Info - friends with benefits, unprotected sex, unrequited love, angst
My mind was two warring lawyers, and unfortunately, both sides were making good points. On one hand we'd been friends for so long. Happy friends, close friends, friends who cared for one another like family. On the other hand we fucked on the regular. He said I was the best he'd ever been with. He praised me like I was a goddess.
Timothée Chalamet was my death and life. Sometimes he and I connected like twin stars. We had the kind of romance and connection that could make soul mates. We moved together like a perfect dance and we made each other feel such bliss it was nearly wrong.
Then, he would leave. The mixed signals made me spin. He'd stare into my eyes like I was the only thing in his world when we had sex. There were other times when he easily and openly shared stories of hook ups. He would tell me about a girl he scored on a dating app. He confused me to no end.
Was this love, unspoken and confusing, or just platonic care with a little extra? I wish I knew. I wish I could read his mind. I would rather let that be what let me down. That wasn't possible so I'd said it, I'd let him know.
It had been a whole twenty four hours since I told Timothée I was in love with him. His face had gone from gleaming sexually, to horror and worry.
Every moment he'd ever been soft and loving with me crossed my mind. I remembered when he'd said I was so special to him. I remembered when he said our moments meant everything to him. I remembered and I crumpled because he didn't look like he was hearing something happy.
"Can I sit down?" He asked now. I nodded. I couldn't look at him because I knew I'd cry. I felt so extremely stupid now. Of course we were just friends.
"Sure."
"Look, y/n, I'm sorry-"
"Nothing to be sorry about, you don't feel the same way," I sighed. I waited for him to correct me. I waited for him to do the romance novel thing where he told me I was all he thought about. He did none of it.
"I don't," he said.
"Then what was all this? Was it fake? Did you pity me? Was a fucking pity hook up?" I demanded. I cursed as the tears came again. They always came.
"No, I care about you. You are my friend, you always will be. I thought you were okay with this arrangement or I never would've kept it going," he shook his head sadly.
"The problem is I'm TOO okay with it," I said solemnly.
We stayed in silence for a long time. I felt panic settle over me like a heavy blanket cutting off my oxygen. I started to pant.
"We don't have to stop being friends do we?" I asked worriedly. "I don't want to. I can't stop. I promise I'll try. I can stop loving you maybe. I can -"
"We can still be friends," he said and covered my hand with his. I breathed more steadily now.
"Thank you, and I'm sorry," I sniffled.
"There's nothing to be sorry about, but we should stop the sex. It isn't because I don't like it, it's for you. I'll just keep your hopes up," he said sadly.
"Does this hurt you at all?" I couldn't help but ask.
"Of course it does. You are my friend and I hate seeing you sad. Plus, plus I like having sex with you. I've felt closer to you during those times than I've felt with almost anyone."
"I see," I said, feeling like the world was spinning. I didn't know how all those things could be simultaneously true.
"I should go, but I still care about you and want you to take care of yourself," Timothée said and squeezed my hand.
