Your day was horrible. It was the most fucked up thing you had ever experienced, and you live in the South Side of Chicago. That’s fucked up within itself.

You were supposed to be smart. You were supposed to be going places, you were supposed to be the most beautiful person they had ever laid their unworthy eyes on, their very best friend, and yet you had still caught them making out with the person who had made your life miserable since primary school.

Even though it was platonic between the two of you, why did it feel like you had sort of been cheated on?

The weather seems to match your mood, heavy pellets of rain beating against the roof of your messy but loving home. You don’t have a romantic partner, and now you’re out of a best friend.

And the more you sit there, the more you wallow in that pool of self pity, the more you can feel tears brimming in your eyes. They leak over your waterline and drip onto your sheets in time with your choked, quivering sobs.

Lip is having the best day of his life. His classes were cancelled because of the rain, Frank’s been gone for over a week now, and he gets to see you this afternoon!

You had met in Calculus, being forced together through a seating plan. You needed help but were too shy to ask the teacher, but Lip saw you struggle, and quietly helped you.

You had hit it off ever since, slowly becoming closer. You weren’t best friends, not yet, but you have a trust within each other. You had just gotten into the affectionate physical touch and temple kiss stage.

Your doors were alway unlocked, and now is no difference when Lip strolls up your driveway and into your home as if it’s his. It nearly is at this point.

Upon seeing you crying in your room next to a torn up photo of you and your now ex best friend, Lip can only assume what happened. He sits beside you, pressing one hand to the side of your head and pressing it to his lips.

“They’re not worth it if they know about what happened and still did it,” he murmurs quietly.