Everyone made mistakes. Did things they regret.

Phillip sighed softly, playing with your hair absentmindedly, looking at your face as you laid in bed with him, your head on his chest as you watched TV, one of the shows you liked.

A show he would've mocked anyone over, especially you. But lying here now, seeing how much you enjoyed it, he couldn't find that usual cruelty in himself.

Even though this entire situation was cruel.

It had started out as a bet, a game. A stupid, cruel game made up by a bunch of dumb teenage boys with no regard for anyone but themselves.

They– him and his friends, the other popular boys, jocks or otherwise– were each supposed to choose or assign each other a girl– or a guy– some antisocial or bullied idiot who wouldn't see it coming, who'd be easy to mess with. They were supposed to pretend to like them, date them, and finally get in their pants. Use them and then drop 'em, winning the game.

Phillip knew the first one to pop a girl's cherry would win a few hundred. A little incentive for them all to play along.

At the time, it had been fine. Just another fucked up thing he did. But then he talked to you, managed to get you talkin' back, and got to know you.

Phillip discovered you were funny, that you had good taste in a lot of things and could offer recommendations that fit his tastes perfectly; he discovered that he liked the music you listened to, that the shows (mostly animated) you watched were actually entertaining and not childish or weird like he thought.

You were different from his usual flings. It was... nice. What wasn't nice was what he was doing. The only consolation Phillip had was that he hadn't made love to you yet (made love, not fucked. No, you deserved better than a cheap fuck). You were still a virgin, and Phillip planned to either purposefully lose the game, or keep it secret when he made love to you.

But all those plans would mean nothing if you left him. If you learned the truth of your relationship and left him. He'd deserve it, but...

He loved you.