“not in my movie”

“Wes! Wes! I came as soon as I- Oh my God,”

It’s like seeing your boyfriend laying here all bandaged and bruise makes the situation sickeningly real instead of just some twisted nightmare. “Wes,” is all you can bring yourself to breathe out.

You think you’re going to be sick.

“Hey,” Wes croaks out, and God, he sounds so much worse than he looks - if that’s even possible. His skin is an eeriely translucent, and tubes jut out from his body from all sorts of unnatural angles. You can practically feel your heart sink to the floor.

“Oh my God,” you repeat once more, stumbling over to his side. You know you should do more - offer your boyfriend some stupid semblance of comfort and security, but you need a minute to pull yourself together - for both of your sakes. Wes wasn’t exactly frail, and the idea that one day you might see him this vulnerable, this bare, hadn’t ever crossed your mind.

You reach out to cup his face, running a finger over his cheek tentatively. It’s one of the only places you can touch, one of the only that isn’t dressed or stitched up somehow. Wes leans into the touch as his eyes flicker closed, letting out a pained sigh.

“What happened?” You urge, voice barely above a whisper. It can’t be any worst than the nightmarish images you’ve conjured up in your mind - visions of your boyfriend screaming for help, a knife tearing through his beautiful skin like paper as he bleeds out all alone.

“Fucking Ghostface,” he breathes out, attempting a hollow laugh but wincing when the effort is evidently too painful for him. “He got in the house, took me by surprise. I tried to fight him off but he was stronger than me. I coul- I couldn’t-“

Telltale tears well in his eyes, and you notice the way he attempts to rapidly blink them away.

“Hey, it’s okay. I got you.” You clasp his fingers in yours as you press a soft kiss to his temple, and that’s all it takes for Wes to burst into tears. You don’t push him to speak or even stop crying; you simply sit besides him, grasping onto his hand as if it’s a lifeline. God, you feel so damn useless, but what is there for you to do? What do you say to your boyfriend who almost got stabbed to death? How do you even start to fix this?

The two of you sit like that for a while - Wes shaking from the effort of his tears, your hands still interlocked. You can’t help but think just how close you were to loosing him- loosing all of this. How you’d never see that stupid grin and bleach blonde hair ever again. How you’d be forced to live, expected to go on in darkness after the blinding light that was Wes had flickered out. It’s enough to make you want to scream.

But you can’t. Not now. And not in front of Wes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, low and strained. His red eyes meet yours, and all of a sudden, you’re angry. Angrier than you think you’ve ever felt before. Not at Wes - never at Wes - but just at how damn unfair this all is. Why was Wes - your Wes- falling apart and barely alive when the monster who did this to him was still out there? How was it fair that he feels like he has to apologise for you for daring to cry about almost dying?

“No,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. Your ire must seep deep into your tone though, because Wes glances back up at you before turning his head away once more. Gently, you turn his chin so his eyes are back on you, and you repeat yourself again - this time, much more softly.

“No. Don’t you dare apologise, you hear me? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. And I’m not angry at you, baby. It’s just-“ you sigh before you speak again. “It’s just that… I hate whoever did this to you. When we find out who it is, I swear, I’m gonna fucking kill them myself. “

Wes smiles. “Didn’t know I had my own personal bodyguard.” The fact that he still has the ability to crack jokes after all that’s happened, you realise, makes you want to smile and sob - preferably at the same time. Wes really is the most resilient person you know, but goddamn it, he shouldn’t have to be.

“I wish I was your body guard,” you reply, lips quirked upwards. “Then I could be with you all the time. Means you wouldn’t have been by yourself when it happened.”

At that, Wes’s gaze snaps up, all traces of his grin gone in an instant. “And have you lying here next to me - fuck, instead of me? Have you dead? No way in hell.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so you you simply keep quiet. Neither you nor Wes speak, the two of you presumably both lost in your own racing thoughts. It strangely borders on comfortable, and more importantly, it’s enough.

After a while, you shuffle closer to your boyfriend, carefully resting your head in the crook of his neck as he places his head on top of yours. It’s the best thing you can think of right now - you can’t wrap Wes up and tell him everything’s okay because it’s not. None of this is okay.

“I love you,” you murmur into the silence, because you need Wes to know. Need him to know how grateful you are to have him, how grateful you are that he’s alive. Because honestly? You have no idea what you’d do without him - you dread to even think. “And I’ll be here for you every single step of the way. Promise.” You hold out your pinky with the last word - it’s childish, you know that, but after everything, maybe that’s exactly what you need right now.

- sam carpenter isn’t really known for her expressive nature - she tends to keep her emotions close to her chest unless she’d certain she can trust you.

- so when her friends and sister find out that she’s dating you - the human embodiment of sunshine itself - they can hardly believe it.

- because sam was… well, sam. and the pair of you were just so different; you were always so damn cheerful and had enough energy to rival a small child on a sugar rush, and as endearing as that was, it hardly fit into sam’s reserved and careful nature.

- but the two of just seemed to work - especially given just how enamoured sam is with you. the way you smile especially has her weak in the knees, all flustered like she’s suddenly a teenager in love.

- the way you smile alone is enough to make her day, so it’s a damn good thing that you grin at practically everything: when you wake up and see that the sun is shining, when your favourite song comes on the radio, and - sam’s personal favourite - when she finishes work and you look at her like she’s the centre of your entire universe.

- the best part of her day is when you run into her arms after a long shift, telling her just how much you’d missed her whilst she was gone. and with the way you kiss her, all gentle yet so damn eager , she can certainly tell.

- usually, sam can’t deal with rambling at all. it gets on her nerves, and there’s not enough people that she tolerates enough to potentially listen to for that long. but with you? god, she’d listen to you talk for days.

- she just sits there, nodding and smiling like an idiot as you ramble on about some movie you just watched or a cute dog you saw on your walk home - sometimes, she has no idea what it is that you’re tracking about, but she doesn’t even care - not when you’re so damn cute when you’re passionate.

- showers you with gifts - but feels totally embarrassed to give them to you. stands there awkwardly as you squeal over your new necklace, but can’t help but chuckle as you literally throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her so tightly that it’s a wonder you don’t break any bones.

- swears that it isn’t a big deal (she spent an obscene amount of money on it) and she only got it because she was near the store (you’d said you’d liked it weeks ago, and you deserved only the best). legend has it that you’re the only one that can make sam carpenter blush.

- you drag her everywhere with you - literally. you hold onto her hand and move from place to place so quickly that you might as well teleport, trying desperately to enjoy everything all at once.

- “wait, sam!! look at that! oh, it’s so great, do you see it?? it’s adorable!!”

“yeah, i see it princess - almost as cute as you.”

- the way you hurry around also means that sam keeping an eye on you becomes second nature; she’s always prepared to reach out or hook an arm around to ensure that you don’t trip over your own feet.

- seriously. sometimes she wonders what happens when she’s not there to catch you - although she does her damn hardest to make sure that’s never the case.

- sam is understandably already overprotective of those she cares about, but with you, she turns it up to an eleven. mostly, it’s because she worries - you were so sweet to everybody, and she didn’t want anybody to try and take advantage of that.

- she takes this very literally - glaring at almost every new person you introduce yourself to.

- it’s nothing you haven’t noticed though, and you can’t help but tease her for it. she just grumbles and says you’ve “turned her soft,” even despite the fact you can both she she’s smiling like an idiot <3

- you both also know that you have her wrapped around your finger without even trying - sam never has been able to say no to your puppy dog eyes.

- you definitely rope her into matching with you - whether it’s with makeup, outfits or accessories (she 100% wears a necklace with your initial on it <3)

- given your already…hyperactive nature, sam admirably tries her hardest to keep you away from caffeine - nothing good comes from that combination, trust her. you just think it’s sweet that she cares, and even if you don’t always take her advice, you appreciate her always looking out for you.

- on a semi-related note, your sleeping pattern isn’t the most regular, but when you do fall asleep, more often than not, it just happens to be on sam - whether it’s her shoulder or her chest, your girlfriend has had to resign herself to the role of personal pillow.

- not that she minds, and her heart definitely melts when she sees just how peaceful you look.

- you have a habit of wanting to try everything - meaning you’ve tried your hand at basically every hobby under the sun. painting, pottery, crocheting - you name it, you’ve probably wanted to try it at some point. even though you usually end up growing bored and inevitably give it up, sam keeps souvenirs from all of your endeavours and treasures them all, her favourite being a painting that, if you squint hard enough, shows the two of you on some sort of date.

- sam had never been somebody who revived a lot of compliments growing up, but with you? every single day, you make sure to let her know just how does ik she is to you and how much you love her, plain and simple. she doesn’t know if you’re aware just how much that means to her, but gif, she hopes you do.

- you’re possibly the only person- maybe even including tara - who can get away with calling her stupidly sappy nicknames.

- they’re corny as hell and make no sense half of the time, but they come from your heart - and sam can’t help but adore that fact.

- after a mere few months into your relationship, the difference in sam’s apartment is palpable: the table never is never not decorated with flowers you bought because “aren’t they just the prettiest things you’ve ever seen?”, photos of the pair of you are tacked up onto the fridge with heart magnets and all of your belongings are strewn across the place like you live there - which, at this point, you might as well.

- being around you in general just allows sam to relax immensely - your energy’s just so infectious that being around you instantly puts her in a good mood, and she loves the way you encourage her to be better without even trying.

- the funny thing is, nobody even really remembers why you and liv are seemingly incapable of getting along together.

- all anybody knows is that innocent conversations within the group slowly divulge into petty arguments between you and liv, snarky comments exchanged constantly.

- for example, one time, a conversation about where everybody wanted to eat quickly turned into a utterly unrelated spat.

- “liv, did you even listen to a fucking word I said just then?”

- “no, because every word you say is stupid!”

- “wow, harsh. how long did it take you to come up with that one, hannah montana?”

- “you know, I’m not stupid. maybe if you got off of your high horse and stopped judging me for once-

- “why should I, when you make it so easy! besides, if you want to talk about judgemental…”

- chad and wes think the two of you’ll work it out eventually, tara doesn’t understand why you can’t just be real friends, amber thinks the bickering is completely entertaining (and instigates most of the time) and mindy thinks you both just need to make up (and make out).

- from why you can tell, liv thinks you’re a prissy, pretentious know-it-all.

- and from what liv can tell, you take her for a shallow party girl with more mini-skirts than brain cells.

- you both try your hardest to avoid each other, but seeing as she was dating chad and tara had been your best friend since you’d moved to woodsboro, so were forced to run in the same circle - because why should one of you have to make new friends just to avoid her?

- but it seems the universe just seems to hate the two of you - because you were forced together constantly.

- you have to sit next to eachother in chemistry and art, and you both live practically right next next door to each other- meaning you walked the same route and, when wes would offer to give you all a ride home, you’d be huddled in the back seat with liv whilst everybody else got dropped off first.

- and you mean huddled; you’d be so close that your legs were touching and you could smell her perfume (it was infuriatingly perfect and reminded you of strawberries and summer and warmth - not that you’d ever tell liv that, though).

- when she’s feeling particularly annoying, liv has a habit of flashing you her most shit eating grin - mostly because she knows it irritates the living hell out of you.

- seriously, most of the time, you want nothing more than to wipe it straight off of her face.

- “liv, I swear, if you don’t stop that right now…”

- “what are you gonna do about it, huh? we both know you’re not gonna stop me- that would require little miss princess to lift a perfect finger!”

- but fine, whatever. she could be as immature as she wanted - you weren’t going to rise to her bait - except from all the times you did, obviously. you regarded yourself as being better than that.

- arguing over partner work in class, and making sure liv knew when you’d scored higher than her in a test.

- really, it was just all pettinesses - but in your defence, it was always liv that started it (at least, you think it is - nowadays, it’s rather difficult to keep track).

- one friday night, when the rest of your family was out of town, you’d thought you’d invite a few people over.

- though, of course, when chad and mindy were involved, a few people turned into practically half of the school.

- seriously, your house was filled to the brim with people you didn’t even recognise - which meant you inevitably bumped into someone and, just your luck, spilt the entire contents of your drinks down the front of your shirt.

- and aw, damn it, you’d liked that shirt. so you were forced to go upstairs in an attempt to find something else to put on - except, when you open your bedroom door, the last person you expect to see is liv mckenzie.

- a crying liv mckenzie, nonetheless, sitting on your bed as mascara runs down her pretty face. and as bad as it sounds, a part of you is tempted to pretend you saw nothing and creep back down to the party, stained shirt and all.

- the thing is though, deep down, you know that it wouldn’t be right - no matter how much you and liv tended to disagree.

- you uncomfortably shuffle beside her as she looks up from her spot on your floor, all teary eyed.

- “shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude in your room. I can go-“

- liv apologising to you is never a good sign, so you catch her arm and slowly urge her to sit back down, imploring what’s wrong.

- “it’s chad! he fucking dumped me- he says there’s somebody else! you know what, I bet it’s tara- I’ve seen the way the look at each other! god, how could I be so stupid?”

- and, oh. you though chad and tara were a little touchy-feely, but you’d never suspected it was like that. and you’d definitely thought chad had more decorum that to dump liv at a party for one of her best friends. god, what a moron.

- you tell liv exactly that - albeit a little awkwardly - and she gives you a smile at that. a real smile.

- “you really think he’s a moron?”

- “yeah. moron, asshole, whatever you want to call him- that was totally shitty of him! and you deserve better than that - better than him.”

- so you change your shirt and sheepishly, you offer to help liv fix hey ruined makeup. and when your fingers brush against her skin as you apply a fresh layer of concealer to her face, you definitely don’t feel jolts of electricity run down your spine. you don’t.

- but you do go to bed that night, after everybody else has finally left, replaying that rare, real smile on a loop in your mind. and you try not to think about what that means.

- and after that night, you make more of an effort. you really, honestly do.

- because when you aren’t too wrapped up in yourself to notice, you realise that liv doesn’t exactly have it easy within the group, what with mindy and amber’s apparent dislike for her as well as your own.

- and sure, she was irritating at times, but that didn’t mean everybody had to call her out on it, right?

- you don’t magically get along immediately - how could you, after months of pointless arguments? - but you seemed to have forged a civil, unspoken agreement; you were the only ones who could insult each other now.

- and even then, insult was too harsh of a word - the jabs became more light hearted, and you slowly found yourself often laughing in retort instead of being on the immediate defensive.

- as much as it pained you to admit it, you start to find yourself often having actual, genuine fun with liv.

- which somehow, happens to lead to the pair of you spending more one-on-one time.

- and before you know it, you’re suddenly going to the mall together, picking out clothes for yourself and each other.

- you find yourself visiting to a lot of museums too, because as it turns out, liv has a total interest in all types of art - and god, who would’ve expected that? maybe you, if you’d actually taken a chance to get to know her when you first met her.

- you start to notice a lot of things about her that you never had in the past: the way she pouted when she was confused, the way she fiddled with her jewellery when she was nervous, and the way most of her necklaces were completely handmade.

- the more you found out about her, the more you wanted to know.

- the first confession between the two of you comes when you were hanging out in a cafe near your houses.

- “you know, I never really hated you,” liv randomly says into the quiet as you take a long sip of your milkshake. “I thought you were annoying as hell, but I never hated you. we just irritated each other- that’s the way it always was with us.”

- you take a second before you speak yourself. “you know, I don’t think I ever really hated you either. hell, I can’t even remember why I was supposed to dislike you in the first place.”

- the realisation is so stupid that you can’t help but laugh, and suddenly, everybody else in the place is staring at the two of you as you giggle over the ridiculous nature of it all.

- by then, the two of you are inseparable. liv even seems to be getting over chad, and she doesn’t even flinch when she sees him and tara holding hands.

- you know the two of you have really bonded when amber comments on your newly discovered friendship, saying how weirdly quiet it is without the bickering and that she wishes you’d hate each other again.

- you both pointedly ignore that comment - well, liv does give her the finger, but that’s neither here nor there :)

- the real confession - rather ironically - comes in the place where you realised that liv mckenzie wasn’t as bad as you’d thought she was; your bedroom. you’re both sprawled out on the bed, legs messily intertwined, as liv flicks through some shitty magazine and declares that she’s found a makeup look that she wants to try out on you.

- “come on, it’ll be funnn!” she promises, and she looks so adorably desperate that you can’t help but give in to her.

- and before long, you find yourself fully vertical on the bed, with liv somehow ending up practically straddling you as she paints your eyes and lips a bright pink .

- “stop moving,” - she warns, so close that you’re breathing in that perfume or hers again. you take a breath, and if fills your lungs once more. “seriously!” she says as you stir, dragging a thumb slowly across the bottom of your lip. “see, you’re smudging it!”

- you don’t care about that, though. it doesn’t even cross your mind. no, instead you’re too focused on how you can see the brilliant blue of liv’s eyes perfectly from this angle, how her pretty pink hair tickles your throat as it spills over her shoulders. how soft her lips look from down here.

- you’ve barely even registered what you’re doing before you’re suddenly leaning up, your lips pressed against hers in an instant. you know she’s not expecting it, what with the way her body tenses up and she all but drops the brush in her hand.

- and no. you’ve gone and ruined it all, you’ve kissed liv and why would you do that because she’s never going to talk to you again and you didn’t even know you liked her like that and-

- and she’s kissing you back, and it’s absolutely perfect. it’s everything you’d never known you were missing in life, and you can’t help but wonder that if you hadn’t wasted all that time arguing, you could e been doing a hell of a lot more of this a damn lot sooner.

- but you just promise yourself you’ll have to make up for all of that wasted time <3

- when you walk into school the next day, hands interlocked, amber nearly throws up, tara gives you a cautious thumbs up, and mindy - well, mindy said it was just a matter of time, and declared that wes owes her 15 bucks.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

He’s barely opened the door before his hand grabs yours, pulling you out of the rain and into his warm embrace. He doesn’t even complain about your sodden state, lips crashing into yours as he clumsily backs you against the wall.

“I’m glad you made it, baby.” Billy murmurs in between kisses, voice low with lust. “Fuck, I couldn’t wait any longer. See what you do to me?”

God, it makes it so much easier when he talks to you like that. When he talks like he breathes just for you, like you’d hung the stars and moon. It’s easier to pretend that way. 

It doesn’t take long. One moment, your legs are wrapped around Billy’s strong frame and the next, you’re laying beneath him on his bed, sighing as he works on your neck. The marks he leaves are purposeful, and they’ll no doubt be a pain to cover up tomorrow. You tell Billy exactly that, making sure to inject just the right amount of that teasing tone you know drives him crazy into your voice. 

“Good,” he says lowly, “Lets people know you’re spoken for. Can’t have anyone touching what’s mine.” He grinds down as if to emphasise his point, hips meeting yours in a way that sends a jolt of electric thrill through your bones. 

At least, you think that’s what it’s from; maybe it’s all simply down to his choice of words - mine. He knew what that did to you - what visceral effect it must have on you. Knew how much it meant to you to be wanted and desired and cherished by somebody like Billy Loomis. It was all you’d ever wanted. 

Except…

“Except I’m not.” Your voice barely comes out above a whisper. Billy comes to a halt, his lips moving from your collarbone as his brown eyes meet yours. He looks confused and vulnerable in a way that makes you sorry for even bringing it up, but you can’t ignore it. Not now. Not today. 

“You are. You know that you are. You mean everything to me, just-"

“Just not as much as Sidney, right?” Her name tastes like ash in your mouth. It always came back to Sidney Prescott - sweet, smart, stunning, Sidney. The girl who barely knew you yet always made an effort to smile at you in the hallway and compliment your outfits. The girl whose boyfriend you were sleeping with behind her back. 

From the moment he’d flashed you that charming smirk of his, you knew you were a goner for Billy Loomis. And you’d tried to fight it, you really had. He was bad news, all of your friends thought so, and most importantly, he had a girlfriend. Everybody knew him and Sidney were serious. And you were better than that, sleeping with a taken man. 

Except, as it turns out, you weren’t. Not really, anyway. He didn’t even have to try to get you in bed with him, but after the first time, you’d felt so goddamn guilty that you swore it would never happen again. 

Your resolve lasted an entire week. Billy was like a drug, alluring in every possible way and so entirely addictive. You couldn’t stay away from him even if you tried. And although the guilt never entirely disappeared, it sure as hell became easier to ignore when Billy whispered sweet nothings into your ear and made you feel like you’d had everything you’d been missing your entire life. 

“Sidney?” Billy laughs, a sound almost as beautiful as he is. “Sidney means nothing to me. I’m going to blow her off, and then we can really be together, do it right.”

As awful as it is, the thought of that seems completely compelling. You want to be Billy’s, utterly and solely, more than anything on this earth. Besides, anything would be better than passing him in the hallway and pretending you don’t know every fraction of him so completely intimately.  Pretending like he’s not the first and last thing you think of each day. Pretending that you don’t solely wear the single perfume that he complimented once.

So intimately that you know that, at this moment in time, you can’t believe a single word that flows from his mouth - no matter how desperately you want them to be true. 

“Billy,” you sigh, turning your head away from his pleading gaze. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he replies rather impatiently. “You know it’s-"

“Complicated,” you finish miserably. “I just don’t get why it has to be!”

“Look, I can’t talk about this right now. Can’t we just…” 

He trails off, and his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. It’s too easy to sink into it, to sit back and just let Billy take the lead and give you just what you want. It’s damn near impossible to pull back, but by some miracle, you manage to do so. 

“I’m just saying,” you protest. “If you can’t stand Sidney, if she’s truly as bad as you say she is, why can’t you just end things with her?” The sheer frustration that laces your tone is evident even to you. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this Billy, it’s driving me insane, I-"

“What, so you’re mad at me now?” Billy scoffs, tone completely accusatory. “Because you knew what you were getting into - you’re hardly innocent here, alright! I didn’t trick you into sleeping with me - last I checked, you're perfectly fine with our arrangement when it means you get to be the one under me! So why d’you even care, huh - in fact, why don’t you do us both a favour and keep the fuck out of my business?”

You reel back as if you’ve been slapped. Not because of what was said - you both know the words to be true, however deep down that is - but because of how much they hurt. You knew you were a horrible person, but you hoped that Billy saw you as more than that - you needed him to see you as more than that. And by the way he usually acted in your company when it was just the two of you, you thought that he did. When you were alone, he worshipped you. Fuck, the boy looked at you as if he was completely and utterly in awe of your mere presence. And he’d definitely never snapped at you like this. 

It’s one thing hating yourself for what you’re doing, but it’s another having the one person you love so deeply confirm all the ugly parts of your personality that you work so hard to keep hidden from the world. 

He can evidently read the hurt written all over your face, and Billy’s once irritated gaze softens. “Shit,” he breathes, and you can’t tell if he genuinely sounds remorseful or if you’re naively hearing what you want to believe. 

It’s easier to go with the latter option. 

You make a move to stand, but you feel a strong arm pulling you back down onto the bed below. “I’m so sorry,” Billy apologises, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I’m being an ass, I know that. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, baby.” With your arm still in his tight grasp, it would be difficult to stand up without outright pushing him away from you. But with each hushed word Billy speaks, you find yourself wanting to stay more and more. After all, he was right. You were already guilty, and your dignity was clearly long gone. What would be the use in leaving? It’s not like you could fall any further from grace. 

Your eyes flutter closed as Billy kisses all along your jaw, mumbling apologies under his breath as he does so. “I’ll fix everything, I swear. You’ve just gotta trust me,” he vows before his lips suddenly move beside your ear. His breath is hot as he murmurs, “you do trust me, right doll?” A small, pathetic whimper escapes from the back of your throat, and you find yourself nodding before you even decide to move. 

“That’s my girl.” The honey-sweet tone of his voice is enough to make you crumble, and your fingers desperately start to make work of undoing his belt. It doesn’t take long, what with your hands working practically on autopilot. Billy takes the hint, and he eagerly pulls your shirt over your head with ease, strong fingers unclasping your bra once he’s finished. 

You’re making a complete fool of yourself, a bitter voice whispers at the edge of your mind. He’s spelled it out for you, and yet you’re still here, letting him undress you like this. How pitiful. 

It’s not incorrect. Billy Loomis had undoubtedly made a mess of you. Ruined you. Before all of this - and God, how long ago that seemed now - you were good. You were headstrong and assertive, and you’d never been one to let people walk all over you. That girl was a far cry from the person you were now, and she’d undeniably despise the idiotic fool you’d become.  

You wouldn’t exactly blame her, either. You know that when you get home, you won’t even be able to face your own reflection. You never can. 

But you also know damn well that when Billy undoubtedly comes running back to you, because he does, every single time without fail, you’ll blindly follow him right back into his arms - and right back into his bed. 

It’s awful. You know that, no matter how much parts of you try to pretend otherwise. There’s no sugarcoating it, no justification for your actions that aren’t completely shallow and selfish. You just have to hope that one day, you’ll snap out of it. If Billy doesn’t choose you - accept you fully like the way you accepted him long ago - you like to think that one day, you’ll have the self-respect to leave and tell Sidney the truth. Hope she’d accept your shitty excuse of an apology. But as you lay here in this room right now, back arched and Billy in between your legs, you know that day won’t be any time soon.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

- you’re prepared to give mickey a whole speech about all the reasons he should take this seriously and fake date you, and you’re half expecting him to shut you down in the first thirty seconds

- what you don’t anticipate is him barely letting you finish your question before responding with a simple “sure thing” with absolutely no questions asked before he fully launches back into whatever it was he was saying before

- you ask him about this later one and he eventually says “you asked ‘cause you wanted my help, right? none of my damn business why.”

- none of his friend group even batted an eyelid when you announced you were “dating” - which may or may not have made you question things

- most of them just wondering what took the pair of you so damn long

- mickey’s such a flirt anyway that not much changes between the two of you - apart from more physical touch

- and trust me, there’s a lot of that

- even though mickey’s already someone who’s comfortable with physical contact, it’s like he dials it up to 11: if his arm isn’t constantly fixed to your waist or shoulders, then it’s in your pocket, resting on your back or your thigh, ect.

- speaking of flirting, he’ll tone down the flirting with other people and just crank it up with you instead

- he delivers the worst lines you’ve heard but does it with that boyish grin and all around charm that somehow makes them work in a way they have no right to

- goes absolutely crazy with the pet names, 50% just to be a little shit and be purposely obnoxious, and 50% to see what sticks and what you actually like

- you walk on him watching corny romcom movies in what you assume is preparation and although mickey futilely tries to play it off, you’re not fooled

- eventually you just have to promise to never mention in front of anyone - it would apparently totally destroy his credibility when it comes to “real cinema”

- semi-related, but he’d be the kind for a big “grand” gesture - think showcasing a film all about you to grab people’s attention and really sell everything - its a quintessential college movie trope

- drags you to parties that he wants to go to, and convinces you to dance with him - purely for the sake of realism, of course

- enjoys scaring off other guys that try and hit on you at said parties - he doesn’t even say any anything overtly threatening, he’ll either just make passive aggressive comments or just stare until they get the hint

- you honestly just think he’s having way too much fun with it but you’re willing to let it slide - his intentions are mostly good

- if you go out to an actual bar, mickey absolutely doesn’t let you spend a dime (which you think is strange, since it doesn’t make a difference to your fake relationship. still, you appreciate the gesture).

- a few of your friends think he’s at least a little bit of a dick but he treats you so well that they can’t complain

- which again, mickey loves - he is nothing if not a petty little bitch

- when your hanging out with somebody who genuinely thinks the two of you are dating, mickey will often call you to “check up” on you and make sure you’re okay

- has no problem with saying that he loves you, and makes sure to say it before he says goodbye (but he says it so easily and it sounds so genuine and it makes you wonder…)

- will casually be talking to you in the hallway before class, but when he sees one of your friends coming he’ll slowly and deliberately pull you into a kiss

- you can’t help but be disappointed when he pulls back with a wink and a grin

- brings you lunch after class, which everybody finds sickeningly sweet and makes mickey look like the perfect boyfriend - which is pretty accurate, without, you know, it being a “real” relationship and all

As soon as she walks into the room, the smell of weed, sweat and above all, alcohol, hits Sam all at once. It’s enough to make her want to gag, but she’s not leaving. Not yet.

She pushes through the sea of inebriated students, not even dignifying the way some of them huff or curse in displeasure with an angry response. The only thing she cares about is bringing you and Tara home. And honestly, she’s begrudgingly grown to expect this sort of stupid behaviour from her kid sister, but you? You were better than this. At least, that’s what Sam had hoped, anyway.

She’d asked you to do one thing. To stay away from one place, for one night. And the funny thing is, you’d promised. Sam could count the people she trusted completely on one hand, and you were one of them. So she - what was now proved to be stupidly - believed you when you’d assured her that you and Tara were going to stay in and watch the latest season of whatever show it was that the two of you had bonded over all those months ago. She really should’ve expected this.

Sighing, Sam continues to make her way through the crowd, stopping once a familiar sound reaches her ears.

She’d recognise that laugh anywhere.

Her head whips around, following her line of sight until she sees you with your head thrown back as you down a glass of God- knows what, spurred on by Chad’s cheers and Ethan’s silent smile. There’s an unmistakable glint of triumph in your eyes, and it hits Sam that you don’t even look sorry for lying to her face and going behind her back, and the realisation unmistakably stings. More than she thought it would. But seeing you here, blissfully unaware whilst she was going out of her mind worrying about you, serves only to frustrate her.

“Hey!” Your head snaps up at that, and Sam doesn’t miss the “oh shit” on Chad’s lips. “Having fun here, are we?

“Sam?” You reply, and the woman doesn’t know whether to be insulted or satisfied with your tone of surprise. Like you really didn’t expect her to come after you. Like she would leave you here. “What are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Sam snarks back angrily. “What happened to a cosy night in watching TV with Tara, huh?”

You have the courtesy to look guilty at that. “That was the plan, I swear. But then Tara made a whole deal about needing to be a normal teenager for once and then she gave me those damn eyes and-“

“And you got all dolled up and came with her? You couldn’t say no to a damn teenager?” Sam recognises her steadily raising voice, and she knows that people are starting to stare. But she can’t bring herself to care. “Where even is Tara? You came here with here and you don’t even know where she is? How fucking reckless-“

“She’s with Mindy, Sam!” You cry out, evidently exasperated. I’ve been checking up on her and she’s fine! She’s having fun! She’s allowed to live her own life - she’s allowed to be by herself! We don’t need to watch her every damn second of the day!”

“What, so know you’re telling me how to look after my sister? Is that what this is?”

You run a hand through your hair. “You know that it’s not. And that’s not even why you’re mad at me! You’re mad because I’m doing something you don’t approve of - like I’m not a grown woman who can do as she pleases!”

“Oh, and what you want is to get drunk at frat parties, is that right? Your idea of fun is hanging out with all of these lowlife sleazebags? Yeah, sounds like a real fucking blast! I can’t believe you-“

“Then leave, Sam! If you’re just here to insult me, just leave me alone and go home!” Your outburst stuns Sam into silence, and has her taking a step back once she realises how the close the two of you have become. Leave me alone. Sam doesn’t think you’ve ever said those words to her during your relationship, not seriously. Not like this. It was always the opposite, you ushering her closer like you were starved without her touch.

Neither of you speak for a minute, your pride getting the both of best of you. Sam feels the racing of her heart in her chest, the sound almost deafening even with the blaring music of the party.

“Fine,” she finally bites out, voice not as steady as she’d like it to be. “You stay here. Get fucking wasted. See if I care.” She can’t read the look on your face, and she doesn’t try to discern it now. “I’m getting Tara and then I’ll be out of your hair. Enjoy the rest of your fucking night.”

She doesn’t look back as she storms away.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Sam was wrong.

You weren’t drunk - not properly, not yet - but you damn well would be by the end of the night.

“Don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?” Ethan suggest sheepishly. “I mean-“

The withering glare you send his way is enough to shut him up whilst you drain the cup’s content. You know that he’s only trying to look out for you, but you’re not in the mood for his niceties right now. Sam going off at you that had completely ruined your mood. You could deal with her accusing you of lying to her. You did promise her that you would stay at home tonight. You can understand how she might feel betrayed - feel hurt - by you doing the utter opposite.

What you couldn’t stand by was her acting like you didn’t have any agency of your own. Like getting dressed up and letting loose at a party was the worst sin imaginable. Granted, it was a shitty party full of people who you didn’t even know, but the drinks were free and the atmosphere was decent enough. And you’re not about to let your lover’s spat with Sam ruin your whole night.

So you dance. You laugh. And most importantly, you drink. And suddenly, it becomes a lot easier to forget about the look on Sam’s face when you practically screamed at her to leave you be. It becomes a hell of lot easier to forget about everything, the sway of your hips becoming almost automatic as you feel the music deep in your veins.

You can’t even remember the amount of shots you’d taken by now. All you know is that a very drunken Chad had swore that he could do more than you, and ha - in his face, he was so wrong. And a lightweight, apparently. A lightweight throwing up in the bathroom, from what Ethan had worriedly told you before promising he’d be right back and to stay right there and please don’t drink anymore whilst I’m gone.

Ha. Jokes on Chad. You could handle your drinks. Mostly, anyways. And double ha, jokes on Ethan too, because you weren’t drunk enough that you couldn’t handle one more. And really, the drink was already in your hand, so it’d be a waste not to. It’s a solid idea.

It’s a horrible idea.

It’s like that final drink sends you over the edge, because barely ten minutes after your last sip, your vision starts to blur and you’re

suddenly staggering backwards until you’re up against the wall. Your hand flies out to the side to look for something - anything - to grab onto, and your squeeze your eyes firmly shut as you try to focus. If your head was hazy before, it was spinning now. God, if Sam could see you now. Disappointed would be an understatement.

You can’t think about Sam. About how horrible it was going to be going home with her mad at you. You find yourself sliding down the wall, sitting down being the safer option for your suddenly vertically challenged self. You need to think, think anything other than oh my God I am so fucking wasted right now. But you can’t. Even the music becomes too loud, too difficult to comprehend, its words passing you by in a blur. You’re not sure how long you sit there like that, head hung low as you sit on the bare floor, but with each passing minute you seem to grow more and more out of it.

You barely register the hand on your shoulder. You don’t look up - can’t look up- your gaze only raising when you feel yourself being hoisted up. And the face you’re greeted with isn’t someone you know. You would recognise Chad or Mindy or Ethan or Anika. Even in this sort of state, you would.. But this guy is different. Tall, bearded, dressed as God knows who from God knows what. You open your mouth to object, but even the action seems too tiring. Still, a faint noise of objection escapes your mouth, and the man simply shakes his head.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. “I got you. We’re just gonna have some fun, okay?”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Sam shouldn’t have left.

She knows it when she’s storming out the front door with an angry Tara in tow, and she knows it when she’s practically halfway home. But you were both angry, and there was no point in even trying to reason with you when all she could think about was how you’d lied to her.

But she didn’t want to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. She hated herself for making you feel like that, so cornered that you’d completely snapped at her. And she’d deserved it. She doesn’t regret worrying about you and your safety, and she’d always be there to protect you. But you were right. You were an adult, and as much as Sam disliked it, that meant you could go to as many sleazy parties as you liked. You weren’t as fragile as Tara, someone who she could mostly justify watching like a hawk - even though she probably did need to work on that too. You were you. Too perfect, too beautiful you. And Sam had gone and shouted at you like that.

Sam was no stranger to self loathing, but knowing she had potentially fucked it all up with you because she couldn’t let go of the past, couldn’t move past the idea that the world was out to get her, that she pushed away one of the most important people in her life. One of the only people in her life. At this point, loosing you would be like loosing a limb, and probably a hell of a lot more painful. You knew her better than anybody, knew here secrets, knew her story. And you’d accepted and loved her in spite of it. Made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world and help her believe that maybe, just maybe, Sam Carpenter was allowed nice things. And she couldn’t leave things like that.

So she stops in her tracks, grabs Tara by the hand, and practically sprints back to the party, desperate to hold you close and tell you that she’s sorry. For everything. She ignores Tara’s confused yells all the way back to the building, barely even able to focus on them.

It’s getting late now, and people are starting to leave when she enters the room. She briefly wonders if you’re one of them, but even if you didn’t want to talk to her, one of your friends would’ve messaged to say that you were crashing at their place for the night. She glances over to where you were situated before, but doesn’t see you. Or Chad or Ethan, for that matter. Maybe that was a good thing, and that it meant that you were all together. Or maybe they had left and you were all alone, a voice in the back of her head warns. Sam knows that you’re allowed to be independent, but she still doesn’t like the sound of that.

She takes to to calling your name instead, and her cries become ever more frantic when there’s no response. She doubts you’d hear her over the music anyway. With a sigh, she pulls out her phone and fires you a message.

Sam: I came back, and I just want to talk to you.

Sam: I’m so sorry baby. I get if you’re mad, but we need to talk. Please.

She stares at the screen like it holds all of the answers. The answer to where you are. The answers to if you’re okay. If the two of you are going to be okay.

“Oh my God.” Tara breathes out, and Sam feels her pull on her arm. “Sam. Look.”

Her gaze snaps up, and sure enough, in front of her is you. Being practically dragged across the room because you can’t even walk straight, some guy’s arm draped around you like- like he owns you. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s planning do with you - to you.

It makes her feel sick. And angrier than she’s ever been before, her ire burning so deep in her chest to where she feels like it’s more a fuel at this point. And she knows, without a doubt, that she’s going to kill this pathetic excuse for a man.

“Hey!” She bellows, causing the sleaze and just about everyone in the room to look up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with her?”

The thing has the audacity to bark out an ugly laugh at that. “Relax. Just helping her upstairs, aren’t I baby?”

Baby. Like you’re his. Like you’d willingly be anywhere near his filthy touch.

You don’t even answer him. Sam doesn’t think you physically can.

“Tara, grab her.” She says so lowly that her sister probably has to strain to hear her. Tara complies, and Sam steps forward, close enough that she’s practically touching the guy.

“Step the fuck away from her. I’m only gonna warn you once.” The danger in her voice is unmistakable.

“Or what?” What the hell are you-“

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He doesn’t deserve the privilege.

“You piece of shit!” Sam yells as he cries out in pain, her punch connecting swiftly with his jaw with a satisfying crack. “Does it make you feel good?” Kick. You think you can touch my fucking girlfriend like that?” Another punch.

Sam doesn’t stop. Not even when he’s balled up on the floor, his body bloody and bruised. She honestly doesn’t think she ever would stop, not if it wasn’t for Tara crying out.

“Sam!” She yells, her eyes wide. She shakes her head. “You can’t. She needs you.”

She looks over to you, still clinging on to Tara. She’s right. You can’t stay here. She needs to take you home.

Her breathing still heavy, she spares one last look to the sick fuck still on the floor, writhing in pain pathetically.

“You’re fucking lucky.” Sam spits out, standing tall over him. “You deserve to be fucking dead.”

She doesn’t get an answer to that. Doesn’t expect one. Doesn’t care.

The only thing she cares about is you. She drove you to this, she thinks, with all of her shouting and general over-protectiveness. And she doesn’t - can’t - think about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t found you. It makes her feels sick.

Sam makes her way over to your side, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She can’t break. Not now. She needs to be strong - strong for you. You meet her gaze, your eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Sammy?” You slur.

“Yeah baby.” Sam whispers, slinging an arm around your free shoulder. “I’m here. Come on, we’re going home.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The first thing you realise when you open your eyes is that your head feels as if it about to split open. Groaning, you sit up in bed, and try to remember how the hell you even got here and into your pyjamas. It’s all such a blur, especially after your-

Your argument with Sam. Even just the memory leaves a distinct sinking in your stomach, especially paired with the fact that she’s not in bed with you. God, she’s probably still mad. The two of you didn’t argue much, but God, you hated it when you did. It hurt, not being able to tell her how much you loved her or wrap her up in your arms. It was like loosing a part of yourself.

You can hear the TV on in the living room, and you take that as a sign that either Quinn or Tara is awake. Either that or Sam’s in there, evidently too hung up on yesterday to stand the sight of you. Sighing, you rub your eyes, stupidly hoping that when you open them again, everything will have turned out to be some bad dream.

You’re not so lucky.

Laying back down in defeat, you pull up the blanket and go back to feeling sorry for yourself. You really should get something to deal with the headache, but you simply can’t bring yourself to.

You stay like that for a while, buried under sheets and contemplating your life choices until you hear a thunk on your bedside table. Wearily opening your eyes, you see a plate with a sandwich atop of it, and you move up your line of sight until you see who your personal chef is.

“You’re awake.” Sam says simply, placing a glass of water and a tub of painkillers besides the food. “Hope you’re hungry.”

You sit up once more, wincing when you move too quickly, and take the plate from the table. You murmur your thanks before taking a bite, and the two of you sit there in silence for a while. You know you need to say something, but you just can’t think what.

Luckily, Sam speaks first.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she sighs. “I know I acted out of line yesterday, and I shouldn’t have started that argument like that. I don’t ever want to fight with you, I promise. It’s just-“ Sam pauses as she scrubs a hand down her face. “I’m sorry. Are we okay?”

“Course we’re okay.” You smile. “Always. Besides, it wasn’t just you. I said I wasn’t going to go, and then I went and did it anyway. That wasn’t cool.”

“Hey.” Sam says softly. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to do what you like. It’s one thing letting what happened to me define myself, but I can’t let it ruin this. Ruin us. I don’t want to loose you.”

“You’re not going to,” you assure her. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. You got it?”

Sam laughs softly, and you wish you could bottle it and listen to the beautiful sound forever. “Loud and clear.” She stops for a second, and something darker clouds her features.

“Sam?” You question, instinctively reaching for her hand. She’s quiet for a minute, before she meets your worried gaze and speaks.

“Baby, do you remember what happened last night?” She asks softly, as if you’ll break at the mention of the topic. Frowning, you try to cast your mind back to the previous night’s event, but you only draw a blank.

“Not really. We fought, I had some more drinks. After that, it’s kind of a blur.” That’s the extent of your memories for the night, but judging by Sam’s expression, that’s not where it ends. It makes you uneasy. “Sam, “what did I do?” When you speak, your voice is barely above a whisper.

Sam’s expression softens, although she suddenly looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “You didn’t do anything, baby, I promise,” she says, nearly far too quickly. “It’s just… there was this guy.” She spits out that last part as if it were venom on her tongue. “He got a too close, tried to take advantage. And I’m not telling you this to upset you, because that’s the last thing I want. I just think you deserve to know.”

You can’t respond to that. Not yet. Because you have no idea what to with that information.

“I took care of him.” Sam says suddenly, like it’s imperative that you know. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I swear to you, on my life, I-“

“Sam. I know. I know.” You say, reaching to turn her head so that she can look you in the eyes. You may not remember much, but you don’t doubt Sam when she says she took care of it - hell, if you know your girlfriend, then the asshole is probably just lucky to even resemble a human anymore. That thought should be frightening, but it’s oddly comforting, and leaves a welcome warmth in your stomach. “I believe you. Fuck, you know that I trust you. More than I trust anyone. And the fact you even came back- well, that says a hell of a lot.”

“I was always gonna come back.” Sam admits. “Doesn’t matter how mad I was, I didn’t want to leave things like that between us.”

“I know, baby. Thank y-“

“No. Don’t you dare.” Sam warns. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum. If you finish that sentence, I’m gonna-“

She seems taken aback by your sudden movement, her hand moving to your face instinctively. You hope that the kiss portrays everything you need it to, says everything that you need your girlfriend to know. How much she means to you, and how grateful you are to simply have her in your life. Now you have her, it’s damn near impossible to imagine a life without Sam - your Sam. It sure as hell wouldn’t as feel as good as this, you muse to yourself.

“Love you too.” Sam says when she reluctantly pulls away. She doesn’t try to hide the smile on her face. “More than anything.” And for a moment, Sam just stares at you, a look of pure awe and a stupidly adorable grin on her face. It’s one that has you smiling right back despite yourself. “Now, you gonna eat your damn food or what? It was made with intense care, you know.”

You look over towards your forgotten sandwich, and you can’t deny that you’re hungry. Still, that doesn’t stop you from pouting and looking up at your girlfriend with what you hope are pleading doe eyes. “Fine. But if I eat, can we do the whole kissing thing again?”

“After.” She promises, climbing over you and crawling under the blankets beside you. Her body is warm, and you can feel her pressed against your side, practically radiating pure heat. “Now eat. It’s getting cold.”

“It’s a sandwich, Sam.” you remind her with a grin. “It’s supposed to be cold.”

Sam lightly kicks your foot. “Just shut up and eat it. Do you want that kiss or not?”

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Nope.” You dont have to be able to see Wes to know that he’s smiling that boyish smile of his.

“But Wes, I can’t see.”

“Huh, it’s almost like that’s the point,” he replies sarcastically, laughing when you swat at what you guess is his arm. “Come on, we’re almost there, I promise.”

“You said that five minutes ago!” You all but whine, a pout on your lips. You were willing to humour whatever Wes was planning, but if you had to stumble through darkness any longer, the anticipation was probably going to kill you. You’d gotten out of the car what felt like an eternity ago at a place you didn’t recognise, and Wes had been leading you ever since then. And you had no idea where you were heading - or what you even were supposed to be doing.

You open your mouth to speak once more again, but before you can, Wes takes his hands from over your eyes with a flourish.

“Surprise?” He says hopefully, pointing towards something that you can’t quite see yet. It’s a beautiful day today, and you squint as your eyes adjust to the bright light. But once you see it, you can’t hide the grin that appears on your face.

“Wes!” You gasp, “You shouldn’t have!”

It’s a cliché thing to say, you know that, but he really shouldn’t have. He’s led you to a field - a beautiful one, with flowers of all kind blooming off to the side - and in front of you lays a blanket with all your favourite snacks upon it. Fruit bowls, chips, cupcakes - the fancy ones that Wes knows you love even though they’re totally overpriced. It’s completely and utterly perfect. And without a doubt, the most thoughtful thing anybody has ever done for you.

You tell Wes as much as you throw your arms around him and and press a kiss to his temple, and you don’t miss the adorable way that his cheeks flush in response.

“It’s nothing,” he says nonchalantly, even though this whole thing must’ve took a hell of a lot of planning and most definitely not nothing. “Honestly. And you deserve it - all of it.”

He says that casually too, like it doesn’t fill your chest with warmth and make your heart skip a dozen beats. It’s like Wes doesn’t realise that he’s too good; too good at this whole date planning thing, too good at being your boyfriend - too damn good in general. You’ve only been together for a couple of months, but honestly? It’s the happiest you’ve been in a long time. It’s like you’re in a constant state of bliss with Wes, your whirlwind romance lighting up your days in way that puts the sun to shame. Texting with him alone is enough to make you practically giddy, so being here with him now is your own little idea of heaven.

“So,” you ask in between a bite of a cookie once you’ve sat down,“what made you think of all of this? I mean, it’s seriously like something out of a movie!”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you.” Wes replies with a smile and a shrug. “I didn’t know what, but then I remembered this place. I haven’t been here in years, but it hasn’t changed a bit.” Wes pauses, and you notice his expression falter for a moment. “I used to come here when my parents argued - when I needed to clear my head, you know? I don’t know, it’s probably stupid, but…”

Wes trails off awkwardly, dropping his gaze. You know that his parents aren’t together - haven’t been for years - but Wes barely talks about his sorry excuse for a father. In fact, you think this is the most he’s ever spoken on the issue to you.

“Hey,” you say gently, pressing a hand to Wes’ cheek and carefully turning his head so that he’s looking at you once more. “It’s not stupid. Not in the slightest. I get it. It really is a beautiful place.”

Wes nods and his eyes gain their light once more, and he places his hand over yours. Wes had never really been big on public affection, but it seemed as if the two of you were the only people around. It doesn’t matter anyway - it certainly feels like you are. You could stay here forever like this, the sun on your skin, legs messily interlocked. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Thank you for this, for today.” You say quietly. You’re still trying to make sure that you remember it all - the food strewn across the blanket, all of the different types of flowers and all their different hues, the smell of strawberries and your boyfriends’ coconut shampoo - it’s something you never want to forget. In fact, when the two of you pull way from each other, you take out your phone and snap a picture of the setup just in case, before taking one of you and Wes too - the two of you smiling, the photo slightly blurry but still somehow perfect.

Even though you’ve been out for most of the day, you still can’t help but be disappointed when the sun sets and the two of you have no choice but to leave - especially when Wes’ mom tells him it’s way past his curfew and sends him one not - so vaguely threatening text about the dangers of staying out past dark.

Still, it feels as if you’ve barely stopped smiling today - but you haven’t had much reason to. Even as Wes drives you home, his free hand loosely interlaced with yours, you still can’t shake the butterfly feeling in your stomach. Maybe it was just the “honeymoon” stage of your relationship, but it felt like it was so much more than that. Maybe this was just how dating Wes was going to be - constantly feeling like you were on cloud nine. You’re more than okay with that.

“You know, you don’t have to to walk me to my door,” you tease as Wes exits the car when you reach your destination what feels like far too quickly.

“I want to,” Wes responds simply. “Besides, you never know what could be hiding in the bushes.”

“It’s a thirty second walk,” you laugh, letting him trail besides you nonetheless. “But thank you, my knight in shining armour.”

Wes simply chuckles. “Thanks for coming today. I had a really great time with you.”

You frown in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Thank me for coming? Wes, you set up this whole thing? I need to be thanking you. I loved it - I love you. It was more than perfect.”

Wes’ eyes widen ever so slightly, and you belatedly realise that you don’t think you’d ever said those words out loud before - I love you. Not because you didn’t mean them, but because you were worried that you’d look too eager, too desperate. It wasn’t something you said early on in a relationship, it just wasn’t.

Oh, to hell with it. You meant what you said, societal rules be damned. You love Wes, love spending time with him, love the way he makes you feel. Love his beautiful blue eyes and his infectious smile and just how damn thoughtful he is. You love Wes Hicks, plain and simple.

And by the way he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours, you’re left to assume that he feels the same way. Well, you don’t even have to assume, not when he tells you as much when he pulls back, tells you that he didn’t want to scare you off by saying it before and isn’t that just ironic?

The whole thing almost makes you forget that Wes has to leave, and you can’t contain your sigh when he reminds you that he’s already late back. “I’ll text you when I’m back,” he assure you, “promise. I love you, okay?” Now you were both ready to say it aloud, you had a feeling you’d be hearing those three words a lot from now on

“Love you too. Night, Wes.”

Wes simply grins as he walks away and gets into his car, sparing you one last glance before he waves and drives away. You stare at his empty spot on the road for a minute, before you realise that staring into the empty sidewalk in the dark probably makes you look like a complete creep and make your way inside your house and up to your bedroom.

You receive your promised text almost twenty minutes later, just after you’ve climbed into bed. It reads:

wes: at home now

wes: are you still awake?

y/n: yeah

y/n: glad you’re home safe ♡

wes: thanks baby

wes: I’ll call you in the morning, okay?

y/n: okay

y/n: night wes

wes: goodnight y/n/n

wes: sweet dreams <3

Sighing in contentment, you put your phone down onto your bedside table and flick off your lamp. It’s like the events of today have suddenly caught up with you all at once, and you feel your eyes start to flutter closed, consciousness slowly slipping away. You briefly wonder if you’ll dream tonight - although you doubt anything your sleeping mind could conjure would top your date today.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

 It feels as if you’ve only just closed your eyes - although the light shining through your curtain tells you otherwise - when you’re awoken by the sound of buzzing. It’s strange, you think to yourself, you didn’t set an alarm - although you cast your mind back and remember that Wes did say that he would call you in the morning.

Blinking blearily, you pick up your phone to see that it’s not ringing at all. No, instead you’re greeted with a plethora of message notifications from all sorts of social media platforms. That’s even stranger; your phone never blew up like this, especially not this early on a Sunday morning. It freaks you out a little bit, but you’re more curious than anything.

Especially when you see some of the names of the senders. Liv. Amber. Chad. Tara. Mindy.

Your boyfriend’s friend group. That’s not to say you’re not friendly with them, but they were still definitely more Wes’ friends than they were yours. And they rarely messaged you - especially not all at once.

And from what you can tell - all your of them are basically saying the same thing.

liv: oh my god

liv: i heard the news and I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now I’m so sorry

chad: hope your doing okay after everything

chad: i get if you need space but if you need anything, you can call me.

tara: i know there’s nothing I can say to you to make this better but god I’m sorry, if you need anything, we’re all here for you, always.

Your eyebrows knit together in a confused frown. I’m so sorry? Sorry for what? Everybody was sending you well wishes, but you had no fucking clue why. Had Wes broken up with you without even knowing? No, he couldn’t have. Not after yesterday. Why go through all of that effort to dump you the next day? It didn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.

You decide that the only way to clear any of this up is to call Wes yourself. Sure, it was still early, but he was a light sleeper and the ringing of his phone would be more than enough to wake him. You unlock your phone and click on his name in your contacts and wait expectantly for him to answer.

Except he never does.

“Hey, this is Wes. I’m probably doing something, so, uh, leave a message.”

Groaning in frustration, you try again. And again. When Wes doesn’t pick up the forth time, you send him a message instead.

y/n: call me right now

y/n: it’s urgent

y/n: you need to explain everything to me now

Unlike usual, typing bubbles don’t appear within a minute. Not even after five. Sure, this is probably all just a misunderstanding that Wes will clear up for you when he’s awake, but if he’s done what the ugly voice in the back of your head is telling you that he’s done, then he owes you answers immediately.

Growing frustrated, you start to type a reply to Tara, asking her what the hell is even going on, but your phone chooses that exact moment to die and power off. It makes you want to scream.

You feel sick. You feel stressed and irritated and like you desperately need to punch something. You find your charger and connect your phone to the wire, bouncing your leg as you anxiously wait for it to turn on. You need answers.

Within the space of a minute, it feels like centuries have passed. And it’s not doing anything to help your nerves. In an effort to calm them, you reach for your remote and turn your TV on, flicking through the channels until one catches your eye.

BREAKING: TWO FOUND DEAD IN WOODSBORO - SUSPECTED COPYCAT ATTACK.

Your initial thought to that headline is again, really? You still remembered seeing almost the exact headline when those two highschoolers tried the same thing almost ten years ago. Your second thought is much more macabre. What if it’s somebody you know? It had to be: Woodsboro wasn’t a huge place, everybody practically knew everybody anyway. It was bound to be- no.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It’s all starting to make sense now, but you desperately wish it wouldn’t. Wes’s friends messaging you with their condolences. Your phone blowing up. Wes not picking up his goddamn phone.

No.

You turn up the channel, wishing the fucking reporters would just get to the damn point already and tell you what you needed to know. You listen to them ramble on about how horrifying and utterly tragic the whole thing is but you’re only half listening - will only be half listening - until they utter that name. His name. You need your phone to turn on. You need to call Wes, hear his voice so you can laugh and tell him how paranoid you were and how much he scared you. How much you need him. You need to breathe.

But you can’t. You’re feeling like you’re suffocating and it’s stupid because you don’t know anything, not yet, except you do. You can feel the dread deep in your bones, the horror in the out of your stomach. It’s Wes.

Like some twisted coincidence, it almost at that exact moment when two pictures pop up on the screen. You don’t hear the accompanying words, not over your sob. Because it’s him. His yearbook picture, the one that hung in his living room, the one you helped him get ready for and assured him he looked absolutely beautiful in. His mother’s is the second, the same picture that was on her badge. The badge she was so proud of.

No. It isn’t true. This is all some twisted nightmare and you need to speak to Wes and he’ll tell you everything’s okay because he always does and your phone is finally on thank God and you call Wes again and why won’t he pick up he needs to pick up and you can’t breathe-

The tears streaming down your face make it hard to see anything. You don’t want to look anyway. Not at Wes’ smiling face because he’s not smiling, not anymore. He’d never smile again, you’d never hear his voice again, because he was dead. Wes, your Wes, who was the kindest person you had ever met and had never done anything to anyone, was dead at the hands of some psychopath fulfilling his sick fantasies. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

You can’t wrap your head around it. Wes is - was - so alive. You saw it, in every crease by his eye when he smiled and the way his whole body shook when he laughed and the way he kissed you like it was the most important thing in the world. He was the most important thing in your world.

A world that was plunged in darkness now, because how were you supposed to live out the rest of your life after Wes? You knew how happy your felt with him, how much you adored him and felt adored, and how were you supposed to carry on knowing you’d never feel that again. You can’t. All you can do is cry, your body shaking with the efforts of your sobs. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

Your phone starts buzzing once more, and although know it’s not him, can’t be him, you can’t help but check anyway.

Your naïve hope is stupidly misplaced. Of course it isn’t Wes. Just an influx of messages from family and classmates whose names you only half recognise telling you how sorry they are. You don’t fucking care. Sorries don’t bring your boyfriends back to life. They won’t let you be able to hold him again, tell him how much he means to you. How much you love him.

You can’t deal with them. Not now. You go to turn off your phone, and it freezes for a second on your lock screen before fully shutting down once more. The lock screen you changed on the car ride home yesterday, the one where you’re looking to the camera and Wes is looking half to the side but it’s okay because he’s still smiling nonetheless.

y/n: sorry I’m late!!

y/n: I’ll be there in five minutes I promise

That was eleven minutes ago.

Wes sighs as he reads over the message for what feels like the thousandth time, each passing second only serving to make his shaky nerves even worse. Hell, he feels like the anticipation is going to kill him slowly - well, either that or he’s gonna throw up all over the table.

Wes really hopes it isn’t the latter.

When he’d asked you last night if you wanted to meet up at your usual diner - the one the two of you had frequented when discussing the ins and outs of your fake relationship, he thought he’d be fine. It was casual enough, right? He’d buy you your favourite milkshake and then tell you straight up how head over heels he was for you and hope that you wouldn’t laugh in his face. No, that was unfair, you were too damn kind and downright perfect to laugh at Wes like that, but his point still stands. The last thing he wants is to totally embarrass himself and make you uncomfortable in the process.

When you’d first asked him to be your fake boyfriend, he’d laughed in your face - quite literally. Because there was no way in hell you were being serious; fake dating was a trope reserved for shitty romcoms alone. But when he saw the look on your face and how much it would mean to you, Wes caved. And then he really fell.

Because how could he not, when you called him yours in front of all of your friends, an arm around his waist pulling him close? How could his heart not skip a beat when you’d run into his arms after class, your body pressed to his with your sweet scent leaving him completely reeling? And overtime, it became natural - second nature. He’d grab your hand in the hallway without even thinking about it, and the pet names slipped easily from his lips. It was easy to forget sometimes that everything was for show, that it was all a façade. But it was real to the rest of the world, and honestly? It felt more than real to Wes.

So it wasn’t long before you took over his mind completely, thoughts of your blinding smile and stupid jokes keeping him awake at night. It was pathetic really, how much you made Wes want. Want something real.

It was driving him crazy, and so, despite his better judgement, he was finally going to do something about it.

Just as he contemplates sending another text, the telltale chime of the bell above the door has him whipping his head around so fast that it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash. You look beautiful as always, but that barely counts as a surprise anymore.

You don’t even need to look around for Wes, he notices, as you make you way to the booth the two of you always sit at.

“Hey, sorry I kept you waiting” you say sheepishly, sliding into the seat across from Wes. “Aw, you got my favourite!” You smile when you notices the tall milkshake on the table in front of you. “Here, I’ll pay you ba-

“Nah, I’ve got it, don’t worry about it.” Wes assures you as casually as he can muster. The anticipation is killing him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait anymore.

“So, um, I actually asked you to come here for a reason.” He admits, gauging your expression for your reaction.

“Wait, so you don’t just want to hang out with me for the hell of it? Ouch.” You tease, and Wes can’t help but smile despite himself.

“You know what I meant. Anyway,” he begins again, “I wanted to talk to you about our… fake relationship.”

You immediately perk up. “You need me to be your partner for hire this time? I think I can work with that.”

Your positive reaction serves to give Wes that bit more confidence. “Not exactly. But you know, I really did have fun. Pretending to date you, I mean.”

“Me too.” You respond, a smile playing on your lips and an unmistakable warmth in your eyes.

“Good. I’m glad. So,” Wes says, drawing out the word as you take a long sip of your drink, “I was thinking that maybe we could do it again. But… for real, this time?”

You instantly look up, your expression unreadable even to Wes. He can’t stop now though, so he carries on speaking. “I wasn’t going to say anything because you’re my best friend and I don’t wanna make things awkward. But… I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. I’ve tried. But you just keep coming back.” Wes laughs, but it’s more out of nervousness that out of humour. “Point is, I really like you. A lot. So maybe, you know, if you feel the same way, we could try being more than just friends?”

You open your mouth to speak, but you close it again before you can. You’re silent for a painstakingly long few moments, and it’s driving Wes insane to the point that banging his head on the table would be less painful.

Finally, you speak.

“Really?” You breathe hesitantly, like you can hardly believe him. Like he’s the one out of your league.

“Yeah! I mean, if you want to, obviously.”

- SUCH A FLIRT omg but it works because he’s unsurprisingly super smooth with it

- it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been dating, he’ll hit you with a line that has your checks heating up and your mouth dropping ever so slightly

- which only serves to make him more cocky - he loves it when he has such a visual and profound effect on you - it makes him even more attracted to you in a weird sort of way

- will judge your taste in movies ruthlessly but if anybody else dares to do so he won’t let it go and will start a very heated argument on your behalf

- speaking of movies, you’re definitely his muse so to speak and uses you as the inspiration for the majority of his films

- make-out sessions in the back of the movie theatre obviously

-loves watching you get ready to go out - whether you’re putting on an outfit or doing your makeup, mickey will just stand leaning against the doorframe and watch you intently

- “mickey, what are you doing?” “what? nothing, nothing at all. as you were, babe.”

- will help you pick out outfits to wear when you need advice AND will come shopping with you for fun - he may grumble and complain under his breathe but you both know he’s secretly having a good time

- one of his biggest turn on’s is when you wear his clothes - he loves that it lets everybody know that your his girlfriend

- even though he has possessive tendencies, mickey isn’t really the jealous type - he trusts you and isn’t an insecure person, so he’s confident in the relationship the two of you have

- however, that doesn’t mean he isn’t incredibly defensive and protective when it comes to you - he’s not afraid to make scene if somebody won’t get the hint and leave you alone

- has told you numerous times that he would kill for you but you tend to just smile and brush him off, assuming he’s joking

- because why wouldn’t you? even though he can be abrasive and even straight up rude to others, he’s never been anything but sweet and attentive to you

- LOVES psychical touch - whether it’s his hand in your back pocket, on your thigh or his arm round your waist, he can’t get enough of it

- also strangely chivalrous - pays for you when you go restaurants, holds the door, giving you his coat he sees you even slightly shiver ect

- will pretty much help you with anything you ask him to

- a total little shit, obviously - he’ll ask you stupid questions just to be annoying and to see your reaction

- definitely a party person and will drag you to the dance floor

- refuses to let you walk home alone after a date. even if he has plans, he’ll push them back to make sure you get home okay (even when you tell him this isn’t necessary)

- will come back from class, lay his he’s head your shoulder and dramatically bitch about the people that he doesn’t like (it’s actually quite entertaining)

- “babe, they said that sequels suck! I mean, can you believe it? I mean, they obviously have shitty taste in movies but come on, it’s like they’ve never even seen T2! and then cici fucking cooper said I have a hard on for cameron- can you believe it? who the hell does she think she is?” “but mick, you do have a hard on for cameron.” “yeah, but it’s only okay when you say it!”

- on a related note, mickey’s a total gossip. when the two of you are just laying in bed, he’ll tell you rumours about people you’ve probably never even heard of

- can be very clingy at times

-kisses kisses so many kisses all of the time (he’s obviously the best kisser)

- will not hesitate to shut you up with a kiss

- obviously can be very manipulative without you even realising it - he’s a master at it, doing it so subtly that you don’t even it’s happening

- it’s one of the reasons why you barely fight, and on the rare occasion you do, mickey will convince you that there’s not even a problem and that the two of you are made for each other and shouldn’t be wasting time on stupid fights

- definitely they type to sing in the shower AND takes ages in the bathroom getting ready to the point that your banging on the door