One Big Favor Part 2 - Steve Harrington imagine
(Steve Harrington x female reader)
read part 1 here.
Word count: 5,959
Warnings: Mentions of sex. Angst. post-intimacy emotional distance/awkwardness. Steve's a little bitch here (he'll get better eventually...)
A/N: I did not expect so many people to want a part 2 to this but regardless thank you for the support. đ there will be another part to this I promise. This was a little rushed so, sorry for the inconsistency.
*.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.*
Monday already feels wrong as soon as you wake up. Not because of school. Not because of River.Â
Because of Steve.Â
You stare at your bedroom ceiling for way too long, tangled in your blankets, replaying everything from Friday night whether you want to or not. Every second of it keeps forcing its way back into your brain in sharp flashes that make your stomach twist inside.Â
Steveâs hands. Steveâs voice. The way he looked at you after.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
God.
This was supposed to fix things. That was the whole point. You were supposed to walk into school feeling lighter somehow, more confident, more experienced, finally ready to talk to River without feeling insecure or inexperienced all the time. All you wanted was to feel like a normal teenage girl just for once.Â
Instead, it feels like everything inside you shifted overnight without your permission.
And the worst part?
You finally understand why.
It takes a little too long for the realization to fully settle in, but once it does, thereâs no pushing it away anymore. No pretending itâs something else. No burying it like you used to.
Because somewhere along the wayâquietly, accidentally, completely against your willâ
you fell in love with Steve Harrington.
And thatâs what makes this feel like such a disaster. Because Steve was never supposed to become someone you wanted like this. Heâs Steve. Your best friend. The person whoâs always been there, always constant, always safe. Not someone you were supposed to ache over. Not someone you were supposed to look at and want to keep close forever. Not someone you were ever supposed to have sex with.Â
You canât have him like that.
You canât ruin the one good thing thatâs always belonged to both of you even though it feels like you already have.Â
Which means you need to get over this. Immediately.
Maybe the answer is simple. Space. Just for a little while. Not forever obviouslyâyou physically cannot imagine a version of your life where Steve isnât in itâbut maybe if you put a little distance between you two, everything will settle back down. Maybe your feelings will calm down and your brain will stop acting insane every time you imagine smiling at you.Â
Maybe if you stop replaying Friday night over and over again, itâll slowly stop meaning so much. And maybe, if you avoid him long enough, Steve wonât bring it up either. The thought gives you a tiny, pathetic amount of relief. Because if neither of you talks about it, maybe it can stay tucked away somewhere untouched. Safe. Unexamined.
Maybe you can hold onto him a little longer that way.
Youâd rather deal with your own miserable feelings in private than risk losing him completely.
So that becomes the plan.
Avoid Steve at school. Stop overthinking every little thing. Act normal. Pretend Friday was just one slightly reckless mistake between friends and nothing more.
Easy enough.
Except the problem with your plan is that Steve Harrington has never once made avoiding him easy.
- -
By the time you get to school, your nerves are so bad you almost turn around in the parking lot. But you canâtânot when you already have way too many unexcused absences and graduation hanging over your head.
Itâs incredibly nerve wracking the second you walk through the front doors, your stomach already twisting so hard you might vomit. And itâs all because you already know Steveâs here somewhere, lurking around, waiting to jump up and talk to you.Â
But you canât talk to him because things are not normal anymore. Itâs all your fault, you are the one who messed it all up.Â
WellâŠ. Technically, you didnât know for sure if you had ruined things, but it felt obvious. The way Steve had quietly dropped you off at home, the awkward silence that settled between you after the most intimate moment youâd ever shared. Still, you couldnât really blame him. Sex complicated thingsâespecially when it was something you still didnât fully understand.
Maybe that was why the idea of seeing him at school suddenly made you feel sick. Because now every hallway glance would remind you how stupid youâd been for falling for your best friend in the first place. And if Steve regretted itâif he looked at you differently nowâyou didnât think you could stand there and watch it happen.
It was supposed to be easy to avoid him but then⊠you spot him almost immediately. Of course you do. Heâs hard not to notice with his thick, luscious hair and that bright, pearly smile he flashes at girls like itâs some kind of weapon.
Heâs busy standing by his locker with Tommy and Carol, one shoulder leaned against the metal, basketball jacket hanging loose over a gray sweatshirt. To anyone else, he looks completely fine. Relaxed and casual. Like always.
You immediately think about how in a normal circumstance, you wouldâve walked right up to him without thinking. You wouldâve slipped into the empty space beside him and started rambling about your weekend or some annoying teacher or whatever dumb thought popped into your head first. Steve would roll his eyes, pretend not to care, but still listen to every word anyway.
Thatâs how it always was.
But not anymore.Â
Because you had to go and ruin it. Your gut had practically screamed at you to not sleep with Steve, that it was all a bad idea, and somehow you did it anyway. You just had to cross that line with him, and now everything was different. Now you've gone and fallen for your best friend, turning something easy and familiar into something painfully complicated. To the point where you knew you wouldnât be able to even look at him without your chest aching.
As you try to avoid his glance, rushing past him as quickly as these tiny hallways allow, you see his eyes flick up. Right at you. And suddenly, it feels like all the air leaves your lungs. The look only lasts a second. Barely enough time to study his faceâor at least try to. You canât tell whatâs there. Recognition. Hesitation. Maybe guilt. But thereâs something sharper underneath it that makes your stomach twist.
Then Steve looks away first.
And you do too.
Your chest tightens painfully as you keep walking, heart hammering so hard it almost drowns out the noise of the hallway around you. Immediately, your mind starts spiraling.
What if Steve regretted it? What if he thought it was a mistake? What if it really did ruin everything between you?
You understood why you were avoiding him. That part made sense. Looking at Steve now felt unbearable when all you could think about was how badly youâd messed things up.
But why was he avoiding you too?
âYouâre not gonna go talk to Steve?â your friend whispers slipping up beside you interrupting your thoughts for a moment, the question laced with obvious suspicion.
Of course she noticed. Talking to Steve every morning was practically a routine at this point. No matter how busy the day got, you always found him before first period. Usually because you knew afterward youâd barely get a chance to see him between classes, basketball practice, and everything else. It was just⊠normal. Familiar.
So for you to walk right past him without even a hello?
Yeah. People were going to notice.
âIâm just tired,â you mumble quickly, adjusting the strap of your bag so you donât have to look at her. The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears.
Your friend gives you a look like she doesnât buy it for a second, but thankfully she doesnât push.
Still, the damage is already done. Because now your mind immediately jumps to the worst possible conclusions. If your friend caught the weird tension between you and Steve that fast, then who else did? Tommy? Carol? God, what if Steve had already said something to them? What if they were laughing about it right now?
Your stomach twists painfully.
Usually, you were good at reading Steve. Better than anyone, probably. You always knew what his expressions meant, what he was thinking before he even said it out loud. But now? Now every glance felt uncertain. Every second around him felt wrong somehow.
And the what-ifs just kept coming.
What if he regretted everything?
What if he was embarrassed by you?
What if last night meant way more to you than it did to him?
The worst part was not knowing. Normally, you liked certainty. You liked understanding where you stood with people, especially with Steve. But now it felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you stuck questioning every little thing he did.
But the worst part was that you didnât even know if Steve was actually avoiding you.
All that had happened was one tiny glance in the hallway. A split second before he looked away. That was it. Still, your brain insisted on turning it into something awful. Because it had to mean something, right? Things didnât just go back to normal after something like that.
And thatâs what made this all so frustrating. You didnât regret sleeping with himânot really. It was amazing and if anything, that almost made it worse. Normal people shouldnât think of describing having sex with their best friend as âamazingâ. Because of thisâdespite the awkwardness and panic clawing at your chest, you couldnât bring yourself to wish it never happened.
But God, the complications afterward?
The overthinking. The distance. Steve. Everything about Steve suddenly felt so painfully complicated and it had only been less than 72 hours.Â
- -
By third period, you were running on fumes. Life couldnât really feel worse right now. Well, technically it could, but try explaining that to a confused eighteen-year-old who had just slept with her best friend from childhood and was now actively avoiding him for reasons she couldnât even fully put into words. It didnât feel okay. Not even close.
You tell yourself to get it together as you slide into your seat in your art class, pulling your sketchbook out with more force than necessary like you had your own personal vendetta against it.Â
This is so stupid.
You had sex with your best friend one time.
Thatâs it.
People survive weirder things.
Probably.
You don't know anything right now.Â
Your brain continues to explode with thoughts. Nothing had technically changed since the hallway. Steve hadnât said anything. You hadnât said anything. There had just been that momentâone glance, one flicker of something you couldnât read before he looked awayâand somehow it had managed to follow you into every thought you had since.
Why did Steve have to take up so much space in your head? It was ridiculous! Yes, he was good-looking, like really hot. So what? That didnât mean anything. Except it did, because he was also so much more than that. He was funny without trying to be. He was annoyingly kind in ways he pretended not to be. He had this soft side heâd never admit to, like it physically offended him to care too muchâ
Oh my god. Stop.
While you are spiraling internally in your chair, someone slides into the seat next to you.
Youâre so busy fighting your own thoughts that you almost donât look. Almost. But then you do. And your stomach drops.
River?Â
Greatâbecause youâve really built such an impressive track record with hot guys.
âYou okay?â he asked softly. Your head snaps up so fast you almost drop your pencil.
River is right there⊠and heâs talking to you for some reason.Â
For a second, your brain genuinely short-circuits because River never talks to you first. Not really. Sure, heâs been nice before in that casual-artsy-boy-whoâs-nice-to-everyone-but-is-actually-evil kind of way, but this is different. Heâs actually looking at you. Smiling a little as he slides into the stool beside yours.Â
And god, heâs still unfairly pretty. Dark curls falling into his eyes, paint smudged faintly along his fingers, rings glinting under the fluorescent classroom lights.
You stare at him for one second too long. ââŠYeah,â you say quickly. âWhy?â
He shrugs, resting his elbow against the table. âYou just seem distracted.â
âOh.â Smooth. Really smooth.
River smiles slightly. âYou nervous about the project critique today?â
âA little.â
âYouâll be fine,â he says easily. âYour stuffâs good.â
Your stomach flips. Oh. Oh no.Â
Because this is what you wanted. This is literally exactly what you wanted. River talking to you. River noticing you. River looking at you like he actually wants to keep the conversation going. Heâs the reason you ended up in this whole mess in the first place.Â
But whatâs even worse is that⊠your brain is too preoccupied with Steve to really care at the moment. I mean you do careâsort of but you wish it was Steve for some weird reason. Which feels confusing and horrible and selfish all at once.
âThanks,â you mumble.
River taps his pencil against the table once before speaking again. âSoâŠâ he says casually. âSteve told me about you.â
Your stomach drops instantly, even the slight drop of his name makes you nervous. âWhat?â
Not to mention what-the-fuck was River talking about? In what scenario would Steve be talking to River about you. Did you even want to know?
He doesnât notice the shift in your expression. Or maybe he does but he continues anyway. âSteve Harrington?â he clarifies like itâs the most obvious thing in the world and you're an idiot for not understanding. âYou guys are close, right?â
Every nerve in your body suddenly goes cold. ââŠYeah.â
River nods slowly, still weirdly relaxed. âHonestly, I didnât even know you were into me.â
Your heartbeat stutters. âWhat?â
Okay now you are fully panicking, if you heard that correctly then well⊠that would mean Steve had told him something he was never supposed to know about, and suddenly nothing about this conversation feels safe anymore and you just want to curl up into a ball and die.Â
Now he finally notices somethingâs wrong. His brows pull together slightly. âWaitâhe didnât tell you he talked to me?â
You stare at him. Your mouth actually goes dry. âTalked to you about what?â
River lets out a small awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. âUhâŠâ
The silence stretches. Too long. Itâs painfully quiet.Â
Thenâ
âHe mentioned you finally lost your v-card,â River says carefully. âAnd that you were freaking out about seeming inexperienced.â
The world stops. Like it actually stops. You feel it.
That horrible, dizzy drop in your stomach like missing a step in the dark.
Your face drains completely. ââŠWhat?â
Riverâs expression changes immediately.
Confusion first. Then realization.
âOh shit,â he laughs.
Your ears are ringing now.
No.
No no no.
Steve wouldnâtâ
âHe said it like⊠I donât know, like he was helping you out or something,â River says slowly, now sounding unsure. âI just figured you knew.â
âHelping you out.â
The words hit like a slap across the face.
Suddenly you can hear Steveâs voice from Friday night so clearly it makes your chest hurt.
âI would do anything for you.â
You feel sick because you told him that in confidence. You trusted him. And he told River everything. Humiliation burns hot beneath your skin so fast your eyes sting.
âHey,â River says quickly, sitting up straighter. âI didnât mean to make this weirdââ
âYou shouldâve just not said anything,â you cut in quietly.
River freezes. Your hands are now shaking.Â
It suddenly feels like your world has just collapsed in on itself, and youâre far too shaken to even try and pull yourself back together. That was something you told Steve in privateâsomething soft and vulnerable and completely yours. In total confidence. He had absolutely no right to take that and hand it over to someone else like it meant nothing.
It wasnât his to tell. It wasnât his to twist. It wasnât his to spill.
And now your chest feels too tight, your throat burns, and you have to blink hard because if you donât, youâre going to cry right there in the middle of class and you donât think you can handle that on top of everything else.
Steve told him. Steve told him.
You canât stop hearing it. Every horrible possibility crashes into you all at once.
Did Steve regret it?
Was it funny to him afterward?
Did he tell Tommy too? Carol? Half the damn school?
God.
You suddenly feel stupid.
Stupid for asking.
Stupid for trusting him.
Stupid for thinking maybe the weird feeling in the car meant something to him too.
Stupid for having sex with him.Â
Because apparently, while you spent the entire weekend spiraling over him he was busy talking about taking your virginity to your crush.
Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand, not even caring about the consequences youâll have to face later for storming out of class.Â
River blinks up at you. âWaitâwhere are you going?â
âI have to go.â
âDid I do something wrong?â
âNo,â you say immediately, even though your throat burns. âNo, itâs not you.â
Itâs him. Itâs Steve.
And that will always hurt so much worse. Steve has never been the person you needed protecting from before. Not once. Heâs always been the safe oneâthe one you trusted without thinking, the one who felt like home in a way you never questioned.
Until now.
Because that trust doesnât feel steady anymore. It feels cracked. Uncertain. Like it could splinter completely if you press on it the wrong way. Heâs no longer the man you trusted enough to let in like that, the one you thought you knew inside and outâno, he⊠feels like someone else entirely now. Someone you canât quite recognize, standing on the other side of something you never agreed to cross.
And underneath all of that hurt, sharp and immediate and impossible to ignore, thereâs something else rising up fastâhot, messy, and completely irrational.
Because you were going to kill him.
- -
By the time you realize where your feet are taking you, youâre already halfway down Steveâs street. Which is⊠humiliating, honestly because you didnât plan this. You didnât think. You just moved, like your body was faster than the part of your brain that was still trying to process Riverâs words on repeat.
Steve told him. Steve told him.
Steve told your crush something that wasnât his to tell. He had no right.Â
And itâs so painful to even think about because you trusted Steve. Completely. Without hesitation. You wouldâve told him anything, anything at all, if youâd had something bigger to confess, something heavier to carry. Thatâs how safe he was supposed to feel. And now that same trust feels like itâs been handled too roughly, like itâs been dropped and stepped on without even realizing how fragile it was.
The idea that he told someone about the night you sharedâsomething so private, so intimate, so carefully unspoken between just the two of youâturns your stomach.
Not just told. Not just mentioned.
Bragged about it.
The thought makes something sour rise in your throat, sharp and immediate, like you might actually be sick.
Now itâs not an intimate memory between the two of you.Â
Now itâs exposed, a piece of you taken without permission.Â
Your hands are still shaking when you turn the corner and see him. Heâs in his driveway. Basketball bouncing in a steady rhythm against the pavement, the sound sharp in the quiet suburban air. Heâs in athletic shorts and a loose tee, hair messier than usual, like heâs been out here a while already. Focused. Lost in it.
Like nothing in the world is wrong. Like youâre not currently falling apart. You stop at the edge of the driveway.
For a second, you just watch him.
You debate, for a split second, whether you should just march straight up to him and punch his stupid face. You even picture itâclean, satisfying, deserved. But you donât. Because you couldnât hurt his face. Itâs too familiar. Too infuriatingly pretty. Too Steveâlike itâs somehow been carved into something you were never actually meant to damage, no matter how much he might deserve it right now.
The way he moves is automaticâeasy, practiced. The ball hits the ground, comes back into his palm, spins, disappears into the hoop with a clean swish.
Of course heâs good at everything, you think bitterly.
Of course.
âSteve,â you call out.
Youâve never felt this courageous in your life, but it turns out an angry teenage girl holds a lot more power than anyone ever gives credit for. Your voice comes out sharper than you intended. The ball slips through his hands mid-shot. It clanks off the rim with a harsh metallic thunk and ricochets away down the driveway, bouncing once, twice, then rolling to a stop like even it knows something just shifted.
Steve turns slowly. Not rushed. Not startled. Slowly. Like he already knows this isnât going to be a normal conversation.
And the second he sees the anger in your face, something shifts.
Not surprise exactly. Something heavier.
ââŠHey,â he says cautiously, like he can already sense the storm building behind your eyesâlike he knows whateverâs coming isnât going to be easy to weather.
His tone alone almost makes you snap.
Because hey?
Thatâs it?
You walk straight into the driveway, stopping a few feet away from him. Your chest is tight, like your lungs donât want to fully work.
âWhat the fuck, Steve?â
He blinks. âWhat?â
âYou told River.â The words come out fast, shaking. âYou told him about me. Aboutâabout what happened. Why would you do that? How could you do that?â
For a second, he just stares at you. Like heâs waiting for you to laugh and say youâre joking. When you donât, his expression hardens slightly. âOh,â he says quietly.
That tone. That calm, controlled tone that makes it worse. And now there is even less self-control stopping you from punching his face.Â
âOh?â you repeat. âThatâs all you have to say?â
He runs a hand through his hair, looking away for a second like heâs trying to collect himself. âI didnât thinkââ
âYou didnât think?â your voice cracks a little, and you hate it. You hate that it does that. âSteve, that was private. That was mine. You donât just go telling peopleâespecially not him.â
At Riverâs name, something flickers in his face. And now he looks defensive. âOh, so thatâs what this is about?â
Your stomach drops slightly. âWhat?â
âRiver.â He gestures vaguely, like the word tastes bad. âThis is about him.â
âNo, this is about you betraying me,â you snap immediately. âDonât try to twist this.â
Steve exhales sharply, jaw tightening. âI didnât betray you.â
You let out a humorless laugh. âAre you serious?â
He takes a step toward you now, frustration slipping through the cracks. âI did it for you.â
That stops you. For a second, your anger stutters. âWhat?â
Steve gestures again, more sharply this time. âYou told me you liked him. You were freaking out about it, you were overthinking everything, you wereââ he stops himself, like he realizes heâs getting worked up, then continues more controlled, ââyou werenât going to do anything about it, I know you.â
Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.
âI was helping you,â he adds.Â
You stare at him, and there isnât much room for thought in your head anymoreâjust a sharp, buzzing mix of anger and disbelief, like your brain canât decide which one it should feel louder.
ââŠHelping me?â you repeat slowly.Â
âYeah,â he says, like itâs obvious. Like this is rational. âI just gave you a push. Thatâs it.â
Something inside you breaks at that and it suddenly clicks. All of it.
The way he looked at you in the hallway. The silence in the car. The distance afterward. The way he couldnât meet your eyes. Not guilt. Not regret.
Control.
âYou told him I was embarrassed,â you say quietly, and this time your voice doesnât riseâit just shakes, like youâre holding it together by force alone. You blink hard, refusing to let the tears fall even though your eyes already sting. Because that wasnât something you could say out loud easily. Not even to yourself. Telling Steve about your insecuritiesâabout being a virgin, about all the thoughts you never let anyone seeâwas the most private thing youâd ever handed over to another person. It wasnât casual. It wasnât light. It was trust in its rawest form.Â
And he went and broke that trust.Â
Steve hesitates. That hesitation is answer enough.
Your throat tightens. âYou told him I was inexperienced,â you continue, voice shaking now, âlike it was some joke. Like it was something to fix.â
âThatâs not what I said,â Steve snaps immediately.
âItâs what you meant.â A tear falls from your eye this time, it hurts too much now. You were expecting some sympathy at least but you are only met with silence.
The basketball rolls to a stop near your foot.
Neither of you moves.
Steveâs face shiftsâsomething frustrated, something pained, something that looks almost like heâs trying not to say too much.
âI didnât make fun of you,â he says more quietly.
âBut you talked about me,â you whisper. âAnd thatâs not fair.â
That lands differently. Now he doesnât have a quick answer. His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. And for the first time since you got here, he looks unsure. âI thought I was helping you,â he says again, but it sounds less certain now. âYou were so worked up about it and I justâRiver likes you. He already did. I figured if he knew you were overthinking it, heâdâheâd make a move or something. Itâs what you wanted. You told me you needed to lose your virginity for him, you got that, and so I told him for you.â
âThatâs not your decision to make,â you say, voice trembling harder now.
Steveâs jaw tightens again, but he doesnât argue.
Which somehow makes it worse because now it feels like youâre the only one whoâs panicking. The only one who feels like something important just got handled carelessly. âYou donât get to decide things like that for me,â you continue, stepping back slightly like you need space just to breathe. âYou donât get to tell people personal stuff about me because you think you know whatâs best.â
âI was trying to fix it,â he says sharply.
âFix what?â you ask, louder now. âMe?â
That hits something in him.
You see it.
A flicker. Itâs fast, sharp, almost like pain.
âNo,â he says immediately. âNo, thatâs notââ
But youâre already shaking your head. âDo you even hear yourself?â your voice cracks fully now. âYouâre acting like Iâm some problem you had to solve.â
âIâm not saying that.â
âYou basically did!â
The silence after that is brutal. Steve looks at you for a long moment. And when he speaks again, his voice is lower. Tighter. âI did it because I didnât want you getting hurt.â
That makes you freeze.
There it is. The honest part. Something that almost sounds like care. But it doesnât fix it. It doesnât erase the betrayal sitting heavy in your chest.
âI didnât need you to do that,â you say quietly.
Steveâs expression shifts againâsomething in him breaking through the frustration now.
âYou think I didnât know that?â he says, sharper again, but not cruel. âYou think I wanted to mess things up between you and him?â
Your eyes sting. âThen why did you?â
He doesnât answer right away. And in that pause, you see it again. That thing underneath everything. The thing he keeps trying to bury.
âI thought it would be easier if you just⊠moved on,â he says finally, voice quieter. âI thought it would make everything less complicated.â
Your laugh is shaky and broken.
âLess complicated for who, Steve?â
Thatâs when his eyes finally meet yours fully. And for a secondâjust a secondâyou see it clearly. The conflict. The restraint. The thing heâs swallowing down so hard itâs making him say all the wrong things.
âFor both of us,â he says.
But it doesnât sound like both of you. It sounds like him. Like heâs the one trying to survive this.Â
Your chest hurts in a way that feels too big for your body. âYou donât get to decide whatâs easier for me,â you say again, softer now, but it lands heavier. âYou donât get to make choices about my life and call it helping.â
Steve flinches slightly. Thatâs new. You take a step back. Then another.
âI trusted you,â you whisper.
Something shifts in his faceâpanic, maybe. Or realization that he has just royally fucked up. âWaitâdonâtââ
But youâre already shaking your head, tears finally spilling over before you can stop them. âI canât do this,â you say.
Steve steps forward quickly. âHeyâno, justâtalk to meââ
You shake your head harder, wiping your face fast, embarrassed by how much itâs showing. âIâm done, Steve,â you start to back away even more. âI hate you. Justâdonât talk to me ever again. Iâll never forgive you.âÂ
That stops him completely. Like the words physically hit him.Â
You donât stay to watch it settle. You turn and walk away fast, vision blurry, heart loud, every step feeling like youâre leaving something behind that you canât actually pick up again later.
Behind you, you hear him say your name.
Once.
Then again.
But you donât turn around.Â
- -
Steveâs perspective.Â
From the moment you asked him to sleep with you, he knew it would only lead to something bad. Something that would dig deeper under his skin, something that would blur lines he had already been struggling to keep straight. Something that would make it even harder to separate what he felt from what he was supposed to feel.
Because the truth is⊠he has been in love with you for a long time now. Heâs had these thoughts for a while nowâromantic ones, intrusive ones, whatever label was least embarrassing to admit. He didnât even remember when they started exactly. It wasnât like a switch flipped. It was slower than that. Worse than that.
Just you, existing in his life the way you always had, and somehow becoming the one thing he couldnât stop noticing.
The way you laughed at things no one else even thought were funny. The way you looked at him like he wasnât some performance he had to keep up. The way being around you never felt like a chore.Â
And that was the problem.
Because he wasnât supposed to want more than that. He wasnât supposed to be in love with his childhood best friend.Â
So when you came to him that nightâcareful, nervous, trusting him in a way that made his chest tighten immediatelyâhe already knew he was standing too close to something he wouldnât be able to walk away from cleanly.
And then you said it.
âWill you sleep with me?âÂ
You had asked so nicely⊠so soft. Like it cost you something to ask.
So of course he said yes. Because he couldnât say no to you. Never. Not when you were looking at him like he was safe. Thatâs the part that comes back to him now, sharper than anything else. Not just the moment itself. Not even what happened after.
But the fact that you trusted him enough to hand him something that vulnerableâand he still managed to turn around and mess it up anyway.
And now he understands something he didnât want to admit before:
This was never just about helping you move on.
It was about him trying to move himself out of the picture before he could ruin something he already didnât know how to stop feeling.
He hated that this was all for some other guyâRiver.Â
Oh god, he absolutely hated him. There was nothing interesting about that guy at all. So what he could paint? Boring. Everything about him was boring.Â
You deserve so much more than him. And he regrets not telling you that part out loud.Â
Not to mention, River was a player. He was up to no good, his intentions werenât pureâŠhonest. River would never get to know you as well as he did.Â
Heâs the one you went to have sex. You trusted him. Not River.Â
But then again⊠heâs also the one who made you cry and run away. Heâs the one that made the stupid awful mistake and betrayed you.Â
Itâs hard to explain why he did it. Why he told River you had a crush on him. Why he said it out loud like it was nothing. Because it wasnât nothing.Â
It was panic.
Real, ugly panic.
Because sitting with the knowledge of how much he wanted youâhow deeply, how constantly, how unfairlyâwas starting to feel unbearable.Â
Sleeping with you only added fuel to the fire. And he knew, with a kind of certainty that scared him, that you couldnât feel the same way. You just couldnât. So if that was trueâif he was the only one standing there like this, holding something that would never be returnedâthen he needed it out of his system. Out of his control. Out of his head.
He needed distance. He needed silence. He needed you not to be the center of everything anymore. And River was⊠easy. Convenient. A way to redirect it. A way to make it feel like there was a direction this could still go that didnât end with him falling further into something he couldnât have.
He already knew you had a crush on himâso in his mind, why not say something? The part about âI slept with herâ wasnât something he planned to reveal; it just slipped out in the moment, more out of irritation than intention, like a way to wipe that smug look off Riverâs face.
He thought that if you could get with River⊠he could forget about you.Â
It wasnât meant with bad intentionsâbut he knew you well enough to know you probably never wouldâve said anything to River on your own. So he told himself it was helping you. That if River stepped in, if things shifted, if you ended up getting what you thought you wanted, then everything would eventually fall back into place.
Youâd be okay.
Heâd be okay.
Nothing would break in a way that couldnât be fixed.
Thatâs what he told himself. That he was doing you a favor. That he was protecting you from something complicated before it could get worse.
But now he can see what it actually was. It was him trying to save himself from the fact that he was already too far gone. And it didnât save anything.Â
It just cost him you instead.
âI hate you.â
Your words cut sharper than anything anyone had ever said to him. You had every right to feel itâhe knew thatâbut it didnât make the impact any less brutal, didnât soften the way it landed or the way it lingered in his chest after you said it.
He stood there anyway, like if he didnât move, he could somehow keep the moment from becoming permanent. From becoming the thing that actually ended everything.
Because now all he could think about was how you looked when you said it. How final it sounded. How easily it came out.
And the worst part was the silence after.
How was he supposed to fix this? How was he supposed to make it up to you when it felt like heâd just broken the one person he never meant to hurt in the first place?
*.ă»ă.ă»ăâă».ă»â«ă»ăă»ă.*
part 3
















