#rommulasxreader

you’ve known roman since forever. you can’t even remember a time he wasn’t there, dragging you into some ridiculous mess or cracking a joke that made you groan so loud your ears rang. you grew up together, awkward together, humiliated together, every scraped knee, every terrible haircut, every botched science project. somehow, through all of it, you became inseparable.

he was always kind of mean. not the everyone hates him kind of mean, just sharp. quick with a jab, a teasing comment, a smirk that could cut through your patience like it was nothing. other kids noticed it. they’d ask, “why are you friends with him? he’s so mean to you.” and you’d just shrug or smile. because you saw him differently. you saw the way he’d pull you out of trouble when no one else noticed. the way he’d remember the stupid little things about you that no one else cared about. the way he could make you laugh at something so dumb it shouldn’t have been funny but it was, because it was him.

roman, of course, had his own opinions about you. you were too sensitive, too trusting, too slow sometimes. dense, he liked to call it, with a grin that was half teasing and half frustration. but he never left. he never walked away when everyone else might have. you didn’t just tolerate him you counted on him, relied on him. and he, begrudgingly, relied on you too, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

you watched each other grow up. you saw him become taller, stronger, a little more reckless, a little more confident, but still the same roman underneath. you knew all his embarrassing moments, the ones he tried to hide, the ones he swore you’d never breathe a word about. and he knew yours. he laughed at your mistakes, sometimes too hard, sometimes just enough to make you feel like it was okay to be human. you could tell him things no one else would understand, and he’d listen, grumble, roll his eyes, make some sarcastic comment, but he’d listen.

and somehow, in all the teasing, the sharp edges, the arguments over nonsense, it worked. you were close. closer than anyone else could get. people didn’t understand it, probably never would, but you did.

things changed when high school started. roman found other friends and slowly, he left you alone. not completely, not right away, but enough that you noticed. those friends weren’t great influences. you saw the way they dragged him into stuff he never cared about before, the way he started doing things you didn’t understand. drugs at first. you were mad, really mad. you tried to say something, tried to pull him back, but… it didn’t matter. he didn’t listen. and eventually you just let it go. there was nothing you could do anyway.

he started becoming quieter. more closed off. the sharp, teasing roman you knew started to fade, replaced by someone who kept his eyes down and his words short. you tried to reach him, tried to hang on, but the space between you got bigger without either of you saying it out loud. you grew apart. slowly, quietly.

and maybe you should’ve been hurt, maybe you should’ve felt it more, but it was just… how it was. people change. friends change. roman changed. and you… you stayed, just a little further away, watching.

it wasn’t until midway through high school that it all came to a head. roman got into a fight with them, the friends who had been dragging him down. you didn’t know the full story, only that he showed up at your house that night, his face and arms badly bruised, his shirt torn, and the way he walked in made your stomach drop. he looked smaller than usual, like the fight had taken something out of him. you froze for a second, just staring, then panic hit, and you rushed to get him inside, guiding him gently, worrying about every limp step, every flinch.

your hands shook as you patched up his wounds, cleaned the cuts, pressed ice to the swelling. you tried to keep your voice steady, tried not to let panic slip into it, but inside you were spinning. he didn’t complain, didn’t make a joke this time. he just let you take care of him, quiet, tense, like even letting you touch him was an effort. you noticed the small things—the way his hand trembled when you dabbed at a cut on his arm, the way his shoulders hunched even when he sat down. it made you ache, seeing him like that, seeing roman, who was usually so untouchable in a way, so bruised, both physically and somehow emotionally.

you moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt him or make him flinch, and for a moment it was just the two of you in the dim light of your kitchen, quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint sound of traffic outside. you didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for details, even though you wanted to know everything. you just kept working, cleaning, applying ointment, wrapping his arms. every motion felt heavy, like you were carrying all the worry you’d held back for weeks.

when you were done, he sank back onto the couch, staring at nothing, his breathing finally slowing. the tension in his jaw eased a little, and he quietly said, “i’ll stop hanging around them.”

you felt a rush of relief, a little happiness that he was listening, that maybe he was finally choosing differently. you didn’t say much, just nodded, glad he’d come to you, glad he was still here in some way. you sat beside him, not touching, just close, letting him know silently that you were there. for once, roman didn’t push you away, didn’t make some sarcastic comment or tease you. he just let you exist in the same space, and for a second, you thought maybe things could go back, maybe he could be the roman you remembered.

and as you watched him quiet, bruised, tired, something soft shifted in you. relief, but also a cautious hope. not the naive kind, not the kind that ignored reality. just a small, careful hope that maybe he’d come out of that darkness, at least enough for you to catch him when he fell again.

you always believed in love. not in a dramatic movie way, just in a quiet, steady way. you wanted all the normal things, the simple things people didn’t think twice about. you wanted late night talks, sharing secrets, waking up next to someone who actually cared. you wanted someone to hold your hand without thinking about it, someone who’d text you just to say they miss you. you wanted the birthdays, the holidays, the small anniversaries nobody cared about except the two of you.

but you had a problem. a really stupid, painful, complicated problem.

you're in love with roman.

not on purpose. not because you were looking for it. it just kind of… happened. slowly. quietly. like all the moments you kept brushing off finally caught up to you. the late nights talking. the times he let you patch him up. the way he’d look at you without saying anything. the way he always came back to you even when the world pushed him away from everyone else.

you tried to ignore it. you told yourself it wasn’t real, that you were confusing history with something else. but every time you looked at him, every time he said your name in that tired voice, every time he showed up at your door without explaining why, it hit you all over again.

you were in love with roman. and roman didn’t do love at all.

around junior year, roman found a new group. hollis, nate, and ryan. they were different. chill, easy to be around, not like the friends who had dragged him down before. you liked them instantly, the way they joked, the way they laughed, the way being around them didn’t feel like walking on thin ice. it felt lighter. easier.

the first time you met them properly, nate grinned at you and roman and said, “ohh shit, are you guys a thing?” you froze for a second, and roman, without missing a beat, shook his head and said no. instantly. like the idea was ridiculous, like you didn’t even exist in that way. you didn’t know if you should feel hurt or relieved, so you just said “oh ok” and let it go. roman didn’t even glance at you while he said it, just kept smiling at nate like it was nothing.

this time, the group was getting into music in a different way. they were producing, writing, making beats, experimenting with sounds. you got to watch them pull ideas together, hearing rough verses turn into something real, seeing the process unfold in the room.

roman was different here too. quieter at first, but you noticed him leaning in when someone threw out a line, offering a note, a suggestion, sometimes laughing quietly at something silly Ryan did. he still teased you, still rolled his eyes when you got too excited about something stupid, but there was a warmth underneath it. he was present in a way he hadn’t been with anyone else lately, and you felt it, noticed it, and didn’t say anything because maybe saying it would ruin it.

“why do you walk so fast?” roman complained, jogging a half step to catch up with you as you both left the school gates.

“i literally walk at a normal speed,” you said. “you’re just slow.”

“slow?” he scoffed. “i’m the definition of peak athleticism.”

“right. that’s why you got tired walking up one flight of stairs today.”

roman dramatically clutched his chest. “that stairwell is steep as hell and you know it.”

you just snorted. “ok grandpa.”

he bumped your shoulder lightly. “keep talking and see what happens.”

“what, you gonna chase me?” you teased.

roman blinked at you, dead serious. “no. i will never run voluntarily. for anything.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re impossible.”

“nah,” he said, grinning, “you just like pretending you don’t enjoy bullying me.”

“i do not bully you.”

“you literally roasted my haircut this morning.”

“because you let your cousin cut it,” you said. “with kitchen scissors.”

roman dragged a hand over his hair, groaning. “yeah, ok, i regret that.”

“as you should.”

there was a moment of quiet before he glanced over at you again. “so what are you doing when you get home?”

“probably nothing,” you said. “i still gotta finish that english assignment but i’m pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“oh, perfect. then you can call me,” he said casually.

“call you? for what?”

“i dunno,” he shrugged. “just… call me. i get bored.”

you tried not to smile too much. “yeah, maybe.”

“maybe,” he repeated, rolling his eyes playfully. “you always say maybe.”

“and?”

“and it means yes,” he said, bumping your shoulder again, softer this time.

the crush you had on roman only grew bigger. every joke, every teasing shove, every quiet moment walking home together. it all made it worse, like you were slowly pulling yourself closer while he stayed the same, just roman. and the more it grew, the more you realized something you didn’t want to admit. he would never want you. not like that. not in the way your heart wanted him to.

and then one day, you heard it. not on purpose. you weren’t listening. but you were walking past his room when voices drifted out. roman and Ryan, talking. light, easy voices. nothing heavy. and then Ryan said something about this girl he was into, joking maybe, and roman. roman’s voice was calm, quiet, almost casual, but it cut right through you.

“i could never see her that way,” he said.

and you froze. that one line, just like that, and your chest felt like it had been punched from the inside. lowkey, quietly, heartbreak crept in, and for a second you couldn’t breathe.

you turned around slowly, pretending to be somewhere else, your hands in your pockets, your heart dragging behind you. and as you walked away, you felt it, clear and heavy in a way you hadn’t expected. roman wasn’t ever going to be yours. and maybe he never could be.

and you could never tell him. not even once. the idea alone made your stomach twist. you didn’t want to lose him, not even a little, not even for a second. so you kept it all buried, pressed down somewhere deep where he would never look. you laughed at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he teased you, acted normal through every dumb moment of junior year and senior year, until suddenly it was graduation season and you had carried this quiet secret for years.

prom came around and you weren’t expecting much. you weren’t even thinking about dancing or romance or any of that stuff. you were mostly thinking about getting through the night without letting anything slip.

some guy in your grade asked you to slow dance. you didn’t really know him. he was just someone from math or bio or something, standing there with a half smile, waiting. so you said sure. you put your hands on his shoulders, moved to the music, tried to act like you were in the moment.

but the whole time your eyes kept drifting. across the room, past the lights, straight to roman.

he wasn’t even doing anything special. just standing with nate and Ryan, hands in his pockets, listening to something one of them was saying. he looked the same as always. like he was on his own wavelength. like he didn’t know. like he would never know.

and you were swaying with someone else, but your head wasn’t there. you kept looking at roman and thinking about everything you never said. everything you never could say. and maybe it was stupid, but in that moment you felt this strange mix of sadness and acceptance and something that hurt a little, something you were used to by now.

u blinked, looked back at the guy dancing with u, pretended u were present. but all u felt was roman’s name echoing in the back of ur mind.

after prom, you and roman ended up walking back together. he kept kicking a pebble down the sidewalk while you talked about post grad stuff, not super serious, just whatever came up.

he said he really wanted to write music for real, like actually produce and move somewhere bigger. he mentioned downtown la like he could already see himself there.

you laughed a little and said, without thinking, “i’ll go where you go.”

it slipped out so easily. too easily.

roman looked over at you with that small grin he always gets when he is about to say something stupid.

“careful,” he said. “if you say that, i’ll think you’re in love with me.”

he meant it as a joke. you knew he meant it as a joke. but something in your chest tightened so fast it stole your breath for a second.

you forced out a laugh that didn’t sound like you at all, shoved his shoulder lightly the way you always did. he didn’t notice. he just kept walking, talking about la and what kind of studio he wanted someday.

but you were stuck on that one line, replaying it again and again.

careful i’ll think you’re in love with me

and you were terrified because you already were, and you had no idea how much longer you could pretend you weren’t.

that comment he threw at you, the one he didn’t even think twice about, rubbed you the wrong way for days. you kept replaying it in your head, not because it was cruel, but because it hit a part of you you’d been trying so hard to ignore.

and somewhere in that mess of thinking, you realized something you didn’t want to face: your infatuation with him wasn’t healthy anymore. it wasn’t cute or harmless or something you could laugh about in ten years. it was this constant ache that followed you everywhere, and the closer he got, the worse it felt.

you started thinking maybe you just couldn’t stay connected to him like that. not because he was bad, but because you liked him so much it hurt. because every joke, every smile, every stupid little moment just made it worse.

so when college stuff started coming up, and everyone was planning to move to downtown la, roman, nate, Ryan — you silently made a different plan. new york. completely across the country. completely away from him.

you didn’t tell anyone. you didn’t even hint at it. you just filled out the forms, made the deposits, arranged everything behind closed doors. it felt wrong, but it also felt like the only way to breathe again.

because deep down you knew he would never like you. not the way you liked him. not even close.

and leaving felt like the only thing you could control. the only way to break the habit of loving him in silence.

even if it shattered you a little.

the day before you were supposed to leave, you finally told roman. he was sitting on the curb outside your house, scrolling through something on his phone, looking completely unbothered by the world.

you sat beside him and said it as calmly as you could. “i’m leaving tomorrow. for new york.”

the reaction was instant. his head snapped up, his brows pulled together, and for a second he looked almost offended. “what do you mean you’re leaving? since when?”

you kept your eyes on the road. “since a while. i just… didn’t know how to tell you.”

roman scoffed, shaking his head like you were being ridiculous. “so you’re just dipping? you’re really going across the country for school? seriously?”

he was mad. not yelling, but sharp. sharper than he’d been in a long time. and you tried to explain. “it’s for the best.”

he stared at you like he didn’t know what that meant. maybe he didn’t. maybe he never would. “yeah,” he muttered, leaning back on his hands, “go. like i care.”

you knew he didn’t mean it, not really, but it still stung. you nodded anyway, pretending it didn’t feel like your chest was folding inward. “we’ll stay in touch,” you said quietly. “i promise.”

he didn’t answer right away. he just kept his eyes on the street, jaw tight, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

and he didn’t know why — he couldn’t even explain it to himself — but something about you leaving him, actually leaving him, hurt in a way he wasn’t prepared for. like something he thought would always be there was suddenly slipping out from under him.

you didn’t see that part. you only saw him shrug and say, softer this time, “yeah. whatever. don’t be a stranger.”

there was a time when everything hurt. the first few months when every street reminded you of him, when every playlist felt like it was picking on you, when even random jokes or stupid lines from friends made you think of something he once said. you hated how easy it was for him to show up in your head without even being there.

now it was different.

he lived in the back of your mind the way old photos sit in a drawer. still there, still part of you, but not something you look at every day. not something that pulls at anything inside you.

school kept you busy. modeling kept you even busier. two years in and the industry just kind of swallowed you up. you walked for brands people thought were a big deal, but to you it all blurred together, a bunch of bright lights and fast changes and long days. people recognized you sometimes. it didn’t really feel real.

and roman…

he wasn’t part of your life like that anymore.

he texted you sometimes. you texted back sometimes. nothing deep. nothing risky. just whatever. small stuff. weirdly normal. it didn’t twist your stomach or make your heart drop or any of the things it used to do.

he was just a name on your phone now. someone you used to know too well.

you didn’t replay old moments. you didn’t wait for his replies. you didn’t picture him next to you during every big thing that happened.

you were finally past all that.

he was still in your story, sure, but more like the old house you grew up in. something that mattered once. something that stays with you in a way but doesn’t control anything anymore.

the rain kept tapping on the glass, steady and quiet, and for the first time in a long time, thinking of him didn’t pull you under.

it was just a thought.

and you were fine.

you had moved on. even if he never knew.

of course you still kept an eye on him. not in a clingy way, not like before, just enough to know where he was floating around in the world. roman had blown up last year, way faster than anyone figured he would. one song went viral, then another, and suddenly everyone online acted like they always knew he’d get famous. clips of him in studios, people dissecting his lyrics, random edits of his face showing up on your feed when you weren’t even looking for him.

and not all of it was positive.

every other week he was caught up in some pointless online mess. stupid gossip, weird rumors, petty drama. the kind of stuff he would accidentally walk into because he never knew when to shut up. you’d see a headline and just sigh, hearing his voice in your head saying something careless.

and then there were the photos.

blurry shots of him leaving a place with some girl. grainy videos of him at parties. stories of girls tagging him at two in the morning like they were trying to prove something. nothing confirmed, nothing serious, just enough to poke at you in a spot you thought was gone.

you hated how it felt.

and you hated that you hated it.

because why would you care. he was never yours. you knew that better than anyone.

you told yourself it was normal. you were older now. you had your own life. whatever he was doing wasn’t tied to you at all. but when a photo slid across your screen, even for a second, something inside you tightened in this quiet, annoying way. not heartbreak. not jealousy. just a small ache, the kind that sits in your ribs before fading out.

still, you kept scrolling. you breathed through it. you let it go.

roman was doing what he always said he would. he was turning into the version of himself he used to talk about when the two of you were walking home from school. and you were genuinely happy for him, even if that happiness sat next to something a little bitter.

you just wished it didn’t remind you of what you used to be to him. and what you never were.

the grass outside the venue was still wet from the september rain, not that you were paying attention. you were backstage, surrounded by racks of clothes and half-finished makeup looks, waiting for your cue to line up for new york fashion week. you were scrolling on your phone, trying to distract yourself, when a familiar name flashed across the room.

hollis.

you almost didn’t recognize him at first. he looked older, sharper, more put-together than the kid you remembered hanging around roman. you and him were never close. he was polite, a little quiet with you, always keeping more to himself. you two didn’t talk much back then, mostly because you and roman were glued together and hollis never really broke into that bubble.

but here he was, standing a few feet away talking to one of the stylists about a soundtrack cue. he caught you staring and did a double take before walking over.

“no way,” he said, smiling a little. “i thought that was you.”

you nodded, a little taken off guard. “yeah. hey. it’s been a while.”

“like three years,” he said. “you look different. in a good way.”

you laughed softly. “i could say the same. saw your stuff online, by the way. congrats on all of that.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, almost shy. “thanks. i’ve been lucky, honestly. roman and jonah got me into the whole producing thing and then… it kinda took off.”

you nodded. “i listened to a few songs. you’re good.”

“you listened?” he asked, sounding a little surprised.

“yeah,” you said. “you’re not bad.”

he laughed under his breath, relaxed now. you talked for a few minutes, light stuff. how new york was treating you, how la was treating him, what you were both working on next. something about him felt different from when you were teenagers. more confident. more sure of himself. and maybe it was the setting or the lighting or just the fact that you were both older, but you found yourself noticing him in a way you never had before.

and before you could think too deeply about that thought, a coordinator tapped your shoulder. “you’re up next. lineup time.”

you apologized quickly and grabbed your shoes, but as you were turning away, hollis reached for your arm gently.

“wait. before you go,” he said, meeting your eyes. “can i get your number? would be cool to catch up properly.”

you blinked, surprised for a second, then nodded. “yeah. sure.”

he handed you his phone and you typed it in, then he slipped it back into his pocket with a small smile.

“good luck out there,” he said.

you smiled back, then headed toward the runway, heart steady but your mind nowhere near where it was five minutes ago.

When you step onto the runway, everything is bright and hot and noisy, but you’ve done this enough times that it barely fazes you. The music hits, cameras go off, and you fall into that steady rhythm they drilled into you during rehearsals.

Halfway down the strip, something shifts in your peripheral vision. You don’t look right away, because you’re supposed to keep your chin up and your focus forward, but it tugs at you anyway.

When you finally let yourself glance over, you catch Hollis leaning against one of the side rails. He’s not doing anything dramatic or extra. He just looks at you, eyes soft for a second, like he wasn’t expecting to be caught staring.

He gives you this small smile, subtle enough that no one else would notice unless they were really looking. The kind that pulls up one corner of his mouth a tiny bit.

You feel your own smile happen before you think about it. Quick, barely-there, something you tuck into the corner of your lips so it doesn’t ruin your walk or get picked up too obviously by the cameras. But he sees it. You know he sees it because his shoulders relax, like that was what he was waiting for.

You keep going. Pace steady, expression back to neutral, like nothing happened.

But it stays with you all the way to the end of the runway.

he starts coming to new york more. first it’s for work, real work, studio sessions and meetings and collaborations, but then there are the trips where the explanation is a little too vague. like he says he’s here to “meet someone” or “check something out,” and you get the sense he could have easily done it over a call. and then there are the visits where he doesn’t bother pretending. he just texts you he landed and asks if you want to hang out.

your phones start lighting up with each other’s names more than they ever did back then. it happens slowly at first. a random joke. a song snippet he is messing around with. a picture of his coffee at some airport at six in the morning. you send back a meme he would find stupid. he replies with a voice note laughing under his breath in that way he does, the way that sounds like he is trying to be quiet but failing.

soon it becomes a part of your day. you check your phone more than you admit. you find yourself waiting for his name to pop up. sometimes he texts at midnight from la. sometimes at two in the morning when he knows you are awake after a show. sometimes right in the middle of the afternoon, just because something reminded him of you.

every time he lands in the city, he finds time for you. he shows up with two coffees, one for you, even if he got your order slightly wrong. you walk around bookstores together, both of you pretending you are not reading over each other’s shoulders. you stop into little noodle shops where the tables are too small and the windows fog up. you sit in parks until the streetlights flicker on and the sky turns that deep blue that feels like a held breath. he talks about la in this careful, thoughtful way. you talk about new york like you are trying not to admit you are lonely sometimes.

he is easy to be around. stupidly easy. he has this quiet steadiness to him, something warm and grounded that feels rare. he listens in a way that makes you forget you are supposed to keep your guard up. he notices small things about you without pointing them out. he remembers the specific snacks you like. he holds the door for you in this soft, automatic way. he is gentle in places where people usually rush.

you start realizing that when he is around, something inside you slows down. the stress from shows. the deadlines. the noise. the pressure. all of it folds away a little when you sit next to him. like your head finally has room to breathe. like he is the one person you can unclench around without even thinking about it.

you catch yourself searching for his face in crowds. you catch yourself listening for his voice. you catch yourself replaying the moment he looks at you, really looks at you, like you are not just someone he used to know but someone he is still learning in real time.

and it hits you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

because the last time you felt anything close to this, it was with roman. not identical, not copy-paste, but close enough that it scares you. close enough that you find yourself pulling back for a second, wondering when hollis became someone who could steady you like that. someone who makes the world feel a little softer when he walks in. someone who makes you feel seen without demanding anything in return.

you try not to think too hard about it. you tell yourself it is harmless. just two people reconnecting. nothing deeper. nothing dangerous.

but sometimes, when he laughs at something you say or looks at you like you are easy to understand, something in your chest tightens. something shifts.

and you feel it.

even if you are not ready to name it yet.

a month or two slips by without you even noticing. it feels like you and hollis went from barely knowing each other to talking every day without some big shift happening. it just happened naturally. your phone lights up with his name constantly now. half the time it is a meme he found at two in the morning. the other half it is a voice note where he sounds sleepy and warm and tells you about some new project he is excited about.

and the facetime calls. those happen way too often for you to pretend this is casual. sometimes he calls while he is in the studio, hood up, messing with beats. sometimes he calls while you are making dinner and he just talks to you like he is sitting at your kitchen table. sometimes you fall asleep on call together without meaning to. he never teases you for it. he just smiles softly when you wake up with a little apology.

you get comfortable with him in a way that sneaks up on you. he tells you about his childhood in small pieces. you tell him things you usually keep to yourself. the calls stretch long. two hours. three hours. the kind where you run out of things to say but stay on anyway because the silence feels nicer with him in it.

you are sitting at your desk one afternoon, trying to answer emails, when your phone buzzes beside you. hollis.

you open the text without thinking.

im coming to nyc in a few days let’s go out

you stare at it for a second, eyebrows pulling together. he was just here not that long ago. you type back:

weren’t you just here like three weeks ago

he replies almost instantly.

wanna see my favorite girl yk

you freeze. the words hit harder than you expect. your chest feels weirdly bright. you tell yourself he is joking. he jokes like that sometimes. but something about the way he wrote it feels real. like he meant it without trying.

shut up you type it fast, like if you get the words out quick enough you can pretend they did not make you blush.

three dots appear. then his message pops up.

dont tell me to shut up im taking you out so be free on friday

you bite your lip, trying to ignore how warm your face feels. you hate how easily he gets to you now. you hate how you reread his text like it is something dangerous. but you also love it. you love the way he talks to you like you are someone worth making time for.

okay you send back, short and simple because anything longer would probably give too much away.

he sends a little thumbs up emoji. then he texts again.

knew you’d say yes

you roll your eyes even though no one can see you.

you type back:

whatever

but you are smiling at your phone like an idiot, and you know if he saw you right now, he would never let you live it down.

friday comes stupidly fast.

you tell yourself it is not a big deal. it is just hollis. you two hang out all the time. you talk every day. you facetime more than any two people with lives should. this is normal.

except it does not feel normal now that you are standing in front of your mirror trying to breathe like a regular human being.

you smooth down your dress for the fifth time. you fix a smudge of eyeliner even though no one would notice it but you. your hands feel warm. your chest feels weird. you look nice but you cannot tell if it is too much or not enough or exactly right. you keep whispering to yourself to chill out.

be calm. it is just hollis.

a knock at the door pulls you out of your head.

you swear your heart jumps into your throat.

you open the door slowly, trying to look casual, and then he is just… there.

hollis.

and he does not look like the version you are used to seeing. not the beanie and oversized hoodie and baggy jeans. tonight he actually cleaned up. black button up, rings, a necklace you have never seen before. hair pushed back a little. he looks like he put effort in. for you.

he exhales a soft laugh when he sees you.

“you look nice.”

his voice is low, almost shy, and it hits you right in the stomach.

you smile, trying so hard to keep your face from doing something embarrassing. “thank you.”

he shifts slightly, then lifts his hand from behind his back. a bouquet. actual flowers. simple ones, not dramatic, just soft colors that match you without trying.

you blink, caught off guard. “oh… for me?”

“yeah.” he nods. “saw them and they reminded me of you.”

you hate the way your stomach flips at that. you hate how warm your cheeks get. you take the flowers carefully, like they might fall apart if you breathe too hard.

he looks at you again, eyes gentle in a way that makes you feel seen in a way you aren’t used to. then he reaches out without hesitating and takes your free hand.

you do not pull away.

his hand is warm. steady.

“ready?” he asks it quietly, like he already knows the answer.

you nod. “yeah. let’s go.”

you lock your door, flowers in one hand, his fingers laced with yours in the other, and the two of you walk out of your building like this is something you have been doing for years.

outside, his car is parked by the curb. he opens the passenger door for you and you try not to read into that but you fail instantly.

you slide in. he gets in on his side. he glances over at you, a small smile curling at the corner of his mouth like he still cannot believe you look the way you do.

then he starts the car, music low, city lights spilling across his face as he pulls onto the street.

and just like that, you are driving off with him, your hand still in his, your heart doing things you really hope he can’t hear.

you don’t even realize where he’s taking you until he parks and you look up.

an outdoor skating rink. lit up, quiet, music playing.

you stare at it, then at him. “hollis… no.”

he grins. “yes.”

“i’m gonna die out there.”

“you’re not,” he says, already getting out of the car. “i promise.”

you hesitate, but he walks around to your side and opens your door like it’s the most normal thing in the world. his hand finds yours again, casual but certain.

“come on,” he says. “it’ll be fun.”

you groan dramatically but let him pull you along.

the second the skates are on your feet, you know you’re in trouble. you stand, immediately wobble, and latch onto his arm like your life depends on it.

“oh my god,” you mutter. “this is a mistake.”

“you’re fine,” he laughs, steadying you with both hands on your waist.

“hollis,” you hiss, gripping him harder, “i’m gonna break my neck.”

“not on my watch.”

he steps onto the ice first, easy, smooth, and then gently tugs you with him. you cling to him instantly, arms practically wrapped around him like a koala hanging onto a tree.

“stop,” you mumble, face heating, “don’t look at me.”

he laughs again, soft but warm. “i can’t help it. you’re cute when you panic.”

“shut up.”

“never.”

you try to push away, but your balance tilts for half a second and you yank yourself right back against him, fingers gripping his jacket.

he looks down at you, smiling way too softly for someone watching you nearly eat it every two seconds.

“hey,” he says quietly, leaning in just a little. “i’ve got you.”

and for some reason… you believe him

you let go of him slowly. very slowly. like a baby deer learning how legs work.

your fingers slip from his jacket, then from his arm, and finally you’re only holding his hand.

one hand.

you glare at the ice like it personally wronged you. “if i fall—”

“you’re not gonna fall,” he says, guiding you forward with this stupid calm confidence.

“you keep saying that.”

“because it keeps being true.”

you roll your eyes but follow his lead, wobbling a little every few seconds. he never lets go, just tightens his grip whenever you tilt too far.

after a bit, something shifts. your feet stop fighting you. you push off, glide an inch, then another.

“wait—” you breathe out, eyes widening. “hollis. hollis. i’m doing it.”

he laughs, warm and loud. “yeah, you are.”

“no, like—i’m actually doing it. look at me. look at me stand.”

he snorts. “congrats on standing, superstar.”

you smack his arm with your free hand. “shut up, this is serious.”

“yeah, super serious,” he teases. “you’re basically an olympian.”

you try to turn, wobble again, and let out a sound that’s half gasp, half squeak. he immediately steadies you, his hand wrapping around yours tighter.

“okay, okay,” you say, breathless and laughing. “maybe not olympics level.”

“no, definitely olympics,” he insists. “i’ll sign you up myself.”

“hollis.”

“what?”

“stop being annoying.”

he grins down at you. “you love it.”

you’re about to deny it, but then your skate catches wrong and you stumble—hard. he yanks you toward him at the last second, catching you against his chest.

you blink up at him, still gripping his hand. “okay. maybe i’m like… junior olympics.”

he laughs again, leaning his forehead against yours for a second just to steady you both. “deal.”

you’re both smiling like idiots, barely moving, fingers still laced together as the rink lights glow around you.

you leave the rink still breathless, still laughing, still clinging to his hand like it’s natural. like you’ve been doing it forever.

the car ride is warm and quiet in that easy way. he drives with one hand and keeps your fingers in his other like it’s the most normal thing in the world. he doesn’t even make a big deal out of it. he just… holds on.

you end up at in-n-out because “nothing fancy, just us,” he says, and you don’t even pretend to argue. you order burgers, fries, two shakes—vanilla for him, strawberry for you—and take everything to a small park a few blocks away.

it’s empty except for the glowing streetlights and the creak of old swings swaying in the breeze.

you sit on one swing, he sits on the one next to you. your feet barely touch the ground. the chains rattle a little while you unwrap your burger.

“this is kinda perfect,” you say, legs swaying back and forth.

he looks over, smiling around a fry. “yeah? you like this?”

“yeah. it’s… peaceful.”

“peaceful with me?” he teases, nudging your swing with his foot. “you sure?”

you lean into the bump, letting your swing rock a little. “surprisingly, yes.”

he laughs and takes a sip of his shake. “i’ll take that as a win.”

you guys drift into one of those conversations that doesn’t really have a topic. it just moves wherever your minds go. childhood memories. stupid things you did in high school. weird internet theories. the best fries ranking. his favorite sound to sample. your worst outfit phase.

every now and then you catch him watching you, like he’s memorizing the way you talk, the way you smile, the way you swing your legs while thinking.

you look back at him. “what?”

he shrugs, soft. “you’re just… easy to be around.”

you look down at your shake so he won’t see how that lands. “you too.”

the night air is cool, the grass smells sweet, and your swings sway gently in rhythm. it’s quiet but never awkward.

you take another sip of your shake and lean your head slightly toward him.

“i like this,” you say quietly.

hollis nudges your swing again, slower this time.

“me too,” he says, voice low. “a lot.”

the walk is slow, where neither of you really wants the night to end. he’s a step ahead, then he glances back at you, like he’s been trying to work up the courage for a while.

“i wanna tell you something.”

you stop. “yeah?”

he faces you fully. his hair falls a little over his eyes, and he pushes it back in that nervous way he does when he’s trying to be calm.

“i’m really enjoying our time together,” he says. it comes out soft, honest. “like… a lot. more than i thought i would. you’re fun to be around. you make everything feel easy. i don’t feel like i have to pretend when i’m with you.”

your chest tightens. you look at him, and you can tell this is big for him. he swallows, then he reaches into his pocket.

“i’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he murmurs. “and i know it’s kinda cheesy but… i want you to be my girlfriend.”

your breath catches when he pulls out a tiny box. he opens it, and inside is a small promise necklace. silver, simple, really pretty. your eyes sting instantly.

“hollis…” your voice shakes a little. “are you serious?”

he nods. “yeah. really serious.”

you blink fast, trying not to cry, but it doesn’t work. you step closer, smiling even though your throat feels tight.

“of course i will,” you whisper.

relief washes over his face so quickly it almost makes you laugh. he lifts the necklace, and you turn so he can put it on. his fingers are careful, almost too gentle, like he’s scared to mess up.

when you face him again, he’s already looking at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

you don’t even think about it. you lean in.

he meets you halfway.

the kiss is light at first, just the press of lips, a little shy. then he tilts his head and deepens it, still gentle, still sweet. his hand finds yours again, like it belongs there.

when you pull back, he’s smiling in that warm, slightly crooked way that always gets you.

“best night ever,” he says quietly.

you squeeze his hand. “yeah. me too.”

dating him feels natural in a way you did not expect. it happens slowly and then all at once. one minute you two are skating around like idiots and sharing shakes in a park. the next you are waking up to his texts every morning like it has always been part of your life.

he treats you well. almost annoyingly well because you are not used to someone paying attention like this without making it weird. he checks in on you even when he is busy. short texts. a picture of something he saw that reminded him of you. a “did you eat yet” that somehow hits harder than it should.

when he is in la, you two fall asleep on call more often than not. your phone propped on your pillow. his voice soft, drifting. sometimes he knocks something over and you hear him curse under his breath. sometimes he mumbles a half-asleep “you still there?” and it makes your chest feel warm in a way you do not admit out loud.

he sends you little things. not huge gifts. just stuff he knows would make you smile. a hair clip because he remembered you lost yours. a book you mentioned once at two in the morning. a hoodie that smells like his laundry detergent. he always shrugs it off.

“thought you’d like it,” he says like it is nothing.

but it is something. it keeps being something.

your friends tease you because your face changes when you look at your phone. you deny it every time and they never believe you. hollis doesn’t point it out but you catch him smiling sometimes when he sees your name, so you guess you are both a little obvious.

everything feels steady with him. calm. fun. light. like being around him switches something in your brain that lets you breathe without overthinking it. you laugh more. you sleep better. you feel wanted in a way that is gentle instead of overwhelming.

you are happy. not dramatic happy. not movie-scene happy. just quietly, consistently, stupidly happy.

and you let yourself enjoy it. because he keeps choosing you. every day. without hesitation. without making you guess.

you fall into it before you even realize you have.

four or five months pass and nothing really changes between you and hollis. everything stays steady. you hang out when he flies in. you visit when you can. you talk all the time. you fall asleep to the sound of his voice more nights than you don’t. you start to forget what loneliness felt like before him.

you’re on your couch one afternoon, half-working, half-scrolling, when your phone buzzes with a call from your agency. you sigh and pick up.

“hey,” you say, expecting something minor.

instead they tell you, “so, we’re relocating you to la for a bit. nothing long term, just a few months. we want you here for some shoots and brand work.”

you sit up straight.

“oh. okay. yeah. sure. i can do that.”

you hang up, staring at your screen for a second. moving to la. even if it is temporary. even if it is not forever.

you call hollis immediately.

he answers on the second ring.

“hey, babe,” he says, voice warm in that way that makes your chest feel too full.

“so,” you start, twisting a loose thread on your sweater, “my agency just told me they’re relocating me to la for a bit.”

there is a pause. then he makes a sound that is basically a smile.

“wait. seriously?”

“yeah.”

he laughs, loud and excited.

“oh shit, that means you can see the guys now.”

your stomach drops before you can stop it.

and then he says it.

“roman’s gonna freak. he’s been asking about you actually. this is perfect.”

you freeze.

you do not breathe for a second.

roman.

you haven’t heard his name in months. you haven’t said it. you haven’t even let yourself think about him except in tiny flashes that you push away before they settle.

you tell yourself you’re over him. you tell yourself you moved on. you tell yourself hollis is the one you want now. and most of that feels true.

but hearing his name out loud again hits you weird. like someone pressed on a bruise you forgot you had.

hollis keeps talking, totally unaware.

“you’re gonna love it here. and it’ll be so much easier to see each other. and the guys are gonna freak when you show up, seriously, we’re all dying to see you.”

you force out a small laugh.

“yeah. that’s… cool.”

he doesn’t hear the way your voice stretches at the edges.

you hang up a few minutes later, promising to call him tonight, promising to send your flight details, promising to be excited.

and you are excited.

mostly.

but when the call ends and the room goes quiet, you just sit there for a long moment, staring at nothing.

you thought you buried that part of your life. you thought the door had been closed. you thought distance fixed everything.

now you’re going right back into the place where he exists. where he breathes. where he laughs. where he might look at you the way he used to.

you whisper into the empty room.

“uh oh.”

because you aren’t sure what’s going to happen.

he sets you down eventually but keeps his hands on your waist like he’s making sure you’re real. you kiss him once, then again, quick and warm, both of you smiling against each other like idiots.

it has been a month. it feels like longer.

you grab your bag and walk out with him, fingers brushing until he just takes your hand properly. you’re borderline floating. everything feels too good.

you reach the car, toss your bag in the back, and slide into the passenger seat. hollis gets in on his side, still glancing at you like he can’t help it.

you buckle in. you sit there for a second. then:

“wait,” you say quietly.

he glances over. “what’s up?”

you chew the inside of your cheek.

“um. did you… tell your friends about us?”

the question hangs for a second.

hollis looks forward. his fingers flex on the steering wheel. he doesn’t answer immediately.

then he sighs softly.

“no,” he says. “i… didn’t.”

your stomach dips. you try not to show it.

he keeps going, voice calm but honest.

“i thought i shouldn’t since i never actually asked you. i didn’t wanna say anything without knowing if you wanted them to know.”

you nod slowly.

“oh. okay. that makes sense.”

he turns to look at you, brows pulling together a little.

“why? is something wrong?”

you shake your head fast.

“no, no, it’s fine. i was just curious.”

he watches you for another second, like he’s trying to read something in your face.

then he relaxes a little.

“okay,” he says softly. “if you wanna tell them, we can. if you don’t, we won’t. it’s whatever you want.”

you nod again, forcing a small smile.

“yeah. it’s fine.”

hollis starts the car, his hand drifting over to rest on your thigh like he always does.

and you stare out the window, trying to figure out why that answer didn’t sit the way you thought it would.

the drive around la is easy, sun pouring through the windows, hollis pointing things out like he’s your personal tour guide. you eat street food, walk around melrose, take pictures of dumb murals, wander through little shops with nothing you need and everything you want. the whole day feels warm and stupidly fun. it feels like being sixteen again but in a better way.

by the time the sun starts dipping, hollis swings the car toward his studio.

“just for a sec,” he says. “i left something there.”

you don’t think twice.

until you walk in.

the second the door opens, you hear voices. loud ones. familiar ones.

nate looks up first, halfway through eating a bag of hot cheetos.

“yo—no way. yn?” he grins, eyes going wide. “what the hell, you’re here?”

you manage a smile. “yeah. hi.”

ryan’s on the couch, laptop on his knees. he gives you a small wave. “damn, long time.”

you wave back, but your brain is already drifting, something tugging at you—something you haven’t felt in a long time, something sharp and restless.

then you hear footsteps.

slow ones.

a door from the recording booth swings open, and roman steps out.

you freeze.

he does too.

“yo, what’s—” he starts, and then he sees you. actually sees you.

the words die in his throat.

you stare at him, and he stares right back, and suddenly the air in the room tightens like someone just pulled a cord.

roman looks… different.

taller. broader. older. his eyeliner is smudged like he rubbed his eyes. his hair’s messy. he smells faintly like weed and whatever cologne he always used to steal from nate. but he looks good—unfairly good.

and he’s looking at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real.

you’re the one who speaks first.

“…hi.”

your voice is thin, almost careful.

roman’s jaw shifts a little.

“uh. hey.”

you look him up and down before you can stop yourself. he does the same to you. a

“wait,” ryan says suddenly, looking between you and hollis. “what are you doing in la… with hollis?”

hollis slips his hand into yours casually, like he doesn’t feel the tension at all.

“oh,” he says. “i actually wanted to tell you guys. she’s actually my girlfriend.”

the second the word hits the air, everything stops.

roman breaks eye contact instantly, looking down at the ground like the word cut him. nate’s eyebrows shoot up. ryan freezes mid-blink.

the room goes dead silent.

you’re still staring at roman, even now, even after hollis said it, and roman won’t look at you.

won’t even risk it.

ryan is the one who snaps the tension first.

“no fucking way,” he says, eyes bouncing between you and hollis like he’s watching a plot twist in real time.

nate lets out a laugh. “for real?”

“yes,” hollis says, still relaxed, still smiling, completely unaware of the emotional bomb that just went off in the middle of the room.

ryan leans forward. “wait, did you ask her recently? like… is this new?”

hollis shakes his head. “nah. we’ve been dating for, like… half a year now.”

the second he says it, roman coughs.

not a real cough. the kind of cough people do when they’re trying to cover something up, or keep something in.

he drops onto the couch beside nate, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like the tiles are the most interesting thing in los angeles. he doesn’t look at you. not even once. not even accidentally.

you can’t stop looking at him.

your stomach feels weird. tight. unsettled. you didn’t expect this. you thought you were over it, over him. you thought seeing him again would feel neutral. dull. easy.

you severely underestimated how bad this situation is.

hollis is still talking beside you, explaining how you two met again, how things started, little details he thinks the guys will find funny. you nod along, but none of the words land. they just float past you.

because roman’s silence is loud. because he won’t look at you. because you can’t stop looking at him.

because suddenly your brain is screaming one thing:

you are not as over him as you thought.

you walk out of the studio with everyone, but your head is still spinning. you knew it would be bad. you just didn’t know it would feel like this, like your past and your present slammed straight into each other and now you’re supposed to act normal about it.

before you can even process it, hollis is already saying, “let’s go eat, my treat,” and nate cheers, ryan agrees, roman says nothing, and suddenly you’re all piling into hollis’s car like this is just a regular night.

you end up in the passenger seat.

of course you do.

nate and ryan cram into the back, knees knocking, arguing about who takes up more space. roman slides into the last spot, quiet, leaning against the door like he wants to melt into it. you can feel him there without even turning.

hollis starts driving, humming along to the song on the radio. you try to relax. you try to breathe.

but every minute or two, your eyes flick up to the rearview mirror without thinking.

and almost every time, you catch roman looking at you.

not for long. not in the way he used to. just quick, sharp glances like he’s checking something he doesn’t want to admit he cares about.

every time your eyes meet in the mirror, he looks away first. fast. like it burns.

your chest feels too warm. your fingers won’t sit still in your lap.

fifteen minutes feel like fifty.

finally, hollis pulls into the parking lot of a pretty fancy restaurant, white lights, outdoor heaters.

inside, the hostess leads you all to a round table.

of course it’s round. of course the universe wants to laugh at you tonight.

you sit down. hollis takes the seat right beside you, knee brushing yours, his arm slung over the back of your chair. nate and ryan spread out on the other side, already talking about the menu.

roman sits directly across from you.

your eyes lift for a second before you can stop them.

he’s staring—not at you, but at the table, at the folded napkin he keeps messing with, at anything that isn’t your face.

he still won’t look at you.

and somehow that feels worse.

the waiter leaves after taking everyone’s order, and almost immediately nate leans his elbows onto the table.

“so,” he says, grinning at you, “half a year, huh?”

ryan whistles. “that’s crazy. hollis really kept this locked down.”

you feel every muscle in your body tighten. you can feel roman across from you like static, even though he’s not looking at you.

before you can fumble for an answer, hollis notices. he slips his hand into yours under the table,warm, steady, and understanding. your shoulders drop a little.

“yeah,” you say, voice a little shaky but manageable. “we… started talking again late last year. and it kind of just… worked.”

ryan leans forward. “who made the first move?”

you let out a tiny laugh despite everything. “he did.”

“damn right I did,” hollis murmurs, smiling at you like none of this tension exists. like it’s just the two of you. his thumb brushes slow circles on the back of your hand, and your heartbeat starts to settle.

you talk a little more, how you reconnected, how seeing him again was surprisingly easy, how he makes you feel comfortable. the more you talk, the easier it gets. you look at hollis when you’re answering, not anyone else. his expression softens each time you speak.

and that’s when you feel it.

someone staring.

you don’t look up at first, but you can feel it. like a tug. like a memory. like something you wish your body would forget.

when you finally lift your eyes, roman is looking at you.

really looking. not the quick mirror glances. not avoidance. his gaze is sharp, unreadable, almost confused, like he’s seeing something he wasn’t prepared for.

but you don’t look back for long.

your attention goes straight to hollis again. you force it to. you remind yourself of exactly where you are, who you’re with, who chose you, who shows up.

and inside your head, you start talking to yourself:

why are you reacting like this? why do you care? he never liked you. he never chose you. you were never a thing so stop acting like you were.

you keep nodding along to nate’s next question. you keep smiling a little when hollis squeezes your hand. you keep your eyes anywhere except roman’s.

because the more you talk about hollis, how kind he is, how safe he feels, the more you want to forget whatever spark tried to jump in your chest when roman finally looked at you.

you don’t want to think about him. not tonight. not ever again if you can help it.

the second you step outside, the cold hits harder than you expect. it feels kinda nice though. like it clears your head for a sec. you lean against the wall, arms crossed, trying to get your breathing to chill out. everything from the dinner is replaying way too fast and your brain won’t slow down enough for you to make sense of any of it.

the door behind you opens. soft at first, then it clicks shut. you don’t even need to turn to know it’s him. there’s this specific way roman walks, like he’s always half in his thoughts.

he stops beside you, a little space between you two. “yo.”

“hey.”

the silence after is thick in a way that makes you wanna fidget with your sleeves or look at literally anything else. he keeps his eyes on the street like he’s trying to pretend this isn’t weird.

he’s the one who cracks first. “how was new york?”

“it was good,” you say. “kinda busy but… yeah. good.”

he nods slowly, hands in his pockets. “heard it gets crazy this time of year.”

“it did,” you say. “but the food was nice.”

“always is.”

it’s small, simple back-and-forth, but the way he talks feels almost careful. like he’s trying not to step on something sharp between you. you match his tone without thinking.

you ask him how things have been here. he shrugs. “same old. work. gym. music.”

you smile. “sounds right.”

he glances at you for half a second, barely there, then looks away again. “yeah.”

the quiet comes back. you can feel it settle between you two. he shifts his stance like he’s trying to shake it off.

then he says it.

“so… you and hollis.”

your stomach dips a little. “uh… yeah.”

he sucks in a tiny breath. not dramatic, just enough that you notice. “that’s… surprising.”

“is it?” you ask, tone light but your heart’s doing something stupid.

“a bit.” he looks at his shoes. “i mean… not in a bad way.”

there’s a weird pinch in your chest that you wish you didn’t feel. “well… thanks.”

he nods again. “i’m happy for you guys though.”

“yeah… thanks.”

you two talk more. tiny questions. tiny answers. little stuff that makes it feel like maybe things aren’t broken forever. you laugh at something stupid he says about nate dropping a barbell. he smiles a little when you describe getting lost on the subway. it’s soft but fragile, like one wrong move and the whole thing’ll crack.

then he steps back. “i’m gonna head inside first.”

“okay.”

he turns. pauses. doesn’t walk. you can literally hear the shift of his breath. he looks at the wall in front of him like he’s trying to figure out if he should say something or not.

“don’t take this the wrong way,” he says quietly, “but…”

you freeze. completely. something inside you jumps before you can stop it. you hate that you’re hoping. you hate that you’re even listening this hard.

he finally meets your eyes. they’re softer than they were inside. almost unsure.

“i just never thought you’d end up with someone that isn’t…”

that half-second of silence feels huge. like it stretches forever.

your breath catches. you don’t even blink.

and then he finishes.

“that is hollis.”

everything inside you sinks fast. it feels dumb and obvious and you try to play it off with a tiny laugh. “haha… yeah.”

he nods, totally unaware of the mess he just caused. “see you inside.”

“yeah.”

he walks back, door shutting behind him, and you’re left staring at the empty street. the cold suddenly feels way colder. but you stay there anyway, pretending your chest isn’t tightening, pretending that moment didn’t mean anything.

even though you know it did.

the next few days blur by. fittings, castings, someone measuring your inseam for the third time because “the numbers aren’t matching,” whatever that means. you stand still under bright lights while people circle you like you’re a mannequin instead of a person. it’s not bad. just draining.

but every night ends the same way.

you and hollis. sitting on his couch, eating something stupid like microwaved dumplings or cereal straight from the box. his leg pressed against yours. his head eventually dropping onto your shoulder because he always gets sleepy first. you pushing his hair back without realizing you’re doing it.

it feels easy. it feels steady. it feels like something good.

tonight you’re at his place again, sitting on the floor with takeout spread between you. the tv is on but muted. he’s telling you some story about nate nearly setting off the fire alarm in the studio because he tried to “toast” a sandwich on top of an amp.

you laugh, leaning back on your hands.

he watches you for a second.

then he says, casual but not really, “can i ask you something?”

you look over. “yeah, what’s up?”

he picks at his rice with his fork, eyes down. “you and roman… you’re not close anymore?”

your stomach tightens. not in a dramatic way. just a small, private way.

“yeah,” you say. “we’re not.”

hollis nods, thinking about that longer than you expect.

“that’s kinda surprising,” he says quietly.

you shrug, poking at your food. “i mean… we just grew apart.”

he hums like he accepts that. but you can tell he’s turning something over in his head.

after a moment, he says, “i remember seeing you guys in high school.”

you look up.

he continues, slow, like he’s choosing his words. “and i swear he was into you.”

your fingers freeze on your chopsticks.

“what?” you say, barely above a whisper.

hollis laughs a little under his breath, shaking his head. “i don’t know. the way he used to look at you. it was—” he stops himself. “nevermind.”

he leans forward instead, hand brushing your cheek before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“you’re with me now,” he says, voice low but gentle.

you don’t move for a second.

not because you’re unsure. not because you want something else. just because something inside you shifts, too quiet to name.

you manage a small smile. “yeah,” you say. “i’m here.”

hollis smiles back, satisfied, and goes back to his food like nothing heavy just passed between you.

you stare at your bowl, pretending to focus on it.

trying not to think about a pair of eyes you haven’t been able to forget.

trying not to wonder why your chest feels tighter than it should.

roman thinks about it more than he should.

that moment. you standing there, telling him you were leaving for new york.

you didn’t look excited. you didn’t look scared. you just… said it. like it was already decided. like you didn’t expect him to care.

and he remembers feeling something in his chest twist in a way he immediately tried to ignore.

you were just a friend. that’s what he told himself. over and over. loudly. friends leave. friends move. friends do whatever they want.

but when you actually left, the house felt different. the group felt different. even the air felt different.

he didn’t get why it messed with him so much. he’d wake up and have this stupid instinct to text you something pointless. a song. a meme. a picture of nate looking unhinged. whatever. and then he’d stop himself because — why?

you were in new york. you had your own life. your own people. your own stupid studio apartment you loved talking about.

he thought it was shallow. all of it. the aesthetic photos, the little modeling gigs, the way you chased “your dreams.” he’d roll his eyes every time he saw a glimpse of you online, like it annoyed him.

but somehow he kept looking anyway.

and then he blew up. the music hit. the tours started. the crowds got bigger. the money got stupid. girls started showing up everywhere, pretty and loud and easy to forget the next morning.

he got everything he ever said he wanted.

and still, sometimes, backstage, half-high and exhausted, he’d think about that last day. your voice when you told him you were leaving. the way you tried to smile at him after.

clearly you got over it fast.

you never texted first anymore. your replies got shorter. then colder. then gone.

fine. whatever. he didn’t need you.

you weren’t some great loss. you weren’t special. you were… what? a girl he used to hang around with? someone who laughed too much and got excited over the dumbest things? someone who talked about dreams like they weren’t embarrassing?

stupid. shallow. annoying.

that’s what he tried telling himself.

but sometimes, when the show ended and he was walking back to the hotel with his ears still ringing, he’d catch himself wondering what it would’ve looked like if you’d stayed.

and he hated that. hated how much space that thought took up.

you were gone. you chose new york. you chose your quiet little life and your stupid ambitions.

so why the hell did it still bother him?

why did he still care at all?

and he didn’t care. why would he?

roman didn’t care about anything anymore. not really. not in a way that lasted longer than a few hours. he’d get bored, distracted, irritated, then numb again. that was just how things worked now.

but he does remember the day hollis started texting someone.

the way hollis would sit in the corner of a room, leaning over his phone, smiling at the screen like an idiot. roman noticed it without meaning to. that soft little grin. that stupid sparkle in his eyes.

whatever. probably some girl he was messing with. hollis was always like that — too charming for his own good.

roman didn’t ask. he didn’t even pretend to care.

and he didn’t care. not really.

but he remembers those moments too clearly for someone who supposedly didn’t.

he remembers all the girls he ghosted, the ones who tried to get close to him after shows, the ones who said things they meant and expected him to mean something back. he’d block them or forget their names or leave them on read because it never mattered.

none of them stuck.

none of them made him feel anything real. love was stupid. love was a joke. love was for people who had the patience to sit around hoping someone else could fix them.

love was for foolish people.

people like you.

people who looked at the world like it was something worth wanting. people who believed in things that made no sense. things like fate. timing. dreams. romance.

you were always like that. and roman used to tease you for it, roll his eyes, act above it all.

but maybe he cared more than he ever admitted. because even years later, even with a career and fame and every distraction imaginable, he still remembered the way you said goodbye.

and he still hated that it meant anything to him at all.

roman swears the room tilted when he saw you again.

three years. three years of pretending he forgot you. three years of telling himself you never mattered, that you were just some girl who moved to new york and ditched him for a bigger life. he had convinced himself he did not care. he said it so many times he almost believed it.

but when he turned around and you were just standing there in front of him, it was like someone hit pause on the whole world.

you looked different. not unrecognizable, just sharper. calmer. he dragged his eyes over you once, twice, pretending he was just confused, not stunned.

holy shit, he thought. you got prettier.

it annoyed him instantly. he hated that his brain even went there. he never thought you were ugly, not even back then, but this was different. now you had that quiet confidence he never saw on you in high school, and the way you looked back at him, so steady, so unreadable, made something sink in his stomach.

he opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but nothing came out. his lungs forgot what to do for a second.

you said hi first. your voice was soft. polite. careful. like the past between you two had clean edges and no leftover feelings.

before he could even figure out how to breathe again, hollis strolled in, slightly late, tossing his bag down.

“oh, right,” hollis said. “i didn’t tell you. me and her are dating.”

the words hit roman like someone dropped a metal bar on the back of his skull.

dating. you and hollis.

roman made a sound. he was not sure if it came out of his throat or stayed in his head. it felt like a quiet, shocked “what,” the kind that slips out before your brain can filter it.

he blinked. once. twice. his mind scrambled like it was trying to reboot.

dating. you and hollis. for months, apparently. and he had no idea.

he looked at you. then at hollis. then back at you, slower this time, like he was trying to force his brain to build a timeline that made sense. nothing added up. nothing fit. he felt something tighten under his ribs, hot and sharp and confusing.

mad. was he mad.

no. that made no sense. he did not care about this stuff. he did not get mad over girls. he did not feel anything deep for anyone. that was his entire thing. he ghosted people without thinking twice. he laughed at the idea of love. he always thought you were stupid for believing in it.

so why did his chest feel tight. why did his ears feel warm. why did he feel… embarrassed.

he hated that most of all.

he forced his face back to blank, even though he felt something crack under the surface.

in his head everything was loud. every old feeling he thought he buried started crawling up all at once. every memory he ignored pushed to the front. every stupid thing he never said before you left hit him again like it was fresh.

he dropped onto the couch beside nate, elbows on his knees, pretending to scroll through something on the floor. he did not look at you. he could not. he did not trust what would show on his face if he did.

his heart beat hard once. then again. then again.

he tried to convince himself he felt nothing. he tried to remind himself he did not care. he tried to stay blank and cold and above it.

but the truth settled in his stomach anyway.

seeing you again hurt.

and the worst part was simple.

you had moved on. you were with someone else. someone he knew. someone he never expected.

and he did not know why it bothered him this much.

roman knew the second you sat down across the table that the night was going to piss him off.

he did not know why. he wished he did. he wished he could explain it to himself in a way that didn’t sound pathetic, but the whole time hollis was talking and ryan was making stupid jokes and nate was already halfway through his food, roman could barely look in your direction.

he kept his eyes on his plate. on his drink. on the wall. anywhere but you.

because every time he even glanced in your general direction, his chest tightened for no good reason, and that annoyed him more than anything else.

you were quiet. polite. barely talking. only answering questions when someone asked you something directly. not once did you look at him. not once did you try.

and that shouldn’t have bothered him. that should have felt normal.

you two barely talked anymore anyway.

five sentences a month. sometimes less. sometimes nothing at all. sometimes he would reply and you would disappear. sometimes you would reply like you were bored out of your mind. sometimes you would send a “lol yeah” and that was the entire conversation.

and now here you were. across the table. suddenly in la. dating his friend. sitting so close that he could hear your fork scrape your plate but so far that it felt like he didn’t exist to you.

he hated how his stomach twisted at that.

he hated that he noticed.

he forced himself to chew slower, to keep his hands steady, to keep his expression blank. he didn’t want anyone to see the way his brain was spiraling. he didn’t even know what he was spiraling about. it made no sense.

you never even liked him. not like that. why would you. he wasn’t someone people liked in that way. you were just always nice to him, that’s all. too nice, sometimes. but that was just you. that’s how you treated everyone.

he told himself that again. and again. and again.

hollis was talking about something, probably the tour or the new demo or whatever, but roman’s brain only picked up pieces. he kept hearing your voice answering him earlier. small. awkward. distant.

he kept replaying it even though he didn’t want to.

and every time hollis leaned toward you, every time hollis asked if you wanted more water, every time hollis touched your arm or laughed at something you said, roman felt that same heat crawl under his skin.

he tried to ignore it. he tried to swallow it. he tried to pretend his mood wasn’t tanking by the minute.

at one point, you whispered to hollis that you were going to get some air and stood up. roman didn’t even look. he stared at the table and counted to ten, slow, like he needed to calm down from nothing.

from nothing.

he didn’t care. he didn’t.

but his brain kept circling back to one thing.

you used to talk to him. you used to tell him everything. you used to run to him first when something happened. you used to text him paragraphs about your day, your plans, your feelings, all that stuff he pretended he didn’t care about back then.

and now you didn’t think about him at all.

somehow that hurt, and he didn’t know how to shut it off.

nate said something to him, asked if he was good, and roman just nodded.

he wasn’t. not really.

but he kept repeating the same line to himself, stubborn and bitter.

i’m being dumb.

you were never his. you never even liked him like that.

you were just gone now. grown up. moved on. dating someone else.

and he had no right to feel anything about it.

but he did. and he hated that he did.

the second he steps outside, the cold hits him straight in the face. he rubs his hands together once, then notices you right away. you’re leaning against the wall like you’ve been standing there for a while, eyes on nothing, shoulders drawn in.

he thinks about going back inside. he really does. but his feet move before he decides anything.

“hey.”

you glance over. “hey.”

it’s quiet after that. not awful, not comfortable either. he keeps his eyes on the ground because looking at you feels strangely complicated now, like it might stir up something he’s been avoiding all night.

he tries anyway. “new york treat you good?”

you nod. “yeah. busy. kinda fun though.”

“makes sense.”

the conversation is slow. short sentences. little pauses where neither of you knows if you should keep going or let the silence take over. he doesn’t hate it. he just… doesn’t know what to do with it.

you ask him how things have been here. he shrugs. “same stuff. working. gym. music”

you laugh softly. he looks at the street so you don’t see the way that sound hits him.

for a minute, it almost feels normal.

he doesn’t plan to say it. he just says your name and then, “so… you and hollis.”

you pause. “yeah.”

he nods like it’s new information he’s still processing. “didn’t see that coming.”

you ask if that’s a bad thing. he shakes his head. “nah. just didn’t expect it.”

he means it. but it still digs at him somewhere he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

another silence drops. heavier. thicker around the edges. he steps back, like maybe distance will settle whatever is happening in his chest.

“i’m gonna head in,” he says.

“okay.”

he turns. takes one step. stops.

he just… feels something catch in him. like he left a sentence half-finished in his head and now it’s bothering him.

he looks forward, not at you. “don’t take this the wrong way,” he says quietly, “but… i never thought you’d end up with someone that isn’t…”

and the word rises fast.

me.

it appears in his mouth before he can stop it, and he clamps down on it so quickly it almost hurts.

he switches it mid-breath. “that is… hollis.”

it comes out wrong. clumsy. too fast to be smooth. he winces at himself, barely, then nods like the conversation is already over.

“yeah. anyway. see you inside.”

he goes back in.

he goes back inside, pushes the door open with his shoulder like it’s nothing, but the warmth from the restaurant hits him wrong. he keeps his head down as he walks past the tables, pretending he’s just cold, pretending his mind isn’t stuck outside with you.

when he sits down again, everything feels slightly off. the lights feel too yellow. the chatter feels too loud. hollis is laughing at something nate said, and roman tries to copy the expression, but his smile feels stiff, like it doesn’t fit right on his face anymore.

he didn’t say it. he didn’t mean to almost say it. he didn’t even know he had that sentence inside him.

someone that isn’t… me.

the word still sits in his throat. stuck. half-formed. heavy in a way he can’t swallow down no matter how many times he tells himself it was nothing.

he glances toward the door without thinking. you’re still outside. or gone. he doesn’t know which one would make him feel worse. the thought that you might be standing out there alone because he said something stupid makes something twist in him. the thought that you might have walked away entirely makes it twist even tighter.

he tells himself it’s fine. he doesn’t care. he’s always been good at not caring.

except… he does. he cares so much it makes him feel stupid.

he leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like that’ll make the pressure behind his ribs go away. it doesn’t. if anything, it spreads.

he missed you.

for three years he missed you without saying it. without admitting it. without letting himself even look at it long enough to recognize the shape of it.

and now you’re here again, but not his. not even close. you’re sitting next to hollis. you’re laughing at hollis’s jokes. you’re dating hollis.

and roman… roman is nothing to you now. not really. a familiar face. an old friend.

he’s the one who pushed you into that distance.

and now he can’t cross it.

his jaw flexes as he looks down at the table, eyes unfocused.

he finally understands why tonight felt so weird.

why seeing you again knocked the breath out of him.

why hearing hollis say your name felt like someone pulled a chair out from under him.

he’s in love with you.

and he realizes it way too late, at the worst possible moment, sitting across from the person you chose instead of him—while you’re outside in the cold, probably trying to breathe the same way he is.

he presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, forces his expression back to neutral, and stares down at the untouched glass of water in front of him.

the truth sits with him silently, heavy and sharp and unfixable.

he finally wants you.

“the tattoo. the one you always talk about.”

you look back down at your food. it’s easier than thinking about it too hard.

“i don’t even know where i’d go,” you say. “and i don’t trust random places.”

“then don’t go to a random place.” she shrugs. “go to my artist.”

that makes you pause.

“your artist?”

“yeah. roman.” she says. “his line work’s solid. he did mine.”

she shifts just enough for you to see it. it’s clean.

“i don’t know,” you say. “lower back’s kind of… a lot.”

“only if you make it a thing.” she looks at you. “you’ve been making it a thing for years.”

she texts you the shop while you’re still sitting there. you don’t say you’ll call. you don’t say you won’t.

later that night you’re on your bed, phone in your hand, scrolling through the shop’s page like you’re just killing time. you aren’t. you recognize the difference.

the work is consistent. thin lines. nothing flashy. 

you stare at the number longer than necessary.

you call before you can talk yourself out of it.

“tattoo studio,” someone answers. “how can i help you?”

his voice is smooth.

“hi,” you say. “um. i was wondering if i could book an appointment.”

“sure. what were you thinking of getting?”

there’s a beat. then, “a lower back tattoo.”

“okay,” he says. no reaction. “do you have a design in mind?”

“not really.”

“that’s fine. we can figure it out.”

the conversation stays practical. You guys talk about size,  placement,  black ink,  nothing elaborate. 

“i’ve got thursday at two,” he says.

you say yes before you reconsider.

“cool,” he says. “what’s your name?”

you tell him.

“alright. i’ll see you then.”

you hesitate. “can i ask who’ll be doing it?”

“me,” he says. “roman.”

“okay,” you say.

you hang up and set your phone down like it might burn you.

the shop is quieter tehan you expect.

the door sticks a little when you pull it open and there’s a bell attached to it, announcing you before you can reconsider. the sound echoes too much in the empty space and your stomach drops with it.

no one’s out front.

just clean floors, bright lights, framed flash on the walls. it smells like disinfectant and something metallic. you stand there awkwardly, hands hovering at your sides like you’re not sure where they belong.

“just a sec,” a voice calls from somewhere in the back.

you swallow. Okay fuck, so this is real.

footsteps, closer than you expect. and then someone steps through the doorway.

and your first thought, immediate and unhelpful, is fuck. Hes hot.

he doesn’t look at you like it means anything. Only noticing.

“you’re y/n, i’m guessing?”

“uh. yeah,” you say, way too fast.

he nods. “i’m roman. nice to meet you.”

he holds his hand out. you shake it. his grip is brief, normal, like this isn’t the most aware you’ve ever been of your own body.

so this is him, you think. 

damn.

“come on back,” he says.

you follow him past the front, through a narrow hall into the work area. everything back here is organized. 

he gestures to a chair. “you’ve gotten tattooed before?”

“No,” you say. “this is my first.”

“okay.” he nods again. “pain tolerance?”

you huff. “bad.”

he smiles. “we’ll take breaks if you need. lower back’s not the worst place for a first one.”

that helps too.

you talk through the design again. small adjustments, placement. He sketches while you watch, quiet except for the scratch of pencil on paper. eventually you both land on something floral. 

“this work for you?” he asks, turning it toward you.

you nod. “yeah. i like that.”

“cool.” he stands. “you can lie down here.”

you do, face-down on the table, and thank god you wore low-rise jeans because at least you don’t have to undress in a way that makes this worse. you adjust yourself, suddenly hyperaware of every movement.

roman washes his hands, puts on gloves, and preps the station. you watch him from the corner of your eye, trying not to read into anything. it’s just a job. you remind yourself of that.

then he’s closer.

“i’m gonna clean the area,” he says.

“okay.”

his fingers brush your skin as he wipes it down and your whole body reacts before you can stop it, and not in a good way.

you hear yourself suck in a breath and immediately hate that you did.

he pauses.

“hey,” he says, calm. “relax. i won’t fuck you up. you’re too pretty for that.”

silence.

your brain fully blanks..

“sorry,” he adds quickly, like he realizes he crossed something. “i mean. i won’t mess it up.”

you don’t say anything. you just nod, staring at the table, heat crawling up your neck.

he goes back to work like nothing happened.

but your heart doesn’t slow down for a long time.

“okay,” he says. “i’m gonna start. tell me if you need a second.”

you nod even though your jaw feels locked.

the machine turns on and your shoulders tense immediately. roman notices.

“breathe,” he says, not looking at you. “slow. i’ll go light at first.”

the first touch makes you suck in air through your teeth. it’s sharp, but not unbearable. more intense than you expected, but not the kind of pain that makes you panic. still, your fingers curl into the paper beneath you.

“you good?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say. “yeah, i’m okay.”

he keeps going, steady, unhurried. the consistency helps. your body adjusts quicker than you thought it would.

“lower back can sting,” he says. “but you’re doing fine.”

you almost laugh at that. doing fine feels generous, but you’re not shaking, not pulling away. 

a few minutes pass in silence. then he speaks again.

“you from around here?”

“yeah,” you say. “born and raised.”

“figured,” he says. “you walked in like you already knew this place.”

“is that good or bad?”

“neutral.” a pause. “what made you finally decide to do it?”

you think about that for a second. “got tired of thinking about it.”

he hums quietly, like that answer makes sense. 

“you got anything else planned today?” he asks.

“no,” you say. “this was kind of the whole thing.”

“smart. first tattoo days should stay lowkey.”

you nod even though he can’t see it.

you talk more after that. nothing heavy. where you work, what you do when you’re not working, he tells you about the shop, about how long he’s been tattooing, how he prefers simple designs that age well.

it helps, more than you expect.

every time the pain spikes, he notices before you say anything.

“that spot’s a little sensitive,” he says. “almost done with it.”

“okay.”

you breathe. you relax your shoulders when he reminds you to. 

at some point, you realize you’re not counting the seconds anymore.

and when he finally pulls back and says, “alright, that’s the line work done,” you feel something close to relieved. not just because the worst part is over, but because you made it through without unraveling.

“you did really good,” he says.

you let out a breath.. “thanks for talking to me.”

he smiles again. “anytime. distraction’s part of the job.”

“okay,” he says after a minute. the machine shuts off. “you’re done.”

you let out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in your chest the entire time.

“thank god,” you mumble, pushing yourself up slowly. your back feels warm, a little sore, but manageable.

roman peels his gloves off and motions toward the mirror near the wall. “come take a look.”

you follow him, heart picking up again for no good reason. he steps aside so you can see yourself properly.

it’s clean. neat. exactly what you pictured in your head but better. the lines sit perfectly.

“holy shit,” you say before you can stop yourself. then, quieter, “this is fire. thank you so much.”

he nods, like he expected that reaction. “no problem. it healed easy, too. i’ll go over aftercare with you in a sec.”

you turn back toward him. “how much do i owe you?”

he pauses.

not long. just enough that you notice. he glances at the counter, then back at you, like he’s weighing something.

then he smiles.

“i’ll give you a special deal,” he says. “half off.”

you blink. “what?”

“half off,” he repeats. “but only if you give me your number.”

your brain stalls.

“Oh,” you say. “uh.”

he doesn’t rush you. just watches, like he already made peace with whatever your answer is.

“yeah,” you say finally. “okay. sure.”

he unlocks his phone and hands it to you. your hands feel stupid as you type your number in, double-check it like that’s not obvious.

you hand the phone back. he glances at the screen, nods once, and sets it down.

“cool,” he says. “i’ll text you.”

you pay. he gives you the aftercare rundown, professional again, like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

“have a nice day,” he says as you head for the door.

“you too,” you say, and then you’re outside, bell ringing behind you, heart beating fast as fuck. 

later that night, you’re lying in bed, phone face-down on your chest, telling yourself not to think about it.

your phone buzzes.

you flip it over.

roman: hey. it’s roman. just wanted to make sure you got home okay 🙂

the nominees appear on the big screens.

hollis’s name. roman’s name.

a few people around them clap. someone behind roman pats his shoulder. hollis feels a hand rest briefly on his arm.

they both look up at the same time.

their eyes find each other across the room.

Hollis freezes for half a second. his throat tightens. he holds the stare anyway.

Roman does not flinch, but the easy look on his face fades into something flatter. his jaw shifts, like he is biting down on whatever he wants to say.

there is nothing warm in it. no quiet smile. no invisible string pulling them back to that old version of themselves.

just this thin, careful distance. like two people standing at opposite ends of a cracked bridge, neither willing to test if it still holds.

for a moment, the noise of the room blurs out.

because how did a friendship that once felt like the only solid thing in their lives end up here polite silence sideways glances both of them pretending the other is just another name on a screen

on stage, the presenter lifts the envelope.

everything inside both of them goes still.

and under all the lights and cameras and fake applause, one thought hangs heavy between them, even if they will never say it out loud.

how did two kids who swore they would make it together end up staring at each other like strangers from across the room?

EIGHT YEARS EARLIER

2022

when hollis and roman are announced for best pop duo, their reactions are understated but telling.

hollis rises first, adjusting his jacket and letting a small, amused grin tug at the corner of his mouth. he brushes past roman with a light elbow nudge, almost teasing, as if to say we actually did it. his eyes sweep the crowd for a second, scanning faces like he’s taking everything in, not with panic but with quiet delight.

roman stands a moment later, slower, thoughtful. a soft smile spreads, careful but genuine, the kind that only hints at how much this matters. he nods at a few people near him, a small hand gesture, subtle, but expressive enough to show his appreciation.

they walk up the steps to the stage together. hollis keeps a relaxed sway in his stride, occasional flick of his hand toward the cheering audience. roman matches his pace, shoulders squared, but a barely noticeable lift in his chin shows pride. his eyes flick to hollis and back to the crowd, a silent acknowledgment of shared victory.

at the microphone, roman speaks first. measured, calm, but there’s a soft warmth in his tone. "thank you. this really means a lot. we appreciate everyone who supported us."

hollis accepts the mic after him. his expression shifts ever so slightly, lips twitching in a small, amused smile. "thanks for listening. we’re grateful to share this with you."

he leans slightly toward roman when he speaks, a subtle motion that feels intimate, like a shared joke only they understand. roman responds with the faintest smirk, acknowledging it without a word.

for the photo, they hold the trophy together. hollis rests one hand lightly on the base, his other hand gesturing to the audience as if inviting them into the moment. roman keeps his posture composed, but his eyes sparkle, and the faintest upward curve of his lips betrays the pride he usually keeps tucked away.

they are composed, polished, and entirely present, but still unmistakably themselves: hollis expressive and easy, roman reserved but quietly alive. the room could explode around them, and they would simply share this small, perfect moment together.

the moment they step off the stage, hollis can’t hold it in. he grabs roman by the shoulders and pulls him into a tight, sloppy hug.

"holy shit. holy shit!"

roman laughs, almost stumbling under the weight of hollis’s arms, but he doesn’t push back. he just buries his face into hollis’s shoulder for a second, muttering, yeah, holy shit.

they pull back just enough to look at each other, grinning. hollis shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes, laughing like he’s about to explode. roman’s smile is quieter but warm, a little stunned, like he can’t believe this is real.

they dab each other up, quick, messy, exaggerated, hollis throwing in a spin for good measure. roman rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smirk creeping onto his face.

hollis claps roman on the back, harder than necessary. "we actually did it, bro. we actually did it."

roman shakes his head, still laughing. "yeah… we actually did."

they weave through the backstage crowd, hollis talking a mile a minute, pointing out friends, shouting, did you see that? did you see that? roman keeps a steady pace beside him, nodding, laughing at all the right parts, smirking when hollis overdoes it, the calm to hollis’s chaos.

the trophy sits between them for a second as they stop near the drinks table. hollis leans in and nudges roman with his elbow. "we should probably take a selfie or something."

roman tilts his head, smirking softly. "if you do it, make it quick. i don’t want to drop the award."

hollis laughs and presses the phone to snap a picture anyway, both of them laughing, the noise and excitement of the room fading for a moment. just them, just the win, just the ridiculous, perfect chaos of it all.

the restaurant is one of those random late-night spots with neon signs buzzing in the window and tables that feel a little sticky no matter how many times someone wipes them. hollis is tearing through a basket of fries like he hasn’t eaten in days. roman sits across from him, eating slow, sipping his drink.

"yo, i’m not going to that afterparty tonight," hollis says, leaning back in his chair, legs kicked out, fries still in hand.

roman looks up, deadpan. "bro. what the fuck are you talking about."

"i already know it’s gonna be boring," hollis says. "industry shit always is."

roman sets his fork down, sighing like hollis is the biggest inconvenience on earth. "y/n l/n is gonna be there."

hollis stops mid-chew. "who the fuck is that?"

roman stares at him like he genuinely can’t process the stupidity. "you’re kidding. she's the hottest woman alive."

"hottest woman alive and i’ve never even heard of her?" hollis says, eyebrows up, delivering full disbelief. "sounds fake as hell."

roman rubs his forehead. "she’s not just hot, dumbass. she’s everywhere right now. best new artist. performing on every show. going viral every other day."

hollis scoffs, popping another fry in his mouth. "cool story. still never heard of her."

"because you don’t listen to anything unless it’s blasting in your own fucking car," roman says, lifting a piece of chicken on his fork like he’s about to hand-feeding a toddler. "trust me. she’s next. people are saying she’s gonna take over completely. charts. tours. everything."

hollis rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves. "whatever, man."

roman nudges the fork toward him. "come on."

"hollis blinks at him. "you’re actually trying to bribe me with food right now."

roman smirks. "seems to be working."

hollis mutters "piece of shit" under his breath but leans in anyway, biting the food right off the fork. he chews for a second, side-eyeing roman. "fine. we’ll go. happy?"

roman sits back, smug as hell. "very."

hollis shakes his head. "you’re annoying as fuck."

roman shrugs. "and yet you’re still coming with me."

hollis flips him off without looking up from the menu.

the afterparty is held in one of those glass-walled hotel ballrooms, the kind with dim gold lighting and too many people. the air smells like perfume, champagne, and nerves.

hollis and roman walk in together, both cleaned up way better than they were in the restaurant.

"bro, there’s no way she’s actually the hottest woman alive," hollis mutters, grabbing a drink off a passing tray. "you hype everyone up too much."

roman doesn’t even turn his head. "shut up."

"i’m serious," hollis says, taking a sip. "like, she’s probably pretty or whatever but hottest woman alive? come on."

roman’s jaw clicks like he’s trying not to laugh. "just wait."

the host steps onto the small stage near the front and taps the mic. the room quiets. hollis leans into roman slightly, whispering, "bro, if she’s mid, i’m gonna—"

before he can finish, your name is announced.

the crowd turns.

then you step onstage.

and hollis just goes silent.

you’re in a sleek outfit that glitters under the spotlight without trying too hard. you give the room a small smile, confident and warm. nothing dramatic. nothing forced. just… presence. enough to pull every eye toward you like gravity.

roman’s posture shifts, barely, but hollis feels it. he doesn’t know where to look first. your face. your fit. your posture. the calm way you hold the mic like you’ve done this a hundred times even though you’re the newest one here.

"hollis," roman whispers quietly, almost like he forgot he said he’d shut the fuck up earlier.

"huh," hollis whispers back, not blinking.

"i told you," roman murmurs.

hollis doesn’t respond. he can’t. he’s stunned into silence for the first time all night.

then the music cue starts. a soft synth line, low bass, something dreamy. your debut song.

you close your eyes, lift the mic, and start singing.

the room shifts instantly. like someone pulled the oxygen out and replaced it with something sweeter. your voice is clean, effortless, warm, and razor sharp all at once. hollis’s mouth falls open a little. roman’s head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to memorize the exact sound.

people are watching you, but hollis and roman aren’t just watching. they’re caught.

and when you hit the first big high note, the one that made the internet lose its shit last week, roman’s hand shoots out without thinking and grips hollis’s thigh under the table.

hollis flinches, startled. roman doesn’t even realize he did it. his eyes stay locked on you the entire time, knuckles going a little white.

"holy fuck," hollis whispers.

roman doesn’t answer. he’s too busy listening.

you finish the song on a final soft note, step back, and give a small bow. the room erupts into applause, loud and sharp, but hollis and roman don’t clap at first. they’re still frozen, processing.

then hollis exhales like he forgot how to breathe.

"yeah," he mutters, stunned. "yeah, ok. hottest woman alive."

roman finally releases his thigh and clears his throat, trying to compose himself. "told you."

but he’s just as wrecked.

and neither of them can take their eyes off you.

after you step off the stage, the lights shift and another act comes on. something upbeat, something loud. but it might as well be silence to hollis and roman.

hollis is slumped in his chair, staring at the empty stage like you’re about to walk back out any second. "holy shit," he mutters again, softer this time, like he’s talking to himself. "what the fuck was that."

roman sits straighter, hands clasped in front of him, pretending he isn’t completely thrown. but his eyes are unfocused, like he’s replaying your high note in his head. "i told you," he says, voice low, almost annoyed that hollis didn’t take him seriously.

"nah, bro," hollis shakes his head slowly, "you didn’t tell me enough."

the next performer starts singing. hollis doesn’t even glance their way. roman tries to listen for a second, then gives up entirely. neither of them can shake it. your voice. your face. the way you held the mic. the smile you gave the crowd. it’s all looping.

fifteen minutes pass. twenty.

hollis’s knee bounces under the table.

roman keeps checking the stage exit without meaning to.

finally hollis grabs roman’s sleeve. "yo. yo. look."

roman follows his stare.

there you are.

across the ballroom, toward the front, tucked into a round table with your team and a couple friends. you’re laughing, head tilted back a little, hand covering your mouth like you’re trying not to draw attention even though everyone’s already staring anyway.

your outfit catches the light every time you move. your smile looks even warmer offstage.

hollis freezes. "holy shit," he whispers. "she’s right there."

roman doesn’t say anything at first. he just stares, expression still and unreadable. but his ears tint a little pink.

"bro," hollis says, elbowing him. "she’s literally right there."

"i see her," roman says quietly, eyes glued to you.

you lean into one of your friends, laughing again, tapping their arm. the whole table seems lit up just from your presence. even from far away, you look magnetic. relaxed. stunning without trying.

hollis leans forward, elbows on the table. "nah, this is crazy. this is actually crazy."

roman’s jaw flexes. "yeah."

another act comes onstage, lights flashing blue and purple. people clap. some cheer.

hollis barely blinks.

roman doesn’t look away from you once.

you’re just… there. glowing across the room. laughing, talking, unaware that you’ve basically broken two men at the same time without even trying.

they spend the rest of the event like that silent fixated forgetting every performer that comes after you

and every time you smile or tuck your hair behind your ear or lean in to say something

both hollis and roman feel it hit them like a punch to the chest.

neither wants to say it but both already know

you’re the only person they’ll remember from tonight.

when the event finally ends, everyone crowds toward the exits like they’re escaping a building on fire. hollis and roman walk out together, both still quiet, still locked in whatever spell you put them under.

outside, the air is cooler, a little humid, city noise echoing off the pavement.

hollis pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages. "yo," he says suddenly, "apparently there’s an after after party tonight. some boiler room type shit."

roman looks over lazily. "who?"

Nate sent it," hollis says, waving his phone. "apparently everyone’s pulling up. might be fun."

roman keeps walking toward the car. "you mean you wanna see if she’s there."

hollis doesn’t deny it. "i mean," he shrugs, "maybe."

roman unlocks the car. "fuck it."

they both get in, doors slamming shut. hollis sits there for a second, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

"nah," hollis says, hand already on the ignition, "we’re not going dressed like this. we look like we just came from church."

roman glances down at his blazer. "facts."

so they drive home first.

inside the apartment, clothes start flying. hollis pulls on one of his usual fits, something loose, layered, stupidly cool without trying. roman wears something darker, cleaner, fitted — the kind of outfit that makes everyone else in the room feel underdressed even though he swears he’s not trying.

hollis checks himself once in the mirror, adjusting a chain. "ok," he says. "i look good. like objectively good."

roman snorts. "you look like you’re trying to impress someone."

"huh," hollis says, feigning innocence. "who?"

roman just gives him that stare.

they head back out, walking fast like the night is daring them.

when they slide back into the car, hollis grabs the wheel, cracking his knuckles dramatically before starting the engine.

roman buckles in, leans back, and says calmly, "yo. don’t try to pop a boner around her."

hollis whips his head around. "shut the fuck up."

roman smirks. "i’m serious. control yourself."

" i’m not you," hollis fires back, throwing the car into drive. "i don’t get horny off a high note."

roman sits there, face blank. "that is not what happened."

"hmm," hollis hums, "you grabbed my thigh like you were gonna--"

roman glares at him. "drive the fucking car."

hollis laughs and pulls onto the street, speeding off into the city.

the closer they get to the party, the more the bass from the warehouse district starts to seep into the road. lights flicker in the distance. people are already lining up outside.

and hollis feels it roman feels it

neither of them says it out loud but they both know if you’re there everything about tonight changes.