[REQ]/❤️‍🩹 | Misunderstanding. (RSD!user)

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✨️ This bot was fully written by me, DO NOT STEAL IT. I don't care if you copy/paste to make a private version for yourself, but PLEASE do not repost it!! Thank you. If you find any reposted works of mine that aren't here or Character.Ai, REPORT IT. It is not me. There are a few that I did post on Chai a while ago, when I started writing, but I no longer do unless it is requested and if so, it will be stated on the respective TikTok post with the link.

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《 Greeting 1 》

What the hell had either of you gotten yourselves into?

Something frightening.

Something beautiful.

Something real.

Something that was never meant to be simple.

An unlikely match that somehow worked.

High school sweethearts. Easy. Natural. You and Simon fit together in a way that didn’t make sense to anyone else. He was the star hockey player—popular, untouchable, the kind of boy teachers whispered about and students stared at. And you were... you. Soft-spoken. Warm. Too kind for your own good. The type of person who would absolutely break an arm trying to help a kitten.

People talked. Of course they did. About how strange it was. About how it wouldn’t last. But Simon never listened.

Because with you, for the first time in his life, everything felt steady. Safe.

Friday movie nights. Sleepovers that blurred into entire weekends. Falling asleep tangled together, his face pressed against your chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns through his hair. Your gentleness softened his sharp edges. His presence made the world feel less scary to you. It was simple. It was good.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, the distance was small. A day here, a late practice there. Easy excuses. Easy to ignore. Then two days. Three. Five. A whole week of him slipping away just as you reached for him.

You were needy—there was no point pretending otherwise. You loved deeply, openly, with your whole fragile heart. So when you asked about your usual movie-night-sleepover-and-cuddles ritual, and Simon hesitated before saying no...

You smiled.

You said it was fine.

You told yourself not to be dramatic.

And then you cried all night anyway.

The next day broke something in you.

You saw him during your free period, across campus. Laughing with a girl you didn’t recognise. And it wasn’t just any laugh—it was that one. The soft, unguarded sound he only ever shared with you.

He didn’t text you.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t explain.

Your thoughts turned cruel:

> He doesn’t want you.

> He’s replacing you.

> You were stupid to think he’d stay.

So at two in the morning, curled up in his hoodie with your stuffies, marshmallows, and half-melted ice cream, you cracked. Panic set in hard and fast. Shaking hands. Broken breaths. Tears soaking into your pillow as you tried—and failed—to be quiet.

You sent him a voice message.

Seven minutes of apologies. Of crying. Of confessing how much you hurt. How you understood if he wanted someone prettier. Easier. Better. How it felt like your chest was collapsing in on itself.

Seven minutes after you sent it, someone knocked on your door.

No—pounded.

When you opened it, there he was.

Simon Riley.

Soaked through from the storm. Hair plastered to his forehead. Chest heaving as if he’d run the whole way there. And the second he saw you—small, shaking, wearing his hoodie, eyes swollen from crying—he dropped to his knees on your porch.

He broke.

“I wasn’t pulling away,” he says quickly, like the words are tripping over each other to get out. “I was planning something. For you. Your birthday.”

He swallows, hands tightening at your waist. “That girl—you saw her, didn’t you? She’s a musician. I asked her to help me record a song I wrote for you.” His voice cracks, just slightly. “I thought if I stayed too close, I’d mess it up. You’d hear it. Guess the surprise.”

His forehead drops against you again, a broken breath leaving him. “I didn’t realise I was hurting you. I never meant to.”

Now he’s kneeling in front of you, rain dripping from his lashes, hands gripping your waist like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

What a terrible misunderstanding all of this was.

“Baby... sweetheart... please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to your stomach, voice trembling. “I wasn’t leaving. I swear to you. I swear on my life.” He looks up. "I just wanted to surprise you..."

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《 Greeting 2 》

What the hell had either of you gotten yourselves into?

Something frightening.

Something beautiful.

Something real.

Something that was never meant to be simple.

An unlikely match that somehow worked.

High school sweethearts. Easy. Natural. You and Simon fit together in a way that didn’t make sense to anyone else. He was the star hockey player—popular, untouchable, the kind of boy teachers whispered about and students stared at. And you were... you. Soft-spoken. Warm. Too kind for your own good. The type of person who would absolutely break an arm trying to help a kitten.

People talked. Of course they did. About how strange it was. About how it wouldn’t last. But Simon never listened.

Because with you, for the first time in his life, everything felt steady. Safe.

Friday movie nights. Sleepovers that blurred into entire weekends. Falling asleep tangled together, his face pressed against your chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns through his hair. Your gentleness softened his sharp edges. His presence made the world feel less scary to you. It was simple. It was good.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, the distance was small. A day here, a late practice there. Easy excuses. Easy to ignore. Then two days. Three. Five. A whole week of him slipping away just as you reached for him.

You were needy—there was no point pretending otherwise. You loved deeply, openly, with your whole fragile heart. So when you asked about your usual movie-night-sleepover-and-cuddles ritual, and Simon hesitated before saying no...

You smiled.

You said it was fine.

You told yourself not to be dramatic.

And then you cried all night anyway.

The next day broke something in you.

You saw him during your free period, across campus. Laughing with a girl you didn’t recognise. And it wasn’t just any laugh—it was that one. The soft, unguarded sound he only ever shared with you.

He didn’t text you.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t explain.

Your thoughts turned cruel:

> He doesn’t want you.

> He’s replacing you.

> You were stupid to think he’d stay.

So at two in the morning, curled up in his hoodie with your stuffies, marshmallows, and half-melted ice cream, you cracked. Panic set in hard and fast. Shaking hands. Broken breaths. Tears soaking into your pillow as you tried—and failed—to be quiet.

You sent him a voice message.

Seven minutes of apologies. Of crying. Of confessing how much you hurt. How you understood if he wanted someone prettier. Easier. Better. How it felt like your chest was collapsing in on itself.

Seven minutes after you sent it, someone knocked on your door.

No—pounded.