Heâs so cute it hurts
imperfect strangers (one-shot)
pairing zach maclaren x female reader
rating explicit 18+
summary after a painful break-up, you and zach go no contact, agreeing itâs best to cut yourselves out of each otherâs lives. when he cracks and texts you a month later that heâll be at your college for a game, you lie to yourself that seeing him canât be that bad of an idea.
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Zach has been dreading tomorrowâs game. And itâs only because itâs at your college.
He keeps going back and forth on if he should break the promise he made to you and himself that he wouldnât contact you.
He blames the fatigue from a strenuous practice. Itâs what muddles his mind and makes him give in.
You two agreed that cutting all ties was best. But heâs just reaching out to an old friend that he might run into. Thatâs what he tells himself.
Youâre sitting in a lecture when Zachâs name flashes on your phone. Your heart leaps at the notification and you hate that it does that.
You were supposed to delete his number, but it felt wrong. He wasnât just your boyfriend. He was your best friend.
Removing him from your life wrecked you, so little things like keeping his contact information and the promise ring he gave you the day of your high school graduation feel like acts of rebellion against the hardest decision youâve ever made.
Zach: Hey. How are you? Iâm playing at your school tomorrow. Just wondering if youâll be watching :)
You reread his text a few times. You know he has a game here tomorrow. Youâve been following his soccer season even though you know you shouldnât.
On the screen, you see the last messages you exchanged, a little over a month ago.
Zach: Wish you nothing but the best. You deserve it.
You replied: you, too.
The night of your break-up was agony. Your video call lasted three hours.
Zachâs eyes were glossy, matching yours. His dark honey hair was tousled and sticking in every direction after he raked his hand through it over and over in frustration.
Your dorm rooms slowly got darker as night fell, neither of you bothering to turn on a light. It was a cruel reminder that youâre not even a timezone apart. Your schools have only four hours between them and you couldnât manage to make a one-year relationship work over the distance.
Hurtful words were exchanged. You accused him of neglecting your relationship. He told you his extra efforts in school and soccer didnât mean you werenât a priority. He said you were giving up on him. You retaliated that you were working harder to stay together than he was.
Somehow, things still ended civilly. You agreed that the distance was too much of a big, ugly, unavoidable wedge driving you apart.
Youâre convinced that ending on good terms hurts more than ending on bad terms. It would be easier to hate him.
Your fingers hover over your screen, wondering what you should say. If you should say anything. You realize this means he didnât delete your number, either. Maybe heâs been holding onto hope, too.
You decide to reply, trying to act casual and in good spirits.
You: Iâll try to make it! Just donât be mad that Iâm cheering for the home team :)
Heâs grateful you texted back. He misses you so much that it hurts.
Getting better has been a slow climb for Zach. You two lasted a couple of months of long distance before calls slowly shortened and texts became infrequent. It was too hard juggling everything.
Now, heâs putting his all into school and soccer. Itâs all he has left.
When dark clouds roll in on the day of the game, you think about how Zach never liked the rain and you hate that youâre doomed to remember these insignificant things about someone youâre not supposed to be in love with anymore.
You decide not to go to the game. Itâll be too hard watching him play like you used to.
But eventually, you lie to yourself that itâll be fine and your feet are dragging you to the stadium on campus, your umbrella blocking the raindrops. You join the roaring crowd, sitting in the bleachers.
You always sat behind the opponentsâ net. At every one of his matches. Zach is a striker and whenever heâd score a goal, heâd be right in your eyeline.
He would find you in the crowd when he scored, beaming at you before his team swallowed him in a group hug.
But thatâs where you sat when Zach was your boyfriend. And heâs not anymore. So you find an empty seat on the side, close to the middle of the field.
You spot him immediately. Heâs running down the field, his cheeks flushed.
The same boy who nervously asked you out the second day of senior year. The same boy you gave your first kiss to. The same boy who called you the moment he found out he was granted a full-ride scholarship. Now slowly becoming a stranger.
This is too hard. You need to leave.
But then you watch Zach gain possession of the ball and heâs running fast and suddenly, he collides with a player on the opposing team, sliding in one of the mud puddles scattered across the field.
The crowd erupts in a mournful whine, reacting to what was surely a painful impact.
Youâre on your feet, rigid, heart racing as you watch him in the distance. Heâs not getting up. Why isnât he getting up?
You wedge your way out of the aisle and rush to the bottom of the bleachers, hands gripping the cold, wet barricade at the same level as the field.
A medic runs out onto the pitch but when he reaches Zach, heâs slowly standing up on his own. But then he leans over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.
The medic beckons Zach to put an arm around his shoulders and leads him off the field while the referee holds up a yellow card against the other player.
Zachâs hamstring is throbbing in pain as he limps through the wet grass, his cleats heavy, but when he sees you standing at the front of the stands, everything feels better.
He thought you wouldnât attend. His lips quirk up in a smile. Your stomach twists.
Zachâs coach is trying to get his attention once he reaches the sideline, but he mumbles something to him and disconnects from the medic and closes the distance between you two, his steps short and quick.
âYou came,â he says, blue eyes travelling over your face. Itâs only been a month but he swears, it feels like itâs been years since heâs seen you.
The bright stadium lights are emphasizing every plane and feature of his handsome face. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin, his uniform muddy.
âYou okay?â you ask over the loud chattering crowd surrounding you.
No. Heâs far from okay.
âSurvived worse,â he says with that smirk that is so typically Zach.
âMacLaren!â his coach calls.
âIâll find you later?â he asks. Your eyebrows lower in confusion. You know he typically goes straight back to his school after a game with his team. But you just meekly nod.
The game ends in a tie. Zach texts you that heâll meet you outside in front and takes a rushed, hot shower in the locker room.
Youâre standing under a streetlamp outside of the stadium, spectators pooling out of wide doors. The rain is simply spitting now, your umbrella closed in your hand.
When you watch Zach pace towards you, all cleaned up after a shower, a big duffel bag over his shoulder, youâre so happy you came. Even though it hurts, it also feels so good to see him.
âYouâre walking totally fine,â you say when he approaches you. âDid you fake it?â
He loves how you make a joke right away because thatâs what you would do when you were together and itâs nice to feel like you are.
Zach laughs and pulls you in for a hug and you hate how the smell of his shampoo makes an uncomfortable nostalgia rush through you.
But this is who Zach is. Heâs always been warm and affectionate and cheerful.
He notices how tense you are in his arms and pulls back quickly. Maybe giving into the impulse to hold you was a bad idea.
âA yellow was ridiculous, right?â he asks. âThat deserved a red.â
You gaze up at him now that heâs so close to you and try not to get enamored.
âHow bad is it?â you say, glancing down at his leg. The concern in your eyes makes his whole body feel like itâs been wrung out.
âJust a sprain,â he says. âDidnât pull anything.â
âGood,â you say, nodding. âHow long are you out for?â
This feels like a conversation youâd have when you were together. Next, youâd ask if he needs a massage and that would always lead to making love, but thatâs not happening this time.
âNext game isnât until Wednesday, so I might be fine,â Zach answers. You know all about his teamâs schedule, even their standings, but you donât tell him.
A tense silence settles between you now that the small talk has been used up.
âSo, this is no contact?â you ask.
Now that the break-up has been acknowledged out loud, Zach is disappointed. He liked having his head in the clouds and pretending like youâre still his.
âYou texted back,â he teases, his eyes glinting in their usual playful way.
âBack,â you emphasize, pointing to him, finally cracking a smile. âYou started it.â
âWe can be friends, right?â Zach says. âItâs weird not talking to you.â
Being friends hurts. You both agreed to that. But heâs here already and things feel so good with him, so you ignore your instincts.
âSure,â you simply say. Your short response throws him off.
âNice campus,â he says.
âYeah,â you agree. âI was gonna give you a tour when...â When he visited as your boyfriend. You never made it that far.
It was unlike Zach, the way he started to flake on promises to visit or call. You gave him grace, but you eventually reached your limit.
âYou can give me a tour now,â he says, pushing the conversation into easier territory. He always had a knack for that.
âYou sure you can walk?â you ask. He misses that tone of voice of yours. When youâre worried about him.
âCome on,â he says with an exaggerated scoff. âYouâre acting like Iâm some kind of baby.â
In reality, he always loved being babied by you.
âWhen are you guys heading back?â you ask. You already noticed the massive branded bus you assume he arrived on parked in the stadium lot.
âI drove up by myself, actually,â he tells you. âIâm gonna go see my family later.â
Your college is only half an hour away from your shared hometown. You nod and turn, silently beckoning him to walk with you.
âHow are they?â you ask.
Zach shrugs, looking down. Heâs always been close to his family and they always loved you, so telling them you broke up was almost as hard as the break-up itself.
âMad at me,â he admits. âI told them it was mutual, butâŠâ
âYeah, your mom texted me,â you say.
âShe did? Whatâd she say?â He sounds surprised.
âI probably shouldnât tell you if she didnât tell you herself.â
His momâs message went into just how perfectly you fit into their lives, how upsetting it is that Zach let you go, how happy you make her son. You didnât have the heart to tell her you donât make him happy anymore.
You remember so clearly how she ended the message. I hope this is just a temporary bump in the road.
âCome on, tell me,â he urges with a joking tone.
âZach,â you say quietly. âIâm sorry - I, um - we shouldnât get into this, right?â
His smile fades. With a deep breath, he nods and looks at the ground again.
âRight,â he says.
Like always, Zach gently complies. You naturally took on a more dominant role in your relationship, leading while he happily followed, even during intimacy. Itâs what you bring out in each other and falling back into your roles feels effortless.
âHow much time do you have?â you ask, checking your phone to see that itâs merely minutes past six.
âCouple of hours,â he tells you. âYou hungry?â
You know if you tell him youâre not, heâll feel bad dragging you to a restaurant.
âThereâs a place I think youâd like,â you say.
Youâre soon sitting across from each other at an on-campus eatery, talking to each other like friends, covering safe topics like classes and dorm life.
Itâs not exactly easy, but you were together for so long that holding a conversation with Zach is second nature.
âArenât you going to eat that?â he finally asks, pointing to your plastic-wrapped sandwich. Heâs almost done with his food, while you havenât taken a bite.
âLater. Iâm not hungry.â
âWhat?â Zach watches you from his side of the table, heart thrumming at the adorable way you shrug.
âYou wouldnât have gotten food if you knew I wasnât going to eat.â
âOh, my God,â he laughs.
âYou know Iâm right.â
âYou didnât have to do that, babe.â
You both awkwardly straighten in your seats, bodies firming as far apart as possible. Your knees pull together. He rubs the back of his neck.
âSorry.â Zachâs voice is low, eyes focused on the table. The term of endearment he used to always use for you just slipped out.
You feel stupid for thinking this would be okay. Itâs way too hard to pretend like you donât love him. You collect your bag and umbrella off the table.
âI should go. It was good to see you,â you mumble.
âYouâre leaving?â Zach asks, a slight whine to his tone.
âThis was a bad idea,â you say, avoiding eye contact, words quiet and rushed. âYou should go see your family.â
You rush out of the building into the dark evening, the cold air pressing against your skin, hot tears welling in your eyes.
Zachâs leg is aching as he jogs behind you, but heâd do anything for you just talk to him, at least look at him one more time.
âWait,â you hear. âPlease.â The desperation in his voice is what gets you to slow down, letting him close the rest of the distance.
Youâre standing on a pathway between a building and a courtyard, chewing on your lip, grateful nobody else seems to be around.
When Zach catches up to you, his chin dips as he studies your face, raising his hands inches away from your cheeks just to promptly lower them.
Your eyes are just as wet as they were the night you broke up.
âWhat?â you mutter.
âIâm sorry I called you that,â he says, breaths shallow. âOld habit.â
âWe said no contact,â you tell him. You swallow hard. âWe should have stuck to it.â
âAre you mad at me for texting you?â His stare is deep and so painfully sorry.
Youâve been on the receiving end of this look so many times. He was always on the sensitive side, needing reassurance that you werenât upset with him.
Despite everything, youâre not mad. Your heart is broken, but youâre not mad.
âNo,â you say, âBut we canât be friends, okay? After what we⊠I just canât.â
âSo, nothing?â he says. âWeâre just nothing now?â
âItâs what we agreed on,â you respond resolutely. âJust because this is easy for you doesnât mean it is for me.â
âYou think this is easy for me?â Zach puts a hand over his heart. You scoff at this, looking down, gently wiping under your bottom lashes. âItâs not.â
He puts his hands on his hips, grimacing.
âWhyâd we break up?â he asks, voice thin.
âZach,â you breathe. Just like that, the wound youâve been working on patching up splits open again.
âI love you,â he says, hot tears building in the corners of his eyes.
âYou canât do this,â you say. The fact that you donât say you love him back breaks him. âDo you not remember how bad it was?â
âWe made each other so happy,â he retaliates.
âWe werenât even a couple by the end,â you say. âYou got too busy for me, remember?â
âDonât,â Zach mumbles. âI wasnât too busy for you. You stopped trying.â
âWeâll just talk in circles,â you sigh, frustration bubbling inside you. You had this talk so many times. âI donât have another three-hour conversation in me.â
He still has bad dreams about that night.
âSee?â he says with a frustrated shrug. âYou gave up.â
âYou used to act lucky that you had me,â you say, your temper flaring. âThen I became a chore. Would you fight for me if I made you feel like a chore?â
âIâd fight for you no matter what,â he says.
âYouâre not listening to me.â At this point, heâs being selfish by talking this to death. Itâll end the same way.
âAs soon as it got hard, you left,â he says.
âAs soon as it got hard? I tried for two months, Zach. You were so busy and got so distant and-â
âThat didnât mean I wasnât thinking about you,â he counters. âThereâs so much pressure on me with soccer and my scholarship.â
âI know and I tried to be there for you but I only added to that pressure,â you say. âKeeping up a relationship was too much work.â
âNo, babe, I-â He winces. âSorry. Just⊠Donât you remember how good we used to be? How the summer was?â
You try not to think about it. The summer before college was perfect. You spent all your time together. You gave each other your virginities. You were sure youâd be together forever.
âI remember saying weâd find time for each other no matter what,â you mutter.
Guilt floods him.
âIâm sorry, okay?â Zach says.
âI know you are.â
He apologized so many times and nothing changed. He said heâd drive up to visit you. He never did. He told you heâd call you. Then he bailed more than half the time. That wasnât the man you knew. You could feel him falling out of love with you.
âI thought we could get through the hard times,â he says. Thereâs that unrealistic idealism of his. You shake your head.
âMy best wasnât enough for us, Zach,â you say.
âYeah, neither was mine, apparently.â
You nod, throat aching from your tears.
âGo see your family. They miss you. And donât tell them we saw each other,â you suggest. âItâll just give them false hope.â
Zach both loves and hates that the last thing you say before you walk away is something protective and considerate about his family. But your kindness is one of the many things he fell in love with you for, so itâs no surprise.
An hour later, youâre curled up on your bed, watching a comfort show with the lights off when you hear a knock on your door.
Zachâs heart is pounding in his ears. He still has your address from when he sent you flowers as a sorry for flaking on a video call you two had planned back when you were still together.
All he did since you left him standing by the courtyard is sit in his car and think and cry. He feels like an idiot for ever making you feel like a chore.
When you pause your show, turn on the lights and swing open the door, your body goes cold. His eyes are red and puffy from crying.
âDid you stop loving me?â he asks. âI need to know.â
You take his hand, the first contact youâve had in months, and pull him into your room so that your neighbors donât hear your private heartbreak.
The door shuts behind you and you stand across from him, trying to let go of his hand, but he doesnât let you, his cool palm pressed against your fingers.
âDid you?â Zach urges.
You glare up at him, cheeks burning from how many tears you wiped away.
âNo,â you admit.
âThen why arenât we together?â he pleads. âYou just have to remember why you love me.â
You let him continue to hold your hand. The contact feels so good.
âI never forgot,â you say.
âThen tell me,â he urges. âTell me why.â
âIâŠâ You look down.
âYou want me to go first?â he says. âI love you because you bring out the best in me. I love how when we joke around, we annoy the people around us and you never care.â
You huff a chuckle. Too many times to count, youâd send each other into a fit of laughter, leaving your friends or families confused over what was so funny.
âYou went to every single one of my home games in high school,â he continues, âeven though I know you hated it.â
âI liked it,â you counter. He smirks. You always had such a big heart.
âTry for me. Please,â he says. âWeâll make it this time.â
Youâre silent and it scares him. You could be seconds away from telling him to leave.
âThis is why I love you,â you say. âYouâre so optimistic that itâs irritating.â
Zach laughs, still holding onto your hand.
âWhat else?â he asks lowly.
âYouâre funny and sweet andâŠâ you say through tears. âWhen you care about someone, you care so hard. Thatâs whyâŠâ
You loosen your hand out of his grip. His heart feels like itâs been wrung out.
âThatâs why it hurt so much when you didnât make time for us. It felt like you stopped caring. Like you stopped loving me and you didnât know how to tell me.â
âI never stopped loving you, babe, I swear,â he says. âI just didnât know how to deal with everything.â
Zach didnât anticipate how hard keeping up with classes and practices and games would be, especially with the weight of his scholarship looming over him. He failed making you a priority. He knows that.
âIt was hard and it only got harder when we broke up,â he says a little quieter.
You frown and Zach cups your face with his hands. His thumbs slowly rub over your cheeks as his gaze penetrates you.
âIâm not saying that to make you feel bad,â he says, words rushed. âI just want you to know you were never a chore. You were the best thing in my life. I messed up.â
The way your lashes flutter as you blink away tears makes whatâs left of his heart crumble.
âWhatâll it take?â he asks. âIâll drive up here every weekend. Weâll talk on the phone every night. Iâll text you all day and I promise I wonât flake.â
âThatâs crazy,â you say with a soft laugh.
Although heâs the more passive of you two, heâs determined that heâll make it with you. He canât picture a world where youâre not his and heâs not yours.
âIâll do it.â You meet Zachâs eyes and you can tell that he wholly, sincerely means it.
âThatâs not what I need,â you tell him with a small smile. The love in your gaze is exactly why you always felt like home to him. âI just need the you who kept promises and made time for me. When we were together, you were present. Like this.â
âAnything you need,â he says eagerly, head bobbing with quick nods, making you giggle. âCan I kiss you? Please?â
You revel in how his long thumbs drag over your skin, gazing at you through desperate eyes. Being so close to him causes a gentle heat to trickle through your body.
âYou can do more than that,â you reply. He smiles and exhales sharply in excitement, leaning down to kiss you passionately.
Zachâs stomach tightens the second he feels the softness of your lips and the taste of your tongue. He slowly dips to kiss your neck, breathing in the sweet scent of you that he has smelled so many times.
His hands trail down your waist and over the curve of your hips, pulling you as close to him as possible, gripping just tight enough not to hurt you.
You always loved this about him. He makes you feel so cherished.
Your hands are in Zachâs hair as his hot mouth smacks on your skin. His body curves against yours perfectly, a piece completing the puzzle you missed being a part of for so long.
You can feel him growing hard against you and you lower a hand to rub him over his jeans, making him groan against your neck.
âAlready?â you tease in a whisper. He chuckles, missing your touch and your voice and how hot it is when you taunt him.
âFuck, I missed you,â Zach groans. You smile. He hardly ever swears, usually reserving it just for moments like these.
His fingers dip below the hem of your shirt, his skin warm against yours. He feels you nod, granting him permission.
As soon as he pulls your top off of you, he groans in delight when he sees that youâre braless. As he leans down to kiss you again, you push his jacket down his shoulders. He promptly and impatiently tugs it off, followed by his shirt, earning a laugh from you for his enthusiasm.
You gently push him backwards, straggling to your bed together. Zach lies down, desperately reaching for you as he watches you lean down over him.
You straddle him, kissing him deeply, his arms wrapping around you tightly as your bare chests press together.
His love for you consumes him, driving him to pull back and kiss you all over, puckering his lips over your cheeks and your nose and your forehead.
âBabe,â you laugh.
âIâm so sorry I made you so sad,â Zach says between kisses. âIâm so sorry I let you walk away.â
âIâm sorry, too,â you say as he continues to pepper soft kisses over your skin. âWeâre never fighting again, okay?â
âNever.â You always say this after a fight. It never sticks, but you both love pretending it will.
You thought you were destined to experience these shared quirks through memories only. But now Zachâs here in your dorm room, panting beneath you, holding you like he might die if you pull away.
You feel him buck his hips forward, his hands squeezing your waist. You press your forehead against his, biting your lip.
âYou want me, hmm?â you purr, the power you have over him filling you with excitement.
âI need you,â he whines. His breath is warm against your cheek. âSo bad.â
âWhat do you want to do?â you ask, rolling your hips. The sensation of you grinding on him is so perfect. He couldnât ever feel another girl like this and he wouldnât want to.
âI wanna taste you,â Zach says. âI wanna make you feel good.â
âTake my pants off.â You shift to kiss him, smiling against his lips as he pushes your bottoms and panties down with eager hands.
You kick off your clothes and shuffle to hover over his face, your naked core inches away from his mouth.
Zachâs hands hook around your thighs, beckoning you to lower your hips, hungry for you. You inhale sharply once you feel his hot tongue press against your folds.
He knows you well, knows where to lick and suck to earn moans from you. You look down at him, his eyes closed as he laps at you, fingers dug into your flesh.
âThatâs so good,â you say. âYouâre so good with your mouth.â The praise makes him suck even harder. You tremble as you slowly roll your hips on his face.
âI love how you taste,â Zach says, muffled. âI canât live without you.â
You throw your head back, pleasure flooding your body at the sensations and his words. You put a hand in his hair, lightly tugging as he works his mouth with slow, hard movements.
You start to breathe harder, tension coiling in your stomach.
âCan weâŠâ he asks. Heâs starving to feel you from the inside. You look down to meet his striking, needy eyes. You know exactly what he wants.
âYou wanna be inside me?â
âPlease, yes, yes.â
âYouâre so cute when youâre desperate,â you coo. He nearly rolls his eyes from the pleasure of hearing you talk like this again.
You put him out of his misery when you pull his pants and briefs off of him. You sit on your knees above him, taking his length in your hand and earning a groan from him.
âWhereâd you hurt your leg today?â you ask, stroking him up and down. âWant me to massage it?â
âI just want you to ride me, babe, please,â Zach shudders.
âDonât you want me to take care of you?â Your eyes are locked on his as you caress him, rolling your wrist.
âYou are,â he says, whimpering at this point. âPlease let me feel you. I miss you.â
Your body remembers Zachâs perfectly. As you sink onto him, sitting up, every muscle in your body loosens. He dips his head back, lips parting, jaw sharp.
âShit,â he groans as you squeeze him in your soft heat. âYouâre perfect.â His hands run over your thighs, your hips, your waist. He pulls you down so he can kiss you again.
âSo big,â you whisper, noses nudging together as you rock slowly.
âIâm always going to be yours,â he says, his voice gently shaking. âEven if you donât want me.â
âZach,â you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Heâs crying again. âIâll always want you.â
You drag a thumb under his eye, cleaning away a warm tear. He nods, looking at you with a sorrowful gaze.
âDo you promise?â he asks.
âI promise,â you say. âMy sweet boy.â He trembles at your words. You kiss him again, your pace starting to quicken, the pressure of him inside you so nice.
Zach swallows hard, forcing himself to believe you. Breaking up shattered him. He canât go through it again.
âHey,â he says against your lips.
âHmm?â
âIâm gonna marry you one day.â Youâve loosely talked about the future before, but he has never said these words to you out loud. Your heart numbs.
âDo you promise?â you whisper with a smile. The coil in your core tightens again, making your breath shake.
âI promise.â Zach feels you clenching around him and he canât stop himself. His muscles tense and he tightens his jaw as he feels himself reach his peak.
âThere you go,â you praise as he shudders beneath you. The drunk look on his face is what makes you climax, joining him in his euphoria.
Heâs heaving beneath you, your skin taut and warm and sticking together. You shift to rest your head on his shoulder and he finds your hand immediately, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.
âI love you,â he whispers. âI love you so much.â
âI love you, too,â you say, your heart burning.
Zach holds your hand inches away from his face, a finger tracing down one of yours.
âDo you still have it?â he asks, afraid of your answer. You look at your ring finger, where you used to wear his promise ring.
âI couldnât get rid of it if I wanted to,â you say. He shifts to meet your gaze, his eyes still glossy. âItâs in my dresser.â
âWill you wear it again?â
âOf course,â you say. âAnd Iâll get one for you, too.â
The thought of having a constant reminder of your love for him on his hand makes his stomach flip. His dimples cave into his cheeks as he beams at you.
âHowâd I play today?â he murmurs. Zach would always ask your opinion on how he did after a game. Tonightâs no different.
âAmazing,â you say. âI⊠Iâve actually been following your team. I know we said no contact, butâŠâ
Zachâs elated that you cared enough to follow his progress.
âIâve been checking every social media account you have every day,â he admits.
You giggle and he hugs you tightly, burrowing his nose into your hair. Suddenly, the memory of your argument outside rushes back into your mind.
âWait, did you go home?â you ask.
âNo, I just⊠sat in my car,â he tells you.
âWhat? Zach,â you say, voice heavy. âArenât you going to see your family?â
âI never told them Iâd be in town,â he confesses. You shift to look at him again. âI knew that when we saw each other, weâd⊠realize we should be together. And I knew Iâd only want to spend the night with you. Iâm sorry - I only didnât tell you because I didnât want you to feel pressured.â
Zachâs undying faith in your relationship melts you. Even after a messy break-up and a month apart, he believed in you two making it.
You nod, pinching his cheek, making him smile again.
âWe could go now, if you want,â you offer. âTheyâd be so happy to see that weâre back together.â
Hearing you confirm it out loud makes Zachâs heart leap.
âNext time,â he says, squeezing you tight. âRight now, itâs just you and me. And eventually, weâll be sleeping in the same bed every night and there wonât be any distance at all.â
You canât wait. Neither can he.
(continuation blurb)
authorâs note: i started this blog with the intention to write for rafe only but my friend showed me the zach maclaren light and for that @juniebugg i owe you my life đ«Ą
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