“YOU’RE IN THE BLEACHERS, I’M IN MY ROOM.” ✮⋆˙ P2
cheerleader!reader x loser!hollis
(read part one here… if u haven’t already!)
“Is that scrawny blonde boy and his barely road-legal car going to become a common occurrence?”
Scraping your dinner remnants into the trash, you sigh - long, and fed up.
You’d still yet to have the searing shower you’d fantasised about on the way home after practice, before your mother forced you to sit down as you were at the table for dinner.
“His name’s Hollis.” You correct, tone sharp with irritation at your parents’ lack of respect, “He’s Kathryn’s son.”
Everyone in your neighbourhood knew of the Frazier family, and Kathryn’s roaring success of a business.
Some perceived her and her children negatively, fuelling divorce rumours and treating her harshly out of envy - others admiring her, beloved due to her hardworking character.
Everyone expected Hollis to be her successor when the time came - instead, they looked down their pointed noses out the window of their cookie cutter houses, mortified when they saw the potential prodigy son bumming a blunt on the curb for the fourth day in a row.
Your parents didn’t respond to your remark, and you used the absence of conversation to untether yourself from the distasteful atmosphere inside your own home and go to your room.
“He’s a piece of work, that’s what he is.” Your mother retorted amidst loading up the dishwasher, “He’s a drug dealer, you know that?”
“That’s a stupid rumour.” You snipe, already mentally checked out of this entire conversation, “I’m tired. Thanks for the food - I’m going to bed.”
Your parents don’t object, watching you as you practically stomped upstairs in wordless protest against their harsh words, followed by a bedroom door slamming shut.
You instantly began to shed your layers - first the zip up, then your cheer shirt and skirt - the pleated fabric shimmied halfway down your thighs before your phone vibrated sharply from your bedroom floor where it had tumbled out of your pocket.
Wriggling out of the skirt now pooled at your socked feet, you bend down to retrieve it.
He’d finally reacted to the waves and waves of instagram reels you’d sent him, including a few you’d actively sent to him during the car ride - despite him literally being sat next to you.
You’d rarely get a verbal reply, though. usually just a heart reaction, once in a blue moon you’d get a ‘lmfao’, but that was it. typical teenage boy behaviour.
He was probably smoking right now with Roman and Nate - so you didn’t expect to hear from him for the rest of the evening.
You were now freshly showered, phone face down, casually discarded on your bed as you - all towelled up - retrieved it.
Instagram notification; and yet, an unfamiliar name was the header.
You thought it would’ve been hollis.
You furrow your brows; droplets from your soaked hair you’d yet to blow dry blurring the face of your phone - pixelating the following messages.
Utterly confused on why nate of all people was messaging you - you weren’t close. sure, you two were ‘cool’, cordial, you’d hang around with him and roman whenever hollis allowed you to.
But he had zero business messaging you, especially not at this time of day.
Haphazardly, you use the pad of your thumb to wipe away the spatters of water from your phone screen, growing frustrated when it only seemed to smear across and pixelate the device further.
You huffed, now frantically wiping off the aqueous, stubborn residue on your towel enveloping your body.
After waiting a few minutes as to not look too desperate, you opened the notification. three simple bubbles illuminated before you like some sort of taunt.
yo the first, we think u should hear this in case im forced to scrub it the second read, your befuddlement only intensifying.
me n roman have a suspicion this came from somewhere the third, and at the moment, final message.
What was ‘this’ referring to? the lack of context made you uneasy - the first text conversation you and nate had ever, and he’s already messing with you.
??? you reply, a wordless plea for him to elaborate - you were instantly left on seen, as if he were sat on the opposite end idling on your chat.
And you’d learn that he was, in-fact doing so - as on queue, immediately after your message, a file was sent through.
You don’t bother typing out any further messages to him, finger gravitating into opening the linked file like it were a final piece to a puzzle you were desperate to solve.
A little reckless, seeing as you wouldn’t put it past roman nor nate to send you some sort of virus-encrypted porn link as some sort of fucked-up joke.
Apparently they’d done something similar to hollis - recalling when his phone calander had gotten infected, with multiple notifications of local busty milfs desperate for a fuck! swarming his notifications every hour.
It was deeply amusing when you watched hollis desperately try to erase them from his phone - now not so much, considering it could be your turn, and you’d indulged in your potentially-humiliating fate so recklessly.
You hoped and fucking prayed it wasn’t what you thought it was - and if it were, hollis would be getting a stern talk from yourself about surrounding himself with some more mature people, but you knew that they were all close-knit for a reason.
After a few seconds of buffering as it downloaded itself onto your device, the file finally opened - a simple, white play button the only obstacle between you and this mysterious material.
You stilled; making your first intelligent decision of tonight - searching for your headphones, just in case.
Walls are thin, and it feels like your parents are nocturnal, always listening out - just in case hollis - god forbid - were to ever sneak through your window to see you.
He hadn’t yet, but you knew he’d be up for the parkour challenge if you twisted his arm enough - he definitely had the legs for it.
SISTER.wav the file was named - what was this? some sort of pitch? in what way was this relevant to you?
Connecting your headphones to your phone, you press play.
Instantaneously, your eardrums are permeated with what you, with your limited musical production knowledge compared to hollis, could describe as a lo-fi baseline.
The track was hazy, in a way - sound slightly distorted, beat slow ‘n steady - until the kick and snare once the verse started.
Until - the melodious, repetitive loop of the baseline and warm, analog-quality synths of the introspective track you were still relatively confused on your part in - introduced its vocals to you.
Seamless, soft. conversational, the more each lyric wound itself around the crevices of your brain, reverberating off of the inside of your skull.
A familiar laid-back, yet unpolished rawness came with each syllable atop the track - instantly shifting the melody behind it to something more intimate, more sentimental.
It was nothing complex - no staggering vocal acrobatics, but rather a complimentary, rhythmic addition that you could only assume was hollis himself.
You, as curious as you were - absorbed each lyric as the song unravelled, following the given storytelling from the bass-fuelled recording of your best friend - who you swore wouldn’t let you hearing any of his shit until he was six feet under.
Why had nate sent you this? had hollis pissed him or roman off, and this was all to get under his skin? it felt strangely invasive from your side - you knew this wasn’t hollis’ idea.
These lyrics, though you took each of them with a pinch of salt - as musical lyricists tend to channel alter-egos and pursue narratives that aren’t actually relevant to themselves - couldn’t help but intrigue you.
This hollis - captured on this track, stuck as a mere limited-access soundcloud link inside you and nate’s first instagram dm exchange - sang about loving someone ‘like a sister’ and ‘crossing his fingers’?
Not to mention the emphasis on the ‘bleachers’ lyric. the delivery was understated and suggestive - yet, beneath the surface, intense somehow. like a buried secret.
Maybe, you thought, he’d taken an interest in one of your cheermates, if these lyrics were true.
- maybe even someone on the girls’ soccer or track team - plenty of bleacher dwellers, not just you.
Hollis was a gentle, sensitive boy - but he was never outwardly affectionate or sappy towards you - and these lyrics were definitely reminiscent of some sort of crush.
What minuscule thoughts you did have about you being embroidered into these lyrics, you disregarded without a second thought. how selfish, just because you were close.
He never told you about his relationships anyway - you assumed there had to be something. someone.
It wasn’t what you’d expect from him music-wise either, to be honest - it wasn’t aggressive or provocative at all - both words you’d tie to hip hop and rap as a genre, what you thought his music would be like when he told you that those were his specialised genres.
Whatever this was, felt deliberate. deeply personal. words tapped straight from the heart.
Each string of lyrics thoughtful, and somehow, although mellowed-out by playful synths and thumping bass lines, vulnerable - even though some of the lyrics were ambiguous, vague. as if they were insinuating other motives.
It felt more like a creative expression of a troubling, complex amalgamation of emotional conflict than anything else - something that felt as if he were navigating all of it actively as he sang.
It was catchy, and you hated that.
Teenage-boy wannabe-rapper music is meant to be audible assault - not actually enjoyable with unique sound production.
Truthfully, once the track had ended, you’d replayed it again - and again, and again. you couldn’t quite believe that you were actually hearing hollis’ stuff, and that you actually thought it was good. all due respect.
[natesib]: what do u think??
You pause the track upon your fourth listen - halfway through, sometimes even dragging the play-bar censor backwards to rewind lyrics - the way his voice gravelled, curving over each word.
A slight rasp there, a subtle layer of grit - static - the same you recognised in his tone during a late night drive.
- where he’d ask if you wanted to go and get drive-thru with him at stupid’o’clock - knowing it was because he was having another spat with his mother, back when he lived at home.
Like after he’d have multiple drunken cigarettes at one of nate’s house parties - sloped over some tired outdoor furniture with you as he taught you how to roll, despite knowing you don’t smoke.
Important life skill, he’d justify - eyes half-lidded, lopsided grin, all perfect teeth and glinting canines - and you’d let him demonstrate the entire process to you.
It was undeniable that it was him on the track, you dissecting the vocals more and more after each listen.
The subtle shift in tone upon certain words, an attempt to shift into different emotions without - in typical hollis fashion - without being over the top. cool, casual.
The same way he’d sheepishly lean into you to tell you something important, a almost-timid, hushed intensity that you found endearing about him.
it’s good, you respond, is that hollis??? - you play dumb.
Ten minutes later, you were on your sixth listen between small intermissions to answer the odd imessage notification here and there - you finally decided to stop.
Followed by a don’t tell him we showed u this. he’d fucking kill us.
You silently agree; hearting his message, not really caring on how assured that made nate and roman feel about your loyalty to this newfound secret.
You unplug your earphones, tossing your phone to the other end of your bed - you shouldn’t be up as late as you are, but time had granulated, broken down and slipped through your fingers like sand.
Your head still mildly thrummed with a dull ache from your aggressive ponytail, a uniform for practice - you hoped you’d be able to sleep it off.
You also realised that you were atop your freshly-washed, neat bedsheets still in your damp towel - hair separated in soaked stands beading with water, desperate to be dried.
Slinking to the bathroom, grabbing some competition convention shirt and a pair of boxers to use as sleepwear along the way.
Now dried and moisturised, eyes wilted from utter exhaustion - you were finally ready to sleep. finally.
You slotted beneath your covers, cotton cool against warm skin - limbs twisting and shimmying until you had settled in perfectly, reaching for your phone.
Hollis had tried to call you in the fifteen minutes you’d abandoned your phone for.
If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t question it.
But hollis calling you? let alone twice? you were confused - his primary, and limited method of communication was always text. two or three of them a day maximum to be exact.
He’d barely ever call - only odd times, like if he got high beyond comprehension and needed you to help ground him, or if he was outside a club you’d gotten into using the fake ID he’d gotten for you, waiting to pick you up.
You immediately sit up, propped up against the headboard as you squint at your screen, tapping on the missed call (2) notification.
The call rang out once, then twice, three, four times.
You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t pick up, maybe he’d accidentally called you from his back pocket.. twice?
Just as you were about to hang up, the call went through.
“hey,” even stranger, he was the first to speak.
Behind his pixelated voice, you heard shuffling - muffled music, loud enough you assumed the walls were probably shaking. almost competing against his voice.
Anyone else would assume he was at some party - but you knew well enough to know that they were definitely having one of their production seshes at nate’s house.
Most of the chaos ensuing in hollis’ life is linked nate and roman.
Do these people ever sleep? you thought, wiping your eyes as you blinked down at your phone, his name punctuating the screen.
You always catch hollis liking and responding to messages you’d sent him days ago at 3-4am.
“hey,” you reply, followed by the crinkling of bedsheets - your phone speaker way too close to your duvet as you limply held it, “you okay? you never call me.”
“shit,” you hear him mutter, followed by a door closing, the music and chatter in the background instantly dissipating, “did i wake you? m’sorry.”
“i was literally just about to sleep,” you sigh, rolling onto your other side, phone hung loosely in your hand, “what’s up? changed your mind about giving me a ride to the party?”
There was silence from his end for a few seconds - maybe the faint sound of a glass back door unlocking and sliding open.
“no, of course not.” he defied your accusation, a short, blasé laugh, “i jus’ wanted to check-,”
An airy sound from his end after this. probably a deep inhale.
“looked over ‘n saw nate messaging you..” he trailed, tone clipped - trying to feign the sense of bother stirring within him, “he didn’t send you any of my shit, did he? him ‘n roman think it’s funny to pull that shit.”
His voice appeared nervous; almost - luckily the slight tremor in his low tone was concealed by the shitty sound quality, but you could still tell he was somewhat tense, based on his delivery.
Part of you was too bone-weary to make such a decision; to lie or come clean about what you’d heard - what you’d impulsively partaken in against hollis’ wishes; a broken boundary.
You found yourself at a crossroads that you needed to decipher quickly. which path offered less resistance?
Should you lie? how would he absorb the revelation that you’d become an unwitting audience to his only emotional outlet? would the intimacy of it all become tainted by the bitter taste of betrayal?
You were being dramatic - of course.
Hollis, if he were to find out what you’d heard of his, would probably just become flustered - enough to quiet him down, he’d probably temporarily withdraw a little; talk less during car rides and leave your messages lingering unanswered a little longer due to his internal embarrassment.
But he could never muster up any sort of anger towards you; never. he was physically incapable at being able to fault you.
Would an honest confession from you cast a pall of awkwardness between you, as heavy as an uninvited guest?
Would he then deign to explain the cryptic lyrics to you? probably - that’s why, you guessed, he’d compressed and moulded whatever these feelings were into a twisted melody about loving someone ‘like a sister’, when you knew the entire song was using this concept as an alias for an undisclosed motive.
God, you wanted to know. wanted to question him, to commend him - maybe by doing so, you’d soften the blow.
But you hadn’t enough time to properly mull over your options. you had to choose, and fast.
“No - s’nothing of yours.” you clear your throat, words sleepily slurring, “Was just an empty baseline. No vocals. He wanted to know what I thought - if you’d sound good on it.”
A light scoff, then what sounded like the metallic flicking sound of a lighter igniting.
“They’re assholes.” he sighed, “Don’t know why they’re askin’ you shit like that - m’sorry.”
You hum, now rolling onto your stomach, burrowing your face into your pillow.
“Y’think i’d sound good on it?” he slowly continued, pausing to assumably take a drag from a cigarette, or a blunt.
“- On whatever nate sent you.”
Still unable to get completely comfortable with your sleeping positioning, you rotate back onto your side, letting your phone slip out of your lazy hold, thudding lightly against your pillow.
“I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “- but you won’t let me listen to your stuff, so.. I don’t know - a little hard to visualise.”
Silence, save for the soft hiss of the balmy, late night summer breeze through his phone speaker, distorted by shitty WiFi connection - where his voice should’ve been.
“You got practice tomorrow?” the subject change felt like a poke in the ribs - a deliberate swerve where you wished for an invitation instead.
“Mm-hm,” you wordlessly confirm, “Before class.”
“Time?” he simply adds, this was hollis’ routine way of arranging to pick you up.
“Get some sleep, yeah?” He advises, “- Can’t have Sophia on your ass tomorrow.”
You groan, turning your head slightly to muffle it in your pillow so hopefully the rest of your house doesn’t hear.
The line goes quiet again, only the sound of you shifting beneath your duvet every now and then, your own steady breathing splitting the comfortable silence.
Seemingly appeased with your answer, believing your lie, he drew the conversation to a close.
“G’night.” He mutters, a light sense of amusement to his voice; like he were smiling as he spoke - then he hung up.
Sleep eluded you - the song, his voice - the lyrics proving torment to your consciousness.
The urge to succumb was strong - to plug in your headphones once more, to treat this unreleased track laced with your best friends’ voice like a nocturnal podcast, some lullaby.
In an act of protest against your own mutinous mind, you pull the duvet over your head; soft fabric a flimsy shield against the saccharine torment of his voice looping endlessly like a broken record.
Guilt was a bitter taste; lying to an honest boy who’d trusted you to not press him about his desires to keep his music private from you, and you’d only gone and done something far worse.
Panic had seized you when you had to choose whether to lie or come clean; praying he’d forget, that he’d never further question it again - blindly trusting you, as you’d never not given him a reason to.
A cold sense of worry permeated within you - had Nate fucked you over by making you a part of this? was this something that if found out, you’d be able to come back from?
It was too late now; you couldn’t claw your way out of your grave you’d dug by lying. Lie in it.
Each minute you spent thinking about every ‘what-if’, the more you grew far too tired to want to think about potential fallout.
At an obscure time of night, your body finally gave way; falling asleep with your barely-charged phone strewn beside you.
In your typical pre-dawn state as you’d risen for practice, bedroom floor littered with clothing as you’d rummaged for clean practice clothes at six in the morning, you were finally ready.
Now in your practice attire, form-fitting, baby pink material that feels to you now like a second skin, hair freshly straightened and pulled back into a slicked uniform ponytail - perfect, ribboned, a sheened arc curled at the ends.
Lipgloss and other light, yet durable makeup applied - a final assessment that your sneakers were pristine enough for Sophia’s liking even though they’d get scuffed up by the astroturf anyway - you finish your own personal ritual, finding the entire practice somewhat relaxing.
You hadn’t thought about what had happened last night yet; thanks to your strict getting-ready routine.
But now you’d finished, and were waiting patiently for Hollis to come and pick you up, as you’d hardly arranged last night - a silent agreement in exchange for your company in a time where he needed external support the most.
Seven thirty; a text rolled in, vibrating softly in the pocket of your jacket as you tied your laces.
here, his text read. nothing else.
You’d always felt bad, feeling as if you were forcing him to get up super early knowing he nowhere near gets enough sleep nightly, just to come and ferry you to and from practice most days.
Hollis didn’t mind; he never did. He was at a stage in his life where he’d take any side quest offered to him - an opportunity to keep himself busy, away from his home, from school. Especially if it was for you!
It meant that he’d usually end up being a little late for his early morning class, but that didn’t matter - he never usually went. But when the school would send him a rather threatening email after a few weeks of absence, he’d eventually reluctantly go.
- Despite spending the whole time with an earphone in, on soundcloud, occasionally picking up a pen to jot down some doodle to make it appear as if he was studying.
You gather your belongings, trotting down your stairs and slipping out the front door - baby blue ford grumbling at the mouth of your driveway.
“Mornin’ Holli!” You greet, chipper, disposing of your bags in the backseat this time, reclaiming your usual place in his passenger seat.
He mutters a ‘hey’ in response, far too distracted attempting to peel out of your parents’ driveway without alerting them to his presence - or anyone else in your neighbourhood, to that matter.
He, arguably, looked more cleaned-up than you did today, in your opinion - you wondered if there were a reason. When Hollis made an effort, he cleaned up extremely well.
The morning sunlight, thick and syrupy pooled inside the car, catching the damp platinum waves of his hair as they fanned against the black material of his hoodie.
It settled as it always did, resting softly at his shoulder blades - thin, black-rimmed glasses resting atop his nose, slightly sloped downwards as he peered between mirrors, focused.
The engine bumbled as you began down the street, occasional blinding, quick flashes of silver from the light reflecting his exposed chain catching your peripherals, contrasting against the golden morning glow.
Honey-toned, organic light illuminating his skin, igniting his silhouette as if he entirely were spun out of liquid gold and placed in the drivers seat.
He had that fresh, alert look - making you literally do a double-take when you entered the car, drinking him in before he could you, all the while forgetting to buckle yourself in.
The drive was like any other, comfortable small talk - the occasional discussion about relevant music artists, you making the odd comment about his attendance.
The sternness of his resting face amused you - when he wasn’t interacting directly with you, distracted by the road, he had one of the most prevalent resting bitch faces you’d ever seen.
It suited him, though. There was something incredibly magnetic about observing him as he drove, a silent confidence that he wasn’t aware of, as humble as ever.
Hearing him and his musical abilities, it had - thankfully, done wonders for him.
Now, you knew Hollis was gifted with potential that could get him far, like he’d wanted. It warmed you. You hoped you were getting rides from a future music prodigy - that would make some excellent lore.
Knuckles subtly defined against the worn steering wheel, controlled precision with each slight turn despite him being incapable of maintaining a steady speed - typical teenage boy driving like a fucking lunatic, you having to remind him that this isn’t an F1 course.
More unintentional knee bumps against knuckles resting over the gearstick whenever you shifted in your seat, or whenever he took a corner too hard. Like clockwork
“Surprised you don’t have hearing loss from having this shit so loud every day.” You grin, currently checking yourself out in your own phone camera, using your thumb to wipe away some slightly smudged lipliner.
Every minute or so, Hollis would, out of habit, slightly push his glasses up his nose as they slightly lowered - you were counting every time he did so, unintentionally. Five.
Hollis doesn’t really react, instead side-eyeing you, ghost of a smile across his lips. He reached to turn the music down in response, but you swatted his hand away.
“Leave it. Helps wake me up.”
He shakes his head, turning into the school parking lot.
At this time of morning, it’s still relatively quiet. Perfect for you to quickly depart and start warming up on the pitch.
“Please, try ‘n get yourself to class today.” You plead, “Thanks for the lift also, best taxi driver ever.”
You jest, leaning over the centre console to place an appreciative peck on his cheekbone this time.
Pretending the entire car ride, and right now, you weren’t comparing each casually spoken word he uttered to you now in friendly conversation, to the same voice you heard spilling its fucking guts out on a soundcloud audio track that wasn’t meant for your ears.
He jokingly grimaces at your gesture, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the sticky imprint of your lipgloss off of his skin, blood rising to his upper cheeks, blossoming a dusted pink.
You scowl, not registering his shyness; probably because you were used to it.
You unbuckled yourself, and leaning into the backseat to retrieve your bags.
This was your shared routine out of all, and the comfortable domesticity of it didn’t go unnoticed to Hollis, watching you handle his car as if it were your own - he liked it.
With a hollow clunk of his car door opening and a shudder of it being closed, you began to walk towards the astroturf, absentmindedly yanking down your skort in the process.
Hollis knew he wasn’t going to class today; so he wasn’t in a rush.
He swore he was just making sure you got where you needed to be; as if the short walk from the parking lot to the pitch was a deadly obstacle course - you never know.
He was just doing what any good friend would do - right? It was quiet, dewy. Slightly foggy with early-morning fog, utterly deserted at this time.
He definitely wasn’t loitering to watch you - the way the flouncy, breezy material of your baby pink athletic skort rode up every couple of steps; petal-pink material teasing the bare flesh of the backs of your upper thighs as it rippled in the morning wind.
The way your manicured fingers unconsciously would slowly coax the material back into place, only for the material to continue to bunch up around your waist again shortly after.
Delicate material adorning you; coordinating athletic jacket cinching your waist - hair a confection of refined waves and woven lace, lightly swung behind you.
A cascade of utter practiced perfection you’d suited so well - it felt like a shared secret between the two of you.
You looked utterly out of place in his shitty car, giggling in his passenger seat, looking the way you did, scented sweet the way you were - how your discerning cheermates blissfully unaware, under the impression you’d look down your nose at him, not call him your best friend.
Pretty. So fucking pretty.
Enough so that it felt utterly absurd for you to be slumped in his passenger seat of his beat-up car, stark to your polished radiance you exuded, product of your perfectionist parents.
Too lovely. Tooth-rottingly sweet - and he, boring a hundred cavities. Happily.
A macabre pleasure, your clandestine dynamic brought to him. Worried glances between your parents at the sight of him waiting for you in your driveway, your friends casting him sidelong glances in the corridors as you smile and pass by him - painted him as an outsider, no-good.
Threat to their angel, serpent in the grass, conniving. He wasn’t any of those things, but he sure got a kick out of being portrayed this way; enjoying it a little more than the average person in his position.
Their disapproval only adding fuel to the blaze, atop you choosing him; protesting against their expectations - you eager to steal any private moments with him whenever you could, wether it was a detour to lengthen the drive or urging him to let you hang out at nate’s with him and his friends.
You put the way you were perceived on the line potentially, for what? Him?
Fuck, the twisted power surge of that acknowledgement made him light-headed.
Complacent in his low-key friendship with you.
Your close relationship with Hollis was your dirtiest secret, basically - you were that perfect.
He the dark counterpoint to your proclaimed, luminous innocence - he loved it, the concept of his presence proving a form of corruption - how you quite literally couldn’t care less.
“Did you just get out of Hollis Frazier’s car?” Sophia’s voice called, arms tightly crossed over her chest, nose scrunched in distaste at the sight before her.
You’d barely taken three steps across the pitch before she’d confronted you.
“What?” You shrug, dropping your duffle bag at your feet, glancing over your shoulder back to parking lot - only for his car to have gone.
“I swear I just saw you.” Sophia pressed, arms raised, tightening her ponytail, “Didn’t think he was your type.”
“We’re just friends.” You admit, and it is true. “He’s chill. Everyone’s a little too harsh on him, I think.”
“Because he’s a loser.” Sophia rolls her eyes, incapable of any form of empathy, you think, “He seriously thinks that by making shitty soundcloud beats that he’ll make it out - it’s stupid.”
You frown, reaching to unzip your jacket.
I’ve actually heard his stuff, it’s fucking incredible, you’d wanted to say to her. But you couldn’t. Not until he let you.
That same pang of nauseating guilt penetrated your chest again, heart weighing heavy, lungs constricting a beat.
“Who knows.” You sigh, shoving your jacket into your duffle bag and beginning your stretches, “- Maybe he will. Give him a chance, he hasn’t even released anything yet.”
Sophia laughs bitterly, like you’d told her a terrible joke.
Already fed up with your own captain, you pause your warm up - instead scooping up your half-zipped duffle bag and trialing towards the empty bleachers.
Dumping your belongings down, you retrieve your phone - eyes flitting over notifications, you still had ten minutes before practice started.
You decide to message Hollis - you knew upon his expression that he had zero plans on going to class yet again, so if he were heading back to Nate’s, he’d almost be there by now.
sophia caught me getting our ur car, you type out, said she didn’t think you were my type lol
He probably wouldn’t see these until the next day, but you found the interaction amusing, and you knew he would also.
In all fairness, you do love a brooding man.
Hollis read your notification as he pulled up outside of nate’s, cutting the engine - frankly, just as he positioned his phone in his lap to use as a sort of rolling tray for the weed roman had asked him to roll.
He debated on wether he’d reply, or wether he’d try to remember to reply later on, most likely forgetting - leaving it up for discussion the next day during a car ride, his preferred outcome.
Setting down his rolling materials and unlocking his phone, opening your chat, he found himself typing after hearting your text - probably the fastest he’d ever replied.
hollis liked your message!
Seeing the notification from him, you raised your eyebrows in sheer surprise - Hollis responding in under an hour minimum was practically unheard of.
see u tn, the first half of his response read, takin u over to nates. ur welcome
You literally fucking cheese at the message - now grateful that you had after school plans, not particularly wanting to hover around your parents right now.
Does this mean he’ll finally show you some of his projects? you doubted it - but it didn’t hurt to be enthusiastic ‘n hopeful. maybe nate and roman somehow convinced him, although you weren’t sure with what charm.
ily you swiftly type back, finally shoving your phone back into your duffle bag and hopping back down off the bleachers, back to resuming your warm-ups.
hiii angels!!! due to popular demand, I’ve finally written a part 2 to cheerleader!reader x loser!hollis!
sorry if this isn’t as good as the first, I need to figure out an actual plot if im going to make this a series.. this is kinda a filler chapter lol. (I have a feeling this will flop…)
i feel like my stuff only does well if there’s smut and that’s lowk slightly disheartening because that’s my least favourite aspect of writing these lol.. the algorithm horny as fuck. ouch. maybe next chapter I guess if this one does well enough???
this also isn’t spell-checked, so ignore any mistakes as usual. it’s 2am. im so tired.
once again so sorry for not uploading for ages.. uni sucks idk. thank u for everything while i figure out my shit.
anyway hope u like! lmk what u think, be brutal. hope this isn’t too boring, im a bit rusty atm. happy reading tho!
