#neither...

You watched the way his bangs hung over his eyes, wide and wavering. Like he couldn't tell whether to take you seriously or brush it off like an empty threat. The ones you two threw back and forth but never followed through with. Until now.

"What are you talking about?" He weakly scoffs, hints of insecurity peeking through his usually indifferent exterior, "you can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?" You interject, "all we do is fight. All you do is tell me I'm overreacting and that you'll do better but you never do. Not actually." It's hard to speak when your throat is swelling and threatening to choke up on you.

Shaky hands reach up to grip the straps of his guitar case that rest on his shoulder, "I do. It's not my fault you want me to be perfect when no one can be. I can't do anything right to you!"

It's hard to miss the way his lips purse and jaw tenses when he gets defensive. And not only that, but the way his throat bobs, like his eyes are stinging just as much as yours are.

"...I said I can't do this anymore, Ziggy." You reiterate, emphasizing with a shake of your head, "we're not good for each other and you know it."

Faltering, he scoffs with less confidence this time, "what does that mean? You're breaking up with me over this? Because I didn't like seeing that guy try and come up to you?"

"That's not what this is about." He's purposely being dense, making your eyebrows furrow.

It's what triggered this argument in particular, sure, but it's far from the real reason as to why you were doing this. Ziggy pulled you into an empty classroom after a guy in your chemistry class tried coming up and flirting with you. Even though you'd turned him down, your boyfriend misconstrued it. Refused to hear your side of it.

If anything, it was just the final straw of what you were willing to deal with.

"It kind of sounds like that's what this is about. If you weren't flirting back, you wouldn't be doing this, would you? It wouldn't even be a big deal." He says as if he's proven his point, "and if you didn't do that, just tell me."

As if you hadn't spent the last 10 minutes doing just that, trying to sell the truth to a brick wall.

"...Just stop." Is all you can muster up the strength to say without letting emotions get the best of you. Your eyes sting more than before. If he can tell, he doesn't comment on it.

"Don't be like this." He sighs, softening, trying to approach you differently now. Less confrontational. More emotional. Softer.

You almost let him. Almost.

"I'm done." Putting a finger to his chest, you pull away and move to the door of the classroom, passing desks well loved on the way out.

"Come on!" He drags out, groaning when you don't look back, "it's not that serious! You're being dramatic. Don't leave like that."

He follows you over to the exit, hand ghosting your lower back, "come on, let's talk it out. Like we always do. We'll be fine."

Ha wants to kiss you and pretend like this never happened and you'll be damned if you fall for that again. Where he'd kiss you like you were glass and distract you from his faults with the feel of his tongue on yours. When you'd try to speak, to bring it back up, he'd nip your lip like a warning: Don't ruin this for the both of us.

"Don't call or text." Opening the door with an all but sure hand, you turn back to glance at him, "I won't answer."

And with that, you shut Ziggy out entirely.

It had been two long weeks as of today and to say that you felt worse than before would be the understatement of the century. Especially when you saw him every single day and had to pretend like you didn't see his calls every night.

Like now, sitting in chemistry class listening to what feels like the longest lecture you've ever sat through. With every glance in the wrong direction, you'd catch sight of the boy as if a rain cloud hung over his head and ruined all chances of a good day. You couldn't blame him.

Your friend and lab partner, Lila, nudges you. She makes an offhanded comment before asking if you're okay. Giving a halfhearted, unconvincing nod in return, you glance back at the front.

Sometimes doing the right thing hurt. Doesn't make it any less right.

But god did it hurt to check your phone in hopes of a distraction only to be reminded of it with notifications from last night.

Three missed calls, four texts left unread on your lockscreen. Just like every night.

hey can we talk yet? i miss you

i'm sorry

i know you can see my messages

please don't ignore me baby

Turning your phone back over, you glance over to the boy who left those same messages. He makes it so hard for you to stand your ground looking wounded like that.

"You did the right thing." Lila sighs, "I mean, at least I think you did. From what you told me." Her reassurance falls flat once your eyes meet hers.

"I don't know if I did." You reply, "he'd always tell me he'd do better. He was good to me, he just... Had issues." It's hard to articulate to someone, "issues that couldn't be fixed over night. And part of me wonders if I was asking too much of him."

"You'd come to class upset at least once a week because of a stupid fight that he started." Her eyebrows quirk up in slight amusement, "you didn't do anything wrong. Never lower your standards, okay? Especially over a teen boy."

Nodding back, you look back down at your lab notebook. Taking in the words but never fully understanding them.

"Thanks, Lila." Her efforts are appreciated, but you know she can't understand. No one really can.

"Anytime. Now pay attention because I don't need you relying on me during another lab." She snorts, smiling softly before returning her full focus to the lecture. She didn't have something stopping her from doing so. Something weighing her down.

Turning your phone over, you glance at the texts. Debating. Contemplating. Hard.

Feeling eyes burn into your skull, you set your phone down without ever opening it and look ahead like nothing happened. Even if you could feel the way Ziggy's eyes bored into yours, probably full of hope at the sight of you picking up your phone. You don't match him, because you know you're not strong enough to.

The lecture bores on. Talk of titrations. Acids, bases, neutralization. Science. But all you can really get from it is the sound of the bell thrumming in your ears and freeing you from the school day. Just like yesterday and the day before. And it'll do the same tomorrow.

Just gotta make it to Friday.

Gathering your materials, fingertips grazing wooden table, you're quick to make your leave.

Just as you exit the room and find your way down the crowded hall, you hear it.

"Hey, hey," his voice finds your ears, making you turn expectantly. Where did he find the audacity?

Before you go to speak, to recite the words that had been ringing in his ears since you said them, he interrupts.

"I know. You told me to leave you alone." He starts, before pushing his luck, "I saw you check your phone in class. I know you saw my texts."

"I told you not to call or text. That I wouldn't answer. Now you're shocked when I follow through?" The words hit hard, somewhere deep, "I know you're not the best at following through with what you say, but some of us actually mean what we say."

Faltering, he falls behind you before trying to catch up again, "hey, no, that's not what I'm trying to say—I just know you saw them, is all."

You're not sure you've ever seen him like this. Desperation poorly hidden, like he wasn't even making an effort to do so. Maybe because he really wasn't.

"I don't have time for this." You scoff, "there's nothing for us to talk about. I'm not your girlfriend."

If your previous words didn't make his face fall, this definitely did the trick. You hadn't meant for it to come out so... Harshly. And really, you didn't know if that was true. That you weren't his girlfriend anymore. There was no real breakup, after all. Just ambiguous endings.

"Just listen to me." He all but pleads, "you don't even have to say anything."

Hesitantly, you nod, though you have little confidence in him that this'll change anything. He doesn't exactly have a track record of being good with words.

"I really love you. Seriously! And I was a tera shitty boyfriend to you. I know that." He admits, hands fumbling with the straps of his guitar case again, "and I don't wanna lose you. I promise I'll be better—"

"Why did it take me leaving for you to wanna be better?" You interject, "what, you didn't take me seriously before when I told you it hurt me? When you'd do something and promise to do better and just didn't?" It's harsh, but you can't find it in you to care.

"That's not what happened." He weakly says, eyebrows furrowing, hands raising as he tries to explain, "I just..."

"I have to go." You sigh, walking ahead and out of the main doors.

The fresh breeze is much needed, head swirling with emotion and newfound information that does little to soothe your frustrations.

God, you hated how good he looked when he was pleading and trying to get you back.

Even more, you hate how much you like it.

Miserable doesn't even touch the surface of how you've felt this past week.

You've spent too many nights up reading texts and looking at photos of the two of you, placing yourself back in each and every moment as if they never ended. You've begun to wish they didn't.

And every day at school becomes more and more difficult, seeing him in and out of class and having to pretend you didn't feel your stomach flip whenever you two got caught looking at one another.

Today, though, you're sat at lunch with your mutual friends. The ones you hadn't told anything yet.

Whether it was fueled by your hopes of reunion or fears of ruining everything, you're unsure. The outcome was the same either way. Up until now, you had only told Lila, and tried to avoid him whenever he was with your friends as to not make it obvious.

You needed time before involving everyone else in your business.

Talking with three of your friends, taking up a table outside in the nice breeze with the spring air—everything finally felt okay, just for a moment.

You wish you never got so hopeful as to think you'd get a break.

"Hey!" Ziggy's voice interrupts, eyes steady on you despite speaking to the whole group. He knows what he's doing. "Uh, no Lila?"

You know what that means. She was the only one you told everything to. It's as if he's asking—none of you know then, right?

"No. She, uh... Had to make up at a test." Sighing, he awkwardly hovers by the table next to you. Not wanting to raise suspicion, not wanting to make it a thing, you scoot over and offer him a seat by you on the bench. Wordlessly, though.

He gives a stupid grin, settling next to you as if he's won. You know that look all too well—after a fight you'd get tired of, he'd struggle to hide it. When you gave into him at all, really.

Did he really like knowing you were comfortable enough to let your guard down in front of him, or did he like the control he felt he had?

Maybe you're thinking of him as too much of a villain. He was your boyfriend up until two weeks ago, after all.

Not a good one, but not a bad one. Just a real one.

"Haven't seen you two together in a hot minute," one friend jokes, "stars haven't been aligning?"

"You could say that." Ziggy answers when you hesitate to. He always did that—took control of situations you didn't want to—and he did it well.

"Just been busy, you know?" You add, glancing between the others as if gauging just how bad of a liar you were.

"Yeah, but you two usually can't go a day without each other. You'd whine and mope and act like the world was ending." At the remark, you go to retort before being met with a, "both of you!"

"Just busy." You reiterate, unable to hide the edge in your tone, earning you a few looks of surprise and slight confusion.

"She's just tired." He quickly intervenes, "right?" The hand he rests on your lower back makes your stomach twist as you look over and up at him.

"Yeah. Right." It comes out in a murmur, "just... Tired. Sorry."

"We all have those days. We get it." You hear in return from the girl sat across from you, smiling reassuringly. It lightens the tension for you so you don't have to, and neither does Ziggy. Though, he didn't seem against the idea. Quite the opposite, really.

When you shift away from his hand on your lower back, he glances at you before letting you. His arm falls and he rests his hand back on the table. He may be pushy, but at least he wasn't making this part harder than it had to be. Even if he shouldn't have come over in the first place.

"I think I'm gonna go check on Lila." Sitting up, you slouch your bag over your shoulder, "she'll probably be finishing up soon anyway."

You're sure you're interrupting them from their conversation. But if you are, they don't seem to let it phase them.

"That's a good idea," you hear in return, "well I hope you feel better tomorrow. Take care of yourself, okay?"

As thankful as you are for your friends, you could really go for some peace and quiet right now. It's frustrating enough, Ziggy sat beside you as if nothing happened. Like he was taking the opportunity to play your boyfriend again, taking none of what you said seriously.

"Thanks." The smile you shoot them is brief, before you're walking off while Ziggy's eyes burn familiarly into the back of your head.

Just keep walking.

Heading into the building, you turn a hall to find the same quiet classroom that started this entire thing. The same classroom that stood tall even when your relationship crumbled in front of it's eyes.

Trudging across the wooden floor, creaky and old, you lean against the window and stare with half-lidded, exhausted eyes. Maybe not physically, but emotionally? Mentally? You were wrecked.

"If you wanna be alone, you have to stop being so predictable, y'know?" Your stomach drops, eyes fluttering shut as if you can will this away. "It's almost like you wanted me to come find you."

He comes up across from you, leaning against the window, too. But unlike you, he's not looking out at how the sun hits the grass as the people walk by.

And now you aren't, either.

"You didn't tell them about it." Ziggy continues, like he's taunting you to speak up, "did you?"

"I didn't. Not yet, at least." Fumbling with your hands, you cross them over your chest and look down, "you didn't either."

"I didn't want to. What's your excuse?" He retorts, stepping closer. If you look up now, you're sure you'll feel his breath on yours.

"...Lila's probably waiting for me." You move to step away, feeling his hand on yours grounding you in place. Unmoving, your eyes finally meet his. It's been a while since you two really looked at each other past fleeting glances and awkward looks. But this—this is different.

"I have first period with her." His eyebrows raise, eyes flickering over your face. Your eyes, first, then your lips. With a pointed look, he finishes, "I know she's not here today."

Swallowing thickly, you gently pull your hand out of his. He doesn't push. He lets you retract from him, but you can't find it in you to step back from him when you've been missing this for what feels like forever.

"I miss you." His voice wavers, bangs falling back over his eyes when he looks back at you, "can't we, I don't know, talk? Actually talk? And none of that talking at me bullshit." It's foreign to hear him so worked up over you and not something else. It tugs at your heartstrings and has you pausing, though you weren't doing much in the first place.

Trailing off, you shakily exhale, "I..."

I miss you more.

"I have to go. I'm sorry." You mutter out, brushing past him as you adjust your bag on your shoulders and walk out the wide open door.

You didn't say it, that you missed him. That you wanted to talk, to hear him out, to be told that he was sorry and that you two could brush it all off and laugh about how stupid you were for ending things in the first place.

So instead, you hang your head low and walk down the hall before opening the door to the bathroom hastily. The sound of it closing behind your echoes, and you're thankful for the emptiness.

Leaning over the sink, you avoid eye contact with yourself in the mirror and bury your face in your palms as tears threaten to well.

You hate him. But most of all, you hate how much you love him.

Another week passes full of missed calls and voicemails you listen to far more than you should be considering they're technically from your ex.

Technically.

You replay the most recent one, lying in bed with your head to the pillow. It was unusually hard to get comfortable, mattress feeling firm and pillow stiff. Or maybe it was just your mental catching up to your physical.

"Hey. I don't think you're listening to these. I—I really don't think you are." There's an uncharacteristically long pause, considering how much he loves to fill silence, "I don't know who else to call. I'm just having a really hard time and, I don't know, it's probably because I miss you that it's so hard. I didn't realize how much you helped by just being there."

You hear a faint hic on the line. Then, a sniffle.

"I just got in a fight with my parents. I know I do everyday, that's not new. But," he weakly snorts, "I shouldn't even be telling you this. Even if you probably aren't listening. I'm sorry."

"...Fuck, I'm sorry." The voicemail ends abruptly.

That, accompanied by his texts from last night. He hadn't texted or reached out at all in the past week, so it surprised you that he even tried again.

i found your hoodie you left here the last time you came over, it still smells like you

i don't know why i'm telling you this

i'm sorry

You notice a pause in between those and the last texts that followed. The ones that had you rereading them with this stinging pain in your chest that reminded you of why it hurt so much to leave him.

The good that came with the bad. When he'd fight and fight and finally give in to you when you gave him a look. When you'd cup his cheek and watch him melt with apologetic eyes.

Even now, weeks after losing you, he was still that same boy at your mercy.

i'll leave you alone now

just know that i can make things right if you give me one last chance

okay i'll actually leave you alone now

You finally open the texts rather than let them pile up on your lockscreen. It's a spur of the moment decision, but then again, that's what put you in this situation in the first place.

The only way this could get worse was if you were the one groveling. Thankfully not.

what happened with your parents last night?

Read 12:03 AM

He sees it almost immediately, though he doesn't get a reply out until minutes later.

what? how do you know about that?

you listened to my voicemails???

pls ignore that, i couldn't delete it once it sent and i thought you wouldn't hear it

i'm more worried about you

You hate to say it, but you really missed this.

Somewhere between the kind of break up and now, you'd felt as though you were losing yourself. Everything reminded you of him. Every couple in the hall, every red car in the parking lot, every notification you'd get.

He'd tainted you in a way you weren't sure you could recover from.

are you safe at home? after the fight with your parents

Read 12:06 AM

Your concern for him outweighs all else. You knew how those fights would get. Closing himself in his room, knowing leaving the safety of those four walls would only make matters worse.

like i said, i'm not worried about that

You can practically hear the stubbornness in it and go to respond.

but i am

i'm still mad at you but that doesn't mean i ever stopped caring

Read 12:08 AM

You curse yourself for admitting that. It'd been locked somewhere deep inside of you and letting it out only makes it harder to will away. That you know to be true.

Your phone feels like a land mine waiting to go off.

come over and we can talk

i know you hate being at home after fights

Read 12:10 AM

Typing it reminds you of all the times he'd come over after arguments with his parents went wrong. He'd always break down once he finally got to you, telling you he couldn't do that with anyone else

Shifting in your bed, under your blankets, you still can't seem to get comfortable.

and i know you hate being alone

The message both makes your heart stutter and lips curl. You hate that it does.

He's so infuriating that it makes you turn over in bed as if you could escape the dimly lit screen in your hand that easy.

i hate you

just come over before i change my mind

we should probably talk anyway

Read 12:11 AM

You can already feel the regret bubbling in your chest, wanting to go and change your mind. To take it back and take the safe route of leaving him for good with nothing more to say because that'll only make this whole thing harder.

Before you can, though, your phone dings.

god i love you

i'll be over in 5?

You haven't heard those words in weeks. I love you. From that, it's not hard to tell that he thinks he's won.

That, and he's been struggling hard without you. Not to say that you haven't been in the same position, but you were way better at hiding it if this all was him trying to be discreet.

And thank god he never learned how.

don't push it

Read 12:13 AM

Shuffling to get your blanket off, you debate on whether to update the only one who knows about all of this in the first place. You could use some advice, but you're sure you'll only be met with disapproval.

He treats you poorly. Sure, he has problems. Don't we all? That doesn't mean he gets to hurt you like he does.

Yeah, no. Lila definitely wouldn't understand. She's biased enough.

Your phone dings again, and you're embarrassingly quick to read his message.

too late ;)

Turning your phone off, you stare up at the ceiling and ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You ended things with him over one stupid fight that you were in the right in, but part of you wishes you just tried talking it out one last time. Maybe it would've gone differently.

Even if it was just wishful thinking.

The clock hits 12:18 AM and you're almost sure he wouldn't be a second late. Turning to get out of bed, you walk over to open the curtains hung overyour window. It's then that you see him in the same spot you always did—right by your window.

Gnawing at your lip, you open the lock and slide the glass window open. He grips the windowsill, propping a foot up as best he can and jumping to get inside. It's all but graceful, watching as he slips in and gets dirt all over your floor. Resting a hand on his shoulder, you look him over.

"You're already getting rusty after a month?" You weakly joke, watching him crack a smile. It makes your heart race when it shouldn't.

Moving back to sit on the edge of your bed, you watch Ziggy follow his usual routine. Close the window, close the curtains, take his shoes off, and come over to you.

Except this time, when he comes to stand in between your legs, you're the one to stop him.

"...N-Not now." You sigh. Your resolve is far weaker than you expected it to be, just from inviting him into your room alone.

"That means there's later." He huffs out a laugh, keeping his distance stood in front of you.

"You're caught up on that of all things?" You shake your head, playfully scolding, "we talk after god knows how long and that's what you're worried about?"

"...Right, okay. Sorry." He sighs, feigning guilt. But you know there truly is some behind it, "that's not what I'm worried about, okay? Promise."

He's still breathless, you realize, chest heaving from the walk over here. Just like it always would.

And just like you always would, you scoot up to sit back against the pillows of your bed—an invitation for him to join you.

He complies, he always does, sitting near you on your bed with his legs crossed over one another.

"Then what are you worried about?" You softly hum, "because I'm worried about you. With your parents and all. I could tell you were crying, Ziggy. They never get that bad."

"Did you actually invite me over because of that or was that just the excuse you told me?" He weakly snorts, deflecting once again.

"I just..." You falter at the abrupt callout, "care. Is that so bad? That I care about you."

"No, I never said that." He's quick to deny it, shaking his head, "I just... Didn't know if you meant it when you said it earlier. Not that I doubted you but—"

"You said you could make things right if I gave you one chance." You hesitate, so impatient to get the words and interrupting him in the process, "did you mean that?"

Blinking, he stares at you with wide eyes. Shocked, you're sure. Caught off guard. He's quickly snapped out of it when the words actually make it from his ears to his brain.

"Y-Yeah! Of course I meant it." He stutters, unlike himself, "I know I'm not good at talking, but... But I thought about it. About what you said."

You don't speak, so he continues.

"I even brought it up to my dad! And he, like, totally blew it out of proportion saying how my mom was right about me changing. And, and I guess—I guess I finally realized—"

"I was acting like her."

That catches you off guard, eyes falling to your lap before you look back up at him. It's obvious in the way his expression falls and throat bobs that he's trying not to lose his composure around you.

"I was acting like my mom."

Going to talk, your mouth falls shut again, unsure of what to say.

"And I've dealt with my mom. And I'm so—" he struggles to articulate himself, lips pursing. "I'm sorry, okay?"

As much as you wanna take that and run, to embrace him and push it all behind you, you know better than to put yourself through that again.

"...Thank you." You nod, trying your best not to melt at the bare minimum. It's not your fault that it felt like far more than that considering how these talks usually went.

"My dad told me," he sucks in a sharp breath, like it pains him to say that, "actions speak louder than words. Maybe in a, uh, different context. But I think it still makes sense here. So..."

"He's right... Shockingly." You murmur, letting him continue. But not without a small joke that makes Ziggy smile. You were letting up.

"I know. Shocking. My parents—they're never right. But anyway," he shakes his head, having to prevent himself from a tangent, "I'm gonna prove it to you. You can quote me on that, okay?"

"Prove it to me?" You shake your head, "prove it to me how?"

"Not now, obviously. But, if anything happens after this, if we get into a fight, no matter how small, I'm gonna do better. And I'm gonna be better because this past month made me realize how stupid I've been. Which I don't do often." He rambles, like he's waiting for you to believe him.

"I know." You weakly nod and snort, a smile peeking through along with your blurring vision.

"Please tell me I didn't say something wrong and that's why you're looking at me like that."

There he is. The Ziggy you know so well. Your boyfriend. The real one.

"...You better prove it to me damn well." You shake your head, smiling, "and I can't believe it took you a month to say that. I should've expected a bouquet and—and flowers and a song with that time."

"Trust me, you don't wanna hear a single one of the songs I've written in the past month." Ziggy reaches out to brush your hair out of your eyes, eyebrows raised and eyes crinkled at the corners with apparent amusement, "they're not bad. Just... Embarrassing, now that we're—"

"I think we're okay. We are okay, right?" He checks, hand still brushing against the skin of your flush cheek.

You give an affirming nod with a choked out, "we're okay."

"Lift. Tera lift." He nods, only then processing that you're crying and he should probably be doing something about it now that he's earned his boyfriend title back. "Right, okay—c'mere."

He scoots over to lie beside you in your bed, arms wrapping around you with no time to waste. It's blatant how much he missed you in how tight he holds you and rushes to press your face into his shoulder like he never went anywhere.

"I'll earn your trust back." The words come out of him in a promise, "as long as you trust me."

Blinking up at him, your head falls and you wipe your eyes on his shirt, nodding weakly against his now dampened shoulder.

"Deal."

He wasn't better overnight, no, but at least he knew that. That it'd take time to rebuild your trust, your relationship, from a month's worth of breaking up.

Finally, you aren't the only one fighting for this to work.

"God, I love you." He whispers under his breath, as if praying you don't hear it. It sounds exactly like you remembered, exactly like you heard when he'd sent the same words over text.

"Don't push it." You quote yourself back to him and earn a small laugh, making you grin in return.

Then, peering up at him, "I love you more."

After a moment of him rubbing your arm, letting you sit in the silence, he interjects.

"Do you want that hoodie I told you I still had back?" He whispers, like one word spoken too loud might break you. "It might smell like me now. Sorry about that."

You hold back your smile, "if you move even an inch from me right now, I'll never forgive you."

"You've got to be kidding me." Lila blinks when she sees you the next day, sat next to Ziggy at lunch with your friend group for the first time in a month, "you two got back together? But I thought—"

The rest of the group is out of the loop, eyebrows furrowing collectively as they turn to Lila with questions to ask.

You start before they can, "I can explain."

"You two broke up?" One of your friends almost immediately stops you from continuing, then another stems off of her, "and you didn't tell us?"

"How did you two break up and get back together without any of us realizing?" The same person blinks, shaking their head, "my brain hurts."

You become increasingly aware of Ziggy's arm wrapped around your back, hugging you close to him as he watches you and only you.

"It doesn't matter." Dismissively shaking your head, you lean into his side again, "we're good. Just... Trouble in paradise."

He scoffs and jokes under his breath, expecting only you to pick up on it, "trouble in paradise doesn't usually last a month, I don't think."

They collectively exclaim, "A MONTH?!"

a/n i'm incapable of writing hurt no comfort i'm so sorry i hope this is somewhat decent.. and just angst in general wowow i'll have to work on that. thank u for this req!! and thank u for enjoying my writing like jejsjdhshsh that means sm