Warren Worthington iii + Alex Summers + This Prompt List

A/N: I suffered so hard writing this jfc my poor heart. @kurtwxgners if I have to be suffering over our boyfriends, then so do you. I also don’t use the prompt totally verbatim, but oh well close enough

“I know you’re angry at me, and you have every right to be. I just want to know if you’ve checked in on Warren. I’m worried about him. Can you just let me know?”

“Alex, please. He doesn’t want to see me. Please just tell me if he’s done something stupid.”

“Pick up the phone, Alex. Please. I just need to know if he’s okay. Call me back. Please.”

“I know you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t want to talk to me. But I’m so sorry, and I’m so, so worried. About Warren, about you. Please talk to me.”

You have reached the voicemail of Alex Summers. Please call back at another time, or leave a message after the tone

“Go away.” You barely manage to wedge yourself against the door before it shuts in your face, leaning your weight against it and forcing it open a few inches.

“I know you don’t want to see me. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to see me. This is all my fault, but Warren doesn’t want to see me right now, and I don’t want to make things worse by showing up anyway and I’m so worried about-”

“He doesn’t want to see me either.” Alex’s voice is flat and brusque, cutting bluntly across your borderline hysterical plea.

“Have you tried?” Your hands are shaking slightly, and you shove them deep into your pockets, hoping that maybe if you ignore the fear rising like bile at the back of your throat, it’ll go away.

“No. But I fucked his girlfriend, knowing full well that you were with him. I’m pretty goddamn sure he doesn’t want to see me.” You can’t tear your gaze from Alex’s face, and the self-hatred scrawled so blatantly across his features hits you like a physical force. Your guilt is almost overwhelming, and you wonder if this is what drowning feels like.

“Alex, please,” you choke out, voice small and desperate. “You’re his best friend. I completely fucked up, and it’s-it’s over between Warren and I, but please. Check on him. Help him. Something. I don’t know. Punch me, or punish me, or whatever you have to do, but don’t take it out on him, because he wasn’t even angry at me over it, he was just-he just cried. He was-is-so, so sad. So be angry at me. Whatever you need to do-take it out on me.” Your hands are balled into fists where you’ve hidden them in your pockets, but your entire body feels unstable, and the air is rife with immense volatility. “Please just talk to him.” Alex’s gaze is heavy and inscrutable, clenching his jaw.

“You have no right-” His voice is tight with barely controlled rage and anguish but you can’t think about that, can’t stop to re visit the destruction wrought by your terrible decision.

“You think I don’t know that?” You interrupt him, reckless with shame. “I love him. I’m so in love with him, and I fucked up, and he’s hurting because of me. You think I don’t know that if he goes off the rails, it’ll be my fault.”

“So why’d you do it, then? Why’d you fuck me if you love him so much?” Alex spits back, derision and pain so clearly written in his tone you can practically see the venom in the air.

“Because maybe I love you too.” The words are out before you have a chance to so much as think about them, and the second the last word leaves your lips your hand is flying up to cover your mouth, and Alex actually jolts, as if you had just punched him. “Shit,” you whisper, muffled by your fingers, eyes wide with shock. “Shit, shit, shit. God, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I won’t call again. I’m so sorry.” You leave him standing in his open doorway, looking after you as you hurry away from his apartment, dashing silent tears from your face and wondering when you had become so toxic to these two boys you love so much.