#ex!chris

chapter 0.01: feels like we’re meeting for the first time | series masterlist

summary: in which you receive some not so good news about your roommate situation upon preparing for your last year of university. however your mom thinks there’s a silver lining hidden beneath it when you see who you’re living with for the year.

pairings: ex boyfriend!chris sturniolo x ex girlfriend!reader [ eventually ] and oc boyfriend x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst. that’s about it.

word count: 2.8k

dedications: thank you to @strnilolover, @endereies, @bernardsbendystraws, and @luvs4matt for proofing this.

dividers: @strnilolover as always.

finishing your university degree in journalism has been your dream since you were sixteen and you just successfully published a thorough review blog of every movie that released that year.

completing your degree was the first time that you truly believed you were capable of doing something right. of potentially making a name for yourself. you felt like you had actually succeeded in life. realizing this was like feeling something close to utter bliss for the first time.

you’ve always felt a very strong passion for studying movies and writing about them, including your opinions and thoughts while also remaining unbiased, allowing your followers and readers to form their own thoughts. during your senior year, you had been received early acceptance into your first choice school and you couldn’t be happier.

when you first walked into the university, you were at a loss for words. you had finally started the path you had always dreamed of taking, but you were alone, and it scared you. your mom had been so willing to walk you to your first class, and you about two seconds from letting her. but you knew this was a step you had to take on your own. for the first time in eighteen years, you were truly doing things by yourself.

your mom had been by your side from the moment she had you at seventeen and your dad walked out of the delivery room. she would’ve moved into your dorm if you had let her, and if it wasn’t technically a crime, both literally and socially.

and as you maneuvered your way through the seemingly endless and winding halls of university, you bumped into someone. as you were about to start spewing nervously apologetic ramblings, you looked up to see who you had collided with, only to meet the prettiest eyes you had ever seen. he was quick to take the blame, saying he was too focused on trying to remember where he was supposed to go while your words died in your throat.

he asked you where you meant to go, teasing you about how looked like a lost puppy, and after showing him your schedule, he walked you to the room you had passed by twice already, he smiled and told you his name before realizing how late he was, before turning around and walking away without getting your name.

there was something about him that drew you in, despite him looking like a walking advertisement for the school’s fraternity. however after a few more run-ins, he finally asked for your name and number, and promised to make good use of it.

you and chris had gotten together shortly before spring break after spending months of tiptoeing the line of friends and something more. while getting to know each other, you found out you were both from boston, only about an hour drive from one another, and you were pleasantly surprised to find out that he was actually quite a kind and gentle person, nothing like his frat brothers for the most part. sure there were times that he was a bit of an asshole during the talking stage of your relationship, but after a serious conversation, you had learned that he wasn’t good with letting people in at first. you learned how deeply it scared him.

out of everyone in your family that met chris, your mom was the most skeptical of him at first. partly due to her annoyingly unwavering habit of judging people based off their appearance and the way they present themselves, and partly because she wasn’t ready to let go of you completely. but with the way chris looked like the poster child for every stereotype you could think of when looking at a frat boy, your mom was scared you were going to get hurt. but within a week of meeting him, she trusted him to take care of you, her baby, her pride and joy, and she knew how deeply he loved you. and so, she gave him her blessing.

and over time, you were able to help chris unlearn every negative or toxic belief he had about relationships. when he was with you, he learned that love didn’t need to be a game, and you learned that love was so much more than an obligation. you taught each other something so precious and gentle, something that many couples took years to find and learn. you were stable and healthy and utterly in love with one another. that’s why it shocked everyone around when the two of you broke up after four years together.

there was no big dramatic moment where it all came crumbling down, no fight that was blown out of proportion. it was a soft conversation hidden in the back of a cafe on a sunny mid-winter day, the two of you had gotten so busy, his hockey practices and games had started to really pick up, and he so was focused on being scouted, and your journalism course had landed you an internship with a media company and you were out running interviews and exposes day and night. the two of you felt like you didn’t have time for one another anymore, and it crushed both of you, but you decided that taking a break, breaking up, splitting, however you wanna spin it, was for the best.

when you returned home at the end of the year, you were ninety percent sure your mom was more heartbroken over the break up than you were. of course you were devastated, but you knew it had to happen for the time being. you loved chris with everything in you, and you were quite certain that you always would, but the two of you were growing in separate directions, which meant you had to love him from afar.

as you get ready to leave for your last year of university, you’re now twenty four, you just completed your bachelor’s degree in media journalism, and now you were finishing your last year of your film and media degree. as you start packing up for the last time, it hits you that you’re going on your sixth year of schooling, and it’s an exciting realization that’s been tainted by something melancholic and nostalgically heartbreaking. you’ve spent so much your time away at school, it’s become your second home.

avoidant!reader ex!chris

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴! kissing, mentions of sh, anxiety,

The carpet presses against your cheek, rough and grounding, while you lie on your bedroom floor. Your phone rests just out of reach, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you grab it. Your thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating, because you already know what you’re going to do. Chris.

You’ve been avoiding him. Pretending the ache in your chest isn’t real, pretending the memories that keep replaying in your mind are just echoes of a past you don’t need to revisit. You’ve told yourself you’re fine, that you’re moving on, that the hole he left isn’t there anymore. But it is. Every laugh you hear that reminds you of him, every image of him with Matt and Nick that pops up online—it twists something in your chest, something sharp and relentless.

Your thumb hovers over the screen again. “I need to see you,” you type, almost involuntarily. The words feel foreign on your tongue, and yet they taste like honesty. You know it’s reckless. You know you’re letting yourself step too close to the edge; too close to letting him in again. But you can’t stop. Not really.

The phone buzzes almost immediately. It’s Chris.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he writes.

You roll your eyes even though you’re smiling to yourself. That’s Chris—always blunt, always direct. Even now, his presence, even through words, manages to make your chest tighten. You type slowly, carefully, trying to keep your distance even in your messages.

“You’re with her now,” you write.

“I know,” he replies, brief, but you catch the tremor beneath it. “I don’t care.”

Something twists inside you. Relief? Fear? Both? You want to tell him no. You want to close the screen and pretend it never happened. And yet, something in you—the part of you that’s been avoiding, hiding, pretending—can’t. You type again, careful this time, keeping yourself distant.

“This isn’t fair.”

“It’s never been fair,” he writes back. You can almost hear him, imagine the weight in his chest, the tension in his shoulders. “I’ve been wanting you this whole time, even when you were avoiding me, even when I pretended it didn’t hurt that you pushed me away. But I can’t anymore.”

You hold your breath. The words hit you harder than you expected. You want to run. You want to retreat into yourself. And yet, another part of you—the part that’s been yearning all this time—types:

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Then don’t,” he replies, immediately. “Not yet. Just let me be here. Let me sit in the same room as you. Let me try. You don’t have to say anything else.”

Your chest tightens so fast it feels like it might crush you. You want to retreat, to flee from the weight of his words, but your body moves before your mind does. “I’m coming over,” you type.

When you arrive, he’s sitting on the couch, shoulders tense, jaw tight. He doesn’t look at you right away, doesn’t smile. You can see the restraint in him, the careful way he holds himself, and it makes something twist in your chest. You want to run. You want to tell him you’re sorry for everything, for the months you avoided him, for the nights you cried alone instead of letting him in. But you stay where you are.

You sink onto the couch beside him, careful not to touch, careful not to let yourself fully lean in. He doesn’t reach for you right away either. He just lets you sit there, letting the quiet stretch between you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally, soft, measured. “And I… I’ve been avoiding you too. Pretending it didn’t hurt when you pushed me away, pretending I didn’t notice that you were struggling, that you were hurting. But I can’t anymore.”

Your chest tightens. You try to pull back, to shrink into yourself, but the words wrap around you. You whisper, almost to yourself, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, raw. “I feel it too. Every day. Every time you cross my mind, every memory, every little thing I see reminds me of you. Even when I pretended not to care, I did. I always did.”

You hug yourself closer, the avoidance still there, a shield you’re not ready to drop. But even as you do, even as you keep your distance, you let yourself feel the faint warmth of his presence. His hand hovers near yours, almost touching, almost saying everything without words.

“I know you’ve been hurting,” he says, soft. “I know about… everything. Your anxiety, the nights when it felt like the world was too much, the scars you try to hide. And I… I’ve always wanted to be here. Even when you pushed me away. Even when you didn’t want me close. I’ve always wanted you.”

The tightness in your chest grows, a mixture of relief and fear. You swallow, unable to voice the words you want to say. You’re still avoidant. You’re still scared. But a part of you—the part that’s been yearning, that’s been longing for this—is letting him in, if only a fraction.

“And I…” you start, then stop. You can’t say it. You can’t say how much you’re still not over him, how much you’ve been thinking about him, how much you wanted this moment even though it terrifies you. You bury yourself closer to him instead, hoping he’ll understand without needing you to admit it.

Chris doesn’t pull away. He holds you anyway, brushing hair from your face, grounding you with his touch. His words come again, quiet, almost a whisper:

“I can’t stop wanting you, Y/n. I know I shouldn’t. I know it won’t work. But I can’t hide it anymore. Even if it’s wrong, even if it hurts, even if everything in the world says we shouldn’t—I need you.”

You shiver, feeling the ache in your chest, the yearning you’ve been ignoring. You’re still distant, still holding yourself back, but you can’t stop letting yourself feel it.

“I need you too,” you whisper, voice small, fragile. “Even if it’s wrong. Even if it’s messy. Even if I shouldn’t.”

Chris leans just slightly closer, reading your eyes, gauging your hesitance. And even though you’re still avoidant, still hesitant, still terrified of letting yourself fully fall, you don’t pull away. Not yet.

And when his lips brush against yours, tentative at first, the weight of months, maybe years of longing, avoidance, and unspoken words presses into that kiss. It’s soft, desperate, a release of everything neither of you has said aloud. You cling to him, your hands clutching his shirt, feeling the warmth and the familiar feeling of his touch, the honesty in every second of it.