A story in which two ex-lovers see if ten minutes can heal the damage caused by an all consuming love. 'when you spend time with the person you're in love with one minute seems like forever.'

Philophobia (n.) is an overwhelming and unreasonable fear of falling in love, beyond just a typical apprehensiveness about it.

"𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰." - 𝘙𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘑𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘵, 𝘈𝘤𝘵 𝘐𝘐, 𝘚𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘐𝘐 ~~~ Don't be fooled, this isn't necessarily a love story. Though, the ending could be perceived as a twisted modern day version of Romeo and Juliet. ~~~ [Previously titled; melancholy] ~~~~~~ [⚠️Trigger Warning: allusions to sex, alcohol, strained/negative parent-child relationships, mental health issues, depression, self-esteem issues, self-harm, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, mental/emotional abuse, sexual assault, pills/medication, overdose, car accidents, death ⚠️] Please take these things into consideration before reading.

Academic Rivals to Lovers in a Boarding School ..... "You wanna know the really dumb meaning behind my name?" He muses and I walk ahead of him. "Nope." "Basically, it means the transporter of goods by cart or wagon, it's from an old french word I believe. You wanna know yours?" "You looked up mine?" I question, hiding the small smile on my face, because I'm mad at him or whatever. For... I don't know why but I'm mad at him because I am. Carter catches up to me, grinning to himself. "Emilia means rivals, it's derived from the root of some latin word. Isn't that strange?" That's just a coincidence, he's probably lying anyway. "Yeah, real peculiar." I reply. ..... #2 - onebedtrope 16/06/22 #1 - mila 16/06/22

Aubrey Wilson has the heart of an angel. As the type of person to always trust in others, she's admirable to peers. A total darling, but with a sadness that encases her heart. Anyone could shrink down in fright at the receiving end of Luke Taylor's infamous glare. Tall, muscular, dark-haired, and handsome, he's no stranger on or off the field. Not a kind stranger either. A total brooding asshole, but with a sadness that encases his heart. --- "You didn't have to hit him or anything," I lie my head on his broad, strong shoulder. "He shouldn't have touched you like that," he tucks a curl behind my ear. ~Strong Language~ ~Mild Violence~

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN