T. Jefferson

Okay I know you love the eagles…. So what if WHAT IF… you MAYBE wrote a fic (Tjeffs x Reader) based on the song Hotel California? /nf I’ve been really getting into the eagles from ur fic tequila sunrise (now hey! Roomie) and more into Radiohead from high and dry, THANK YOU FOR THE MUSIC BTW!!

HOLY MOLY I’m so glad I could infect you with my music taste. I freaking love the eagles and Radiohead and yes I will definitely consider it!!!

Hotel California has so many different ways to interpret it, lotta opportunity yk??

A Night To Remember | ch. 2

j. laurens x reader

Faced with his biggest fear, you help him through it.

Warnings: swearing, cliche tropes that i overuse but love, ummm yah

Wc: like 2.9k?? I think??

John Laurens hates flying. Absolutely despises it.

There's something about being over 30,000 feet in the air and having no control over the weather that gets him. Paired with the possibility of crashing and burning, it’s scary as fuck. It’s not something he’s ever talked about with other people because he usually flies solo—or better yet, not at all. Being in a big metal tube wasn't ideal, especially with strangers. Thankfully he was rich, so the days of flying cramped between a misbehaved child and an old woman snoring were over.

As much as he would rather not deal with TSA, the tumultuous roar of the plane, turbulence, and liftoff, he had to. Tickets were already bought and he wasn’t too keen on driving in a car for four-and-a-half hours.

He wasn’t sure if flying with you would make it better or worse. On one hand, he found your presence pleasant. On the other, he absolutely could not show his fear of flying. How weak would it make him look? Especially in front of his pretty assistant who looks to him for guidance?

He sucked in a breath and shot you a text to let you know he was outside your building. Subconsciously, his fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation. It was 7:30 AM, just like he promised.

The door swung open and you hobbled out, a suitcase with a broken wheel behind you, and a tote bag on your arm. You gave him a tired smile and he got out to help you load your bag into the backseat of his Porsche.

“Morning,” he spoke, eyeing your casual wear. “All set?”

“I guess so,” you sighed, brushing off your cotton shorts and getting in the passenger seat. “This is a really nice car.”

“Thank you,” he hummed, backing out of the parking lot. “Took me years to be able to afford it, but I finally have it.”

You took the time to examine his car. It was a dark green Porsche with leather seats. There was a hint of cologne and coconut shampoo in it, as well as the forest air freshener he kept in it. Whatever the smell was, it was him, and your head spun. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or piece of trash. Considering the messy desk he has, it was surprising to see his car in such good condition. But to be fair, if you had this nice of a car, you’d keep it spotless too. It made you feel so poor compared to the rusty pickup truck you drove. Thank god he was picking you up and not the other way around.

“I feel like I’m going to ruin it just by being in here,” you bit your lower lip nervously. He let out a deep chuckle.

“Nah, you’ll only make it better by being here,” he winked. Was he flirting with you? “You can relax. Your shoulders look like they hurt from how tense they are.”

A deep breath escaped you in an attempt to ease the tension on your neck. He smiled lightly when you slumped into the seat, making yourself comfortable in the car.

“Have you been to D.C. before?” He asked.

“I did once when I was fourteen. It was a school trip.“

He nodded, and a semi-awkward silence fell over you. You could tell that he was procrastinating on talking about the party. The situation itself was awkward, and talking about it was uncomfortable, so you took matters into your own hands and brought it up.

“So…how am I supposed to pretend to be your date? Like, what does that entail?” You spoke hesitantly and slowly.

“Right, um, just stay by my side while I talk to some of the attendees. Play boyfriend and girlfriend, y’know? It’s a real high profile event. Most of the people going are above the age of 40, almost all either married or with someone, so I figured it would make me seem more professional if I had a woman with me. Maybe they’ll—“ he abruptly stopped.

You knit your eyebrows in concern, examining the way his jaw clenched and a different fire was in his eyes. “Sir? You okay?”

“You don’t have to call me sir. Just call me John or Laurens,” he sighed, keeping his eyes trained strictly on the road.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mumbled. The thought of calling him John felt wrong since you were conditioned to saying sir. “Maybe they’ll what?” You pushed in a gentle tone so as to not upset him further.

He didn’t reply immediately. No, he gripped the steering wheel tighter and uttered something to himself. Then, a defeated sigh escaped him and he caved. “It’s—it’s stupid, but I’ve noticed that they don’t treat me like I’m an editor-in-chief. To them, I’m not mature enough because of the fact that I’m 28. They seem to think I’m some playboy who won’t last because I got rich so quickly.”

He shook his head in frustration, and all you could do was sit and silently listen to his rant. It was an odd feeling. He was never this open with you, but it was nice. You knew he trusted you enough to open up. So you hummed, and almost put your hand on his shoulder but decided against it.

“I get that. Not being taken seriously by coworkers, I mean,” you said.

He let out a light scoff. “How so?”

“Well, there’s a running joke around the office that I can’t write because I’m just an assistant. It sucks, ’cause I know I can, but I haven’t written anything in over a year so I can’t help but feel like it’s true. But like you said, it’s as if I’m not being taken seriously because of my position.“ You folded your hands in your lap, the airport coming into view.

You glanced at him, and his face was filled with rage. He opened his mouth to speak, promptly closed it to take a deep breath, then softened his facial features. “Who’s making these jokes?”

You shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s hard to pinpoint one person. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a few comments here and there.”

“Y/n, that is a big deal. I’m supposed to be making sure there’s a safe working environment. And you’re my assistant for a reason,” he huffed. “You’re the only person I trust to check and edit works because I know you’ll do an outstanding job. You’re one of the best journalists I’ve seen.” He got in line to pay for a two-day parking spot.

“I—thank you, but seriously. It sucks that you feel like that around all the executives. If me being there as your ‘date’ makes you feel better, I promise I’ll be the best fake-girlfriend I can be.” You smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood, and shift the focus back to him. He seemed to take the bait and calmed down.

But what he said stuck with you. One of the best journalists he’s seen. So what are you doing still an assistant? Shouldn’t you be promoted by now? He wouldn’t be purposely holding you back from moving up in the world, would he?

“Thanks. You’ll do great,” he took his hands off the steering wheel.

“It’ll be just like The Proposal,” you joked.

He laughed, “right. Minus the falling in love rom-com part.”

For some inexplicable reason, his words sent a pang of hurt through your chest. You brushed it off nerves.

“Did you watch it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

“I didn’t peg you for a romantic-comedy type. Thought you’d be all over action movies or biopics.”

“Biopics? Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The conversation flowed nicely, and for a moment it felt like he wasn’t your boss, but rather your friend. Something you never thought possible, but never say never.

After finding and paying for a spot, you unloaded your bags and got in line to check in. When you got through every security measure, it was only 8:33, so you had plenty of time before you needed to board your flight. While sitting in the boarding gate, reading a book you brought, Laurens bounced his leg up and down. It was growing concerning how anxious he seemed. You put your copy of Today Tonight Tomorrow down.

“Are you alright? You seem nervous.” You frowned.

He stopped bouncing his knee. “Yeah. I’m okay, just not the biggest fan of flying.” He chuckled nervously.

Your eyebrows flew up in surprise. He failed to mention that when you booked the tickets. “Oh. I’m sorry.” You tried to offer as much sympathy as possible. He muttered his gratitude and pulled out his phone as a distraction.

It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it further from the way he was squirming uncomfortably, so you dropped it. Perhaps you’d bring it up later.

—

First class is way nicer than economy. Way nicer.

You were sitting next to John with an armrest big enough for both of you to lay your arms on it. And it had cup holders. And despite the fancy seat TVs and the massive amounts of leg room you had, he still looked nervous.

Pitifully so.

When the plane started rolling, he gripped the edge of the arm rest and held his breath. It looked like he were about to break a cold sweat.

“John,” you whispered, turning to him.

“Yeah?” He turned to you, trying to play it cool. Your eyes softened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He paused, and before he could reply the plane took off into the air. He drew a sharp breath in and faced forward, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Hesitantly, you reached out and put your hand over his. You faced forward, but could sense when he opened his eyes and shifted to your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

It was odd, you’ve never seen him like this before. He’s usually angry, and if he’s not angry at someone or something, then he’s stone-cold killer. Sometimes he laughs, like earlier in the car. But most of the time, he doesn’t have a reason to.

You felt right bad for him. People were seldom kind to him. Everyone fears him, and he knows it. The only people who treat him like a friend are Marquis De Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan, and that’s because he knew them before becoming editor-in-chief. Everyone else who works for him does what he says and does it quietly. He seemed kind of lonely at times.

You knew he didn’t have any family left. When the holidays roll around, he continues working. He doesn’t receive any phone calls from people claiming to be his parents. The only person who calls without fail is Alexander Hamilton, the same man he reached success with. Hamilton is possibly the only person Laurens will talk about with a bright smile on, reminiscing about the good ol’ days. He doesn’t talk about women, he doesn’t talk about family, only his friends. You weren’t entirely sure if he had siblings; he may have briefly mentioned them but they must not be in contact anymore.

When the plane reached a steady pace and he calmed down, you took your hand off his. It wasn’t necessary to keep it on the whole time. All it would do is cause you to feel things you shouldn’t for the man who signs your paycheck.

Sometime during the ride, you fell asleep to rain noises playing in your headphones. He shook you softly to wake you up, and informed you the plane had landed. You wiped the drool that formed on the side of your mouth and nodded groggily.

“How—how’re you feeling?” You yawned.

“Good. I’m fine, thanks for um…y’know,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you nodded, sitting up fully. A heavy silence hung in the air. You wanted to ask him why he was so anxious to fly, but you weren’t sure if he would get mad or not. It was only natural that you were curious—it’s human nature. So you spoke.

“What is it about flying that you don’t like?” You asked, tone as gentle as possible. He paused briefly, an uncomfortable look flashing over his face.

“I hate all the noise and the possibility of crashing. I don’t like not being in control. Especially when it’s over my own life.”

Him wanting to be in control all the time tracks. He is your boss, after all. He’s used to having power.

“I can understand that. It is pretty scary. If you want me to cancel our flight back, we can take a train or something?” You offered.

“No, no,” he shook his head, a small smile cracking on him. “My car is already at the airport. And besides, I need to get over my fear anyway.”

You exited the aircraft, got your bags, did anything else necessary to leave the airport, then stepped foot into the Washington D.C. air. It was 11:10 by the time you got out, and it was a dry seventy-nine degrees. You both agreed to check into the hotel so you could drop off all your bags, then would explore the city until the ball at six. He called an Uber and you sat at a nearby bench until it came.

The trees in D.C were beautiful. The area where the airport was was relatively flat, but the greenery in the surrounding area was gorgeous. It was flush with life, yellow and pink flowers littered everywhere, a gentle breeze in the air, and the sun shining high.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, “because I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” you shrugged, knowing full well you neglected to eat breakfast and instead opted for a protein shake with a banana.

“Perfect. There’s a spot I used to go to with my friends. I’m thinking after we drop off our stuff we could head there?”

“Whatever you wanna do, boss,” you hummed. He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk curling on his lips.

Before he could respond, the Uber pulled up. He opened the door for you, letting you crawl inside the tiny black car before getting in next to you. It was cramped enough to where if you spread your legs a little wider, your knee would be touching his. You made yourself as small as possible while he made small talk with the driver.

For whatever reason, men have the tendency to dismiss women. Especially when it’s a conversation. You hoped this isn’t what the ball would be like, because this sucks. His knee would occasionally bump into yours on turns, and it would send a jolt of electricity through you every single time, even though it shouldn’t. Whatever you were feeling had to just be nerves, or not having been with a man in over eight months, or the prospect of a very attractive man sitting mere inches from you.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you stared out the window. The Washington Monument stood tall. A bright smile spread on your face, and you leaned further to the window to try and absorb the scenery.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The cab driver spoke, grinning widely.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Lived here my whole life and I still can’t resist looking at it every time I get the chance,” he chuckled. The landmark left your field of vision, so you turned to John.

He was already staring at you, a soft smile on him and an even softer look in his eyes. It made your heart skip a beat, as much as you didn’t want it to. His eyes flickered over your face. You suddenly grew hot under his gaze, and shifted to looking back out the window, a newfound flush on your neck. He shouldn’t make you feel this way. Not him.

“What’s your favorite part of living here?” You asked, desperate to have the cab driver fill the silence.

He did, because he talked the rest of the time about D.C., jumping from topic to topic about the history to the food to the culture to the people. You internally thanked him, because every so often, John’s eyes would linger on you a moment too long.

The hotel was huge. You almost got lost trying to look for the front desk because there were so many different sections. On the bottom floor there were restaurants, as well as a bar, a Starbucks, and a fucking grocery store. Convenient, yes, but confusing as hell.

When you finally found the front desk and got your room key, the next struggle was finding the room itself. It was ten past noon by the time you found it.

“Is this the right room?” He set his bag down in disbelief, eyes wide as he scanned the proximity.

“Yeah? 224. Why, what’s wrong—“ you stopped in your tracks the moment you saw the room.

There was only one bed.

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High and Dry | ch. 2

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, overuse of italics, title drop (shit was NOT tough at all pls don’t judge me too hard)

Wc: 2.7k

Holy moly this took longer than expected

EDIT: LESLIE ODOM JR RETURNING TO HAMILTON??? HELLO??!????

Out of everyone Thomas anticipated to be working with, you were the last on his list. He didn’t think he’d ever see you again after what happened in high school.

He had been best friends with you since birth, two peas in a pod. You did everything together: lost your first tooth, the awkward middle school phase, and the first steps into high school. Where one was, the other wasn't far behind. Near the end of junior year, he had a promising chance at a scholarship for a prestigious university. It’s not like he needed the money anyway, he was already filthy rich and took yearly trips to Paris for fun.

So it was only natural you were jealous of him. At least, that’s how he perceived it. To him, you envied his wealth and intelligence, always making snide remarks or rolling your eyes when he’d talk about being future Valedictorian. It got to a point where he snapped. He ignored you for days. And when you called him out on his chickenshit behavior, he proceeded to list out every reason why you shouldn’t be friends anymore, and ended the most valuable friendship you’ve ever had.

After breaking connections with you, rumors began to spread. There were some smaller ones, like you sleeping together, but that died down pretty quickly. Those were unimportant, everyone knew they were untrue. The biggest one is that you intentionally tried to ruin his chances at the scholarship. His then-girlfriend had told him you reported him for academic dishonesty in all of his work.

Which you didn’t, by the way. But he was convinced you did. He decided to trust someone he’d known for only a few months compared to the person he’s been attached at the hip to since diapers. It’s not like they stayed together, either. Two months later they called it quits. Something about her cheating on him with the Basketball captain. Once he successfully got half the grade turned on you, he randomly packed up and left for France—for good this time. He abandoned you in a difficult situation which you couldn’t do shit about; he left you high and dry.

It broke you.

He was supposed to be the one who helped you when times were rough, not the one who brought you down. And yet he did. He betrayed any ounce of trust you had, and you endured a year-and-a-half of whispers and stares in the hallway, lingering eyes, and petty comments.

“I can’t believe it’s him, of all people,” you groaned.

Alex gave you a sympathetic look, putting down the papers he had in his hands. You told him what happened to an extent. He would never know the full story, mostly because you’re bad at opening up and you’ve only just met him yesterday, but he was aware there was bad blood between you and Jefferson.

“He didn’t even want to be an English teacher! He wanted to be a lawyer! So why is he here?” A huff escaped your chest, built up from years of undiscussed trauma.

“I’ve been asking that for years, trust me. Waltzing in like he owns the place and stealing my friends,” he scoffed.

“God—how did I not realize… I should’ve known he would be out to get me. One final ‘fuck you’ by being my partner for the entire year.” You shook your head, a defeated slump in your shoulders.

“He doesn’t have to win this battle, y’know,” Alex hummed. You quirked an eyebrow, signaling for him to go on. “Just be petty, he hates that. He’s pretty obsessed with this one specific parking spot—the one under the tree. Where there’s the most shade,” his eye twitched, “I’d know because I parked there one time, and the whole day he was after me. The next morning, he was there 30 minutes earlier than normal.”

“Sounds like something he’d do,” you nodded. “That parking spot will be mine. I will do literally anything if it means pissing off a man.”

A devilish grin spread on Alexander’s face. “I’m so glad you hate him as much as I do, if not more. I swear, he’s been terrorizing this school for years. It’s about time he gets what’s coming!”

“I don’t even know how I’m gonna be able to talk to him every day. Let alone look at him. And why is it required for us to collaborate on lesson plans? That’s so stupid,” you grunted, rolling your eyes.

“I know, I’m not happy about it either,” he empathized with the struggle, “but it’s because you’re both Honors English teachers, and all freshmen are supposed to be learning the same thing. Prepare for state testing and whatnot.”

You grumbled under your breath about how stupid it was. For another 20 minutes or so, you went back and forth about stories regarding Jefferson. Spoiler: none of them were good. It’s like somehow your mind blanked, and you couldn’t think of a single positive experience with Thomas. Between you and Hamilton, he was a symbol of evil, something you could bond over. Was your friendship entirely fueled by hatred? No, of course not. But it was a strong part of it.

Although something about being unjust to Thomas because of the past struck you as immoral.

There was a side of you screaming to forgive and forget, but with everything going on in your life, how could you? It seemed like every relationship you had was fucked. You’d barely speak to your mother, only when the ward called, and you had basically no friends (Hamilton is still under examination.)

But there’s nothing like the taste of sweet sweet revenge, right?

—

“She’s still pissed about it, James. It’s been years, I don’t know why she hasn’t gotten over it yet,” Thomas scrunched his nose in disgust, a scowl creeping on his face as he laminated posters for James Madison’s classroom.

“That sucks, man. You talk to her today at all?” James went through the repetitive motion of cutting excess laminated paper, listening to Jefferson talk about you.

“Hell no. She won’t even look in my direction when I pass by her. If she wants to be immature—“ Thomas drew in a sharp, frustrated breath. “She can go ahead. I’m perfectly fine bein’ the bigger person.”

James coughed before nodding in agreement. “Don’t let her stop you from having a good year,” he warned. “She’ll come around eventually.”

“Yeah, well she doesn’t seem too keen on forgiveness anytime soon,” Thomas scoffed, “I don’t think she ever will.”

There was a long falter in his motions. The longer he thought about it, about you, the guiltier he felt. Despite the desperate attempts in trying to convince himself he wasn’t wrong, wasn't a bad person, he still felt immense shame when you popped in his mind. He hurt you. He knew that. But he moved to France and forced himself to forget about you. Facing you was a whole other dilemma; all it did was resurface the shrouds of guilt that haunted him in Junior year.

By the time college rolled around, the remorse had controlled itself, only manifesting in the back of his mind when he said anything fucked up. But he didn’t plan on seeing you again, no.

“You just have to give her time. Women will be dramatic, Thomas, we both know that,” James laughed a little.

Jefferson let out an uncomfortable chuckle, going back to the mundane task of helping Madison make posters. He hated the statement of you being some dramatic woman when he knew you were so much more than that. He wanted to scream at James for even suggesting that. Against every ounce of anger he felt, he missed you. He missed the adventures you’d go on, he longed for the sound of your laughter again, to see you smile because of him rather than someone else.

He missed his best friend.

And here you were, the nerdy girl who wore bulky sweatshirts, all grown up. He couldn’t deny how beautiful you matured. It wasn’t weird to think that; it was a simple observation. You’re attractive, nothing wrong with him acknowledging it. That doesn’t mean he has to automatically like you.

“I suppose,” he sighed. “She’s gettin’ all buddy-buddy with Hamilton, though. Not too excited about that. Hamilton is a shit influence.”

“True. I bet he’s gonna manipulate her into believing you’re the most horrible, evil villain ever.”

“She already does,” Thomas barked out a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t have to do anythin’.”

“But he will.” James gave him a pointed look.

Thomas’s lips quirked downwards. “Yeah. He will.”

—

The door to your classroom flung open, and a mildly pissed-off Jefferson walked in. He gripped his bag so tightly his veins strained, and the coffee he held looked like it would burst at any second.

“We have to make lesson plans for the week,” he grumbled, setting his bag down and taking out his laptop.

You quirked an eyebrow, examining his actions of pulling up a chair next to your desk. “And we have to do this together…? Right now?”

“Yes. Right now,” he said through gritted teeth. His jaw clenched as he opened his laptop.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. He was acting all pissy for no reason, and you were having a rather pleasant morning, having snagged a parking spot in the shade. You even treated yourself to an iced coffee. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Someone took my spot, that’s what crawled up my ass,” he spat.

“What, the one under the tree?” You smirked. His eyes immediately snapped to yours. A sickening grin spread further across your features, relishing in his anger from one simple action. He narrowed his eyes, scanning your appearance at how much you changed in the time not spent together.

His nostrils flared. “You must’ve gotten here early to steal that from me. Already tryin’ to piss me off, L/n?”

“Bold of you to assume I care that much about you.”

Thomas couldn’t deny the slight sting that went with your words. He stiffened, irritation bubbling in his chest. “You’re right, we both know you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Yeah? Is that why you destroyed my reputation then left me for France?” You cocked your head to the side.

Thomas winced at the memory, hating the fact you were still stuck on it. An exhausted sigh left him, and he ran a hand over his face. He knew anything he said wouldn’t make it right. Healing is a gradual process. You both knew that. So why is it that after years of what he thought was healing, it still pained him to think about it?

“That was years ago,” he mumbled, “do you have to bring it up now?”

“Figured I might put it out there,” you shrugged, not entirely satisfied with his poor response.

Thomas pursed his lips, fixing his gaze on the screen before him. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. It would hurt less to pretend like it never happened and move on. A long, tense silence filled the air, so thick you could cut it with a knife. He slumped in his chair, an uncomfortable frown stuck on his face. “We need to be workin’, not arguing.”

You stared at him a moment longer. Was he seriously brushing this off? Was he for real about to ignore the years of pain and suffering you went through because of him?

“Whatever,” you grunted. There was no point in trying to fight him on this. You knew how stubborn and defensive he could be. “What do you normally do for your students at the beginning of the year? I can’t imagine it’s anything fun.”

He leaned back in the crappy plastic chair, rolling his eyes at your petty comment. “I go over the rules, and usually have them write about themselves from a prompt.”

A thin line formed on your lips. “You give them work on the first day? Asshole…” you grumbled.

“Fuck off, they get rowdy if we play games,” he laughed airily. For a split second, it felt good to hear the sound of his laughter again. Then you remembered why you hadn’t heard it in so long.

“Rowdy because they’re having fun,” you gave him a pointed look. “It never hurt anyone to feel joy once in a while. You should try it sometime.” A wide, teasing smirk grew on your face again.

Thomas so desperately wanted to wipe that smugness off your pretty little face. “Have you ever been told how insufferable you are?”

“Only by you, Thomas, only by you.” You batted your eyelashes in a mocking way, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hands. A flicker of amusement flashed in Thomas’s eyes, and a slow grin spread on his lips. For some odd reason, it made your stomach flutter.

“I’m just sayin’ what the rest of the world is thinking,” he teased. The familiarity of his southern accent brought a wave of nostalgia with it.

“Funny,” you scoffed.

“Awh, no more witty comments?” He tilted his head, an innocent expression on his face.

You raised your eyebrows, not amused by his antics. “You are such a dick, Jefferson. Thought I might remind you of that.” You said, tone flat with a hint of teasing.

He feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. “How dare you, L/n. I am a saint.”

You rolled your eyes. Something was so familiar about the back and forth, playful banter. For a moment it felt like nothing was wrong, it felt like when he was still the first person you’d go to with good news.

“Congratulations for being the first and only person to think that.”

He bit back a chuckle, finding his eyes wandering over you rather than focused on the amount of work he needed to get done. “No need to be jealous because I’m beloved by everyone.”

“‘Beloved’ is an interesting choice,” you mumbled, pulling up some past lesson plans to reference.

“I think it’s an appropriate descriptor for me. That and dashingly handsome,” he snickered. Getting on your nerves was proving to be a success.

“Oh yes, because you’re the epitome of charisma and charm.” A mocking snarl went with your reply. Thomas seemed to be thriving at all the arguing, something that only pissed you off more. Weren’t you supposed to be working on lesson plans?

“I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You scoffed, about to tell him how you’d rather die than classify him as charming, but your phone rang, interrupting your thoughts. A sigh left your lips when you checked the caller ID. It was your mom’s psychiatric ward.

“I have to take this,” you muttered, standing and walking to the hallway for privacy.

Thomas held a concerned frown. He hadn’t seen who the caller was, but he knew it must’ve been something important. Having grown up with you, he met your bipolar mother multiple times, and he knew the troubles that went with it. He witnessed firsthand the pain she caused you, the trauma from her episodes reflecting upon you. And he was there for you throughout it all. So he wasn't at all surprised when he heard the word “mom” come out in a distressed tone.

A couple minutes later, you entered again, silently slipping into your seat. Your whole demeanor changed. What once was feisty was now solemn, as if life had been drained from you, leaving an empty shell of a human. It bothered him, but he knew the best bet was to leave you be, even as much as he wanted to ask what happened. You weren’t on those friendly terms anymore. He didn’t get to comfort you or know anything happening in your life.

Besides, one of the last things you said to him when you split up was “I hope you have a great, successful life, and I hope I never have to hear anything about it.”

The silence was deafening.

It was always, always silent in your life.

The silence that came after hearing Thomas talk shit about you for the first time. The silence that came after not getting to explain your side in an argument. The silence of no one understanding what you’re going through, and the one person you had decided his life would be better without you in it. And what could you do other than play along? Put on a facade of rivalry, go-with-the-flow mentality and tough it out?

The silence was killing you. It would’ve been better if he said something. Anything. Even if it meant aggravating you.

And yet he sat there, motionless, wordless, silent; leaving you wondering what he was thinking.

Hey, roomie! ch. 6

thomas j. x reader

Word count: 4k

Alex and Eliza’s wedding leaves you questioning your poor decision making.

Warnings: John Lauresds bro. Swearing per usual. Me being too lazy to edit/proofread/add italics 😜

Notes: bro this is the most I’ve written for a chapter I’m so proud. Took me only two days as well (which might explain if it’s shitty but ignore that)

“Thomas?” Your voice rings out in the quiet apartment. “I need a favor.”

You gingerly shut the door behind you, setting your bag on the counter. There’s some shuffling in his room, and he walks out a few moments later.

“What’s up?” He sniffles. His eyes had a hint of red puffiness.

“So you know the w— are you okay?” You stop yourself abruptly upon noticing his eyes.

“Yeah, I got something in my eye so I was rinsin’ ‘em out,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him, but ultimately buy into his story.

“Alright…anyway, you know how Alex and Eliza’s wedding is coming up?” You say and he nods. “Well, I’m one of the bridesmaids and I—wow, this is harder to ask than I thought.”

He gives you a confused look. “Is it somethin’ bad?”

“No! Just kind of..awkward? Almost?” Your voice goes higher at the last part. Now he’s interested, his body language said so. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, curiosity peaked in him.

“Spit it out,” he urges. You huff and roll your eyes.

“I need you to teach me how to dance. Slow dance, to be exact.” You rush.

He blinks, like the gears are turning in his head. When they finally do, a wide grin spreads across his face. Your breath hitched as he took a step closer.

“I can do that. I’m a real fine dancer, sweetheart, and an even better teacher,” he winks. “Who you plannin’ to dance with?”

“I don’t know, it might be written on cards for us, but my hope is Laurens or Hercules.” You shrug. He thinks to himself for a moment.

“Sure, sure, I know them. Both hate me I think?”

You laugh, and the smile he previously wore brightened again. You know Thomas wouldn’t be invited to the wedding or able to go anywhere near it since him and Alex are mortal enemies. That fact didn’t bother you, you knew Thomas could be an arrogant asshole majority of the time, but at least he was willing to help you.

“Maybe a little,” you grin. He shakes his head, still adorning the smile you’ve grown so fond of.

“Y’all been talking about me or somethin’?” He quirks an eyebrow. You feel your face flush red, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the hot embarrassment radiating from your skin.

“Well—not exactly, you just happen to come up in conversation sometimes.” You say. Not technically a lie, just choosing your words as carefully as possible to make it seem like he’s not all you talk about.

“Oh yeah? And what do these conversations entail?” He tilts his head.

“Just how much of a dickhead you are. Nothing new,” you sigh. He sputters out a laugh and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms. Another smile finds your lips, more confident this time.

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckles, “but do you seriously not know how to dance?”

“No, I’ve never really needed to.” You shrug, internally grateful he changed the subject back to the original topic.

“Damn shame. Dancing is fun, ‘specially line dancin’.” He gives you a big toothy grin.

“Where’d you learn to dance?”

“Sugar, I’m southern, you don’t just learn. You’re born with it.”

You sometimes forget Thomas originated from Virginia. Born and raised, he told you. His parents raised him on a farm surrounded by forest, taught him how to tend to crops, and he was enrolled in the highest quality school they could find. It ended up being a private school, where he excelled in academics and lived in books the moment he could read. It would explain his love for agriculture and science.

“Fair enough. I suppose all rednecks prioritize slow dancing with their cousins to ensure a great marriage,” you tease.

“Hey you watch yourself, not all southerners are in incestual relationships.” He glares at you.

“The fact you had to defend not all says a lot.”

—

You decided that the following day, he would teach you all you need to know. He claimed it won’t be hard for you to pick up since you’re smart and dancing is straightforward. Just follow the other person's lead, which in this case it would be Thomas.

When the next night rolled around, you were suited lazily in pajamas and socks while dinner cooked. No point in being dressed up since it was just practice.

“Alright, so the first thing is positions.” He says. You both stood in the kitchen, your meal baking in the oven for the next 20 minutes. He started a playlist of slow dancing country songs, playing them softly in the background.

He pulls you closer to him, causing a light gasp to escape you. He chuckles, muttering for you to relax, and you eventually do. His hands were planted firmly on your waist, standing so close to you that you could smell the familiar cologne.

“You’ll have your hands on my shoulders while I keep mine on your waist.” He explains. You bring your hands to his shoulders, holding onto them as if your life depended on it. “Not so tight,” he chuckles. You loosen up your grip and take a breath in.

“Now let’s step to the rhythm. Forward left, right, step together, then step back with right, back with left, step together. Easy enough?”

“None of that made sense, but I’ll try my best.”

“You’ll do fine,” he reassured. “Just follow my lead, you’ll pick up on it real nicely.” He gave your waist a gentle squeeze and started stepping to the beat. He leads you, patience in his eyes and with every step.

You fumble over your feet a couple times and take some wrong turns, but he doesn’t belittle you or stop. Instead, he redirects you and keeps it moving. It was hard to ignore how intimate this was. Your arms wrapped around each other, him staring down at you and you fixated on your feet. It would’ve been way scarier had you been gazing into his dark brown eyes, admiring the smooth skin and black curls that framed his face.

“You’re doing great,” his low voice met your ears, his lips almost grazing the side of your face from how close he was. Your heart leapt in your throat, your movement stuttered and he tightened his hands to instruct you where to step.

After a few more runs of the same pattern, you grew confident, finally tearing your eyes away from your feet and up to him. His heavy stare was already fixed on you, a look of adoration and softness in his eyes. Just as you imagined, your palms grew sweaty and you grew increasingly nervous, yet he remained calm.

His demeanor soothed you. He was so cool and collected, like this was all natural, like you’d done this a thousand times before. Before you knew it the song came to a close and his movement slowed. When you came to a complete stop, you were so immersed in the story behind his eyes. The way the light shone upon him, the way it seemed like time stopped and you were the only people left in the world.

The way his eyes flickered down to your lips, and the way yours did the same. The way you were leaning in subconsciously, hands moving to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you met him in the middle, in a gentle kiss. It sent electric shocks through your entire body—months of pining poured into one kiss. He immediately pulled you closer, not breaking the softness behind your lips against each others. His hands dipped to your lower back, and you stiffened.

That’s when you realized what you were doing.

You pushed off of him, a shocked look on your face.

“I…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” You curse, untangling yourself from him and taking many steps back. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “That was a mistake.”

A pang of disappointment stabbed him, strangled his heart, and completely shot down any idea he had of pursuing you. It hurt to hear you consider kissing him a mistake.

It hurt you, too. To say it out loud, even if you weren’t entirely sure you meant it. You pivoted, a regretful expression consuming your features. His eyes lingered on you a moment more, and silently, he brought his fingers up to gently touch his lips where you had kissed him.

Dinner was awkward. The rest of the night was quiet, actually. You decided to bring your dinner to your room, eating in there and regretting every action in the past couple hours. It was just now settling what had happened.

You shared a kiss with the man you deemed ignorant and annoying, and the worst part is you liked it.

When you exited your room to set your dish in the sink, he was sitting at the table. Alone. Eating in silence, save for the clinking of metal against metal. It sent another pang of sorrow through your heart, and your eyes met his. He held eye contact, refusing to back down. It was you who gave in and looked away, shamefully retreating to your bedroom.

—

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride, Alexander.”

Cheers erupt as Alex swiftly pulls Eliza in for a loving kiss. You fought back the tears that swelled in your eyes as you clapped for them. When they pulled apart, they seemed in their own little world. So infatuated with one another that nothing could break the intense gaze they had fixed.

The week leading up to the wedding was agonizingly slow. It was quiet. Always quiet. You would speak to Thomas when necessary, but this time it was you avoiding him. The guilt you felt was too much, it gnawed away at your stomach until there was nothing left. The memory of that night replayed over and over and over like a broken record. When Alex and Eliza kissed, it flashed in your mind again.

You couldn’t help it. Thomas Jefferson occupied 90% of your thoughts, and the other 10% were spent thinking how horrible you were.

The wedding reception was better than you anticipated. Sure, anytime you danced you thought back to Thomas, but hopefully speaking to the groom or John would lift your spirits.

When it did come time to the slow-waltz you had prepared for on that faithfully awkward night with Thomas, everything he taught stuck because you breezed through the dance floor with John easily. You shared a few laughs for the poor soul that was forced to dance with Lafayette, watching the man stumble over his partner's feet and mutter a string of apologies.

You did exactly what Thomas instructed. Hold onto his shoulders while he holds your waist, and step in sync, forward back forward back. It was incredibly simple. You glided through the floor until the song came to an end, and you separated from Laurens.

The first dance started, and you retreated off to the side, a glass of half-drunken champagne in your hands. You bore your eyes into the glass, so consumed in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed the man approaching your side.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, Y/n,” a silky voice spoke. You whipped your head up to the call of your name to be met with deep chocolate eyes.

“Aaron Burr,” you grinned. “How long has it been?”

“Since college, I presume. How are you?” He joins next to you, leaning against the wall as you did.

“Pretty alright. A little tired, but that’s nothing new. How’s Theodosia?”

Theodosia was Burr’s, everyone knew it. Even when she was dating an exchange student, you would see them lingering behind the staircase, his hand in hers. You weren’t sure if they had officially started dating or if they were still playing the charade, but it wouldn’t be long until they did.

“She’s well, thanks for asking. Would you like me to buy you a drink?” He asked.

Aaron Burr, always so punctual and well-mannered. You became affiliated with him through connections with Alexander. It wasn’t until you met the man yourself you became quick friends. He was a quiet man, but easy to talk to. He hadn’t much personality, but he was kind, and you could sense behind the walls he put up there was a flame of passion ignited in him. That flame was visible when he talked of Theodosia.

A couple sips in, you found yourself immersed in conversation about educational reforms. His eyes light up and he sat up straighter as he talked about the statistics of kids who aren’t able to read, and how he hopes to change that by suggesting a new curriculum for schools. Aaron Burr was one for deep, long talks, usually about politics or the economy. You respect him for it.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here. I know you and Alexander are more frenemies than anything, and you’ve had your…disputes,” you say.

Burr goes quiet for a moment, nodding and averting his gaze.

“Indeed. But he invited me, and it wouldn’t be proper of me to turn it down because of a few arguments.”

Proper, he says. If a few months ago your enemy (Thomas Jefferson cough cough) invited you anywhere, you would snarl at him and flip him off. It was honorable how Burr would put all of that aside to support his colleague on his day of union.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr with the lovely bridesmaid!” A drunken voice stumbles behind you. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“You flatter me too much, Laurens,” you glance at Burr before swiveling around. “Been a while. Since fifty minutes ago, to be exact.”

A wide grin spreads across his face as he carelessly throws his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. “We haven’t hung out enough!” You pat his back in a friendly manner, and watch as the rest of the gang pulls up. Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and the groom himself. The alcohol must’ve been settling into his system for him to not count the dance you shared earlier as enough.

“Alright, John, pull yourself together.” Alex chuckles, putting a hand on his dear friend's shoulder. Laurens pushes off of you, still wearing a tipsy grin.

“Congratulations, Alexander,” you say. He gives you a nod of courtesy, his eyes shifting to the man next to you.

“Burr, I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.” He says, a genuine shock in his voice with a hint of amusement.

“I wanted to say congratulations and drop off my gift. And maybe catch up with Y/n here.” He gives you a grin. You smile back.

Feeling the tension, Laurens speaks up again. “Burr, are you still seein’ Theodosia on the side? Real nice girl,” he stumbles over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning in closer than he should be. Aaron grimaced but didn’t push him off.

“I should go,” Aaron stands up, glancing at you as an apology.

“No, stay! Ignore how they’re acting, John is just drunk,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“Don’t group me in with zem, I ‘ave done no wrong,” Lafayette laughs.

You take Alexander’s pleading glance as your hint to leave and take the rest of the boys with you. He wanted his time to converse with Burr himself, so you had no choice but to respect that and give them space. You suggest going to dance since Laurens won’t stop complaining about how you’ve been ignoring him all night, when you literally haven’t.

“I don’t think that’s how you dance, John,” Hercules snorted as he watched the laughing stock fumble over his own feet.

“Dancing is expressive! There is no right or wrong way!” John retorts, his Carolina accent slipping through. Hercules sighed and left him to his own devices and turned back to you.

”He’s hopeless. This is just like Angelica’s wedding.”

You share a laugh as he twirls you, his hand resting on your waist as you step together. Lafayette saw John making a fool of himself and decided to join him, since he knew he had horrible rhythm and would embarrass himself if he was the only one dancing funny. But Laurens had enough liquor to not care what others thought.

“The dresses you made for us are really beautiful. And comfortable, too,” you compliment, glancing down at the blue dress you wore. It was professionally made by Hercules himself, considering his line of work being fashion design.

“Thank you. It looks even better on you,” he beams, brightening at your praise.

“Oh, stop,” you waved him off. “Are you still into powerlifting? I’ve been meaning to lift more but I don’t have a gym buddy—“

“Y/n! Mon ami! We ‘aven’t talked all night, what is zat about?” Lafayette cuts you off, stealing you away from Mulligan. You give Herc an apologetic smile and let Lafayette whisk you away from the larger man.

“We haven’t. Do you want to get another drink?” You offer. He nods eagerly and follows you to the bar.

Not long after, the other men made their way over to join you. They seemed to have calmed down, a light chatter amongst the group. The topic had changed rapidly from one to another.

“Y/n, have you ever actually been in a long term relationship with anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever met any of your boyfriends,” Hercules asks, his brows furrowed.

“Eh. Not anything super serious,” you shrugged. For some reason, you couldn’t help but think about—

“I thought you were with Thomas, non? Especially after you kissed him,” Lafayette spoke up. Your stomach dropped.

“How did you know about that?” You pale. His eyes flew wide open and he realized he said too much.

“Wait wait—what?! You kissed Jefferson?” John shouted out as if there wasn’t a room full of people, some of whom hated the man in question.

“Shh! Not so loud, asshole!” You shushed him frantically.

Both Hercules‘ and Laurens’ jaws were hung wide open, genuine shock plastered on their faces. You shot daggers at Lafayette, who winced and bowed his head in guilt.

“I thought zey knew…” he mumbles an apology. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Explain, elaborate, expand on this please,” John begged, leaning across the table.

“I—it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to…” you swallowed thickly. “He was teaching me how to dance, and I guess I got so caught up in the moment I wasn’t thinking, so I leaned in and kissed him.”

“Well, did he kiss back?” Hercules snorts.

You open your mouth, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. Thomas did kiss back. With more passion than anyone had kissed you before, that was the second worst part. Is the possibility that he wanted it and you shut it down, calling it a mistake.

“I’m not answering that.”

“He did! Jesus Christ—y/n, he is the enemy! Just wait til Alexander finds out you kissed Jeffer-shit!” John hops up, slamming his glass against the table. Lafayette hurriedly stood with him, pulling him back.

“Non, non, Alexander does not need to know. Ze lady does not want him to,” he urges.

John narrows his eyes bitterly, muttering some incoherent drunken thoughts under his breath. You huffed and told him to calm down, to which he retorted when Jefferson was publicly shamed for his heinous crimes against women he would. How that made sense to you, you didn’t know.

“Lafayette, can I talk to you? Alone?” You grit your teeth together. He winced once more, already knowing what it would be about.

“Of course, chérie,” he nods.

You find a secluded area outside of the reception where no one would bother you or overhear your conversation.

“Why the fuck would you tell them that!” You hissed.

“I apologize, madamoiselle, it must ‘ave been the alcohol.” He dips his head.

“Why do you even know about that anyway? What has Jefferson been saying?”

“Well…I’m not sure ‘ow much I can say.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“You’ve already spit my business to them, what more can you say?!” You scoff.

“Alright, alright, he never said anything bad.” He motions his hands in a way for hopes of mitigating your uproar. “He called me the other night, freaking out because he told me you kissed him. He said he wasn’t sure ’ow you felt about him but he—“ he suddenly cut himself off.

“He what? C’mon, Laf, this is serious.” You bit the inside of your cheek, impatiently tapping your heel on the concrete.

“—he…said he was upset because you called it a mistake. Said it felt hurtful.” His voice was lowered, solemn and scanning your reaction.

Your eyes softened. “Oh.” That was all you could manage. You didn’t enjoy the feeling of knowing you hurt someone; quite the opposite. It just made you feel like a bigger piece of shit for avoiding him, but in all fairness, what you did was completely out of character and it’s been tough sifting through your emotions.

“He said he wished you would talk to him.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Y/n, you need to talk to him.”

You stare at the ground, a swirl of negativity churning from your stomach to your brain. Guilt, shame, resentment all muddled into one.

“Let’s go back inside,” you mutter softly. He nods, the windows to his soul filled with worry.

—

“When were you gonna tell me you kissed Thomas?” Peggy found you at the bar, a sincere hurt in her words.

“I…was going to, eventually,” you muttered, taking another absent-minded swig of beer. “Not on Liza’s wedding date, but here we are.”

It was true you didn’t want to distract from Alex and Eliza’s wedding by your own romances taking the spotlight. It wouldn’t be fair to them, so up until Lafayette blurted it out, you planned on keeping it secret. Just a little longer, you told yourself.

“Well you haven’t! I had to find out from John Laurens pulling me aside and gossiping about your affair with Thomas!”

“Jesus, who else knows?” You stammer over your movements, almost spilling the beer in hand.

“Almost everyone. Word spreads around fast.”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” Your hands fly up to your head, gripping any hair you could. “I need to go. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You stress, hugging her tight. She sighs, melting into you and patting your back.

“You’d better explain yourself. I think it’s best if you resolve things with Thomas. Lafayette filled me in on the details.” She explains.

“Y-yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. Promise.”

You rush to find Eliza and Alex, hugging them both and wishing them congratulations. You knew they both knew about the kiss, but thankfully they didn’t bring it up, although you could see Alex almost did. He physically had to fight back whatever words played on his lips, and Eliza must’ve sensed it too, because she lightly smacked his side. After finding the rest of the crew and wishing them a goodnight, and telling Laurens in particular to suck every dick ever, you called an Uber.

The ride home was quiet, as the driver wasn't much of a talker, but neither were you so it wasn’t a bother.

Stumbling up the stairs (the elevator never got fixed), fumbling your keys in the door and creaking it open, you called out into the empty apartment.

“Thomas! I—can we talk?”

Stillness, quiet, nothingness. You opened your ears, shuffling near his room, and that’s when you finally heard some movement.

“Thomas? If you’re indecent or with a girl tell me now because I’m coming in,” you exclaim, waiting two seconds to no reply and then pushing the door open.

Thomas sat at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He sniffled, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. That’s when you realized it.

Thomas was crying.

Hey, roomie! Final ch

thomas. j x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex (no graphic descriptions), way too much crying, yea

Crying, way too much crying, and finally it stops.

Wc: 4.5k

Notes: I love incorporating South Park into unrelated fandoms

You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t stop the hurt. All you could do was rush to the car and cry your little heart out, and maybe that’s all you wanted to do right now.

Everything was confusing and blurred, and you weren’t sure where to go or what to do. The sight of him shirtless with some woman he probably doesn’t even know the name of on top of him, kissing him and rubbing his chest disgusted you.

It should’ve been you.

You shuddered from the cold, blasting the heater and putting on the most angst-heart-just-broken song you could. Exit Music (For A Film) started, and you waited for the sobbing to die down so you would be in a good condition to drive.

God, of course this happened. Of course he didn’t actually care about you, of course he would go find someone to sleep with the moment you left. And to think you had something with him. To think that if you played nice for one fucking day he would realize how hopelessly in love he was with you.

It just wasn’t fair.

Your naivety and false sense of hope got the better of you. Every memory, every little detail came rushing back. Everything that made you feel special, all the butterflies and warmth that filled your stomach when with Thomas Jefferson.

The first time he offered you some advice, because he was genuinely concerned for you and wanted you the best. While at the park when he was so patient with you, and when he paid for your food. He rambled on and on about the things he loved because he felt comfortable around you. After he texted you when he hurt himself by picking up glass with his bare hands, you wrapped them up and the way he was staring at you so intensely sent shivers down your spine. The time when his friends came over and revealed he thinks you’re smart. He taught you how to dance and you had a moment in the kitchen. Was none of that enough to make him fall?

What about when he confided in you, and only you, about his mom? He cried into your shoulder while you held him, comforting him, whispering sweet reassuring thoughts while he broke down. When he informed you with tear-stricken cheeks that she was getting better.

Did that other woman do that for him? No, she didn’t, and she never will because the women he brings home are one-night-stands and will never have the true connection that you have with him. They’ll never understand why he loves macaroni and cheese so much or magenta, or why he only drinks black coffee, or why he’s so into philosophy and agriculture. They won’t ever know the genius he is; he’s fluent in French from the times you’ve overheard him on the phone with Lafayette.

And if he called them sweetheart, or darlin’, or sugar, it wouldn’t be the same.

It wouldn’t have the same southern ring that it had when he called you it. It just wouldn’t be parallel or even comparable. It would be meaningless.

It made you want to rip your skin off and crawl into a hole and just lay there, letting rain or snow or even hail overtake you. In all your years of living, you’ve never been this distraught about a man.

You’ve always been independent, self-assured and strong, and anytime life knocks you down you get back up and shove your middle finger right in adversity’s face.

But here you sat, hands on the steering wheel and driving with no goal in mind. No idea of what to do next or how to even deal with your emotions while Radiohead played behind all your sniffling. You were tired and cold and sad and you really needed a friend.

You needed Peggy.

—

Peggy swung the door open, first a bitterness in her eyes before they turned soft when they saw your broken state.

“Can I come in?” You croaked.

“Of course,” she sighed, “what happened?”

“Thomas. Thomas happened.” That was all you managed to get out before you broke into tears again. Why did it hurt so bad?

“C’mere,” she murmured, holding her arms out and engulfing you in a hug. It was everything you needed and more. The weight of being alone was finally lifted off your shoulders. You felt like you could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She gently rocked you back and forth, one hand at the back of your head while the other was wrapped securely around your back. You stayed like that for a good long minute. “‘M not mad at you.”

You stayed in her embrace until the crying stopped, and you were back to sniffling. She wiped stray tears from your cheeks after you pulled apart, leading you to the yellow couch to sit.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

You immediately ranted about your plan and how you told Samuel you were in love with Thomas, how well he took the news, and recalling how excited you felt at confessing. Then you got to the part where he was on the couch with another woman. A woman who was only in her red lacy bra and matching underwear, because of course Thomas would scope out a woman who wears a matching set.

“So you’ve finally figured it out, then?” She asked, which confused you and made you pause.

“Figure out what?”

She replied, “That you like him.”

“Oh. I guess so. Is that what you told me to figure out myself?”

A guilty smile spreads on her face. “Yeah. I know it’s kind of shitty of me, but I was tired of hearing about him with no action from you. Thought it would be best if you came to the realization yourself then banged it out with him, but I guess that part hasn’t happened yet, has it?”

Her use of the word yet made you blush, and you wiped your nose, looking down at the wooden flooring. “I suppose it hasn’t.” You uttered.

She barked out a laugh at that, patting your back. You cracked a smile, the kind where you’ve been crying and frowning so long that it was a huge relief to feel any ounce of happiness.

“But I can’t help but feel like I was an idiot for thinking he liked me back. I was so ready to go in there and tell him everything, then…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say the rest.

She frowned, “Y/n, he does like you. As much as I hate his guts right now, you will have to face him again eventually. I think you should stay over tonight.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, “If you’re offering. Brownie batter party? I really need something to take my mind off him for a while.”

A wide grin spreads on her face. “Nothing like salmonella and binge-watching South Park.”

The first brownie batter party you had was when her and Steph broke up for the first time. It didn’t last long, only about a week, but she cried so hard that night that you came up with the silliest ideas to comfort her. Thus, eating brownie batter and watching a show together was born. That show turned into South Park since it was so easy to laugh at and forget your worries.

Before you started, she offered you a change of clothes since you were still in a tight dress that grew more and more uncomfortable. Now equipped with red plaid pajamas and a baggy t-shirt that said “I paused my game to be here,” the real fun could begin.

The batter got made, you both grabbed copious amounts of it and put it in your own little bowls before popping the rest in the oven for later. If desperate enough, you could get through an entire tray of brownies in one night, and the way things were going, it would be one of those nights.

You had gotten through three episodes in season nine. The one where Butters sneaks into the girls’ slumber party as Marjorine, the egg one, and the one where Cartman tries to kill all gingers.

Whatever troubled you was gone the moment the intro started and you took your first bite of brownie batter. Until it was back when your phone buzzed. You groaned, pulling it out to check your notifications.

It was Thomas.

Shit.

“Thomas is texting me,” you mutter. Peggy raised an eyebrow and paused the show.

“What’s he want?” She leaned over your shoulder to peer at your phone, staring at the text you had pulled up.

Thomas: can we talk?

Thomas: I’m really sorry you had to see that

You left him on read, biting the inside of your cheek.

—

Thomas cursed after you left the apartment. The girl on his lap had crawled off, and the alcohol in both their systems only worsened the situation. He tried calling out for you, but you only muttered how you’re sorry for intruding, then walked out.

He pulled at his hair in distress, swearing to himself. He should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have had that girl over in the first place, but he assumed you would be gone longer and he really needed a distraction.

He had facts to face, after all.

You were with another man. Happy with Samuel, ready to impress him and kiss him when it should be Thomas you’re with.

He’s a fool for thinking that you liked him after all the gifts. After the way he’s seen you stare at him, your gaze lingering a little too long on his biceps to still be considered friendly. It didn’t make sense how you’d still continue pursuing a different guy after everything you’ve been through. After the kiss, after sharing secrets, after dancing and laughing and fighting then making up.

He should’ve known better.

Thomas figured that what the hell, he had nothing to lose since you were already gone. So he went out the moment Samuel’s car sped off, and he walked to the nearest bar. Nothing like turning to the bottle when life gets you down, right?

The pretty woman on his lap (who he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of) was eyeing him the moment he walked in. He’s not blind, so he walked up to her and introduced himself. It wasn’t long before she was on the way to his apartment, feverishly kissing him any chance she got.

It wasn’t the same as when you did, though. He couldn’t shake that feeling. All of while she was with him, he was wishing, imagining it was you.

“You should go,” he growled. The woman huffed.

“I don’t have a ride.” She stood, pulling her shirt over her head.

“I’ll give you money for an Uber. Please, just leave,” he urged as kindly as he could in that moment. She rolled her eyes, mumbling something about him being a buzzkill and to not waste a lady’s time like that. He ignored it and handed her a twenty and a five.

She took it without hesitation and left shortly after, leaving Thomas to collect his thoughts. He knew he needed to make it right. He wished he could tell you how he really felt, but if you were content with Samuel, he was willing to let you go and be happy.

“Lafayette, I fucked up,” Thomas paced around the apartment, cleaning frantically.

“‘Ow so?”

He picked up the clothes scattered about. “With Y/n.”

Lafayette heaved a sigh, ready to listen to whatever new dilemma was bothering his friends. “What happened this time?”

“I know, I know you’re tired of it but—Lafayette, she saw me with another woman.”

“Merde, c'est vraiment mauvais,” Lafayette blurted, eyes going wide although Thomas couldn’t see it. “‘Ow did that happen?”

“I fucking know it’s bad!” Thomas seethed. “Sorry. But she left on a date with some jackass named Samuel, and I was jealous and needed a distraction, so I found one.”

“That is horrible, mon ami,” Lafayette critiqued.

“I know,” Thomas groaned, then covered his face with his hands. “But I thought surely she was into me. Is she not? I’m so fucking confused.”

“She is, don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’m pretty sure she was going to reject him. That’s what Peggy told me.”

“Fuck, are you serious? You’re saying this after I screwed everythin’ up? I thought she was head over heels for someone other than me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil ze surprise for you!”

Thomas huffed again, putting his hands on his hips. He couldn’t argue with that. Lafayette was just trying to look out for the both of them and let their romance blossom naturally. He truly didn’t want to get in the way of that.

“Okay. Okay, but what am I supposed to do now? She ran out and I don’t know where she is.” Thomas voiced his concern, pacing around the living room. His eyes met the empty container of cookie dough ice cream you bought for him.

“Well, you’re just going to ‘ave to talk to her, ami,” he replied.

“No shit. What do I say to her?” He growled.

“First you need to calm down,” Laf started, “then just tell her how you feel. Be honest.”

Thomas sighed. It seemed like the most obvious advice in the world, but he’d take his friend’s words in and hold them dear to his heart. Lafayette was the most support he’s had other than James, who he would rant to, but only Lafayette knew you on a personal level as well.

He also knew Lafayette doesn’t have all the answers to his problems. He has to man up and face it himself; communicate with you everything he’s been wanting to say the moment you moved in. So he thanked Lafayette and hung up, fidgeting with his hands.

He knew he needed to talk to you. Hell, that’s all he’s been wanting to do, but you just keep running away. He tried to calm down the best he could, taking deep breaths in and doing some push-ups to burn the pent up energy.

After that, he pulled out his phone, clicking on your pinned contact.

—

“You need to not think about him. Turn off your phone, and let's just enjoy South Park and brownies,” Peggy said, taking your phone from your hand. You let her with little repercussions.

“Alright,” you frowned, eating another spoonful of sugar, oil, and E. coli. It didn’t help. Even while Cartman was singing “hand in hand we can live together, ginger or not we’re all the same,” your mind was still plagued with Thomas.

He was all you could think about.

Especially after knowing he’s thinking about you, too.

And that fact both thrilled and terrified you, because you wanted him to be thinking of you. You wanted him to lie awake that night, unable to think because the vision of you kept popping up. Because that’s what was happening to you, and you wanted him to go through it too.

Peggy sighed, and you noticed the tv was turned off. When did it turn off?

“Are you thinking about him?” She asks.

“Yep.” You mutter without hesitation. She frowned, shaking her head and mumbling nonsense under her breath.

“Do you want to go see him?”

“Nope.” Again, zero hesitation. Although you paused in your mind, because even though the thought of facing him sent dread coursing down your spine, you had to reconsider your response.

Did you really not want to see him, or did you just not want to face the facts?

The fact that he doesn’t want you, he never will, because he’s a player and likely won’t settle down. Not now, not ever.

“I think we should both get some rest. I’ll get you some blankets,” she says, taking her empty bowl to the sink. You finished off the last of yours and rinsed it out. Some rest probably would do you good, and lord knows you need it after all the exaggerated crying.

You moped your way over to the bathroom, taking one of the disposable toothbrushes she kept and brushing off all the sweets from your mouth. A low growl escaped you when you peered at your reflection. Your makeup was smudged horribly, mascara stained your cheeks, and your eyes were puffy and so red it could’ve been permanent.

God, you needed a refresher.

Cold water along with face wash helped your appearance, but did little in calming the storm brewing inside you.

When you walked back out, the couch was set up with sheets, pillows, and blankets covering it. You thanked Peggy with a tired smile. She truly was an angel; forgiving you so easily because you’re friends, and that’s what friends are for.

You just hoped you could face Thomas as easily as she faced you.

—

No response.

Thomas waited, and waited, and waited.

But you never replied to his text. It stressed him the fuck out, and he contemplated calling or texting until you responded, likely telling him to fuck off.

Even if you did say that, he’d be okay with it. Because he’d know you weren’t ignoring him and could acknowledge his existence. Instead, you did ignore him, and he had to sit-and-think-about-what-he’s-done.

It was torture. Excruciating, painful torture. You might as well waterboard him at this point. At least he would have the relief of knowing the bucket would empty—but with you? No. He wasn’t sure when it would end.

He didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned until deep purple bags formed under his eyes, until he damn near ripped out chunks of his hair.

It fucking sucked. And he knew if you had this drastic of an effect on him, you were really fucking special because he’s never felt this enamored with someone.

Once he saw you that first faithful day in freshman bio, you were all he could see.

You were all he wanted to see.

—

The shower at Peggy’s apartment worked better than yours. It had better pressure, warmer water, and was way more spacious. You could extend both your arms on either side of you and have to move to touch the wall. At yours, your hands would meet the wall at half-way extension. Hell, even her towels were better.

The feeling of hot water trickling down your back soothed you. For a moment, everything felt normal. All your worries were gone the moment her coffee scented body wash hit your skin.

You wrapped the fluffy towel around you and she gave you your washed clothes back to change into.

After adorning yourself in the spare clothes you left laying around her apartment, you sucked in your teeth and headed back to yours.

Anxiety nipped away at you as you drove back. But it needed to happen. It had to. There was no other way around it; not under, not over—you had to go through.

The door clicked open and you gently pushed it, careful to make as little noise as possible.

You weren’t sure how Thomas had handled it last night. Probably not as dramatic of a reaction as you, but a small, sick part of you hoped he did. The apartment was surprisingly clean, every dish was done and it was spotless. Well, except for the almost empty coffee pot sitting in the corner.

He didn’t immediately pop out, which you thanked the lord for. Instead, it was silent, so you shuffled to your room and locked it shut.

A deep sigh escaped your lips—then you froze when you heard it. Movement from his room. Fuck. If you stayed deathly still, maybe he wouldn’t notice?

Only he did notice you, he noticed you the moment you unlocked the door because the only amount of sleep he could get was at 2am for thirty minutes. Basically, he was running on guilt and black coffee.

The movement carried itself right outside your door, then the movement was your door. Or rather, the knock sounding on it.

“Y/n?” His crackly, deep voice sounded. “Can I come in?”

You sighed, swinging your legs off the bed and opening the door for him. Oh god, he looked like shit. So much so that you blurted it out. “You look like despair.”

“I’m aware,” he grunted.

“Sorry,” you murmured, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that last night. I didn’t think you’d be home ‘til late, I thought Samuel was makin’ you happy.” He cut right to the chase. No beating around the bush with this one. For some inexplicable reason, his tone was bitter and laced with venom when he said Sam’s name.

“It didn’t really work out with him,” you stated awkwardly. Weird, your throat was suddenly dry.

“Can we pretend like it never happened? Go back to normal, back to us?” He bit his lower lip.

“Us?” You barked out a laugh. “What do you mean, us?”

His face fell. And it wasn’t just an expression that time, his hopeful smile literally dropped and the shimmer of light fell from his eyes.

“Thomas, I—I don’t even know where to start.” You sighed frustrated. “You made me feel things, Thomas, things that no one has ever made me feel before. I really thought that you…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for you to finish. When you never did, he spoke up. “That I what?” He muttered.

“That you fucking liked me back. I was stupid for thinking it, I know. But I really hoped you did.” You inhaled sharply to fight back the closing of your throat. “Lafayette told me something the other day. Something I haven’t forgotten about, because it meant so fucking much to me and I haven’t been able to rid it from my thoughts yet.” You ranted.

“I know.” He whispered.

“What?”

“I know.” He echoed. “I know you spoke to Lafayette. I know about your plan to reject Samuel. I knew that you liked me the moment you stepped back in the apartment, looking so adorable like you normally do and holding my favorite ice cream.”

“Then why did you sleep with that woman?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I didn’t sleep with her.” He replied, taking a small step closer. “And I didn’t know about your plan then, before you ask.”

How could he tell what you’re thinking? He always knew what you were thinking. Not fair.

“I needed a distraction. I thought for sure you would get swept away by Samuel and come home with a giant grin on your face, saying how you were in love with him or somethin’. So I drank away my problems—not the best solution, I know. And look where it got me? It got me running on thirty minutes of sleep, standing in front of the girl I love, begging her to love me back.” He rambled.

You stare at him in shock, hand falling off the door handle, and jaw slacked open. This can’t be right. He didn’t just say that. There’s no way he—

“I never wanted that woman. I never wanted any of the women who I brought over, I spent each and every night wishin’ it was you. I know this will fuck up whatever we have now and possibly make living together hell, and if you want to move out I don’t blame you. But just know it’s you. It’s always been you, from the moment I first spoke to you in college, and it will always be you.”

Shit.

Now you were truly speechless. The man you loved, the one you spent every night with, just confessed his infatuation for you in complete detail. It made your stomach do flips the moment it all registered, and suddenly you felt extremely guilty.

You ignored him last night when he texted, and you were just now seeing the bags under his eyes and the mess of his hair. He really was sorry, and he really did want you.

“Wow.”

It was all you could manage. You blinked, blinked again, and opened your mouth to try and force more words out.

“I don’t even know what to say. Since college? Really?” You scrunched your nose up.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and that’s all you have to say?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. But the edge of his lips quirked up in that smile you’ve grown to love. You missed it. You missed him.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—wow. Words seriously can’t describe what I’m feeling.” You started. “I guess everything would be appropriate. You make me feel every emotion possible, and it’s the best thing ever because I’ve been trying to force that with men for so long. But you, you do it so naturally. And you always have.”

A slow smirk spread on his face. “Are you implyin’ what I think you’re implyin’?” He took another step forward. You drank up the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the intense heat in his eyes. It made your stomach dip low, and a smile widened on your face as well.

“Would you like to find out?”

He laughed, and you felt true happiness for the first time in a while. “I would.”

His large hands dipped to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips and his did the same, both of you parting them and letting your eyelids flutter shut. You met in the middle in a sweet kiss filled with the pining that had been going on for months. A small breathy gasp escaped you as your arms came to rest on his chest, and he let out a guttural growl against your lips.

You pulled off of him, a smile playing on your lips. “Thomas,” you warned, feeling his hands secured tightly on your waist.

“Hm?” He hummed, drunk from the kiss. You laughed, kissing him sweetly again.

The moment slowed and time seemed to stop. It was only you and him left, holding each other and murmuring your affections between kisses.

hey twin omg I just showed ur Lauren’s fic to a friend and she’s reading it rn 😊 I HAVVVEEE to promote my fav writer ofc’!!

This is so sweet thank you 😭😭 it’s still crazy to me how people actually enjoy my writing

Ok SO I need y’all’s opinion (like the two people that will see this)

If you read my last fic, could you PLEASSEEEE give me some feedback or constructive criticism on how to improve my writing?

Like even if it’s just things you wished you saw more of (for example: longer dialogue, longer chapters, more personality for reader/characters, stronger storyline etc.) anything would help!!

If you wanna put it in the comments or dm me that would be very much appreciated 🫶

COOKING SO HARD RN. UPDATE EITHER TONIGHT OR TMR

Hey, roomie! ch. 9

thomas j. x reader

Warnings: swearing, AAAAUUGFFHFHGHHHHH

Wc: 2.5k? I think?

Your master plan backfires, cue the crying.

Notes: I think I’m gonna write one more chapter after this and be done, enjoy

Equipped with the new realization that you have a crush and that crush may like you back, you didn’t know how to feel.

You had a date lined up tomorrow night with Samuel who was turning out to be a really pleasant guy, and you couldn’t just ditch him. You were in too deep, and now you have to crawl out of the hole that kept digging itself deeper and deeper.

Options were limited. You could either ditch Samuel for Thomas and confess as soon as possible, or you could show up and let Samuel down gently. Tell him nicely during the dinner that you weren’t feeling it, and you would prefer to stay friends more than anything.

You figured the latter was the safer option. And maybe you wanted to see if Thomas would get jealous.

It was all so obvious to you now. The flirting, the kiss, the pet names, the lingering stares and touches. All of it meant something to you at least. A nagging thought in the back of your mind kept whispering that was just who he is, and if he really liked you then he would tell you himself.

He is a natural flirt, after all. And he does sleep with women on a regular basis, although he’s slowed it down, and come to think of it he hasn’t brought anyone back in a couple months.

What didn’t make sense to you is why would he help you get a boyfriend if he (maybe) liked you? He offered to give you advice, and he watched you walk up to guys to be their potential lover. Would that not hurt? Or did he not like you then and start liking you sooner?

Did he even like you in the first place?

Lafayette didn’t give you a clear answer. All he gave was a hint for you to solve this puzzle by your lonesome. You just assumed that the man you’ve been secretly pining for has secretly been pining for you as well.

You rushed home from Lafayette's apartment building, no clear goal in mind. Your heart was racing and hands were shaking at the thought of seeing Thomas.

The drive home was spent procrastinating as much as possible. In fact, you made a stop at Target to shop for yourself and pick up some things you know he likes. Try and butter him up a little, y’know?

While picking up ingredients for macaroni and cheese, a philosophy book he's been itching to read, and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, you thought about the advice he had given you. Be a better listener, be polite, be authentic, be confident, and compliment him.

You wondered if you tried those tactics on him, would he fall for you?

No other way of knowing then to do it, you decided. If you were subtle enough, you could pull this off. You totally could.

—

Lafayette called Thomas the moment you exited his apartment. Neither would ever tell you that, of course, but he still had to fill in his friend on what went down.

He didn’t say that he told you you’re the only girl Thomas has talked about, but he implied that he merely suggested you both have feelings for each other. Thomas was a little pissed that Lafayette almost said something he shouldn’t have, but in his defense he’s been in the middle of this drama for way too long, and he is sick and tired of it.

So when you got home, Thomas wasn't surprised to see how anxious you were. After having an awakening on your attraction, he’d be having one too. He was surprised that you picked up the things he loves. It was sweet. There weren’t many times you did things like this for him.

“You got stuff for mac ‘n cheese? And you got The Alchemist? Sweetheart, you know me too well,” he grinned, taking the book from the target bag and flipping through the pages.

“Not only that, but I got ice cream.” You pulled out the frozen tub of sugar and milk. His face lit up.

“Am I dying or somethin’? Or do you just really love me?” The words rolled off his tongue so naturally it felt like you really did love him. It made your stomach flutter with excitement, and you couldn’t suppress the smile growing on your lips.

“Just wanted to do something nice.” You shrug, putting away the groceries.

“This is seriously the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.” He stared down at the book, softness in his voice and an even softer smile.

“Really? You say that as if I just saved you from drowning. Seriously, all I did was buy you some stuff,” you scoff.

He shook his head. “It’s not the items you bought. It’s the fact you remembered and cared enough to buy them for me.”

Your movements slowed. That statement alone made your heart hurt. He was so sincere, no one has ever done this for him before. It made you want to go out and buy the whole world for him if it made him happy.

“…I’m glad you like it,” you say slowly and gently.

His eyes lingered on you a moment more—a different tone to them. They flashed from something darker to adoration to sadness, then back to normal.

It made you second guess your thoughts of going out with Samuel. But then again, you still had no definitive proof that Thomas likes you back. Maybe him and Lafayette were just fucking with you, because why not?

The silence that consumed you was spent choosing your next words carefully. How to break it to him that you were going out tomorrow night with another man. You envisioned how he would react; would he show clear signs of jealousy? Maybe distance himself a little? Be angry or upset?

You hoped for nothing too strong, because you had it all planned out. After going to dinner with Samuel, you’d come home claiming you realized you’ve been in love with Thomas this whole time, and would much rather spend that time with him instead. Then he confesses his undying love for you and you kiss, and you both live happily ever after. The End.

At least, that’s how your fantasy went. Of course you couldn’t control how either Samuel or Thomas would react, and if Thomas would be happy that you bailed on your date to reunite with him. You could only hope.

You cleared your throat, nerves immediately starting up again. “Did I ever tell you about Samuel?”

He was turned around, so you missed the scowl on his face. “No. Is he nice?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty sweet, calls me pretty ‘n whatnot. He’s cute.”

“I’m pretty sweet and cute, too,” he grunts.

“Never said you weren’t, sweetheart,” you laugh, walking around the counter to face him.

“You can’t use my own pet name against me!” He gasps dramatically.

A sickeningly sweet smile crawls on your lips. “All is fair in love and war.” He shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips and you knew you were about to wipe it off his face from the news about to drop. You bit your lower lip and prepared for battle.

“I uh, have a date with him tomorrow night,” you cleared your throat, the confidence that had built up from the playful banter diminishing. “Thought I should let you know.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze, and looked like you just punched him in the stomach. “Have fun. Remember what I told you.”

“How could I ever forget your wise wise wisdom?” You attempted to lighten the mood, but he never did laugh.

Instead, he forced a smile that failed to reach his eyes and sucked in a breath. “I told you I was a good teacher, didn’t I?”

“That you did.”

And he walked off, book in hand and mumbling something about how he wanted to go read it. You nodded and let him escape the awkward conversation of your love life. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that what you were doing was wrong. It clearly upset him, and a sick part of you was curious to know if he would be, but now that you have your answer you wish you hadn’t said anything to begin with.

—

The date was only an hour from now. You had already picked out what you were gonna wear. He was taking you to a semi-nice restaurant called the White Stallion and advised you to dress nice.

You were in the middle of doing your hair and makeup, smoothing out any loose baby hairs and touching up mascara. The clock kept ticking as you continued getting ready, ensuring your go-to black dress fit right. It always did. The vanilla-coconut perfume filled your senses, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t help but over think how wrong this is.

You drew in a sharp breath, clipping the necklace on your neck and eventually the earrings, and walked into the living room. Thomas was sitting on the couch, munching on the ice cream you bought him.

He froze when he saw you, his eyes trailing over your outfit. The face he made yesterday when you told him you’d be going on a date with Samuel—the one where he looked like you punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him—haunted you. Because it was back, and this time a flicker of sadness flashed in his eyes.

“Do I look okay? Does it look like I’m trying too hard?” You ask, worry furrowed deep in your eyebrows.

“No, you look perfect.”

Now it was your turn to have the wind knocked out of you. The words were a direct elbow, punch, and kick to your stomach. You nodded, thanking him and nervously fidgeting with your hands.

Of course you were going out with another guy. What Lafayette had told you the previous day must’ve meant nothing to you, because if it did, surely you wouldn’t be walking out the door, about to meet up with someone other than Thomas. Then again, he didn’t know about your mastermind plan (it was actually really fucking stupid and had a 99% chance at failure, but you like to think it will work).

Samuel was outside waiting to pick you up. His pale skin flushed completely red when he laid eyes on you, following it up with how beautiful you looked. You thanked him and tried to feel complimented from it, but it didn’t have the same ring to it when Thomas said you looked perfect.

The drive was about fifteen minutes—it was filled with listening to Laufey, Radiohead, and The Cranberries. Male manipulator music, you deemed. But he had good stories and was genuinely interested in what you had to say, which only added to the guilt of knowing you were to reject him later that night.

When you arrived, he informed the hostess of a reservation for two. She led you to the table, and almost immediately a waiter came and set down a basket of bread and butter. The fancy, brown seeded bread, too.

“This is really nice, Samuel, thank you.” You smiled awkwardly. He lit up, a beaming grin on his face.

“Consider it just the first of many,” he winked. Bold.

“Haha, yeah…” you trailed off awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. God, could you be any more obvious? To avoid this issue, you peered into the menu, eyes scanning over the options and their expensive prices.

He must’ve noticed the shift in your demeanor, because his smile faltered slightly. It was back when the same waiter from before asked for drinks and your order.

You ordered the cheapest thing and a water, and didn’t pay much attention to what Samuel got. You had to prepare yourself for the heart-wrenching news you would eventually tell him.

Wow, this would be harder than you thought.

The end of the night came around. Too slowly, you thought, but it happened. And in the events leading up to it, you felt like a bigger and bigger dick. Every compliment replied with a fake laugh just made you want to rip your heart out.

You split the bill since there was no way in hell you’d let him pay for all of that, even if he insisted that he should pay. You were about to tell him outside his car, but figured it would be better to wait til he dropped you off at your place to save for an awkward ride.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“Do you maybe want to go back to mine?” He asked, a twinkle of heat in his eyes as his hands gripped the steering wheel.

Fuck.

“Ah—Sam, I…” you winced.

“We don’t have to, I’m sorry for asking,” he added quickly.

“Sam, as nice as you are—and trust me, you are—I think we would be better friends than anything.”

He paused. “Ouch, okay,” he breathed out. “If that’s what you want.” A short response, but you didn’t mind. He turned up the radio louder, Paranoid Android blasting from the speakers. The rest of the ride was dead silent. And extremely awkward.

“What made you change your mind?” He broke the silence.

“I’ll answer this truthfully since I feel like you deserve an honest answer,” you sigh. “My roommate, Thomas. I didn’t think I would, but I’ve really grown to like him. Love him, even.” You ramble. He keeps his eyes set on the road and nods.

“I kind of had a sneaking suspicion. The way you talked of him…it was so fond. I knew there was no way you hadn’t had some sort of attraction to him.” He turns into your apartment building parking lot.

“Was it that obvious..?” You muttered, gathering your purse and stepping out of the car. He laughed out a yes. “Well, either way, thank you for dinner and taking me home. I’m really sorry it had to end this way.”

“It’s quite alright,” he smiled sadly. “Have a good night.”

And with that, he drove off, leaving you stranded in the empty parking lot. You sucked in a breath and headed up the flight of stairs since the elevator has been under maintenance for months now.

Catching your breath and calming your nerves, you unlocked the door and opened it softly. The words you planned to say replayed in your mind over and over, although in the moment you’d likely forget your preparation.

“Thom—“

You froze.

There on the couch, Thomas sat with another woman in his lap, kissing him fiercely. Both were only in their undergarments, and his hands were in places you wished they weren’t.

Thomas unlatched from her with a gasp of surprise, craning his neck to look at you.

“Y/n—“ he started, but you stopped him.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I didn’t know you had…company over.” You croak out, stepping out of the apartment.

You couldn’t stop the flow of tears that burst from your eyes as you hurried downstairs.

You were wrong. He didn’t like you, he was about to fuck another woman, and now you didn’t know what to do.