— ONE-MAN CULT.
୧ ׅ warnings : unrequited love, situationship, hurt / no comfort, angst, f!reader, wc; 1400.
୧ ׅ sinopses : It doesn’t matter how well he treats you, his heart will never be yours to keep.
You always considered yourself a confident person, someone who would never put yourself in a difficult position on purpose. But no matter how hard you reasoned with yourself, you couldn’t rationalize your feelings for Peter. You knew from the beginning that he was deeply, completely, truly in love with another woman. A woman you didn’t even know, and from the way he talked about her, she seemed not to know him either. Not that it mattered much. The point was: he would never love you the way he loved her. This didn’t stop either of you from seeking affection in one another.
It had been at least three weeks since you last spoke with Peter, the longest stretch without any communication since your thing had started. You honestly thought he was ghosting you for good this time. Maybe for the better, you told yourself, but your heart still ached. Your mind worked nonstop with reasons why Peter didn’t like you. Ever since you woke up that morning, it was the only thing you could think about. You thought about it so much that eventually you made yourself throw up from anxiety in your company’s bathroom and had to call in sick for the rest of the day. Pathetic was the best word to describe how you felt.
You didn’t remember exactly when you had let your neighbor have so much power over you, but you cursed yourself the entire way back to your apartment for ever interacting with him in the first place. You entered your apartment feeling utterly helpless, plopping yourself onto the couch and sulking. It only took about ten minutes before the doorbell rang. “Great,” you muttered out loud, angry at the world for not even letting you be sad in peace.
It was a surprise when you opened the door and found Peter standing there like nothing had happened. “Hey, can I come in?” was all he said before you stepped aside instinctively to let him enter. “You forgot your phone at work, y’know that? They called me and said you left early because you were sick. So I went there and got your phone back… Also, I brought some medication I thought could help.” He handed you your phone and held up a small bag with medicine and some of your favorite snacks.
How dare he.
You felt a knot form in your throat. Now you felt even more pathetic. “Thanks.” It was all you managed to say, but your voice already sounded shaky. “You okay?” He stepped closer, dropping the bag on the nearby table and placing his hands on your face.
Was he fucking with your feelings?
You stepped back, putting distance between yourself and the warmth of his hands. The touch burned more than it soothed. Three weeks of silence had triggered something in you (probably your abandonment issues), and now here he was, showing up with medicine and your favorite snacks like he didn’t left you. “Yeah, I… I just threw up at work. No big deal.” Your voice shook despite the effort to keep it steady. You turned away, arms wrapping around yourself, and walked farther into the apartment. The couch still held the imprint of where you’d collapsed only minutes earlier.
Peter followed, quiet for a moment, then spoke softly, “You don’t look okay. Come here.” He reached for you again, fingers brushing your wrist, trying to draw you closer. “Let me take care of you.” You flinched. The simple contact made your stomach twist. “Don’t.” The word came out sharper than you intended. “Please don’t.”
He stopped, but the concern on his face didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. “You’re shaking. Sit down. I’ll get you water. Or tea. Whatever you need.” He moved toward the kitchen like he belonged there, like the last three weeks of radio silence hadn’t happened, like he hadn’t gone quiet the moment the weight of his real feelings pressed too hard against whatever this was.
You watched him open cabinets, pull out a glass, fill it. Every familiar motion felt like a fresh cut. He knew where everything was. He knew which snacks you liked when you felt sick. He knew how to look at you with that soft, puppy-eyed, attentive expression that always made you hope for more than he was ever going to give.
And still, somewhere in the quiet between you, lived the knowledge that none of it was enough. Not for him. “I didn’t ask you to come,” you said, voice low. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” He set the glass on the table and stepped closer again, slower this time. “I was worried when they called. You never leave early. And... I know I went quiet. I just—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with a lot. But I’m here now.” Here now.
You laughed bitterly, “Dealing with a lot. Right.” Your eyes stung. You blinked hard, but the tears still came, hot and unwanted. “You always are, aren’t you? Dealing with her. Thinking about her. Loving her so completely that whatever this is between us never stands a chance.”
You saw guilt flickering across his face but he didn’t deny it. He never did. That was almost worse. He just looked at you with that same careful, caring gaze that made everything hurt more. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “What we have—”
“What do we have?” You cut him off, voice rising before you forced it back down. “What we have is me waiting for texts that don’t come. Me throwing up from anxiety because I spent an entire fucking morning convincing myself you finally decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Me knowing—knowing—that every time you touch me, every time you’re kind, there’s still someone else living in the center of your chest.”
You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, as if you could push the tears back in. “And I still let you in. I still open the door. I still want you to stay. That’s the worst part.” Peter moved closer again, hands hovering near your arms but not quite touching this time. “I care about you. You know I do. I’m here because I care. Let me help. Please.”
The gentleness in his voice was almost unbearable. You wanted to lean into it. You wanted to believe the concern was enough. But the three weeks of silence sat between you like a wall, and behind that wall lived the woman he loved with everything he had, someone who didn’t even know him the way you did. “You can’t help,” you whispered. “Not really. Because no matter how many times you show up with medicine and snacks and soft hands on my face, I still know where I rank. I still know that if she walked through that door tomorrow, this would be over. And I hate that I keep letting myself forget it until it hurts too much to breathe.”
Peter’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to argue, to pull you into his arms and promise something he couldn’t give. Instead he just stood there, quiet, the bag of medicine and snacks sitting forgotten on the table. You turned away fully this time, walking toward the window so he wouldn’t see the fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. Your reflection looked pale and small against the glass.
“You should go,” you said, the words tasting like ash. “Please. Just… go.” Behind you, you heard him take a breath, then another. The soft sound of him shifting his weight. The quiet of someone who didn’t know how to fix what he’d broken because the real problem had never been something he could fix. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. It sounded genuine. And completely insufficient.
You didn’t answer. You stayed facing the window, arms wrapped tight around yourself, listening to the quiet sounds of him leaving, the door opening, the soft click as it closed, the fading footsteps in the hallway. When the apartment was silent again, you sank down onto the floor beside the couch, the bag of medicine still sitting untouched on the table. The phone he’d returned felt heavy in your hand. Your throat burned. Your chest ached with the kind of pain that didn’t have a clean edge.
He had come. He had cared. He had tried.
And still, you were alone with the knowledge that his heart belonged somewhere else, somewhere you would never reach, no matter how many times he showed up at your door. You pressed your forehead to your knees and let the quiet of the apartment swallow you whole.
Hey!! Thank you for reading this, hope you enjoyed. English isn’t my first language so please ignore any grammar mistakes.
