A/N: I didn't forget about this story  😅 I'm a bit behind on figuring out what comes next in this story, and I've been working on the ONC stories lol. Thanks for waiting <3

Ollie's POV

Haruto drove me home after his shift. I couldn't find the words to say the entire ride, letting him ramble about Janice before occasionally mumbling the lyrics from the songs on his playlist.

He turned down the radio as we pulled into the guest parking stall outside my apartment. "You'll be alright?" 

I almost laughed at his question.

If I asked you to stay over, would you? I crushed the thought of asking before I could convince myself it would be funny to ask. "I guess so."

He pursed his lips. "You have my number. You can always text or call me."

"I know."

Before placing a tentative hand on my shoulder, he turned in his seat. "If they bother you—"

"Yes, taekwondo, I know," I half-mused before leaning over the console. Whether it was because I craved his comfort or because I just always found myself relying on Haruto, he didn't seem surprised.

"I am a bit rusty, granted."

I forced a smile before resting my head on his shoulder, his hand shifting to a more comfortable position on the console between us. I resisted the urge to reach for his hand, already fearing I was too forward by leaning on him. "Thanks."

"Always." He didn't move, letting his word hang in the air between us as I pushed the thought of today's events behind me—or tried to.

"I should head inside," I finally said, reluctantly removing my head from his shoulders. "Herb will probably come around if we stay in the stall long."

"Herb?"

"The security guard. Lately, a lot of people abuse the guest parking." I pointed to the clock on the radio. "It's only supposed to be used from 9 am to 10 pm."

He laughed. "Shucks, I was going to walk you to the building."

"It's fine. I can walk the ten yards on my own. Thanks again."

"Night, Ollie." His face beamed, not in his typical customer-service smiles, but a genuine one, as we had on those friend dates. "See you tomorrow?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, see you then—there, I mean. The usual."

He laughed breathily. "Night."

"Night," I echoed, fumbling with the seatbelt before opening the car door. "And thanks—I said that already."

"Good night."

"Yup," I mumbled before closing the door, rubbing my temple embarrassingly. I trudged up the sidewalk to the apartment, hearing Haruto start the car once I reached the door. Herb was seated at the booth, browsing on his phone.

He tipped his hat before giving me a sinister smirk as I stepped in. "I reckon you would've brought him up this time. Maybe third time's the charm?"

"Third?"

"This is the second time that fella's dropped you off. As I stated before, I wouldn't have said a peep if you had brought him up. Maybe next time, invite him, would you?"

I sent him a glare. "Herb. I told you—"

He cleared his throat. "And I said, it would've been perfectly fine. Obviously, a gentleman if he drove you home twice. He even waited for you to reach the door."

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Good night Herb."

"Good night Mr. Sullivan."

—

I couldn't sleep, even sipping on some sleepy time tea and spritzing lavender room spray that the girls had dumped at my apartment didn't help. Pushing past one in the morning, all I could do was stare at the wall, the ceiling, and other inanimate objects in hopes my brain would finally shut off. I was never a big night owl, most days sleeping before ten o'clock, but after today, nothing seemed to get me to relax.

The only time I had been like this was when I stressed all night about my college acceptance. I spent hours refreshing the page in hopes I'd receive an email or announcement about my application, and even then, it hadn't put me that on edge.

I fluffed the pillows again before staring up at the ceiling, throwing my phone on the nightstand, and keeping my arms pinned to my side to avoid opening my phone for no reason. But as soon as I closed my eyes and hoped maybe sleep would take over, my phone pinged. Not once, not twice, but four times.

Annoyed by the pings, I finally reached over to grab it, only half-surprised that it was one of those idiots from Benjamin this time. I couldn't find it in me to be mad or throw my phone anymore; just empty.

Oliver, I'm truly sorry. I know it doesn't sound genuine, and you can hate me all you want.

There are a lot of things I haven't said, things I should have said back then.

I don't care if you hate me, but at least hear me out.

Or read.

Benjamin proceeded to type endlessly. What I assumed to be a short message with a silly response was turning out to be a longer message, based on how many times the three dots surfaced.

I wanted to ignore it, delete the entire conversation and block his number. I didn't want to hear, read, or even think about whatever he had to say. Or that's what I tried to convince myself after checking my phone every ten seconds to see if he was done typing. I groaned and set the phone down under the pillow, wondering if I could just will myself to sleep, but the curiosity was eating away at me.

Of course, I doubt anything he had to say would make any of this change, but I still wanted to know. There were many unanswered questions, things I doubted I'd ever find out. Still, the possibility of whatever he was typing potentially answering even just one of those silly questions was enough to keep me from sleeping.

And as the ping echoed around the room, I opened my messages before the sound died. It was pretty pathetic that getting a text from Benjamin—even now—garnered such a quick reaction.

I'm sorry about the photo. The one with you and Mason. It should've never gotten out. I knew Lauren had taken it, and I was upset about it at that moment. I hated that it seemed like you two were happy. That you were fine without me, that you didn't need me anymore. It was like watching you kiss Harvey, and I couldn't stand it. Which is stupid, and I know how that looks now. Had I known what Lauren was going to do with it, I would've stopped her. Should've stopped her regardless. I should've never dated her. It cost me more than just my best friend. Maybe I lost you before then, and I do regret that. Even if you don't believe me, I needed you to know that. There's more I need to tell you, and I hope you could at least forgive me enough to hear me out in person. Please.

It's too late for that. My finger hovered over the send button. I didn't know why I hesitated, especially when I thought about how his actions had affected me and still affected me to this day. Benjamin has single-handedly made high school hell, and his confession—or whatever pathetic excuse he spilled didn't make any of it feel better. He had known about that picture, known about all the shit that that one picture held over me—and not only me but Mason too.

How Mason could've forgiven him for that, too, was beyond me, but Mason got out relatively unscathed; I guess being a jock had its perks—he was one of the boys in no time after that.

What would've happened if Benjamin had deleted that photo of us if it hadn't been posted everywhere on social media? Would I have been assimilated into his group that semester? Would I have been happy with Harvey and his friends, maybe even date him for real?

I deleted the draft message, giving the block of text a once over before placing the phone back on the nightstand, this time on silent. I didn't have to respond; I reminded myself. It wasn't worth my time or energy, and honestly, it was so late that he shouldn't have been texting anyway.

My legs pulled to my chest as I laid on my side, pulling the duvet up to my neck.

But as the constant sound of the clock on the wall ticked on, it felt like sleep would never come. Instead, the memories of that stupid photo Benjamin brought up resurfaced. What was such a blurry photo managed to blow up across campus, and of course, the only discernible face was of me, not Mason. It didn't help that Lauren knew Mason's car, nor that the angle in which Mason had kissed me in the car appeared to be the other way around—which, let's face it, me engaging a kiss with a football player was not the likely title. And yet, news had got out that I was the one that befriended and kissed Mason in his car, demanding to run away from the dance.

I still had no clue how anyone in the school with a brain believed her.

But returning from Winter break with that news and Mason being confused left me at square zero: virtually no friends, no table to sit at, and no ride to and from school. Mason didn't want to associate with me, and although I wouldn't have minded riding with Harvey, who also had a car, lumping him into this mess wasn't fair.

The football boys had teased Mason about it, joking about how he had let it happen, which left a bad taste in my mouth, but aside from that, Mason was just one of the boys again. No dent in his reputation, but a definite falling apart between our already fragile friendship.

Every punch, shove, and name-calling seemed to rush back from then. I didn't dare cry about it anymore, especially with the amount of wasted tears I spent so many nights during the last weeks of being at that school, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt anymore. What hurt the most was Benjamin's reaction to seeing me after the picture circulated. I was used to the stares and the silent treatment, but once he was the one instigating the shoves and name-calling, that was when I really couldn't stand being at school. I curled further into a ball, remembering the deciding moment when I decided I couldn't go to school there, that I had to transfer or do something to get it to stop.

And now he was apologizing about that stupid photo like it was the only reason he was like that like he wanted to stop that photo from getting out. Maybe he did, but he could've done more; he could've done something different, and not just from that stupid photo.

He didn't have to stop being my friend for football, nor did he have to call me names or hit me.

And even as the frustration built and built as I let the memories and text replay in my mind, I couldn't find it in me to pick up the phone and angrily call or text him. As cathartic as yelling at him about everything he did, it wasn't worth it—or at least, not at two in the morning.