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andiboyo · 1 year

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This series is the highlight of my new year

To Know You Is Hard

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here - it's all bloody angst.

Thank you to @yeyinde for feeding me with all your Prof Price thoughts. I love how into this you are.

Also, a HUGE thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck who helped me navigate writing all this torturous angst, for proofreading draft upon draft for me and for her invaluable feedback!

Trigger Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes, Implied Heavy Drinking

Professor Price Masterlist

Tag list : @sprout-fics @moondirti @soapskneebrace @frenzycrazy @andiboyo

“Oh holy - look at who just fuckin’ walked in,” Sarah slurs from your left. You’re just about to nudge away what would be her fifth vodka cran before you look up to see John and Professor Vargas walk into the pub.

It wasn’t uncommon to see members of staff at the pub at the end of the day. You’d seen him before too - he’d tip his glass in your direction in silent cheers, hold your gaze whenever you passed him by on the way to the bar, whisper hello, and tut at your drink of choice if you ever got close enough. You invariably did.

“Can’t have you drinking that, not while I’m here.”

He’d sneak you a glass of something better when your friends weren’t watching.

“Our secret.”

And now you have another one - several secrets just the two of you share.

You know what his cock tastes like - how it feels hot and heavy on your tongue. He likes it when you try to take him all the way. He likes watching pools of his cum settle at the back of your throat before making you swallow.

He knows the sounds you make under the merciless strike of his palm. He knows just how tight you feel as he impales you with his cock, and how you plead for more. You like it when he says “No, my girl. Not yet.” It implies the notion of seeing him again. You like that he calls you his.

It’s only been a few weeks since that first time in his office. You found yourself back there nearly every day since.

“Here’s your jacket.”

“And the book?”

“Might’ve forgotten it at home.”

“Can’t have that.”

Every passing day, his greeting look of surprise would turn into something more expectant, as though you were meant to be there with him. It’s troubling just how disconcerted it makes you feel. He’s not a habit you can allow yourself to form. A friendship was one thing, but this - it’s dangerous. It threatens to turn into something you’re quite certain will be unrequited.

Every moment you spend with him writhing beneath his touch, coming apart at the seams just so you can take some more - you sink in deeper still. You suspire - cedar smoke, pine, spice, and molasses. It fills you so completely. You ache in its absence.

You need some distance, a little room to breathe. You’re too intumescent with everything he makes you feel. Things you were able to keep at bay until you got a taste, and now you might spill over. So, one evening, you don’t go to him. It’s a struggle - you nearly cave. Your body fights your every conviction, but you stand still. Until - a text.

Don’t I get to see you today?

If only he knew just how easily he makes your resolve crumble like a house of cards. What would he say?

So you try again with a bit more effort, armed with a distraction. A drink with friends. You have it all planned - to put yourself in scenarios you can’t readily walk away from because if you’re left to it by yourself, you’ll give in. If he calls, you’ll go.

As it would turn out, you needn’t have bothered.

You watch him walk toward the far end of the pub. Maybe he won’t see you. The thought troubles you more than it should. Just then he turns around and his eyes meet yours. You try to ignore the immediate relief that floods in. His expression is unreadable. Yours is probably an open book. You see him abandon the seat he was reaching for; settling on one that directly faces you.

You should look away.

You can’t.

You won’t.

Your gaze remains locked on him, your other senses fading to the background. Your body thrums with anticipation - it remembers, and his very presence is enough to draw out the resounding echoes you’ve tried hard to bury. There are people around, too many of them. Your gut twists in between the upending want and your earlier resolution.

Your mouth feels too dry. You want him to kiss it.

Your thighs clench at the memory of him buried between them.

You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your hands and how they’ve touched him. How they’ve made him-

“Y’alright?” A sharp nudge at your side pulls you back to reality. Your tunnel vision dissipates and the sounds and smells surrounding you edge back in.

“Mhm.” You finally break away from him to face your friend, Deb. “Blanked there, for a mo’. What did I miss?”

“The usual. Sarah’s a whore for Price. Deb’s got it in for Vargas. You’re the tiebreaker, mate.” Michelle chortles from behind her glass.

“I-“ What would you even fucking say?

“It’s Priiiiiice.” Sarah hollers loud enough for neighbouring tables to look over.

“Keep your fucking voice down! He’s right fucking there!” You hiss through clenched teeth.

“I’d fuck him.” She continues on as though you never even spoke. “I’d show him a good time.”

You bite back a retort, irritation seeping in. It’s reckless, your sudden need to announce to the group that you have in fact been fucking him. Tell them every sordid fucking detail of just how hard he fucks you and how well you take him and-

“In case this is more than your usual drunken imbecilic thought, I feel the need to point out just how horrendously that would end.” Michelle pipes in and it makes you pause. You almost do a 180 from wanting to rip Sarah’s head off to defending her.

Or rather yourself.

“Christ, don’t you remember just last year! That Chem Engineering student, I can’t recall her name..What was it?“ She snaps her fingers in her effort to recollect.

“Laura.” You mutter, eyes downcast.

The cautionary tale that made its home at the back of your mind. The one that rears its head every time you leave his company, casting a shadow on the bliss lingering from your time with him. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and no matter how hard you fucking try, it persists. You go back to him, anyway.

“Yes!” Michelle slams a palm onto the table and you flinch. “She was fucking her prof for months. An entire semester, nearly! All for a fucking grade and-“

“You’re my favourite.”

“It’s not that hard for me to be your favourite, I’m the only one who tries.”

But that was before you even-

It’s not like that with him. It’s different. It has to be. It’s a train of thought you ought to nip in the bud before it takes its hold. You’re filled with resentment at the turn this conversation has taken - the seeds of incertitude it sprinkles. It’s irrational, you know it isn’t true. You and John, you’re more than that. It isn’t fair to you or him to reduce what you have to something transactional because it isn’t. And yet-

Taking a long sip of your drink, you let it coat your teeth, your tongue. You’d prefer the burn of it to the ache your thoughts leave behind. Your eyes flash towards him, just for a second before you have to look away - but not before you see his brows knitted in concern.

Fuck-

“Well I don’t want to fuck him for a grade,” Sarah interjects. “I want to fuck him because he’s bloody fuckin’ fit.”

“Well even if you aren’t fucking him for a grade, what do you think people are going to say when it gets out?”

“Who says it’s going to get out?”

“It always gets out. At any rate, if he’s willing to fuck you. His student, he can’t have much respect for you, can he? You’d be nothing to him.”

You’re silent throughout their little argument, Michelle’s final words cutting you deep. Each and every one of your insecurities creep up, sinking their roots in. Logic and emotion battle it out in your mind - it’s ugly and bloody and an uneven fight.

You were friends for months before this began. It didn't start out this way. You never intended-

You’d be nothing to him.

He’s taken the time to get to know you. You have shared memories - memories you know he holds dear. The cufflinks, the cigar butt, the-

You’d be nothing to him.

He calls you his.

You’d be nothing to him.

“Yeah, well. Respect’s overrated.”

You need to walk away from this before it does irreparable damage. It might have already because there is a part of you, one that grows every passing moment that wants to go to him and ask whether he’s made a habit of this. You have to know you’re the only one. You’re plunged into rippling waves of anger and guilt - anger over the what-ifs of it all, guilt over the fact that you’re even questioning it.

"Anyone fancy another drink?"

You announce, standing, not even truly waiting for a response. Your feet work on autopilot, sweeping you away from the table before anyone can utter a single word. You’re brimming with unease, it’s fucking claustrophobic. You have to fight the urge to look his way because if you do, you’ll break. This night was supposed to be an escape from all the turmoil. You needed to get out of your head and now you can’t escape. You feel its ropes, the ambivalence tightening around your throat like a noose. What’s worse is you keep fucking pulling at it and the harder it chokes you, the more you pull.

You wonder if you could take him aside, just for a moment. Just long enough to ask. How would you even bring it up? Would he be upset at the insinuation? Or would he confirm it?

The thought alone could bring you to your knees, and you decide that you can’t - you can’t - know. You’d rather tolerate the uncertainty of ignorance than the finality of whatever his answer may be because then it would all come to an end and that is a fate worse than the alternative. Having known him and been with him, you couldn’t bear the thought of it all gone.

You return to your table, drink in hand as you take a seat in Sarah’s empty chair - you no longer trust yourself to have John in your line of sight and not give yourself away. Deb leans over to you, worry clouding her features. “You’ve been off all night. Y’sure you’re okay?”

Fuck.

You need to get a handle on this. If Deb, in her current state of intoxication has noticed something’s amiss, it’s only a matter of time before-

It always gets out.

“I’m fine.” You clear your throat, plastering on the guise of copacetic agreeableness. You pray it’s convincing enough. “Where’d Sarah run off to?”

Turns out it is if Deb’s change of concern to downright amusement is to be taken as an indication. “Oh, you’re gonna have a laugh. The idiot’s gone to the profs’ table to see if they’ll join us.”

“What?!” You exhale sharply, panic setting in.

“Oh relax I doubt they’d-“ Michelle looks over your shoulder. “Oh fuck me, they’re coming over.”

This can’t be happening.

You cower in your seat with your head tucked down, breathing in deeply in an effort to remain calm. You pinch your eyes shut as you inhale -

Label. Cufflinks. Pine.

It doesn’t bode well for you that you’ve turned him into a coping mechanism. An effective one at that. You almost let out a disbelieving chuckle at the irony of it all.

You stay that way until you know they’re standing behind you. The smell of John’s cologne and his last cigar glides across the air surrounding you. You can feel his hand resting on the back of your chair and you scoot forwards just as you feel the tips of his fingers ghost across your shoulder. You keep your eyes trained forwards, focusing on the look of utter disbelief on Michelle’s face.

“Hate to interrupt, ladies. Your friend was so thoroughly insistent…we couldn’t say no.” Professor Vargas speaks from behind you and you still haven’t turned to acknowledge them.

“It's, um, it's alright, Professor.” You see Michelle roll her eyes at the airy lilt of Deb’s voice.

“Oh, please. Call me Alejandro. No need for any propriety here.”

You’d laugh at the way Deb’s eyes widen and bug out if you weren’t seized with terror.

“Grab your shit and let’s move to a bigger table.” Sarah prattles impatiently as if she’s worried they’d change their minds.

Your throat tightened as Michelle handed over your - his jacket to you as you all stood. It’s a miracle you make the switch without sparing a single glance John’s way. But he’s just too fucking close. From the moment you got up from your chair and walked to the new table with a newfound fascination for the pub floor, to the moment you sat down. He’d been right by your side - that was how you found yourself seated between him and Alejandro.

You needed out. You needed to leave. This wasn’t going to end well. You’d give yourself away. You’d give him away. You need to look at him, you couldn’t just keep your head turned from him the entire night. You need to-

“You’re one of John’s students as well, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You surprise yourself with just how steady you sound. You muster a smile as you turn to look at Alejandro. “Been his student a while, Prof- Alejandro.”

“One of my best, Ale.” Price murmurs from beside you.

You flinch. You wish he hadn’t said that.

“Yeah, she’s really up for the books, this one. We’ve barely gotten her to go out with us lately.” Deb says dismissively, pouting at the change of direction in Alejandro’s questioning.

“Home late, or out to class early. This is the first night in a while we’ve seen this much of her.” Michelle adds, and it’s at that moment that you turn to look at John.

You can see the knowing satisfaction brimming under his feigned reaction of surprise. “Is that right?”

“They’re making it sound worse than it is.” You angle yourself back towards Alejandro. John does the same - his leg now flush against yours.

“Come now, there’s no shame in being a dedicated student.” He graces you with a warm smile and a wink. You feel John tense up almost immediately.

A dedicated student. Is that what you are? Is that what John thinks every time you willingly spread your legs for him?

Memories of your time together simmer out and they start to change. They sour. It makes your heart break. You begin to regret it, starting this. It’s ruining those precious moments with him you had prior to whatever this is. You wish it was just sex for you. Maybe that’s why he seems so unperturbed by it all. Because it is just sex to him. Maybe he’s used to it. Maybe he’s done this before. Maybe-

You need to stop. He’s not - he’s not like that. You know this.

You inch away from him, his touch too overwhelming. It brings forth too much - too much you’ve spoiled. You won’t let it all come to ruin. You’ll have nothing left.

The conversation around you flows, but you’re too disconnected. You chime in every now and then, mostly answering questions from Alejandro. Much to Deb’s discontent, he seems adamant to have you be a part of it. It’s almost as though he senses your distress and is trying his hardest to help. It’s kind and you appreciate it, but ultimately there’s only one thing that would truly bring your mind at ease, and he seems as quiet as you are.

His words have been terse, answers monosyllabic. Snappish, even.

Is it concern? Can he sense that something’s wrong? You brave a look his way only to find him staring into the depths of his glass twirling in his hands, face impassive save for a distinct tick in his jaw. It’s almost as if he looks-

He looks bored and it hurts more than it should.

You stare at him a moment too long, your gaze burning in and he must feel it because his eyes tilt towards you. Your lips part, but your words die at the cusp of them.

Am I the only one? Please tell me I’m the only one.

You can only assume the expression you hold must be one of such acute anguish because his impassivity breaks. His eyes shine with disquietude. His knee bumps against yours in silent question.

What’s wrong?

With her timing worse than ever, Sarah interjects out loud, breaking the spell between the two of you. “You seein’ ‘nyone, Prof P?”

He never asked them to call him John.

Just you.

“Yes, I am.”

Everyone at the table looks at him simultaneously. Everyone except you.

Is he? Did he just-

“Fuckin’ shame, that. A man like you off the market.” Her words are slurred as she slopes over the table onto her elbows.

“Christ, Sarah.” Michelle pinches the bridge of her nose as she stands. “Let’s get you some air, yeah?” Ignoring Sarah’s protests, she practically drags her away.

“I reckon she’ll need a hand.” Deb looks over apologetically before following them out.

“I’ll get myself another drink, I think.” You empty what’s left in your glass.

“I can get you that drink. What would you like?” John asks, taking your empty glass.

As if he doesn’t already fucking know.

“I can get it myself, thank you.” You spit out with unnecessary aggression. It gets noticed by both him and Alejandro and before it’s put into question, you walk away.

You weren’t planning on another drink, you need your wits about you. You just couldn’t stay sat there any longer without falling apart.

He said he was seeing someone. He can’t have meant you. He would risk his career by admitting to fucking you.

That’s just it. He wasn’t talking about you. It’s just sex. It’s not-

You’re not together.

You stand at the bar, distraught, fidgeting in an effort to cope, pinching the skin at your wrist between your thumb and forefinger. Harder. You dig your nails it. Anything to make something hurt more that the fact that he’s seeing someone, and you’re just his whore. Just the student who got carried away, developed feelings she shouldn’t have, got herself in too deep. The fucking idiot you couldn’t keep her head straight on long enough to see what she should have. It’s gone. It’s all gone. All the fond memories dissipate and what’s left in their wake is shame and regret. Your chest caves under the pressure - the pain is a sharp one, like a knife twisting deep in your gut.

Label. Cuffli-

No.

You feel embittered enough to let that little ritual go. Your eyes haze over, tears pooling in your lashes - you blink them away, as you turn around to see him and Alejandro in a kind of argument. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the sight until you see John point in your direction before looking up your way.

Your eyes lock - and it’s too late to look away. Your distress must be apparent as he’s on his feet in an instant.

You can’t be around him.

You need your distance. Somewhere to breathe, to think. As long has he’s close by, you’re too compromised to think straight. Your feet move as fast as they can, your hands shivering at your sides, your heartbeat sounding in your ears. You push against the brass handles of the bathroom. You’re lucky it’s empty. Mind still reeling, it takes you a second too long before you think to lock the door. John pushes in, locking it behind him.

You can’t-

You need space.

Your heart beats faster, limbs tingle as you shuffle backward.

“What’s wrong?”

It doesn’t register right away, the worry in his voice. It’s just so palpable, you know it’s sincere. And it fucking hurts.

You’re clouding over - the anger and the pain and the traitorous feeling of relief that peeks through despite it all. It’s too much. You can’t keep up.

“Nothing.” You look anywhere else but him. “Can you please leave? I need-“

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He insists, his tone a little harsher than he intends. So he adds softly. “Please. You haven’t been yourself since-"

You can’t help the bitterness creep in. The bitterness that dissolves into anger. You owe him nothing. Not after-

“Neither have you.” You spit out.

He quiets at that. Seconds pass and neither of you says a thing and suddenly he’s in front of you, curling a finger beneath your chin and lifting it.

His voice is low, thunderous. “I didn’t like how you-“ His eyes close briefly as he takes in a breath before continuing. “Do you like him? Alejandro?”

“What?” You weren’t expecting that.

“I asked-“ He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw, nostrils flaring in agitation. “Do you like-“

“I heard you the first time.” You scoff, flicking his hand away and taking a step back. “So you’re fucking jealous, is that it?”

You watch him chew his cheek, his jaw pulsing. There are words that are clearly swishing at the back of his tongue, ones he’s unwilling to part with.

And you’re furious at it.

At him.

Angry that he’s barged in here, chased after you when-

He’s with someone else.

“Can you blame me? He had you-“ He closes his eyes once again with a sharp inhale. “You were-“

“Oh bloody spit it out, John!”

“You seemed like you wanted to be around him more than me!”

A mirthless laugh escapes you before you can even stop it.

“You find this fucking funny?” He looks at you in disbelief, taking a step forward as you inch further back.

“I think it’s hilarious, yes.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time, love. Because watching that nearly killed me.” Another step forward. Another step back.

“Watching you hang on his every word. Flinching at my fucking touch. Moving closer to him and further away from me. It drove me insane.” Your back’s against the wall, his body inches from yours.

His face pushes in closer to yours, his scotch-laden breath coming out in pants. It washes over you in tides.

You know what’s going to happen. You can feel it in the air - it's palpable. It’s a string pulled tight, just on the verge of snapping. All you need to do is wait.

It’ll be a good way to say goodbye.

You can’t be certain on who caves first, one minute you're apart and in the blink of an eye, your lips are molded together. You hate just how well they fit. You hate how easy it is for you to sink back into his arms. You hate just how much you missed it.

How much you will miss it.

You’re pliant as he adjusts you, both your wrists captured in one hand, pinned above to the wall above. His other hand cups your jaw, angling it upwards as he descends from your lips down the column of your throat - his teeth bared against you, biting, pulling. He’s going to mark you. You should stop him.

You don’t.

You’ll take anything he gives you. Anything that’ll last.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ take it. Not being able to-“ His tongue sweeps across your clavicle as he pulls down your sleeve. “-Needed you like this.”

His thigh pushes between your legs, pressing against the molten heat of your center. Your hips automatically jerk against him.

“Good girl. Take what you want.” He groans against your shoulder as you sway back and forth, grinding down.

“Please, John.” You whimper, needy. You don’t have much time, the others would be back soon. Your absences will be hard to explain. “Touch me.”

You need more and you need it now.

His hand lets go of your wrists immediately. You grip his arms as he undoes your jeans. “Touch you here, sweetheart?” He whispers as he pulls them along with your underwear.

“Fuck - Please.” You’re dripping wet as his fingers part your folds, rubbing between them. His calloused thumb rubs circles your clit as he promptly thrusts two fingers deep into you.

“Like that, mm?” He grunts, nuzzling against your throat, his fingers drawing in and out of you relentlessly.

You grip him harder, legs beginning to quiver under your weight and the sheer pleasure he brings you. He adjusts himself to grant you more support as he works his fingers quicker, curling them within you when he’s buried right to his last knuckle.

“So fuckin’ perfect the way you take me, darling.” He hums in approval.

“Bet I’m not the only one you say that to.” The words escape you before you have a chance to stop them.

He stops immediately. You grind your teeth in frustration. This is not how you want this to go, your last time with him. You needed one final memory that remained untainted.

“What?” He pulls away, peering down at you.

“Nothing.”

“What did you just say?” Your cunt squelches noisily as he withdraws from it.

“I can’t do this right now. Please can we just-“ It’s too late, the damage has been done. Your words have broken the spell between you, his lust is now eclipsed by concern and confusion.

“Please, love-“

You’re not going to be able to salvage this.

Oh well.

In for a penny, you suppose.

“I’m not the only one you do this with, am I?” You are acutely aware of the way your slick is running down your thigh and how his fingers shine with it. Your body is still being held up by his own - it looks as though you’re locked in an embrace, his arms now caging you between the wall and him.

“Why would you think that?” His voice is a choked whisper. It oozes hurt.

“Y-you just said you’re seeing someone. You can’t have meant me, we’re not…like that.“

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“What-“ You wanted him to correct you. You wanted him to say-

Oh darling, but we are like that.

“I only said that to spare you from having to watch your friend throw herself at me.”

Right, then.

“So you’re not with…anyone.” You are filled with an emotion you can’t decipher. It’s not quite relief - it’s muddled. Doubt. Paranoia. Hope. Longing. They all descend upon you simultaneously.

“No…I’m with you.”

You don’t know what to make of him. You’re dizzy.

“But-"

You’re interrupted by a loud knock.

“The two of you need to wrap this up. God help me, I can’t keep those girls distracted for much longer.” Alejandro barks in agitation.

Your eyes widen in panic as you push John away, scrambling to redress.

It always gets out.

This is fucked. You’re fucked.

“Give us a minute.” John snaps back, approaching you with caution. He raises his palms, inching forward with a hesitant step.

“It’s okay, love.” He croons. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How the fuck-“ You bite out before you’re interrupted once again.

“You don’t have a minute!” Alejandro urges. “Out. Now.”

You push past him to glance at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look too worse for wear save for the extremely visible hickey blooming across your skin. You’re unsure how you’ll explain that away, but at this moment you don’t have the energy to even try.

With a brief look back at John, his face ashen with unsettlement, you head to the door and unlock it. Alejandro pushes in, his eyes immediately fall down to the blemish on your throat. You adjust your hair to try and hide it.

“Are you kidding me with this?” Alejandro points at you and looks at John incredulously.

“Fucking leave it, Ale.” John grits out, walking forward to stand between the two of you.

“They have been waiting, and I have made excuses. But the two of you can’t return to the table together. She looks like a mess, hermano.”

“Watch it.” John’s voice drops an octave, an unspoken threat lingers in his words.

Alejandro ignores it.

“Listen to me. You leave first. Let her wait a moment and I’ll bring her out after.”

“If you think I’m going to-“

“John. Remember what you said.”

You can’t see the looks exchanged between them, but whatever they are, they seem to work. John leaves without an argument. Alejandro steps back to make sure.

“You alright, cariño?” He makes sure John is well out of earshot before he turns back around to you.

“You - you’re going to report this, aren’t you?” You wonder if you can convince him not to. Chalk this up as a one-time thing. A mistake.

“I don’t think I need to. John’s a good man.” He squeezes your shoulder and gives you a knowing look.

“I don’t-“

“Right now may not be the best moment, but the two of you should talk. You’ll find in the light of day, things aren’t quite as bleak as they appear.”

Christ, he’s observant.

You wonder how much he knows. They’ve clearly talked about you. Was it just tonight, or-

It doesn’t matter. You can’t let this change things.

“Let’s get you back, yes?” He holds the door open, ushering you out. He says nothing else as you walk back. Your heart sinks when you return to find John missing.

“The professor stepped out for a smoke,” Michelle explains as the two of you take your seats. “Are you feeling better?”

You look to Alejandro for assistance, unsure of what he might have said to explain your absence.

“Can’t handle her drink, your friend.” He chuckles as if nothing is awry.

You’re glad you can rely on him for cover since you and John have clearly been anything but subtle. You fidget with your hair, making sure any evidence of what transpired in the bathroom is well hidden.

“Might need to call it a night.” You sound hollow. Empty. This night has taken a lot and all it’s left behind is a chasm in John’s place.

“But we’ve only just-“ Deb interjects before you cut her off.

“The lot of you are welcome to stay back. I just can’t be arsed right now.” You stand up, pulling your - John’s jacket off the back of the chair and draping it over your arm. It feels wrong to wear it now. “I’ll settle my tab and catch a taxi back.”

“Well I’ve settled the tab-“ Alejandro looks at you intently. “So you can go home. I’m sure John can give you a ride.”

Michelle looks worried, Sarah huffs in irritation and Deb just seems glad to have Alejandro all to herself.

You offer Alejandro one parting look to which he simply nods in response before you turn to leave.

“Shoot me a text when you’re home, yeah?” Michelle calls after you as you walk away.

You’re still under the haze of it all, you barely register stepping out until John stands in your path, flicking away what’s left of his cigar.

“Can I take you home?” It’s all he says, his tone straightforward. It pinches, the loss of his familiarity. Your fingers curl into the lapel of his jacket. Maybe you’ll ask to keep it as something to remember him by.

He may not be seeing someone else, but if this night has taught you anything, it's that whatever this is between you two - it isn’t going to end well. One night of uncertainty, of not knowing, of having to keep this secret. One single night was enough to decimate you. Months of cherished memories fed to the kindle of your insecurities - up in flames, with not a thing to save them.

You’ll have to go back to what you were. Before you knew him. Before you fell-

You’re not a fool. There is no coming back from this. A friendship is out of the question. You won’t even suggest it.

So you’ll let him drive you home. For the last time. Maybe you’ll even get that perfect goodbye.

You follow him to his car in silence. It lingers throughout the drive. The air is syrupy thick with all that is left unsaid. It smothers you as you breathe it in. It pools in your lungs, dense, weighing them down. You fear you’ll suffocate before you can even-

Say goodbye.

You choke. The air now burns. It brands itself deep into you as you take it in, in quiet little gasps. It’s white-hot, the dull ache is now replaced by something razor-sharp.

The silence persists.

He won’t say a word and neither will you. You won’t because you can’t.

What’s his excuse?

Is it because, like you, he can’t bear to reach the end or because he just can’t be bothered?

What did you mean when you said you were with me?

The question bubbles at the back of your throat like bile, pushing outwards as you try your best to swallow it down. What good would ever come of it?

Laura

Always at the back of your mind. That first time you were too busy riding the high, barely lucid enough to consider any consequence. All you saw was an opportunity to be with him and you took it. Time passed. You came back down and shattered.

You’d return to him, and he’d put you back together. Then you’d leave, only to shatter once again.

It always gets out.

How much longer could you keep doing this before there was nothing left to piece back? How much longer till he doesn’t want to be the one to do it anymore? What are the chances the latter takes place first? What-

“I need you to know you’re the only one.” You hadn’t even realized that you were parked outside your home, that John had taken one of your hands in his - you had your nails digging into the back of his palm.

“John-“ Fuck. It hurts.

“Don’t. Just let me talk.” You can’t look at him just yet. His every word, every syllable is inundated with caution. “I want you- I want you to know there hasn’t been anyone. I haven’t been with anyone. Not since I met you.”

Your nails dig in deeper.

“Neither have I.” You confess with a harsh breath.

“So let’s agree to keep it that way.”

“We can’t.

“Why not?”

You let go of his hand, you can see the crescent shapes forming. You finally look at him, and you know for certain the silence was as painful for him as it was for you. He looks as though he’s aged a decade in a matter of minutes.

“Because we’ll be found out! Every fucking time I leave you, I am filled with the crippling fear of us being caught and shamed. Our reputations, they’ll be ruined. Just like-“ You can’t bring yourself to say it.

“We’re not like that.” He sounds defensive, angry even. “You know we’re not like that.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we could still-“

“Yes, we could.” He bites out. “And if I was half as decent of a man I like to think myself to be I’d-“

John’s a good man.

The thought of a goodbye cuts him as deeply as it does you.

“Should I go?” His voice spasms in torment.

Yes. No. Yes. No.

Fuck.

“I don’t know, John.” Your indecisiveness only prolongs his pain. “I just wanted-“

“What, darling? What did you want? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He says it so fucking easily. Like it’s as instinctive as breathing, he doesn’t even have to think twice. There is no hesitation, not a second’s pause.

John’s a good man

It’s in that moment, just as his voice settles around you and his words sink in, it serves as a reminder and you’re taken back - Each blackened stain on your memories of him is wiped away. You remember them as they truly were, not the deformed versions of them you created in a moment of crisis.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Your mind is made up. He means too much to you for you to let him go like this. So you won’t.

With newfound clarity, you see it now - a light beaming down, showing you there was no ugliness to this. The stains not real, a trick of the shadows. The unblemished recollections of your time together make the looming threat of being found out seem insignificant. This isn’t a mistake, it isn’t even something unintentional. You knew what it was that you wanted. It was him, in every way.

You know it’s a sentiment he shares. You see it in his benevolence, in his worship of you.

The next time you go back to him, you aren’t met with a look of surprise or expectation. All you see is relief and privilege. No matter how much time passes, that doesn’t change.

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andiboyo · 1 year

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This series is the highlight of my new year