Dot's Babbles

hi everyone :) I'm dot and welcome to my blog

imma be real i still don't really understand tumblr and tumblr culture so if im doing anything wrong pls let me know! im just happy to be here

masterlist

requests are currently open and encouraged! i love interacting with you guys so definitely reach out!

☆ no nsfw

Not awkward, but soft. Tired.

After a few minutes, he murmured, “It’s weird, isn't it. Seeing photos of the people we used to be.”

“Yeah,” she said.

He traced the hem of her shirt with his finger, idly. “You were a whole person before I met you.”

“You too.”

“Not really,” he said, voice low. “I was just... passing time.”

YIPPEE!

Anyway, hope your day is good:)

THISSSSS!!!!!! i needed this ask desperately thank you so much. You said stupid so I went with stupid, but lovable. And I could see this happening. I genuinely had so much fun with this. Thank you for the request 🙏🤩🤩

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Schlatt was never quiet. Not with his friends, not on camera, and definitely not when he was working up to one of his ridiculous rants. You’d seen him chew someone out over bagels and scream into a mic about corporate greed. The man could fill a room with his booming voice and trademark laugh. But with you? He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t brash. He wasn’t even trying to be funny half the time.

Around you, Schlatt was... soft.

It had been a gradual thing, this shift in his personality. When you first met him through mutual friends, he was as bombastic as ever, cracking jokes and tossing out snide remarks with a self-satisfied smirk. You thought that was just who he was, a loudmouth with a heart of gold buried deep, deep under layers of sarcasm. But then you caught him in quieter moments: brewing you coffee without being asked, staying up late to help you with a project even when he had his own work to do, the way he always looked at you like you were the only one in the room.

And now? Now you weren’t sure if the flutter in your chest was from his laugh or the way he smiled at you when no one else was around.

Schlatt, for his part, was spiraling. He’d never been good at feelings, much less talking about them. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop thinking about you. How you looked when you laughed at one of his dumb jokes, how you seemed to brighten up his whole world just by walking into a room. He was smitten, and it was starting to drive him insane.

So, naturally, he decided to confess.

But this was Schlatt we were talking about. He couldn’t just say how he felt like a normal person. No, he had to make it a thing.

Which was how you found yourself on your couch one Friday evening, confused as hell as Schlatt paced back and forth in front of you, muttering to himself and holding... a PowerPoint clicker?

“What’s going on?” you asked, watching him with a mix of amusement and concern.

He stopped mid-stride and turned to you, pointing the clicker like it was some kind of weapon. “Shut up and let me do this, alright?”

“Do what?”

“The presentation,” he grumbled, stepping to the side to reveal your TV screen, which now displayed the title slide of what appeared to be an actual PowerPoint presentation. The title read:

"Why You Should Date Me: A Comprehensive Analysis by Schlatt."

You blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He hit the clicker, and the slide changed to a picture of himself giving a thumbs-up, surrounded by a truly absurd number of clip-art hearts.

“Schlatt—”

“Nope, you said you’d hear me out.” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Alright, slide two.”

The screen switched to a bullet-point list titled "Key Features of Schlatt."

Has mutton chops (very masculine).

Funny as hell (you laugh at my jokes, admit it).

Makes great pancakes (citation: you said so last week).

Will watch shitty rom-coms with you without complaining (that’s dedication, babe).

You were trying not to laugh, but the combination of his serious tone and the utterly ridiculous content was making it impossible. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Yeah, well, you like that about me, don’t you?” he shot back, hitting the clicker again.

The next slide was titled "Statistical Data."

It featured a bar graph labeled “How Much I Like You” with the bars labeled “Normal Amount” and “Way Too Much.” Naturally, the second bar was comically taller.

“Oh my God,” you said, burying your face in your hands.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.” He clicked again, revealing the next slide:

"Real-Life Applications."

This slide was a ridiculous flowchart that began with “Date Schlatt” at the top. Arrows led to outcomes like “Free breakfast every Sunday,” “Terrible but endearing jokes,” and “Someone to scare off your exes.”

“Is this a joke?” you asked, biting back a smile.

“No, it’s a compelling argument,” he said, deadpan. “Now, moving on.”

The next slide was titled "Frequently Asked Questions."

“What if I say no?” You won’t, because I’m irresistible.

“Are you serious about this?” Dead serious. This took a week

“Why now?” Because if I don’t tell you now, I’m gonna lose my mind.

You couldn’t hold back your laugh this time, and Schlatt’s ears turned red, but he kept going, determined to get through it.

Finally, he clicked to the last slide, simply titled "The Proposal."

There was no text, just a poorly drawn picture of the two of you holding hands.

“Schlatt—”

“Look, I know I’m an idiot,” he said suddenly, cutting you off. His voice was softer now, all the bravado gone. “But I want to be your idiot, alright? And I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you how I feel for months now, and this was the best I could come up with. So, yeah, maybe I’m not good at this, but...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “I like you. A lot. And I’d really like it if you gave me a shot.”

You stared at him, the absurdity of the presentation fading as his words sank in. There was something so him about the whole thing—over-the-top and ridiculous, but also genuine in a way that made your heart ache.

“You’re an idiot,” you said finally, smiling as you stood up.

He blinked, looking momentarily crushed. “So... is that a no, or—”

You cut him off by pulling him into a hug, your face buried in his chest. “It’s a yes, you idiot.”

“Oh.” He hesitated for half a second before wrapping his arms around you, a laugh rumbling in his chest. “Well, uh, good. Because I had a whole second half planned if you said no, and it was gonna get really pathetic.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, grinning. “More pathetic than this?”

“Hey, don’t knock the PowerPoint,” he said, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “That thing took me hours.”

“Hours you could’ve spent just talking to me, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide. “I guess I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Damn right you will.” He leaned down, pressing a quick, awkward kiss to your forehead before pulling back with a sheepish grin. “So... dinner tomorrow? Or should I whip up another PowerPoint to convince you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Just dinner. No PowerPoints.”

word count: 5.3k

inspired by tears over beers by modern baseball

(kinda angsty, i think ! it gives right person wrong time if you know what i mean)

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when i was just a boy (fifteen or so)

Schlatt slouched in his seat, letting the scratchy polyester bus fabric dig into his neck. He stared out the window, where the blurred shapes of trees whipped past, and cursed every adult in his life for making him endure this. A field trip. A whole damn day of pretending to care about ecosystems or migratory birds or whatever Mr. Dugan had rambled on about last week.

He would’ve survived if it weren’t for the seating arrangement.

“Schlatt, buddy,” Dugan had barked before they boarded, “pair up! Can’t have anyone alone.” Which was why, somehow, Schlatt’s luck had landed him here. Next to her.

He hadn’t even seen it happen. He’d been too busy standing off to the side, hoping Dugan would forget about him altogether, when suddenly—bam. She had plopped down right next to him. The girl from his chem class. The pretty one. The really, really pretty one.

She was so close he could smell the faintest hint of strawberry from her lip balm or shampoo or something. And now she was pulling her notebook out of her bag like this was normal. Like his entire nervous system wasn’t short-circuiting.

Why me? Why’d it have to be me? He stared harder out the window, trying to will his body into stone or mist or any form that didn’t involve sweating through his hoodie in December.

Her knee brushed his. Schlatt flinched like he’d been shocked, his stomach tying itself into knots. Was he sitting weird? Did he look weird? God, do I smell?

“So,” she said, her voice casual, but loud enough to cut through the noise of fifty teenagers and a diesel engine. “You’re in my chem class, right?”

Schlatt turned to her, his throat dry. Words were supposed to come out—something clever or at least passable—but instead he croaked, “Yeah.”

She smiled. God, she had a nice smile. That only made it worse.

“I thought so. You’re the one who did that whole rant about how lab goggles are a scam?”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck, heat rising up to his ears. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said with a little laugh. “They’re pretty flimsy for how much they cost.”

Was this… banter? Was she… agreeing with him? Schlatt’s brain scrambled to respond, but his mouth just hung there, slightly open, until the silence stretched too long.

“Anyway,” she continued, undeterred, “do you actually care about this field trip? Or are you here for the ‘mandatory participation’ grade like me?”

He could’ve said something—anything. He could’ve told her how dumb he thought all of it was, how he’d rather be anywhere else, or how Dugan’s attempts at being “cool” made him want to gouge his ears out.

But instead, he shrugged. “I dunno. It’s fine.”

She tilted her head at him, eyebrows raising slightly. “Huh. Okay.”

The pause felt heavy, like she was waiting for him to add more. He didn’t.

She gave him a little nod, like she’d decided something, then turned her gaze out the window. Her knee pulled away from his, and Schlatt instantly missed the warmth.

The rest of the ride stretched on, the bus noise blending into an endless drone. Every once in a while, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She didn’t look back.

When the bus finally screeched to a stop, she grabbed her backpack and stood without a word. Schlatt stared at her retreating figure, stomach sinking.

He’d blown it.

By the time they got off the bus, she was already chatting with someone else, laughing at some dumb joke. Schlatt shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, scowling at the ground.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “So stupid.”

What was he supposed to do now? Go up to her and say something? It felt like too much time had passed, like the moment had died and anything he tried would just make it worse.

Instead, he trailed after the group, half-listening to Dugan’s voice echo through the woods. His mind stayed stuck on her, though. On the way her smile had faltered, just a little, before she looked away.

when i moved away from home (100 miles or so)

The bass from the party thumped through the walls, vibrating the beer Schlatt held loosely in his hand. The red solo cup was barely touched, its contents sloshing halfheartedly as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Frat parties weren’t his thing. Hell, frats weren’t his thing. But his roommate, Jake, had dragged him here, insisting that “college memories” didn’t make themselves.

Now, Jake was nowhere to be found, probably off playing some ridiculous drinking game or making out with someone in the living room. Schlatt had done his part: mingled, laughed, and even tossed in a joke or two about the questionable amount of pumpkin-themed beer. But the air felt too thick, the music too loud.

He wasn’t a total wallflower anymore. He’d left most of that behind when he moved out of his hometown a hundred miles away. College had been a clean slate. He’d figured out how to carry a conversation, how to laugh at himself, how to make people laugh with him instead of at him. Still, places like this didn’t feel like him.

With a sigh, Schlatt slid the cup onto the counter and slipped outside.

The back porch was mercifully empty. Strings of patio lights cast a soft glow, their bulbs swaying slightly in the autumn breeze. He leaned against the wooden railing and let the cool air seep into his hoodie.

And then he heard it, a soft creak of the screen door behind him.

“I thought I saw someone else sneak out here.”

That voice.

Schlatt froze for a second too long before turning his head.

It was her.

The girl from the bus. From sophomore year chemistry class. The one whose knee had bumped his while she tried to talk to him and who’d given up when all he’d managed was a mumbled shrug.

She stepped closer, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. She looked the same but older, more sure of herself, her face framed by strands of hair that looked effortlessly perfect. 

His heart skipped a beat. Or maybe it just stopped entirely.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said before he could think better of it.

Her brows lifted. “What?”

“I just—” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Of all the places. I didn’t even know you went here.”

Her lips quirked up into a smile. “Small world, huh?” She leaned her shoulder against the railing beside him, tilting her head slightly to look at him. “Schlatt, right? From chem?”

“You remember that?” he blurted, surprised.

She gave a soft laugh. “Well, yeah. You were the guy who tore apart lab goggles like it was your personal vendetta. Hard to forget.”

“God,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please don’t tell me that’s my legacy.”

“I thought it was funny.” She grinned, leaning in just slightly. “Besides, it’s not like you were wrong. They were a scam.”

This time, he smiled back—an easy, genuine smile that felt like it belonged on his face.

“So,” she continued, her voice teasing, “you gonna tell me why you ditched the party? Or are you still the ‘I dunno, it’s fine’ type?”

The memory hit him like a slap, and he laughed, equal parts mortified and amused. “Oh, come on. You’re not still holding that against me, are you?”

“Hey, I’m just saying.” She shrugged, her tone light but her gaze steady on him. “You left me hanging. That was brutal.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve been beating myself up about that for years.”

“Years?” She raised a brow.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat creep up to his ears. “I was kind of an idiot back then.”

She tilted her head, her smile softening. “You weren’t an idiot.”

“Trust me, I was,” he said with a wry chuckle. “I just… I didn’t know how to talk to people. Especially not, uh…” His words faltered for a second, but he pushed through. “Not to girls who actually wanted to talk to me.”

Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer before she smiled again, smaller this time. “Well, you’re doing fine now.”

That made his chest feel a little lighter.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter. “You, uh… you look good, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks heating up slightly in the glow of the patio lights. “So do you.”

Schlatt didn’t reply right away. He was too busy trying to keep himself from staring at her, at the way her lips curved when she smiled. He wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny or any of that poetic crap. But damn, if this didn’t feel like the universe was handing him a chance on a silver platter.

A chance to redeem himself.

Not just with her, but with the version of himself he used to be,the awkward kid who had spent way too many nights replaying that stupid bus ride in his head, wishing he’d said anything remotely cool.

Now, standing here with her, he wasn’t scrawny anymore. He wasn’t hunched over his desk in chem, trying to disappear into the background. He was taller, broader. His voice didn’t crack every time he spoke. And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe he could get this right.

“So,” he said finally, shifting to lean against the railing, “what about you? You ditch the party because it’s lame or because someone dragged you here against your will?”

She laughed softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “A little of both. My roommate’s obsessed with frat parties. She swears they’re the best way to ‘experience college.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t convinced, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“And? How’s the ‘experience’ so far?”

“Terrible,” she said, deadpan, then grinned. “The beer tastes like watered-down regret, the music’s loud enough to make my teeth vibrate, and some guy tried to impress me by doing a keg stand. I’m pretty sure he threw up in the bushes after.”

Schlatt snorted. “Classic. Nothing says ‘college memories’ like public humiliation.”

“Exactly.” She tilted her head at him, her smile lingering. “What about you? Did someone drag you here too, or are you secretly a frat boy?”

He barked a laugh. “Do I look like a frat boy?”

She pretended to study him, her eyes flicking over his frame. “You’ve got the height for it. Maybe a little too scruffy, though. They’re usually all clean-shaven, right? And they wear those pastel polo shirts. You’re missing the uniform.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I could pull off salmon pink. I’d look like a defective highlighter.”

She giggled, and Schlatt felt a small surge of pride. Look at me, making her laugh. Progress.

“So, what’s your excuse?” she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned her hip against the railing. “Why are you here?”

“Roommate dragged me. Said I needed to ‘live a little.’” He smirked, shrugging. “Figured I’d come for the free beer and leave before anyone started screaming ‘chug’ at me.”

“Smart move.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, trading sarcastic jabs and stories about college life. She told him about her nightmare professor who wore socks with sandals and her roommate’s obsession with Taylor Swift. He told her about his part-time job at the campus radio station, where he mostly sorted through old CDs but occasionally got to be on-air, which felt “weirdly powerful.”

“I can’t believe they let you behind a microphone,” she teased. “What if you just start ranting about goggles again?”

“Hey, people need to know the truth.” He held up his hands defensively. “I’m doing the public a service.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and Schlatt couldn’t help but think about how natural this felt.

The conversation drifted into familiar territory—small towns, high school, shared experiences.

“Do you ever think about those days?” she asked, her voice softer now. “Like, high school? Feels like forever ago.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly about how dumb I was back then. Definitely didn’t have my shit together.”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully. “You seem pretty together now.”

Her words hit him harder than they should’ve. He wasn’t used to compliments like that—not ones that felt this genuine.

“Thanks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh, I try.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the distant thrum of the party fading into the background. The patio lights cast a soft glow over her face, and Schlatt felt the words rising in his throat before he could stop them.

“I’m really glad I ran into you,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable for a split second before her smile softened. “Me too.”

His heart thudded in his chest. He wasn’t sure what this meant, if it was fate or just dumb luck, but he wasn’t about to let the moment slip away.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Schlatt leaned back on the bench, one arm draped over the backrest, his other hand loosely gripping a bottle of soda. The park was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cars. It wasn’t a bad spot for a hangout—neutral, laid-back, the kind of place where you could talk without having to shout over bad music or a dozen other voices.

That was the problem, though. The talking.

“...and then Brad said he just needed ‘more.’ Can you believe that?” She huffed, crossing her arms as she turned to look at him. “More? What does that even mean?”

Schlatt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t cruel—he got it. Breakups sucked. But this was the third time this week she’d brought up Brad, and the guy was starting to feel like a ghost haunting his Saturday night.

“Yeah,” Schlatt said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “Classic Brad move.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘classic Brad move’? You didn’t even know him.”

“Don’t have to,” he replied, taking a sip from his bottle. “He sounds like every guy who peaked in high school. Let me guess: football team? Wore a backwards cap even when it didn’t make sense?”

She let out a small laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching upward before the somber expression returned. “He wasn’t like that. I mean, yeah, he was on the football team, but he was sweet. At least, he used to be.”

Schlatt hummed noncommittally, eyes drifting to the swingset in the distance.

“Do you think I pushed him away?” she asked suddenly, her voice quieter now. “Like, maybe I was too clingy or something.”

Schlatt looked at her, the bottle halfway to his lips. “What? No. That’s stupid.”

She flinched slightly, and he winced at his own bluntness.

“I mean,” he amended, softer this time, “it’s not on you if the guy couldn’t handle a normal relationship. Sounds like he just… sucks.”

“He doesn’t suck,” she said quickly, defensively. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Not completely, anyway.”

Schlatt fought the urge to groan. He didn’t get it. Here she was—smart, funny, thoughtful, and stupidly pretty—and she was still hung up on some guy who had the emotional range of a brick.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m the problem. Like, if I just worked on myself—got more confident, lost a little weight, maybe learned how to keep a conversation interesting—maybe he’d come back.”

Schlatt sat up straighter, the frustration bubbling in his chest. “What are you even talking about? You don’t need to change anything about yourself for anybody, least of all some dude who ditched you for ‘space.’”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “I’m not saying I’m doing it for him,” she said quickly, though her voice wavered. “I just… I want to be better, be more, you know? For me. But also for him. I don’t know—it’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Schlatt said, his tone sharper than he intended. “He’s not worth it. You’re sitting here tearing yourself apart over some guy who probably doesn’t even realize what he lost.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she stared at him like she was weighing his words, trying to figure out if he was right or if she was just fooling herself. But then, as if to herself more than to him, she murmured, “I just… I want him back, Schlatt. That’s all. If I can fix myself, maybe I can make him realize we were supposed to be together.”

Schlatt stared at her, the frustration building in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it—how to make her see that she didn’t need Brad or his empty promises to be whole. But the words felt stuck, like they were too big to say all at once.

“You don’t need him,” he said instead, voice quieter now. “You’re not broken, and you don’t have to be ‘better’ for someone else. You’re already enough.” He added the last part with more force than he intended, his voice coming out a little rougher than he wanted.

She shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands, like she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “I know, logically. But… It just feels like if I get better, if I’m just better than I was before, then maybe he’ll come back and realize it’s me he needs. Maybe then we can be the way we were.”

“Seriously?” Schlatt couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “So you’re just gonna spend all your time trying to turn yourself into someone else? Someone he might like more?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Yeah, it is,” he interrupted, his voice tight. “You’re sitting here convinced that if you change, if you just become a better version of yourself, he’ll come back. What kind of relationship is that? Do you even hear yourself?”

She winced at the heat in his words, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she fell silent again, eyes fixed on her shoes. He could feel the weight of the silence between them, and his stomach churned.

He didn’t know what to say next—didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t want to fix her, but the whole thing made him angry, made him want to shake her out of this fog she’d gotten herself caught in.

“You deserve someone who sees you for who you are,” he said after a long pause, softer this time, trying to calm himself. “Not someone who needs you to be a version of yourself you’re not.”

“I don’t want to be someone else,” she said, her voice small now, “but… if I can just prove to him that I’m worth it…”

“You don’t have to prove anything to him,” Schlatt snapped, then immediately regretted it. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the storm that was brewing inside him. “I just… I don’t get why you’re doing this to yourself. You’ve got so much going for you. You’re better than Brad. You always have been.”

She didn’t answer right away, but Schlatt could tell the words weren’t landing like he wanted them to. She just stared off into the distance, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, trying to find some way to reach her, “you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna find someone who actually gets you. Someone who doesn’t need you to change, because they’re gonna love you for who you are. Not some Brad-shaped ghost who doesn’t even deserve your time.”

She finally looked at him then, her expression unreadable.

“I just… I don’t know how to stop thinking about him,” she whispered.

And there it was. Schlatt knew he wasn’t going to win this fight tonight. She was caught up in something he couldn’t fix, something deeper than just words. And he hated that.

“Then stop,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve better than this. Don’t waste any more time on someone who doesn’t see what he’s losing.”

The words were there, but somehow, they felt hollow now. She wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t ready to. And that, more than anything, frustrated him.

But all he could do was sit there, the silence growing thick and uncomfortable between them.

He wasn’t sure what else to say. And she wasn’t sure how to stop feeling the way she did.

when I felt that I should leave, (midnight or so)

The party was a mistake. Schlatt knew it before he’d even shown up, before he’d even agreed to come along like some kind of idiot. He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting. That things would somehow change between them? That if he stood close enough to her, if he lingered in her orbit long enough, she’d finally turn her head and see him standing there?

Stupid. He should’ve known better.

The house was packed, the air humid with sweat and alcohol, a suffocating mix of cheap cologne and cheaper beer that made his stomach churn. He stood near the edge of the living room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and a red Solo cup dangling loosely from his fingers. His jaw was clenched so tight it ached, but he didn’t relax it. Couldn’t. Not when he could see her across the room, right in the center of it all.

She hated parties. She’d told him that, hadn’t she? Said the noise made her feel small, like she was drowning in the crowd. But tonight, here she was, in the middle of the chaos, smiling like she belonged. Like she wasn’t just another person trying to stay afloat.

Because Brad was here.

Brad.

That name alone made Schlatt’s blood boil. The guy had everything Schlatt hated—a big, dumb grin, a shirt a size too small to show off muscles he probably worked on more than his GPA, and that cocky swagger that somehow made girls fall over themselves. She wasn’t immune to it, either. That was the worst part.

Schlatt’s stomach twisted as he watched them. Brad leaned in close, his mouth right next to her ear, saying something Schlatt couldn’t hear over the bass of whatever shitty remix was playing. Whatever it was, it made her laugh—one of those full, unrestrained laughs that Schlatt always thought were rare and special, at least until tonight. Now, she was giving it to him.

He drained what was left of his drink in one bitter gulp.

It got worse. Of course it got worse.

Brad’s hand was on her arm now, fingers curling just enough to make it clear it wasn’t accidental. She didn’t move away. And then, because apparently the universe loved to kick him when he was down, Brad’s hand slid lower, down her back, settling just above her hip. Schlatt’s grip on the empty cup tightened, the plastic crackling under his fingers.

When Brad’s hand dipped lower, giving her a firm, casual slap on the ass, Schlatt’s chest felt like it was going to explode.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t tell him to fuck off, or even brush his hand aside. No, she beamed. Beamed like he’d just handed her the moon, and Schlatt thought he might be sick right there, in the middle of this goddamn party.

He needed air.

He pushed off the wall, the cup slipping from his grip and bouncing forgotten onto the floor. He shoved his way through the crowd, not bothering to excuse himself as shoulders and elbows bumped against him. The front door was in sight, and all he could think about was getting out of there, getting away from her and Brad and the noise and the suffocating crush of people.

The door slammed shut behind him, muffling the pounding music and drunken chatter. He sucked in a breath of cold night air, the chill biting at his skin, and let it out slowly.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. His Yankees cap was shoved into his back pocket—he’d taken it off earlier because she’d once said he looked better without it. Another stupid thing he’d done for her that she probably didn’t even notice.

He stalked over to the curb and sat down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement under his boots. His head was spinning, but not from the alcohol.

What the hell had he been thinking? That she’d just stop liking Brad because he’d told her he was an idiot? That she’d suddenly look at him and see him for what he was—someone who gave a shit, someone who’d never treat her like some accessory at a party? He snorted bitterly at the thought. Yeah, right. She didn’t glow for him. She never had.

She didn’t know her worth.

Not in this town, not with these people, and sure as hell not with Brad. She didn’t know how fucking special she was, didn’t see what he saw—the spark in her laugh, the way she bit her lip when she was trying to hold back a grin, the way she made his shitty days feel just a little less shitty. She didn’t see it. And even if she did, it wasn’t for him.

The door behind him opened, spilling noise and laughter into the quiet night, and he tensed. For a split second, he thought maybe it was her. But when he heard a different voice, one of her friends, shrill and drunk, shouting something about shots, he exhaled and stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows.

He didn’t want to see her right now. Didn’t want her to see him like this.

So he sat there, staring at the cracks in the pavement, letting the cold settle into his bones, letting the bitterness churn in his stomach. He stayed until the noise from inside faded into a distant hum, until he could feel the sting behind his eyes and swallow it down before it spilled over.

All he could hope for was that time would fix it. That she’d get better. That she’d stop wasting herself on assholes like Brad.

That maybe, one day, she’d see him.

The air had turned colder. Schlatt didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there on the curb, staring at the cracks in the pavement like they held the answers to his mess of a life. The door to the house kept swinging open and shut, spilling snippets of muffled music and drunken shouts into the night. He tried to tune it out, to let the bite of the cold keep him numb, but he couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his head: her glowing under Brad’s touch, preening like his attention was a prize.

It had made him sick. Still did.

He heard the door open again, the sound barely registering until he caught the familiar click of her heels against the concrete. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then there she was, stepping into the night like a shattered version of herself.

She was crying.

The sight of her, mascara smudged and shoulders trembling, made his stomach twist. But instead of getting up and rushing to her side like he always did, he stayed seated, staring as she sank onto the curb a few feet away from him.

“He was making out with someone else,” she choked out after a moment, her voice cracking like a broken record. “Right there in the kitchen. Like I wasn’t even—” Her words dissolved into a sob, and she buried her face in her hands.

Schlatt didn’t move. He didn’t reach out. His hands stayed firmly planted on his knees, clenched into fists, the cool night air biting into his knuckles.

She sniffled, looking up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Schlatt, I don’t—why does he do this? Why do I—”

He cut her off with a bitter laugh, sharp and jagged. “Why do you? Really, that’s the question, huh?”

She blinked at him, her tear-streaked face crumpling in confusion.

“You’re sitting here crying over Brad. Brad, who’s probably too drunk to remember your name right now. Brad, who doesn’t give a single shit about you, and you’re still killing yourself trying to make him notice you.” He stood, pacing a short line in front of her, his hands gesturing wildly as he talked. “You don’t see it, do you? You don’t see what you’re doing to yourself.”

“Schlatt, I—”

“No.” He cut her off, his voice rising. “You don’t get to interrupt me this time. You’re so fucking blind. You walk around like you’re nothing, like you have to earn scraps of attention from some meathead who doesn’t even deserve to look at you. And all the while, you’re stepping on people who actually care about you. You’re stepping on me.”

Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but he didn’t let her.

“You glow, you know that? You light up a room just by walking into it. But not for me, of course. Not for the guy who actually gives a shit. No, you glow for Brad. For assholes who treat you like garbage, and then you come crying to me like I’m supposed to pick up the pieces.”

The words came tumbling out, unfiltered, raw. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he’d just reached his breaking point, but he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t hold it in.

“I like you.” The confession hit the air like a gunshot, loud and final. Her breath hitched, and her eyes widened, but he didn’t stop. “I fucking like you. And it kills me, because no matter what I do, no matter how many times I’m there for you when guys like Brad screw you over, it’s like I don’t even exist. You’re so busy chasing people who don’t deserve you that you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“And you know what? I can’t do it anymore.” His voice cracked on the last word, but he didn’t care. He stood up, brushing his hands against his jeans like he could shake off the weight of everything he’d just said. “I can’t keep watching you destroy yourself for someone who doesn’t care. I can’t keep sitting here, pretending I’m okay with being your second choice—or your last choice, or whatever the hell I am to you.”

She stared up at him, frozen, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the glow of the streetlight. For once, she didn’t have anything to say.

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. You’re never going to see it. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep watching you kill yourself for someone who doesn’t give a shit while you treat me like trash. I’m done.”

Her breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks, but he didn’t stay to see what she’d say. He couldn’t.

Schlatt turned and walked away, the cold night air biting at his skin as he left her sitting there, crying on the curb. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he needed to get the hell away. Away from her, away from the mess he’d just made.

He didn’t look back.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

a/n: one thing about me is i cannot keep a consistent format. I apologize greatly for switchin it up on you guys again. i hope you guys like this one !!!! you guys are all sodear to me so dont hesitate to yap or send asks or whateva, i promise even tho i dont post all that often im still very much here. okay coool.

You’re sitting on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone when the idea pops into your head. Schlatt’s in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for God knows what. Probably a beer. Or cold cuts. Maybe both.

“Hey, Jay?,” you call, not looking up from your screen.

He grunts in acknowledgment. Typical. “Have you seen that trend? You know, the one where the guy picks up his partner, sits them on his shoulder, and flexes like some kind of beefcake?”

His eyes flicked to yours, brow raised. “Uh-huh,” he said, dragging the word out in that signature dry tone. “And lemme guess. You wanna know if I can do it.”

“Exactly.”

He snorted, capping the bottle with a sharp twist. “Jesus Christ, you think I’m some kinda circus act?”

“Come on. You’re always bragging about being ‘built different.’ Here’s your chance to prove it. Unless, of course, you’re all talk.”

That hit the mark. His lips twitched, and you could see the gears turning in his head. A dangerous glint settled in his eyes. You’d baited him, and he bit.

“Fine,” he said, setting his glass down with a dramatic flourish. “But if I do this, and you’re impressed, you owe me. Big time.”

“Impressed?” You scoffed, trying to play it cool despite the little jolt of excitement. “You’re not about to be the first man to invent carrying someone, Schlatt. But sure, let’s see what you’ve got.”

He rolled his shoulders like he was gearing up for war, stepping closer with the kind of swagger that suggested he knew he was about to cause chaos. Schlatt cracked his neck, then shot you that signature shit-eating grin—the one that always managed to make you laugh and seriously consider throwing something at him. “Alright, sweetheart. Brace yourself. I’m about to redefine peak masculinity.”

You barely had time to process his words before he was on you, grabbing your waist with an infuriating ease that made you squawk in surprise.

“Schlatt! What the—” You clung to his shoulders out of pure instinct as he hoisted you up like you weighed no more than a grocery bag, you had no idea how that was even possible. 

“Yeah, that’s right!” he announced, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Look at this! I’m a goddamn titan!” His voice was dripping with mock bravado as he held you steady on one shoulder. You could feel his laugh rumbling through his chest, a hand on your thigh to keep you balanced.

“Oh my God,” you said through a mix of laughter and exasperation. “You’re ridiculous. This isn’t a flex—it’s just showing off how much of a jackass you are!”

He tilted his head back to look up at you with a grin so wide you could practically see every tooth. “Ridiculous?” He scoffed, puffing out his chest dramatically. “This is peak performance, sweetheart. You may not like it, but this is what perfection looks like.” Despite yourself, you burst out laughing, the ridiculousness of the moment winning out. “Oh my God, you’re so dumb. Put me down before—”

But before you could finish, he shifted his stance slightly. You caught the glint in his eye half a second too late.

“Don’t you dare.”

He smirked, a low chuckle bubbling up in his throat. “What’s that? You want me to throw you?”

“Don’t you fu—!”

And then you were off his shoulder and over it, tossed like a sack of potatoes into the couch. He didn’t even let you hit the cushions gracefully—no, he made sure you landed half-tangled in a blanket and an awkward sprawl of limbs. Schlatt stood there, hands on his hips, laughing like a madman. His obnoxious cackle filled the room, and you couldn’t even get mad because it was too damn infectious.

“You absolute asshole!” you shouted, untangling yourself and hurling a throw pillow in his direction. It hit him square in the chest, but he just laughed harder, doubling over like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Built different, huh?” he teased, mimicking your earlier words in a tone that was as annoying as humanly possible. “Told ya. You didn’t say I had to gently sit you on my shoulder. That’s on you, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he drawled, stepping closer and leaning down until his face was uncomfortably close to yours, “you’re still here. Guess you like me anyway.”

I apologize if anyone has done this before, but this idea has been stuck in my head all week after having this trend plague my fyp for way too long. pls help. i literally have not gone outside in days. finals are killing me. this fic is the only thing keeping me going

can i ask you for a schlatt fic with "childhood friends to lovers" but the bit is that those childhood friends fell off(someone moved out or something like that) but here you are, meeting eachother again after some years. it starts awkwardly since you're now not the same two kids you were back then, tension is undeniable tho(bonus points if you two had crush on eachother when you were kids but never got the guts to confess and now there's some spontaneous moments of "you remember i used to like this?...")

sorry if that's too long!

meant to be famous | schlatt

a/n: omg i love love love this request. im deff gonna make another part. I hope you like this guy :)))))

The small-town skyline of rolling roofs and worn-out storefronts blurred past as you parked along the gravel curb, engine clicking down to silence. It felt strange, the way everything had changed and yet stayed the same. The cracked sidewalk outside Joe’s Diner was still there, carved up with the initials of kids who once claimed this corner of town like it was their whole world. Your initials were buried there too, somewhere beside his, etched with the intensity of twelve-year-olds on a summer dare.

“Still looks like something out of a bad movie,” you muttered, smirking at the flickering neon sign that spelled out “DIN” more than it did “DINER.” The past felt like it wanted to wrestle its way up, press its palms against your chest until you couldn’t breathe. But you pushed that down; nostalgia was just a disguise for unfinished business.

The bell above the door jangled like it always had, too shrill, too much. And there he was, sitting at the counter like he’d been waiting for this day to come. Schlatt. Taller, broader, a shadow of scruff lining his jaw. His hair, still somehow unruly, matched the grin that flickered into a half-smirk when he spotted you.

“Well, look who decided to crawl back out of the big city,” he drawled, leaning back with an easy confidence that made your stomach knot. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, slipping into the stool a seat away from him, a buffer against whatever this was. “Figured it was time to check if this place had learned how to make coffee that doesn’t taste like the bottom of a boot.”

He chuckled, low and gravelly. The sound tugged at a memory, one where laughter cracked through muggy July evenings, where you’d both collapse into the grass, counting fireflies and trying not to let on how badly you wanted to hold his hand.

“Still got the sharp tongue, huh?” Schlatt’s eyes narrowed, but there was warmth hidden there, as if he was remembering, too. “Guess some things don’t change.”

“Some things do,” you shot back, matching his stare. The silence between you simmered, heavy and restless. You saw his throat bob with an unspoken word, something caught between then and now. You knew he wouldn’t say it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“So,” he finally spoke, breaking the moment like a poorly timed punchline. “You still drink root beer like it’s going out of style, or have you learned to pretend you’re an adult?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. 

You studied Schlatt as he turned to signal the server, noting how the years had changed him. The sharp angles of adolescence had softened, grown into the kind of rugged handsomeness that was striking in its familiarity and foreign in its detail. The jawline that had once seemed too sharp now suited him, balanced with the scruff that hinted at time and change. He looked older, wiser maybe, but the smirk—half cocky, half kind—remained the same.

“Root beer for the critic,” Schlatt announced, and you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, easing the weight on your chest just a little. The server, an older woman who’d been there since the two of you were kids, raised an eyebrow as she poured the drink, but kept her questions to herself. Small towns were good at that—watching without asking.

“Thanks,” you muttered as the glass slid in front of you. Schlatt’s eyes stayed on yours, searching for something he hadn’t quite found yet.

“Come by at the right time, you get the old crowd,” he said, tapping his own half-empty mug. “Same faces, just... more wrinkles. You know how it is.”

You nodded, looking around. The booth by the window where you’d once dared each other to drink syrup straight from the container was occupied by a couple with matching gray hair. It was like the past was stitched into every corner of this place, stubborn and unyielding.

Schlatt cleared his throat, breaking the silence that threatened to settle. “I can walk you around town,” he said, the words laced with something that wasn’t quite his usual easy confidence. “Figured... we could catch up. If you’re not busy doing big city things,” he added, the sarcasm in his voice failing to mask a bit of nerves.

You raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the offer. His gruffness felt forced, a poorly stitched veil over something genuine. “Yeah,” you said softly, fingers playing along the condensation on your glass. “I’d like that.”

A look passed over his face, there and gone before you could read it. He nodded, eyes shifting to the clock above the counter. You took a sip, the familiar taste settling on your tongue like an old song. Memories fought their way up—ones you didn’t want to linger on. The fight that had sent you packing still hummed in the spaces between. Neither of you had brought it up, but it sat there, tangible as the space you left between your elbows on the counter.

“So, why’d you come back?” Schlatt asked, his tone light but eyes sharp.

Your fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles brushing against the cool surface. “Just needed a change,” you replied, hoping he wouldn’t push. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was waiting for you to say more, but he nodded once, accepting the half-truth.

“Change, huh?” He took a sip, gaze darting to you and back to the counter. “Guess some things are harder to leave behind than you think.”

You didn’t answer, didn’t trust yourself to. But as the minutes ticked by, an unspoken understanding settled between you. The past was still there, heavy and restless, but maybe it was time to see if the present could hold anything more.

An hour later, the sun had begun its lazy descent, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the town. The sky was streaked with shades of amber and rose, a watercolor backdrop against cracked sidewalks and uneven roads. You both stepped out of Joe’s Diner, the air heavy with the familiar scent of summer heat fading into dusk. Schlatt stretched, the sleeves of his worn flannel shirt pushing back to reveal forearms that were somehow both achingly familiar and startlingly different. You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“Looks like time didn’t touch this place,” he remarked, a wistfulness tugging at his voice. You glanced down Main Street, where old shops stood side by side, their peeling paint and sun-bleached awnings telling stories of better days. The bookstore where you used to share glances over stacks of comic books still sat stubbornly at the corner, its display window lined with faded titles.

“Maybe not this place,” you said, keeping your tone light, eyes on the chipped pavement as you started walking, the gravel crunching softly beneath your feet. “But it sure changed us, didn’t it?”

Schlatt didn’t answer right away, falling into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The silence between you was heavy, awkward at first, like a pair of shoes not yet broken in. But as the road stretched out, it started to feel less foreign. The rhythm of your strides began to sync, old habits finding their way back, no matter how much time had passed.

“You did change,” he finally said, voice quieter than you expected. You glanced at him, caught off guard by the earnest look in his eyes, a look that made you feel like you were twelve again, skin prickling under his attention. “Not in a bad way,” he added quickly, as if worried you’d take it wrong. “Just… different.”

The tension in your chest tightened, an ache that pulsed with the memories you’d tried to leave behind. “Yeah,” you admitted, looking up at the streetlight that buzzed lazily, not yet bright enough to chase away the encroaching night. “I had to.”

You passed by the old movie theater next, its marquee half-lit, reading: “RENTAL – WED SPECIAL”. You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the night you’d snuck into a late show together, stealing popcorn and laughing until tears blurred your vision. Schlatt glanced up at it too, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

“Remember when Mr. Larkin caught us sneaking in?” he said, the rumble of laughter beneath his words pulling at something deep inside you.

You laughed, the sound easing some of the weight off your shoulders. “Yeah, and he pretended not to see us because we helped him find his cat that one time.”

“That dumb, one-eyed cat,” Schlatt said, shaking his head, his expression softening as the memory settled between you like a warm blanket. For a moment, the years fell away, and you were just two kids again, wrapped in the glow of stolen moments and whispered confessions that never quite reached the surface.

The silence that followed felt less stifling now, filled instead with a current, an electricity humming between you. You stole a glance at Schlatt, noticing the way he looked out at the town like he was trying to memorize it, each line and shadow.

“Sometimes I wish it all stayed the same,” you found yourself saying. The words slipped out before you could think them over, exposing the part of you that still longed for those simpler days, where everything was laid out in summers and secrets, not marked by what-ifs and regrets.

“Yeah?” He turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours. The streetlamp caught the flecks of amber in them, making them warmer than you remembered. “If it did, we’d still be those stupid kids too scared to say what they meant.” His smile was soft, a little sad. “I think we’re better off this way. Maybe.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you nodded, the streetlight casting long, wavering shadows over the both of you. Your heart tightened at his words, a bittersweet taste left in their wake. Maybe he was right; maybe the change wasn’t all bad. But a part of you still ached for the past, for the boy you’d known who seemed simpler, softer, less guarded.

Schlatt gestured toward the park, an unspoken invitation. You followed, your feet moving of their own accord, memory guiding you as you passed the swing set where you’d once pushed him too hard and sent him flying off, laughter ringing out like a bell. He slowed when you reached the oak tree at the edge, its trunk scarred with carvings that had long since faded, though you knew exactly where to find yours. You traced the letters with your fingers, feeling the grooves where your initials met his.

“Still here,” you said, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“Some things are harder to erase,” he said, his voice low and closer than you’d expected. You looked up, finding him watching you with a gaze that seemed to pull at the years between you, narrowing the space until it felt as if time itself was bending.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, and in that charged silence, it felt like anything could happen—a word, a touch, an echo of something unfinished. But instead, Schlatt broke it with a sigh, glancing away as though he’d said too much.

“So,” he said, shifting back to his familiar sarcasm. “What now, city girl? Wanna see if that dumb pizza place still undercooks their crust?”

You felt the warmth spread through you, the awkwardness slipping away piece by piece. “Why not?” you replied, brushing the bark one last time before turning to follow him, the unspoken connection between you sparking to life, steady as the heartbeat you couldn’t quite calm.

The gravel crunched beneath your feet as you both walked past the worn path that led to the edge of the park, weaving through the whispered ghosts of shared laughter and long-faded dares. The summer air was thick with the kind of silence that was more felt than heard, heavy and expectant. You glanced sideways at Schlatt, taking in the way he moved now—less swagger, more weight in each step, as if the earth itself was holding him in place.

“Why’d you stay?” The question slipped out before you could catch it, the curiosity too sharp to ignore. You regretted it for a second, watching his jaw tense, but then he exhaled, a deep, measured breath that seemed to let something go.

“Dad got sick,” he said, voice low and steady, each word clipped and deliberate, like he’d said them enough times that they didn’t sting the same way anymore. “Then he died. Mom needed someone to stick around. Guess that was me.” He shrugged, but it didn’t carry the nonchalance he aimed for. It hung between you, raw and unvarnished.

You nodded, your eyes catching on the way the last streaks of daylight traced the planes of his face. There was something new there, a hardness that came with loss and responsibility. The Schlatt you remembered would’ve dodged this kind of talk, laughed it off or thrown a sarcastic jab. But this version of him let it sit, meeting your gaze with a steadiness that twisted at something deep in your chest.

“I didn’t know,” you said, the words coming out smaller than you intended. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, a restless habit you hadn’t shaken since you were kids. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes flickering to yours, a trace of something softer hidden there. “It’s life, y’know? You get what you get.”

You both walked in silence for a bit longer, passing the broken benches where you’d sat as teenagers, trading dreams like they were secrets too precious to say out loud anywhere else. Back then, Schlatt was electric—loud, brash, a heartbeat that drummed too fast for the quiet town that wrapped around him like a cage. He’d joked that he was meant to be famous, grinning in that reckless way that made you believe it was true. You’d teased him endlessly, but deep down, you’d believed it, too.

Yet here he was, still. It felt almost unfair, this version of him—calm, matured, dulled around the edges like a blade that had been sharpened too many times. You tried to reconcile the boy who made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe with the man walking beside you now, who held his past so close it left no room for anything else. You wondered when he’d decided that this was enough, if it had even been a choice at all.

“Do you ever regret it?” you asked, voice hesitant as if treading on uneven ground.

He tilted his head, considering. The light from a nearby lamppost illuminated the subtle curve of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sometimes. Sure. It’s hard not to think about what could’ve been. But... someone had to stick around, and that’s what I do. I stick.”

You didn’t need to ask why; you already knew. Schlatt had always been fiercely loyal. When the world spun too fast, he’d been the one to plant his feet and refuse to be moved. Even back then, when he joked about leaving and being larger than life, you knew that if it came down to it, he’d be the last one out, locking the doors behind him.

Funny how that loyalty, the very thing that once made him seem invincible, was now what tethered him here. The town that felt like a prison to you was an anchor for him. And yet, here you were, back on the same cracked streets that once mocked your ambitions. It seemed impossible to escape, the pull of this place as relentless as the memories it kept.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who’d come back,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen like a curtain between scenes. There was no judgment in his voice, just a curiosity edged with something you couldn’t name.

“Neither did I,” you admitted, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Guess things don’t always turn out how we think they will.” The statement hung in the air, a confession wrapped in truth. You didn’t elaborate, and Schlatt didn’t push. Maybe he understood that your reasons, much like his, were too tangled to unravel in a single evening.

The road led past the faded mural painted on the side of the old community center, where you’d spent countless afternoons—once vibrant, now chipped and weathered by time. Schlatt slowed as he walked by, his gaze lingering on the faces in the painting, kids laughing, frozen in a moment that neither of you could ever get back.

“Remember when we said we’d get out of here and never look back?” he asked, the corners of his mouth lifting in a rueful half-smile. It was the kind of smile that made your chest ache, a reminder of promises made in the golden light of youth.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice catching as the memories crowded in—plans mapped out on napkins, whispered confessions in the dark, dreams that seemed tangible in the hazy glow of streetlights. The weight of what was left unsaid filled the space between you, sparking like static in the cool evening air.

Schlatt’s fingers brushed against yours as you both stopped in front of the mural. The touch was fleeting, almost accidental, but it sent a current racing up your arm, sharp and vivid. You glanced at him, the warmth of the moment reflected in his eyes, softened by the years but not entirely erased.

“Things change,” he said finally, the words simple, but layered with the history between you.

The old pickup rumbled like a sleeping giant, sputtering at the edges as if mirroring the man behind the wheel. Schlatt’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white beneath the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Outside, rain lashed against the windshield in furious torrents, distorting the outside world into a blur of dark, drowning grays and fractured streetlamp halos.

“Looks like the heavens are spitting on us tonight,” Schlatt muttered, his voice raspy and tight. He forced a half-smile, but it was a thin disguise that you saw through immediately. The humor felt wrong, forced, like it was trying too hard to mask the weariness behind his eyes.

You shifted in the passenger seat, the damp from your rain-soaked jacket seeping through to your skin. The cold crept into your bones, but it was nothing compared to the silence between you two, the air laden with an invisible weight that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. His eyes, usually alive with a spark of defiance or a sly grin, were downcast, tracing the long, meandering path of a raindrop as it carved a crooked line down the glass.

“Schlatt…” you started, unsure how to end the sentence. Your voice was soft, hesitant, like you were stepping on eggshells.

He cut you off with a sharp breath. “Don’t. Just… don’t.” The words carried a quiet ache, roughened at the edges, as if he’d already fought a battle with them before they ever reached you. There was a crack in his composure, so fine it would have gone unnoticed if you weren’t watching him as closely as you were.

The pickup came to an abrupt stop. You hadn’t even realized he’d turned down a secluded path, leading away from the main road and into a clearing. The rain fell harder now, a symphony of drumming and crashing, relentless and unyielding. The world outside the window was dark, swallowed up by the storm.

He turned the key, and the engine sputtered to a stop, leaving you both in a cocoon of silence broken only by the roar of rain and the sharp thudding of your heartbeat.

“I’m tired,” Schlatt said finally. His voice was so low it almost got lost in the din. He leaned forward, elbows on the steering wheel, his head hanging between his shoulders. The darkness cast deep shadows on his face, turning the creases by his eyes and the lines of his mouth into deep, endless canyons. The rain outside felt like a pulse, alive and steady, while inside, everything was suspended, held captive by his words.

The silence threatened to stretch between you forever, endless and empty. You reached out, fingers grazing the worn fabric of his sleeve. It felt like an apology in itself—tentative, searching, afraid. He flinched, just barely, but enough that you felt it.

“You know you can talk to me,” you said, trying to find strength in your voice that wouldn’t shatter under the pressure. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

A bitter laugh rasped out of him, humorless and sharp. “Funny. Isn’t that what everyone says?” He finally turned to look at you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him—really saw him. His eyes, dark and stormy as the world outside, held a fragility that twisted something inside of you.

“Schlatt…” The name felt inadequate, as if it wasn’t enough to bridge the space between you. You wanted to reach in, tear away the pain that lived behind that gruff exterior, buried deep under years of defenses and snarky comebacks.

“I never asked for any of this,” he said, almost to himself. His jaw clenched and his eyes darted away, as if he couldn’t bear for you to see the truth unraveling there. “I didn’t ask to feel like I’m constantly clawing at something that’s always slipping through my fingers. Like everything I touch turns to shit.”

“Not everything,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. “Not this.” You gestured between the two of you, desperate for him to see what you saw—something fragile but real, something that could be held together if only he’d let you help.

His expression softened, the hardness cracking at the edges. For a moment, it looked like he might say something—something that could mend the jagged line tearing between you. But the moment passed, like a breath in the wind, stolen before it could take root.

“I can’t lose you too,” he said finally, and the admission left him stripped bare. His eyes met yours, unguarded and vulnerable in a way that felt like both an apology and a plea.

You blinked back tears, the rain outside mimicking the storm within. “Then don’t push me away,” you said, each word heavy with the weight of a hundred unsaid things. “Let me stay. Let me be here for you.”

Schlatt’s gaze held yours, a battle raging behind his eyes, a silent war between hope and the ghosts that haunted him. The space between you was filled with the thunder of rain and the sharp sting of unshed tears.

Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as it found yours. His fingers were rough, calloused, but there was a gentleness in the way he held on, as if you were the lifeline he hadn’t realized he needed.

Wonder what it could be, anyways have a good day, love your writing:)