, taking a little bit of stride in his actions and slowly pumping himself. your hand lingered on his for a moment longer,, you didn’t exactly want to let go. when you did, however, sapnap stopped completely.

“what’s wrong?” you asked.

sapnap looked down at your hand. “can you, uh… can you keep it there,,, if that’s okay, i mean. i don’t want to make you think—”

you cut him off by placing your hand back over his and giving it a squeeze,, subsequently squeezing his cock as well; he whined softly. this was it, the turning point of sapnaps innocence: he wanted your hand on his, deciding just how good he felt. he wanted you, not just his hand.

“of course. come on, keep going for me.”

sapnap nodded, starting on his cock again. with your hand over his, he starting stroking. his face was monotone for a minute or two,, but as he quickened his pace, you saw the exact moment sapnap went from experian toon to realisation— this felt good. his eyes widened slightly, mouth parted,, he licked his lips and met your gaze.

“fuck,” he groaned. it was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. his free hand reached out to grab your thigh. “fuck.”

“such a good boy,” you praised him. “you’re doing perfect. is it feeling good?”

“mhm,” sapnap whined. his hand tightened on your thigh as he gulped; your hand moved with his,, up and down, up and down. faster and faster and faster.

any innocence that boy had held beforehand was melting away like ice. you noticed his eyebrows furrow, his lip quiver,,, he was close. you didn’t need to ask, but to hear him say it? you couldn’t help yourself.

“you close, bub?”

he couldn’t even talk, all inhibitions stuck in his throat as his orgasm built closer and closer. in your endeavour, you had almost forgotten that this was most likely his first,, and anyone’s first orgasm could be daunting. he thrusted into both of your hands, and you took your free hand to meet the side of his face ever so gently.

his eyes met yours, they were watery and ever so beautiful— his eyelashes fluttered close every now and again: he was reaching his breaking point. quiet whines spilt from his lips,, and you couldn’t contain yourself much longer. you brought your lips to his, kissing him mercilessly as he finally reached his climax. he moaned into your mouth with tenor,, spilt all over your hand. he was in a state of bliss, you could feel him shaking from where you sat on his thighs.

he only returned the kiss once he had calmed down, moving against your lips ever so slowly. you had done it, taken any innocent strand in his body. you wanted more, you wanted to ruin him completely,, but for now? this was enough.