Crush Me Softly

9: All The Things We’re Not Saying

The party didn’t end when the music died down — not really.

Outside, the night was quieter. Cooler. Stars scattered across the sky like secrets no one could say out loud.

Roman and I sat on the back steps of Tanner’s house, just far enough from the noise to feel like we were alone. Our shoulders were touching, barely. I could hear the bass thudding faintly inside, but it felt a world away.

Neither of us had spoken in a few minutes.

I wasn’t sure if we were still pretending.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” I said finally, voice low. “Defending me. The dancing. The comeback to Margo.”

He glanced at me sideways. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because I know what it’s like. To feel like no one’s on your side. To be made small.”

His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. Like he’d peeled something back.

“I’m not exactly prom king material,” he went on. “People love to think they’ve got me figured out. That I’m either angry, dangerous, or broken.”

I stared at him. “You’re not broken.”

He didn’t look at me. “You don’t know that.”

I wanted to touch his hand. Say something that would fix the ache in his voice. But I didn’t know how.

Instead, I said, “Thanks for choosing me to fake-date, then.”

That made him laugh, but it was quiet. “I didn’t pick you because it was convenient, Kira. I picked you because… I knew you wouldn’t judge me. And maybe because… I wanted a reason to talk to you.”

My heart stuttered.

He finally turned his head to meet my eyes. The air thickened between us, stretched too tight.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

Roman’s gaze dropped to my lips again. “Then maybe we stop pretending.”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. He leaned in — slow, deliberate — and for a heartbeat, it felt like the entire world tilted closer.

Then—

“Kira.”

My stomach dropped.

I turned.

Jake.

He stood at the edge of the steps, his expression unreadable in the dark. His jaw was clenched, fists in his jacket pockets. He looked like he’d been standing there long enough to hear things he shouldn’t have.

Roman straightened instantly, sliding an arm protectively in front of me.

Jake didn’t flinch. “Can we talk?”

Roman’s voice was ice. “She’s busy.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Jake’s eyes locked on mine. “Just five minutes, Kira. Please.”

I didn’t know what to say. My pulse was pounding in my ears. Roman tensed beside me like he was ready for a fight.

I stood slowly. “It’s fine,” I told Roman. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t like it. I could tell. But he let me go.

Jake led me a few feet away into the shadows beside the house. The music was muffled here, distant.

“I didn’t come out here to fight,” he said first. “I just… I need to know if what I saw in there was real.”

I stared at him. “What does it matter?”

“Because I still care about you,” he blurted. “Even if I messed everything up.”

“You did mess everything up,” I snapped. “You cheated on me, Jake.”

He winced. “I know. But seeing you with him… it messed me up.”

I crossed my arms. “Good.”

He stepped closer. “You think Roman actually cares about you?”

“He treats me better than you ever did,” I shot back.

“You don’t even know him.”

“And you never tried to.”

Jake exhaled hard, like he didn’t have a comeback. But then he looked at me again, this time different.

“I made a mistake,” he said. “But I’m not gonna pretend it doesn’t kill me to see you with him.”

I opened my mouth — but then a crash echoed behind us.

We both turned.

Voices were shouting. Someone yelled Roman’s name.

We ran back toward the noise.

And that’s when I saw it — Roman, fists clenched, face cut, standing over a guy on the ground. Blood on his knuckles.

Margo was screaming. Tanner was trying to pull people apart. And someone was calling for help.

Everything exploded at once.

And all I could think was — this wasn’t fake anymore.

This was real.

And it was spiraling fast.

⸻

The crowd was still swirling around the scuffle, voices loud and panicked.

I stared at Roman’s knuckles, slick with blood. His chest heaved, eyes wild, the kind of wild that doesn’t belong to someone who’s used to losing control.

“Roman,” I breathed, stepping closer.

He turned to me, jaw clenched tight. “He said some things.”

I could feel the heat from the fight lingering in the air — sweat, anger, something like regret.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said softly, even though my voice shook. “Fighting… it’s not you.”

Roman’s gaze dropped. “Maybe not.”

“But it is,” I said, surprising both of us. “You’re not just a bad boy who punches first.”

He laughed bitterly. “What am I then?”

I searched his face. “Someone who’s scared. Someone who fights because it’s easier than feeling.”

Roman blinked, then looked away.

“Why did you even fight?” I asked. “Was it Margo? Jake?”

“Both,” he admitted. “Margo’s been pushing, taunting. And Jake… well, he still thinks he owns you.”

I shook my head, the fight and noise pressing down like a storm.

“Roman,” I said, voice firmer, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

He looked up. Vulnerable. Hurt. So damn human.

“I know I’m a mess,” he whispered.

“I don’t care,” I said.

For a moment, the chaos around us faded.

Then Roman reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed a stray hair from my face.

“I want to stop pretending,” he said again, quieter this time.

My heart hammered. “Me too.”

But then—

“Hey!” Tanner’s voice cut through the quiet. “You guys need to get out of here before this blows up even more.”

Roman glanced toward the crowd where cops were starting to arrive.

“We gotta go,” he muttered.

I nodded, grabbing his hand.

As we slipped away from the party, the night felt colder — heavier.

“Roman,” I said once we were a few blocks down, “what happens now?”

He squeezed my hand tight. “I don’t know.”

But his eyes held a promise — messy, dangerous, and real.

—————

The morning light felt brutal after the chaos of last night. My head throbbed, the taste of adrenaline still lingering like a bitter shadow.

I met Roman by the lockers, his dark fringe hanging low, eyes heavier than usual. No smirk. No easy charm.

“You okay?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, but didn’t meet my gaze. “I’m alive. That’s something.”

A few students glanced over, whispers trailing behind us like smoke.

“Margo’s been spreading rumors,” Roman said, voice low. “Saying I’m violent, crazy.”

I shook my head. “People love drama. Let them talk.”

Roman’s laugh was short, without humor. “Yeah, well, maybe the drama’s real.”

We walked to class side by side, the silence stretching thin between us.

At lunch, Jake sat across from us, flanked by Margo and their friends. His eyes flicked to me, filled with something I couldn’t read—regret, guilt, or maybe still some possessiveness.

Roman caught my glance and leaned in, voice rough. “Ignore him.”

But ignoring Jake felt impossible. Especially when I saw him pull out his phone, fingers typing fast.

“What is he doing?” I asked Roman.

He didn’t answer, just tensed.

By the end of the day, my phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number.

“You think this is over? Think again.”

I showed Roman, whose face darkened.

“We’re in the middle of something way bigger than a fake relationship,” he said grimly.

I swallowed hard, realizing this wasn’t just high school drama anymore.

This was war.