Crush Me Softly

5: After School Study Session

I wasn’t sure what I expected when Roman said, “You wanna come over and study after school?”

I mean, it was said in typical Roman fashion — casual, like it didn’t matter whether I said yes or no. Like it was just a throwaway offer. But something in his voice gave it away.

He wanted me to say yes.

So I did.

Now I was standing in front of his front door, clutching my backpack like it could save me from whatever awkward mess was about to unfold.

The house was nothing like I imagined. I don’t know what I expected — something darker maybe, messier — but it was just… normal. A little too quiet. The porch had a cracked flower pot next to the steps, and the screen door creaked like it hadn’t been oiled in years.

Roman opened the door before I could knock, like he’d been watching.

“You came,” he said, like he still wasn’t totally convinced.

“Yeah,” I said, stepping inside. “I mean, you invited me.”

“Right.”

Inside, it smelled like laundry and a faint hint of vanilla air freshener. Weirdly homey. The walls were plain, light gray. The floors creaked under my sneakers.

“Shoes off,” he said, gesturing. “My mom has a thing.”

I nodded, slipping them off, suddenly aware that I was now in Roman Pierce’s house. In his world.

He led me to the living room — a cozy space with mismatched furniture and a stack of old magazines on the coffee table. No one else seemed to be home.

“She works late,” Roman said, like he could read my thoughts. “My mom. Nurse. Night shifts.”

I nodded again. “Oh.”

He dropped onto the couch, pulling a beat-up laptop from under the cushion like it lived there. “Okay, so, chem test Friday. If I fail again, Alcott’s gonna start assigning me tutoring hours.”

“And let me guess — that’s your worst nightmare.”

“No,” he said, deadpan. “My worst nightmare is you being the one assigned to tutor me.”

I laughed. “You’d be lucky to have me.”

He glanced up at me then — not smirking, not mocking. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I would.”

That shut me up.

I sat beside him, not too close, and pulled out my notes. For the first few minutes, we kept it safe. Ionic bonds, reaction rates, blah blah blah. Roman actually paid attention, which surprised me.

Then he leaned back, stretching his arms behind the couch, and sighed. “Okay, pause. My brain’s melting.”

I set my notebook down. “Melting means you’re learning.”

“Melting means you’re boring.”

I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t have heat. “You asked for this.”

“No,” he said. “I asked for an excuse.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it.

I blinked. “What?”

Roman tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling like he was counting the tiny bumps in the paint. “I just… didn’t wanna go home alone today, I guess.”

“You are home.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

The room went still.

I didn’t know what to say. Roman never talked like this. Never let things slip.

“You ever feel like… people don’t actually see you?” he said quietly. “Like, they just see whatever version fits their story?”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“All anyone sees when they look at me is… trouble. Or some sad cliché. Guy with a ‘dark vibe.’” He even did air quotes.

I stayed quiet. Let him talk.

“They don’t see that I read comics with my little cousin. Or that I cry at those stupid dog commercials. Or that I… I don’t know. That I get tired of pretending.”

He finally looked at me.

And I don’t know what hit harder — the way his voice cracked just a little, or the fact that he let me hear it.

My chest tightened. “Why me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why let me see that part of you?”

Roman shrugged. “Because you’re the only person who pretends to hate me and still shows up anyway.”

I smiled. “That’s the most backwards compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

He smiled too — not the crooked, smug one he wore at school, but a real one. Soft. Tired.

Then we were quiet again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It was thick with something else. Something shifting.

I noticed the faint scar near his eyebrow. The way his fingers curled slightly when he was still. The softness around his mouth when he wasn’t performing for anyone.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

This was something else.

Roman turned toward me just slightly, his voice a low hum. “Can I tell you something else?”

I nodded.

“My dad left when I was ten. Just packed up and disappeared. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

I blinked, unsure if I was supposed to respond.

“He used to take me to the skate park on Saturdays. Said I’d be better than him one day. Then poof. Gone.”

I reached out — without thinking — and touched his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

“Don’t be.” He met my eyes. “Just… don’t lie to me, okay?”

That sentence hit harder than I expected.

I nodded. “I won’t.”

He nodded too, like we’d made a deal.

And then, just like that, he turned back to the laptop and said, “Okay, back to acids and bases before I cry all over this couch.”

But everything had already changed.

——————

We had just settled back into pretending to study when my phone lit up.

I ignored it at first.

Roman was muttering something from the chemistry packet about buffer solutions like he actually cared now, and I didn’t want to break the moment. I didn’t want anything outside this house to exist — not the rumors, not the cafeteria, not the confusing storm twisting in my chest.

But the phone buzzed again.

And again.

I sighed, grabbing it off the coffee table with a groan.

Jake [4:17 PM]:

Can we talk?

Jake [4:18 PM]:

Just for a sec. Please.

Jake [4:19 PM]:

I’m outside.

My stomach dropped.

I blinked, rereading the last message like it might change if I stared hard enough.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked, catching the shift in my face.

I hesitated. “It’s… Jake.”

Roman’s posture changed immediately. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw set. “What does he want?”

“He says he’s outside.”

Roman stood like someone had pulled a fire alarm in his chest. “You want me to tell him to get lost?”

“No,” I said quickly, grabbing his wrist before he could storm out. “I’ll talk to him. Alone.”

He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue. His eyes followed me all the way to the front door.

The porch was cool under my feet, the late-afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the yard. And there was Jake, leaning against his car like we were still something.

Still his.

“You’re seriously here,” I said flatly.

“I just wanted to talk,” Jake said, flashing that charming half-smile that used to work on me. “You haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“Yeah, that was on purpose.”

He winced. “Okay. I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that, but I’m trying to be decent.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I messed up. I know I did. But this thing with Roman—is that real?”

My chest tightened.

I didn’t answer right away.

“Is this like… payback?” he added. “You using him to get to me?”

I blinked. “Why would you assume that?”

“Because you’re not the type to fall for a guy like Roman.”

Something in me snapped.

“And what exactly is a guy like Roman, Jake? Let me guess—dark, weird, not fake like you?”

Jake looked taken aback. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No? Because it sounds like you still think you get to define what I want.”

He stepped toward me, softer now. “Kira, I’m just saying… you and me, we had something.”

“We had something until you made out with someone else at a party and blamed it on the music.”

Jake looked down. “I made a mistake.”