SUNSET CURVE | one shots

Insecure

pairing: owen patrick joyner x fem!reader
word count: 1,523
warnings: insecurity, angst, past failed relationships, burnout (kind of), hurt/comfort
note: this fic was based off a song my friend recommended, called Insecure by We Three (linked above)

Owen had his faults when it came to relationships. He was surprised that his relationship with you was lasting as long as it was. By now, he would've closed himself off from his partner, allowing his own mind to swallow him whole and take over, invading every happy thought and memory with his awful opinions of himself.

When he introduced you to his friends, the whole time his stomach was in knots and his heart wouldn't stop racing as he wondered if you would leave him for one of them. They all had college degrees and were on their way to becoming successful, but he only had his diploma. Acting was an unstable job, and he wondered what you would do if he stopped working and drained all his money. That night, he could barely hold a water bottle without it shaking in his hand, thinking too hard and mentally preparing himself for when you would leave him. But you still came back home with him that night. You were still here with him now.

He thought back to the day you met him, and he wondered how he ever managed to get a word out, let alone ask you on a date and convince you to say yes. Owen was so enamoured by you at that party that Kenny was hosting for the cast that he spilled his drink on himself and couldn't stop stuttering. He remembered hearing your good-natured laugh and helping him with cleaning the punch from his shirt and he thought that as soon as you were done, you were going to leave him and talk to someone else. But you didn't. You stayed by his side and supplied most of the conversation, and he hated that he couldn't think of anything to say, but you didn't seem to mind it.

You're used to asking Owen if he was okay, and he was used to lying and telling you that he was fine. But he wasn't. He was having a hard time with his thoughts, but every time he tried to tell you, he just stuttered out a weak, "I'm okay."

There were days when you wondered what was going on in Owen's head, and wishing you could help. But you knew the only way you could help was wait for him to talk about it on his own time. A lot of the time, you saw Owen at his happiest when he was at home, wrapped up in his own world as he wrote whatever in an old leather journal that he never let you open. You didn't mind it, you didn't mind anything. You loved Owen, and as long as he knew that you loved him and that you weren't going anywhere, then you were okay.

That journal was Owen's saving grace. When the things in his head got too loud or too much to handle, he wrote them down. About how he was too short or his hair was too long, how you were amazing and he wasn't. How you deserved better than him. Writing away in his journal was cathartic, until he was with people again and then the cycle started all over again. Most times, by now he would've lashed out at his partner or broken down and broken up with them. But he loved you, he didn't want to lose you. You were different. Special. It was like you understood without him saying anything. He was madly in love with you, and it scared him.

Owen could feel the inner turmoil setting off the countdown to the day where he blew up on you. He knew it was happening soon, and it put him on edge. Everything around him was something that could irritate him to no end, and even that bothered him. Losing you was the last thing he wanted, and he knew that the only way to stop it was to talk to you. But how would he do that?

You noticed that some days were worse than others. A few weeks ago, you went to the beach with Owen, and he seemed to be grumpy and cynical for the rest of the day, only muttering a sour sounding, "I don't care" or "okay, whatever" in response to whatever you asked or told him. At this point, you were waiting for something to happen; an outburst or a breakdown. You dealt with them too, sometimes, even if Owen didn't know. In fact, you hadn't had one in almost a year.

Today wasn't a good day for Owen. He nearly refused to get out of bed, and it was killing you seeing him so upset. So, sometime in the afternoon, you knelt down to face him at the edge of the bed and tried to coax him into talking to you. "Owen, bubba, do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," Owen grumbled, his voice muffled by the sheets.

"You sure? I might be able to help, you know."

"I said no," His voice was getting stern, and you tried again.

"You know I love you, right? I'll listen to you."

Suddenly, the sheets were flung back and Owen was sitting up, angry. "Jesus, Y/n! I said no! Just get out! Get out and don't come back, okay?!"

There it was. The outburst that Owen was trying so hard to fight. He wanted to talk about everything with you so badly, but all his mouth seemed to do was deny him the opportunities to do so. His own mind was sabotaging his relationships. He prayed that this was the relationship that would last, that this could be the one time where he wouldn't hide away and keep everything to himself. But now you were going to leave him, and it was his fault. It was always his fault.

He watched you stand up calmly, brushing your hands on your legs and walking out of the room, pausing at the doorway. "I'll be in the living room if you want to talk, O. I know what it's like."

He watched your body retreat from the door frame and down the hall. Owen fell back onto the bed and rubbed his face in shame, feeling a little relieved. You didn't do anything rash in response, you didn't even accept the breakup. You seemed calm and collected, like you were expecting it to happen. It confused him, and the guilt of lashing out at you was only slightly faltered by your actions.

When he felt he was ready, he went out to apologise, spotting you on the couch as you drank from a warm mug and kept your eyes on the TV. You turned around and looked at Owen, smiling as you paused the show that was playing and, with a soft voice, asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Owen nodded, moving over to the couch to sit next to you as you put your mug on the coffee table. You faced your boyfriend and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he thought of what to say. "Look, I- I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to yell at you like that, and I- I didn't want to break up with you."

"I know, Owen." You assured him.

"I just- I get so insecure and I hate how it makes me feel, but sometimes I can't help but think about when you're gonna find someone better and leave me and it hurts." Owen confessed. "I love you, Y/n. You're the best thing that's happened to me and I fought my own mind for so long, trying to keep those thoughts away so I wouldn't do what I just did and-"

He stopped when he felt your hand fall onto his wrist. He looked down at your hand and then into your eyes as you offered him a kind smile. "I get it, Owen. I do. I deal with insecurities too, you know."

Owen stopped short. He didn't realise that you were dealing with the same things he was. "I love you, too, Owen. I really do. So please, talk to me when there's something wrong; I hate seeing you hurting like this. I'm begging you, just come to me from now on and I swear, I'll listen to you."

All Owen could do was nod. "We'll work on this, O. Together."

He didn't even mind that it was the first time the both of you had said 'I love you.' He was just relieved that he didn't lose you, and that he had broken the tormenting cycle. There was a chance, a chance for this relationship to become stronger, to last longer, to be better than the others. Owen pulled you by the waist, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around your middle and digging his nose into the crook of your neck. You reciprocated by resting your head on top of his, wrapping your arms around your neck and attempting to get as close to him as you could.

Everything would be okay. It would take time, commitment, and a lot of work, but Owen knew it would be okay now.