Just One Night || Evan Peters AU

hurt

      The four days after that, you heard nothing from Evan. You kept yourself distracted from the breakup articles and comments by picking up extra shifts at work. Gradually, people stopped coming in to whisper and point, turning their noses up at you as they left. A fan of Evan's posted on Twitter a list of hints that you'd broken up, he 'liked' it, and the world took it as confirmation. You stayed silent on the matter and was happy to private your Instagram again. Nova trudged sadly into the deli on your last shift of the week, and Kyro looked up at her from his table while on one of his many breaks; she she sat with him.

   "How's my favorite celebrity ex-girlfriend?" She joked half-heartedly. 

You kept the details of how it really ended from her, only disclosing that it wasn't pleasant and he wouldn't be contacting you anymore. She didn't pry, but she could tell that thinking about it genuinely upset you. Kyro quickly shook his head at her and made a slicing motion with his hand over his throat, signaling for her to knock it off. 

The bags under your eyes and lack of makeup answered for you. Your two friends whispered to each other, concern all over their faces.

   "Guys I'll be fine," you decided to speak up, setting down the knife you'd been using. "That was just a weird part of my life, an awkward transition out, and now I'm getting used to my old normal again. No big deal."

   "You sure?" Kyro asked. "You can talk to us."

   "Yeah for sure," Nova agreed.

   "I know, thank you. I just need to sleep for 3 days straight I think." That part was true.

   "Felt that," Kyro picked up his phone to scroll again. Satisfied enough with your answers, they dissolved back into their own worlds. In your head you planned an unaccompanied night out for tomorrow.

*****

      You hadn't paid for your own Lyft in a while, you didn't like it. On the ride over to the bar where you'd met Evan, you tried hopelessly to give rise to that idgaf attitude once again. It was just past 8pm when you walked through the door, and it looked exactly how it did that June night. You made your way to the bar, and all the people who looked at you either didn't know or care who you were. You sat at one of the empty stools and lamely ordered a cherry coke, mentally kicking yourself for having been adamant about this being a solo night out. Nova and Kyro would have you laughing in hysterics right now: Evan who? 

You saw from the corner of your eye a man with his button shirt 80% open and a tousled hairdo, shaved completely on one side and wild on the other. He was attempting to... smolder? Tempt you over to him by looking constipated? You offered a polite smile then turned slightly more away from him. You sipped your soft drink and tried to find the rhythm of the song to start casually moving with, and the bartender soon came over with a fizzy red drink. He slid it to you, and you admired it's cute tiny umbrella and maraschino cherries.

   "Dirty Shirley," he spoke loudly over the music. "Courtesy of that gentleman at the end." He pointed to Open Shirt Guy. 

You thanked the bartender but didn't touch the drink or look down the bar. Instead, you stood to find a place in the crowd of flailing drunk people, but was interrupted by your phone repeatedly buzzing in your pocket: unknown caller. Damn, what if it were some celebrity agents, telling you that you violated the contract somehow and they needed the money back, or were coming to arrest you?

   You answered hesitantly, "Yeah?"

   "Y/N," Evan seemed to have a hard time getting the single word out. "Need you."

His words tugged at your heart, but you had to stay strong. You hadn't heard from him in nearly a week, you couldn't go back and have to start over now.

   "Evan, please," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I can't. Just forget me okay--"

   "Hurt," he fumbled over every word he spoke. "On the ground."

      This caught your attention. "Wha--? What do you mean you're on the damn ground?" you mouthed and motioned as best as you could for the bartender to call you a cab, which was a typical thing for drunk people to request; fortunately he got the memo. "Where are you?" You plugged your other ear to hear his low voice.

   "Ou'side your work," he told you, with a hint of a chuckle.

   "It's not funny Evan hold on I'm trying as fast as I can," the bartender wrote '5 min wait' on a napkin and showed you, you nodded and mouthed 'thank you'. "What the hell happened?"

   "Missed you. Had a couple drinks, angry dude hit me and bam!" he recalled dramatically. "On the ground at the deli."

   "Who the fu--," you paced frantically. "Alright, just sit up if you aren't already, okay? Is it your head?"

   "Hey are you on your way? Do you have Gatorade?"

   "I do not have Gatorade," you told him irritably. "We can get you some, just stay there and I'll see you in 15."

After a few more reassuring words, you ended the call and your cab showed up: he couldn't drive fast enough. You offered him a ten dollar tip to do some illegal shit that would get you there faster, and he obliged. When you finally pulled up to your job, you spotted Evan slumped over one of the outdoor tables. You rushed up to him the fastest you could in heels, and touched his arm. He lifted his head, and you noticed some dried blood coming from his nose. A lop-sided grin appeared on his face.

   "My girl," he threw his arms around your waist, burrowing his face in your stomach. "You came."