— ties (baby if it hurts so bad, tell me why it hurts so bad)
warnings/tags: heavy angst, breakup, established relationship, drug use/abuse (pills & cannabis), alcohol use/abuse, crying, mental health, depression
synopsis: before going on tour, you and Hollis breakup and it causes you to cope in unhealthy ways.
a/n: hello everyone! I’m finally back, this fic is different than anything I’ve written before to just bare with me, also i tried something different and put quotes from the song “ties” which this fic is based off of (if u haven’t listened pls listen it’s so peak) in different scenes which i think fit the theme :) enjoy!
The week before tour felt like the last quiet breath before a storm.
Hollis spent the first two days glued to you, head in your lap on the couch, thumb tracing slow circles on your thigh, hair falling into his eyes because he refused to tie it back. You’d play with the ends of it, twisting the blonde strands between your fingers.
“Stop,” he’d whisper with a small smile, eyes closed. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”
“That’s the point,” you murmured back.
He’d laugh, soft and warm, and tilt his head so you’d keep touching him. He clung to you that whole week without saying he was scared to leave. Without admitting he didn’t know how to be away from you for that long. Without talking about how the last tour was manageable until the nights got too quiet.
But it showed in the way he held you.
Everything was fine until he waited until 11pm to pack.
He kneeled on the floor throwing clothes into his suitcase with zero aim, clothes half-folded, shirts balled up like laundry he didn’t want to do.
“Hollis,” you laughed, sitting behind him. “That’s horrible. Let me help.”
He didn’t turn around. “It’s fine, babe.”
“No it’s not,” you said, reaching over to refold a shirt. “Why are you rushing—”
“I’m not rushing,” he muttered.
“You are. You always do this.”
He exhaled sharply. “I said it’s fine.”
Something about his tone made you pause.
He wasn’t angry, just wound too tight.
“Hollis…” you whispered, hand brushing his back. “Baby. I’m not trying to piss you off.”
He froze, then slowly leaned back so he was resting against your knees. He tipped his head up, eyes tired but soft.
“I know. I know,” he said, voice gentler. “I’m just—there’s a lot.”
You kissed his forehead. He kissed your hand.
Everything felt normal again.
But the first crack had already formed.
Two days later, you were eating noodles together, sitting on the counter while he stood between your legs, stealing bites.
He had one hand resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing your skin like he didn’t realize he kept doing it.
He was rambling about the tour, venues, setlists, cities, until he dropped the sentence that changed the air:
“Management said… probably no guests this time.”
He kept eating bites like he didn’t notice the way your stomach dropped.
“It’s just logistics,” he said. “Hotels, flights—”
“You don’t have to explain,” you said quietly.
He finally looked at you. “You’re upset.”
You looked down at your noodles. “I just thought… I don’t know. That you’d want me there.”
“I do want you there,” he said, too defensive, too fast.
“Then why does it sound like it doesn’t matter?”
He set the food down and sighed, tugging at his hair.
“Because I can’t do anything about it. And every time something sucks, you think it’s because of me.”
He exhaled deeply, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But the hurt was already sitting between you.
It took a few minutes before he stepped closer, touching your cheek with the hand that was holding your thigh a moment before.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I want you with me. Every damn second.”
But the second crack lingered.
❝what’s wrong? I see it in your eyes.❞
It was the night before the flight.
The room was dim, the air too quiet. You watched him zip up his suitcase, muscles tense, jaw tight. You could feel the distance forming even though he was three feet away.
“Did you pack the necklace I gave you?” you asked.
“Do you want me to grab it?”
“No,” he muttered. “I’ll get it.”
“You forgot it,” you said, almost teasing. “Just let me—”
He zipped the suitcase shut hard.
“Why,” he said softly, “are you making everything a big deal lately?”
The words stung instantly.
“I’m not,” you whispered.
“You are,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Every little thing turns into… something.”
“I just want you to think of me while you’re gone—”
“I already think of you,” he snapped, voice strained. “I think of you constantly. You act like I don’t care.”
His tone wasn’t mean, it was scared.
But it didn’t change the ache.
You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands.
He sat down too, not touching you.
“We’re both stressed,” he said quietly. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”
But neither of you truly believed it.
The third crack wasn’t loud. but it was deep.
❝I’m cutting out my lights.❞
You can feel it the second he walks into the room.
Just… tight. Like he’s holding something back so hard it’s physically hurting him.
Hollis drops his bag by the door and doesn’t meet your eyes.
“Did you eat?” he asks, but the tone is flat. Automatic.
Like he’s asking because he should, not because he’s actually here with you.
“You said you wanted to do this right,” you say quietly.
He closes his eyes, inhaling like he’s bracing for a hit.
❝tell me could you even try?❞
You step closer, voice trembling. “You’re shutting me out. Every day it’s something else. You’re cold, you’re quiet, you don’t talk to me unless I ask first—”
“I’m stressed,” he snaps, then softens instantly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry… I’m just—tour is coming up, management is on my ass, the guys are calling me nonstop, everything feels like it’s falling apart.”
“So you’re taking it out on me.”
That’s the first sign something is really wrong.
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
“It feels like everything I do is hurting you.”
You shake your head. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “Every time we argue, I go to bed feeling like shit. I wake up feeling like shit. I don’t want us to resent each other.”
“So you want to break up.”
The way his eyes widen, like you ripped something out of him, is the answer.
❝we’re cutting off our ties❞
“I think we should… for now.”
He takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“So you’re doing this because you’re overwhelmed?”
“Yes,” he admits instantly.
“But I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
Tears burn behind your eyes.
You look down because if you look at him too long, you’ll scream.
He steps forward like he wants to hold you, then stops himself.
That tiny hesitation breaks both of you.
You could hear him crying faintly on the couch when he went to sleep that night.
❝give me a chance to come outside and say hi or bye.❞
The next morning is silent.
He moves around the house quietly, touching things that remind him of you.
He hesitates every time his fingers skim something of yours.
At the door, suitcase in hand, he pauses.
“You don’t have to come,” he mumbles.
You grab your sweatshirt and follow him out.
The drive to the airport is quiet except for him occasionally whispering,
like he can’t stop apologizing even when he said this is what he wanted.
When you pull up to the departure lane, he unbuckles slowly, avoiding your eyes.
You both get out of the car anyway.
“You don’t have to walk with me inside,” you say, voice flat.
“I want to,” he says quietly.
Because you can’t handle it.
He watches your hands wrap around your own body like he wishes they were his arms instead.
He hesitates, shifting on his feet.
“Please don’t be mad,” he whispers.
“I’m not mad,” you lie, voice barely steady.
“Because of the tour?” he asks.
“You’re leaving with your whole friend group,” you say, voice trembling. “Everyone gets to go. Except me.”
“Hollis, if you didn’t want me there… you could’ve just said that.”
“I did want you,” he says, voice cracking. “I just—there were rules, and schedules, and management stuff, and everything was blowing up at once, and I didn’t know how to balance anything. I handled it wrong. I know I did.”
You look away so he doesn’t see your eyes glassing over.
“I just feel like I’m not part of your life anymore,” you whisper.
“You are,” he says desperately.
“You are — that’s the problem. You matter too much and I’m scared I’m gonna mess everything up while I’m gone.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
“Please believe me,” he pleads.
He takes one tiny step closer.
“Can I…?” he gestures like he wants one last hug.
❝you gave me a glance and looked away.❞
And that hesitation hurts him worse than any breakup could.
He pulls you into him anyway — gently, like he’s afraid you’ll break.
He buries his face in your shoulder.
His hands tremble on your back.
You don’t hug him back, you’re too numb and broken.
“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers, voice completely breaking. “So much, every second.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
He pulls away too fast, like he’s afraid he won’t be able to leave if he holds you any longer.
That’s the coldest thing you’ve ever said to him.
He picks up his suitcase with shaking hands.
He bites his lip so hard it goes white.
“Bye,” he whispers, like the word is hurting him.
He turns and walks toward the sliding airport doors.
You watch his shoulders rise like he’s about to turn around.
The second he’s out of sight, your whole body sinks.
The airport doors swallow him.
Your last glimpse of him is his hoodie hood slipping over his head like he’s hiding himself from the world.
“You didn’t even want this.”
And that’s the part that hurts more than anything.
You drive home with your hands shaking.
Your chest feels hollow—like someone scooped out something important and forgot to put it back.
His messages from last night stare at you.
But underneath all that coldness…
you can still feel the part of him that didn’t want to let go.
You curl up in bed, pull the blanket to your chin, and finally let yourself cry.
You cry so hard your ribs hurt.
You cry until you fall asleep.
You cry until the room feels empty in a way it never has before.
you know he’s hurting too.
You feel it like a bruise under your ribs.
And somewhere in that airport terminal, hood pulled low, eyes wet,
Hollis is probably thinking:
I shouldn’t have let her walk away like that.
Hollis sinks into his seat and pulls his hood over his head immediately.
It’s not even for comfort.
It’s to hide the fact that his eyes are still red.
The guys are settling in around him, laughing, shoving carry-ons into the overhead bins, talking about setlists and cities, normal stuff.
But everything sounds muffled.
All he can see in his head is you standing outside the airport, arms wrapped around yourself, voice cold even though your eyes looked shattered—
He grips the hem of his hoodie hard, knuckles white.
He didn’t miss the way your voice cracked.
He didn’t miss the way you didn’t watch him walk inside.
He knows you turned around as soon as he did.
He feels it like a bruise on his ribs.
He swallows hard, trying to breathe normally.
Nate drops into the seat next to him with a loud sigh.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
His voice is too soft. Too hoarse.
Ryan leans over the seat in front of him.
“Where’s your girl? y/n?” he asks. “She’s not coming to the airport or what?”
The question slices through him clean.
He stares at his hands. “We, uh… we’re not together right now.”
Complete, shocked silence.
“Hold on—wait, what happened?”
Too many voices, too loud.
He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep it from trembling.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mutters.
But that doesn’t stop them.
Jonah sits back and studies him.
“You look like shit. Did you sleep?”
Ryan glances over from the row behind him.
Roman nudges his shoulder gently.
Hollis doesn’t answer for a long time.
The flight attendants walk by.
Someone in the back is laughing.
A baby is crying somewhere.
And all he can think about is how your voice shook when you said goodbye.
Hollis shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat.
“I was stressed,” he mumbles. “Everything was… too much. Management, rehearsals, shit at home. I kept shutting her out. She called me out on it. And I just—”
A tear slips down before he can stop it.
“I pushed her away,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to break up. I swear I wasn’t. It just… happened.”
Roman looks at him softly.
“Yeah,” he breathes out. “More than anything.”
He turns toward the window so none of them see.
A shaky exhale leaves him.
He pulls his hood lower, trying to hide the way his face is crumpling.
He’s barely holding it together.
Outside, the plane begins taxiing.
The engines rumble beneath him.
And all he can think about is you, your voice, your face, your silence, the look in your eyes when he said it was “for now.”
The seatbelt sign dings on.
And that’s when the truth finally hits him:
He didn’t just leave you behind.
He left a part of himself with you.
And for the first time since he walked away,
Hollis lets his head fall into his hands and whispers to himself—
“I shouldn’t have let her go.”
You wake up to sunlight cutting across your bedroom like it’s laughing at you.
The room smells like smoke and something sharp from the night before.
Your head pounds, and your stomach twists like it’s doing somersaults.
The little bit of alcohol you took to push yourself past everything.
You didn’t cry yourself to sleep like last night.
But it didn’t fix the ache either.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.
You stare at it for a long moment.
The light is bright, almost accusing.
Then a string of messages.
It’s from all of them: Nate, Roman, Ryan, Jonah.
You know you shouldn’t open them.
You know it’s going to hurt.
“Yo u there y/n? Haven’t heard from you.”
“Hey. Hollis, he’s a mess. Just checking in on you too.”
“Stop ignoring us. Stop ignoring him.”
But the text has been deleted.
You tap it anyway; nothing. Just a blank bubble, gray and empty.
Somewhere in your chest, a sharp pang cuts through the haze of last night’s self-medication.
He wrote something. He thought about you.
And you can’t help but imagine:
Did he want to apologize?
Did he want to say he loved you?
Did he want to beg you not to hate him?
You press your thumb against your lips, heart hammering.
Tears sting your eyes despite the haze of alcohol and pills.
You drop the phone back onto the bed.
You curl up under the sheets.
And the emptiness hits harder than the hangover ever could.
Because it’s not just the break-up.
It’s the deleted words that haunt you worse than the ones you actually saw.
And somewhere, deep down, you know:
Hollis is hurting just as much as you are.
But that doesn’t make the pain any easier to swallow.
The second night, repeat.
By the third night, your body aches with exhaustion, hangover, withdrawal.
The bed has swallowed you whole.
Haven’t showered properly.
Haven’t eaten more than a bag of chips or whatever junk you can reach.
Your phone lies face-down on the nightstand.
Every buzz, every ping, ignored.
Hollis has called. Repeatedly.
Even his friends have tried reaching you.
You scroll through social media out of habit, more like a reflex than curiosity.
Hollis. Smiling. On stage. Living. Performing. Laughing with his friends.
The videos hit you like fire and ice.
Why does it feel like he’s already moved on?
Like you’re stuck here rotting in your bed while the world watches him live his life?
You throw your phone across the room.
It clatters against the dresser.
Screen lights up again with another text from Hollis.
Hollis: Please. Pick up. I need to hear your voice.
Hollis: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. Just… answer me.
You ignore it. All of it. Every call, every text, every voicemail.
But curiosity kills a little piece of you each time.
The voicemail light blinks again.
You reluctantly swipe open the first one:
Hollis’ voice, cracking, sounds like he’s on the verge of tears in a voicemail
“Hey… I just… I miss you. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. Please… I’m begging you. Call me. Just call me once. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I don’t even know how to say it… I fucked up. I was stupid. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have left like that. I’m an idiot. I—please, please… just answer me. I hate this.”
You mutter under your breath, bitter:
Fuck it. Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck everything.
“I can’t… I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to breathe right now. Please, please, just one word. Anything. I need you to answer me.”The first night, you take pills to sleep. Smoke in between, little sips of whiskey.
Hollis on stage, lights flashing, crowd screaming his name.
Laughing with the guys. Hands in the air.
Someone filming him from the side, close enough to see his grin.
All boiling together until your stomach twists into a knot so tight it hurts to breathe.
You stare at the videos again.
Why him? Why them? Why everything?
Finally, after hours of pacing, crying, and swearing at the screen, in the mirror, you make a decision.
Fast, reckless, fueled by everything you’ve swallowed, smoked, and poured into yourself.
❝shots poppin, everybody’s watchin, pointing them cameras at you.❞
By the time you hit the party, you’re a mess.
Your body feels like it’s vibrating too fast, too slow, and you don’t care.
A little something to drink.
Smoking more than you should.
Your thoughts are tangles.
You’re insanely fucked up completely high, gone.
You laugh at something someone says but the sound doesn’t even feel like you.
You move across the room.
You do this for weeks. But then… suddenly;
Not in person. Not in the crowd.
He’s scrolling while standing backstage with Hollis and the guys, on tour.
The camera pans past the living room chaos of the party and there you are, blurry in the background.
Hair messy, eyes red, fumbling, swaying.
“Holy shit…” Ryan mutters under his breath.
He taps Hollis’s shoulder.
Hollis, already stressed and exhausted from the show, grabs the phone.
High. Messed up. Completely out of your mind.
The sound of the music from the story somehow fills his chest like it’s crushing him.
Every laugh. Every stumble.
Every frantic movement is burned into his mind. Hollis’ hands won’t stop shaking.
He stares at the phone Ryan just shoved into his hand.
The screen is still playing the video of you at that party, hair wild, eyes red, swaying, laughing.
“Dude… she’s… she’s…” Ryan’s voice trails off.
He can’t even look at the rest of the guys, all leaning over his shoulder, eyes wide, realizing the gravity of the moment.
Weeks he’s been trying to call, text, check in, make sure you’re okay.
And you… you haven’t responded.
He scrolls through his own messages, hundreds of unsent, unanswered texts, missed calls.
His chest twists, a sharp, burning knot.
“You’ve been… trying to reach her this whole time?” Rom asks quietly.
Because he’s thinking about that one video.
That tiny, blurry, fucked-up version of you in the background, moving through the chaos of a party like a storm he can’t touch.
His hands tremble as he presses his thumb to the screen, trying to pause it, trying to make it stop.
“I… I just… I don’t…” he mutters.
Nate puts a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve gotta calm down bro. She’s alive. That’s the important part.”
He just stares at the video over and over, each frame like a punch to the chest.
Later, in the hotel room, alone.
The city hums outside, distant and indifferent.
Phone on the desk, screen lit with unanswered messages.
He’s been trying for weeks.
And now… just now, a call comes through.
Your name flashes on the screen.
“Y/N?” His voice cracks instantly.
“Holli? Mm is that youu…? I… I… I miss you…” Your voice is broken, raw, crying, messy.
“Oh… baby…” He swallows hard. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”
“I… I can’t… I’ve been…” Your words slur. Your breathing is uneven. “I’ve been… I’ve been so… and… and I can’t—”
“Whoa, whoa, wait, wait, are you high right now? how high are you?” His voice is frantic but gentle.
“Fucked… out of my mind…” You sniffle, hiccuping mid-sentence. “I just… I miss you… I miss you so much…”
Hollis swallows the lump in his throat.
He moves to the window, staring out at the city lights that look like every other city he’s been too, fuck nothing could compare to you. “You… you scared me, baby. I’ve been trying to reach you… every single day. Every day I’ve been calling, texting, trying to make sure you’re okay…”
“I… I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t…”
He closes his eyes, heart hammering.
His hands shake on the window sill.
“You’re alive, that’s all I care about right now. Just… just breathe for me. Please… please breathe.”
“I… I… I need you… Hollis… I can’t…”
He pulls the phone closer, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know… I know, baby. I’m right here. I’ll stay on the line. I won’t hang up. Just… just tell me everything. I’ve got you. Always.”
Your sobs echo into the receiver.
And he lets himself tremble, finally, letting the weight of weeks of worry, fear, and helplessness crash over him.
Because he knows right now, in this exact moment, all that matters is that you’re alive.
And he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you stay that way.
The rest of the tour is a blur.
Every city. Every stage. Every crowd.
He’s there. Performing. Smiling. Laughing with the guys. But his mind is never off you.
Every night he checks his phone.
Every night, he texts you: “Are you okay?”
“Please, just answer me.”
And every night, he gets nothing.
Nothing except that one phone call from that night, the night you were completely fucked out of your mind, crying, slurring, barely coherent.
That call is now the only thread connecting you two, and it’s tearing him apart.
He’s watching you unravel from hundreds of miles away, powerless.
The last city. The final show. The applause fades.
And all he can think about is getting back to you.
The second the plane lands in LA, he doesn’t go to his house.
Doesn’t go back to the guys’ place.
Doesn’t even think about unpacking.
He grabs a uber. Hands trembling. Heart hammering.
He’s rehearsed it a million times in his head. What he’ll say. How he’ll see you. How he’ll fix it.
❝Forget the models and bottles
I need your love in full throttle❞
But he knows there’s no rehearsal for this.
He arrives at your street.
The city lights blur around him.
His chest is tight. His stomach a knot.
And there it is. Your building.
He climbs the stairs two at a time, ignoring the weight of his suitcase.
He stands in front of your door.
His hand hovers over the wood.
Hollis’ fist hovers over the door.
He’s breathing hard. Heart racing. Eyes glassy.
“y/n…” he whispers, voice cracking before he even knocks.
“I’m back… please… I’m here.”
Everything he’s been holding in, all the weeks of worry, fear, heartbreak, and love, it all hits him at once.
And for the first time in weeks, he’s finally face-to-face with you.
You swing the door open… stare him down for a second in shock, and then slam it shut.
Hard. So hard it rattles the frame.
Hollis staggers back a step, ears ringing.
His hands clutch the wood like he’s holding himself together.
Then harder, panic rising with every second you don’t answer.
You stand on the other side of the door, chest heaving, palms shaking, anger and heartbreak tangled so tightly you can barely breathe.
“Why should I let you in?!” you shout through the door.
“You fucking left me! You broke up with me! You walked out right before you left for tour and acted like it was nothing!”
Hollis presses both hands to the doorframe, shaking.
“I KNOW! I KNOW I DID! I was stressed, I was losing it, I was scared—”
“And then you were acting weird and cold and distant for DAYS before you even left!” you throw back. “Don’t act like you didn’t push me away first!”
“I didn’t WANT to!” Hollis chokes out.
“I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was protecting US. It was stupid. It was—fuck—Y/N, I was wrong.”
That’s the first time he’s said it out loud.
“And then,” you continue, voice trembling with fury, “you go on tour with all your friends, you look like you’re having the time of your life, and I’m here feeling like I don’t exist!”
“I wasn’t having the time of my life,” Hollis snaps back, but not angrily, desperately.
“I called every day. I texted every day. I was freaking out thinking you hated me. I saw ONE video of you high out of your mind and I thought I was losing you. I thought I already did.”
You whisper, “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose… I just… I couldn’t answer. I was too out of it. Too sad. Too everything.”
The tension in the air shifts.
You open the door a crack.
He’s standing there, eyes red, tear streaks across his cheeks, breathing like he ran the whole way here.
And suddenly, the anger drops out from under both of you.
But because you both suddenly see it, how stupid the whole thing was.
How easily it all could’ve been prevented.
How much pain came from things that weren’t even truly about each other… just fear and stress and miscommunication.
❝push me right to the edge.❞
And then your eyes fill with tears so fast you can’t hold them back.
A sob falls out of your mouth without warning.
He steps forward and pulls you into him so tight it knocks the air out of you.
One hand behind your head.
One arm around your waist.
Like he’s been waiting weeks to touch you.
Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
“I’m here,” he whispers into your hair, voice trembling.
“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here now. I swear I’m not leaving again. I’m here.”
You bury your face in his chest, gripping his hoodie with shaking hands.
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you cry.
“I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care so much it was killing me,” he murmurs.
“I never stopped. I never will.”
You cling to each other like you’re both trying to make up for every second you lost.
For a moment, there’s no anger.
Holding onto each other like it’s the only thing keeping both of you breathing.
I Here’s the next scene, soft, emotional, a little messy, but full of that deep, aching love where he just wants to take care of you.
Your hands are still gripping his hoodie when your knees suddenly go weak.
Your body just… gives out.
A sob rips out of your chest, loud and broken, and you fold into him completely.
“Hey—hey, baby,” Hollis whispers, catching you before you can fully collapse.
His arms slide under you, holding you upright.
“Come here. Come here… I got you.”
It’s like every emotion you shoved down for weeks is clawing its way out all at once,
“I’m s-so— I’m just— I can’t—” you hiccup against his chest, voice shaking violently.
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.
His voice is soft, steady, the gentlest you’ve ever heard him.
“I know, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry. Let it out. I’m right here.”
He slowly nudges the door open with his shoulder and guides you backward into the apartment, still holding onto you like he refuses to let you fall again.
“Let’s lay down,” he whispers.
“Your eyes are all swollen… c’mon, sweetheart.”
You let him guide you to your bed, your legs barely working.
He sits you down first, then kneels in front of you, his hands warm on your thighs.
Your face is covered in tears.
You keep gasping, trying to breathe, but every time you look at him, your chest cracks open again.
“It hurts,” you cry, voice breaking. “Everything hurt so bad. I didn’t know what to do, Hollis.”
His face twists like your pain is physically killing him.
❝baby if it hurts so bad, tell me why it hurts so bad.❞
He comes up beside you and wipes your cheeks with both thumbs, slow and gentle.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry baby I’m sorry.”
You shake your head, more tears falling.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” you whisper. “I wanted you.”
He swallows hard and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.
“You have me,” he whispers.
“You always had me. I was just too stupid and scared to show it right.”
Your breath hitches again and another wave of tears spills out. He pulls you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back.
“Shhh… shhh… I got you,” he whispers.
“You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Your sobs start to slow into little gasps, your body exhausted from crying so hard.
Hollis gently shifts back onto the bed, taking you with him, holding you like you’re something fragile he’s terrified to lose again.
His hand strokes the back of your head, slow and rhythmic.
“I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m right here.”
Your breathing starts to even out as your eyes flutter weakly.
“You’re not… leaving? Right?” you mumble, barely awake.
He cups your face, brushing your stray tears with his thumb.
“Never again,” he whispers.
“I’m staying right here, with you. Sleep, angel.”
And with your face tucked into his chest, breathing in the scent you’ve missed for weeks, your body finally relaxes.
You fall asleep on top of him, cheek pressed to his heartbeat, his fingers softly tracing your back…
And Hollis keeps whispering into your hair, even long after you’re out:
“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m not losing you again.”
Your eyes are puffy, your head heavy, your body sore from crying…
but the first thing you feel is warmth.
A chest rising gently beneath your cheek.
Fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back.
Breath moving through your hair.
You blink, lifting your head just a little.
watching you with the softest expression you’ve seen on him in months.
His eyes are tired, red around the edges, but there’s something tender in them… something like relief.
“Morning, angel,” he whispers, voice rough like he barely slept.
His hand slides up to your jaw, thumb brushing softly.
He sits up a bit, one hand supporting your back so you rise with him instead of away from him.
He’s being so gentle. Painfully gentle.
“You scared me,” he says quietly.
You look down, and he immediately tilts your chin up with his fingers.
“Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”
His eyes soften even more.
He takes your hand slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.
He brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it.
Then again, right in the center, lingering like he’s trying to memorize it, like he did at the beginning.
“I missed you so much,” he murmurs against your skin.
You breathe out shakily, and he holds your hand with both of his like he’s scared you might disappear.
He lifts your other hand and kisses that one too. Then your wrist.
Then the inside of your wrist.
Then the soft skin near your thumb.
Every kiss is slow, careful.
He meets your eyes, really meets them, and your breath catches in your chest.
“I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” he says.
His thumb strokes the back of your hand.
“I was stressed and scared and I pushed you away, and that’s not an excuse. I know that.”
You feel tears threaten again, but softer this time, not chaotic like before.
“I just… I didn’t understand,” you whisper.
“You left acting like we weren’t even together anymore.”
He flinches, guilt washing over him.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“I fucked up. And I kept fucking up. And then when you stopped answering, I thought I’d lost you for real… and it killed me.”
You shift a little, sitting closer without meaning to.
His eyes flick down for a second… to your shoulder… to your lips… then back up.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing your hair from your shoulder.
“Can I…?” he asks softly.
He leans in and presses a kiss to your shoulder.
Your skin tingles under his lips.
“Hollis…” your voice comes out breathy without your permission.
He freezes for a second at the way you say his name.
Then he lifts his head, cheeks flushed, eyes darkened with something warm and heavy.
“I forgot how good it feels,” he whispers, “to be close to you… to touch you like this.”
His hand slides up your arm slowly, fingers brushing your skin like he’s relearning it.
He leans in closer, forehead brushing yours.
“I missed you,” he says again, but this time it’s almost a confession.
His breath hits your lips.
“And I don’t ever want to push you away like that again. I want to fix this. I want you.”
Your heart stutters hard.
You whisper, “Then stay.”
He lets out a shaky breath, like that one word just broke him open.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
His hand cups your cheek, and he kisses your palm again.
One day it will be the same.
