#angryginge fluff

Six months. Six months it had been since she walked out. Morgan had tried at first. Calls, texts, even showing up at her apartment. But, she never opened the door. Her silence said everything his words never could.

Now his place felt too big, too *quiet.* Every corner of it whispered her name, like her once existing presence haunted him with every chance it got. Her mug still in the sink, her scrunchie on the bathroom counter, a faint trace of her perfume on the pillow he couldn’t bring himself to wash.

He tried drowning it out by hanging with the boys, going out for drinks ever so often, streaming more. But nothing worked. No matter how hard he tried, she would never leave the back of his mind. and it absolutely haunted him.

He wasn’t even going to come to the influencer event tonight, he was going to make up some shitty excuse to get out of it. But his mates convinced him. So he put on his best suit, and made his way to the venue.

He was standing around with his mates, two drinks deep. He was honestly questioning why he was eveh considering cancelling. Tays was having a laugh, making fun of morgan’s drunken tangents. He tried to play it off, but morgan immediately clocked the way tays smile dropped almost instantly.

As soon as he turned to the direction tays was looking, he spotted her. Long black dress, hair down, and the man whom she was hand in hand with. His throat immediately went dry. He wasn’t even aware that he started walking in her direction until he was making direct eye contact with her. For a second, the world around them fell silent. No cameras, no noise, just the familiar sting of memory.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low, uncertain. “Morgan.” Her tone was distant, like she was talking to a stranger she used to know. The man beside her turned slightly, curious. Morgan’s jaw clenched. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect to come.”

“Who’s this?” he asked, nodding toward the guy beside her. “Elijah,” she said easily. “My boyfriend.” The word sliced through him. Boyfriend.

The lad reached out to shake his hand. Morgan did, barely, before letting go. His throat felt dry. “Didn’t take long, huh?” he muttered.


Her eyes softened. Not with love, but pity. “Morgan. I gave you *so* many chances, yet you fucked up every single one. I can’t allow myself to beg for love where it was never given in the first place.” He stepped closer, desperation leaking into his voice. “I still love you.”

She smiled sadly. “Maybe you do. But I don’t love the version of me that begged for scraps of your attention. I outgrew her. And you.”