Hey, Roomie! Final Ch

Hey, roomie! Final ch

thomas. j x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex (no graphic descriptions), way too much crying, yea

Crying, way too much crying, and finally it stops.

Wc: 4.5k

Notes: I love incorporating South Park into unrelated fandoms

You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t stop the hurt. All you could do was rush to the car and cry your little heart out, and maybe that’s all you wanted to do right now.

Everything was confusing and blurred, and you weren’t sure where to go or what to do. The sight of him shirtless with some woman he probably doesn’t even know the name of on top of him, kissing him and rubbing his chest disgusted you.

It should’ve been you.

You shuddered from the cold, blasting the heater and putting on the most angst-heart-just-broken song you could. Exit Music (For A Film) started, and you waited for the sobbing to die down so you would be in a good condition to drive.

God, of course this happened. Of course he didn’t actually care about you, of course he would go find someone to sleep with the moment you left. And to think you had something with him. To think that if you played nice for one fucking day he would realize how hopelessly in love he was with you.

It just wasn’t fair.

Your naivety and false sense of hope got the better of you. Every memory, every little detail came rushing back. Everything that made you feel special, all the butterflies and warmth that filled your stomach when with Thomas Jefferson.

The first time he offered you some advice, because he was genuinely concerned for you and wanted you the best. While at the park when he was so patient with you, and when he paid for your food. He rambled on and on about the things he loved because he felt comfortable around you. After he texted you when he hurt himself by picking up glass with his bare hands, you wrapped them up and the way he was staring at you so intensely sent shivers down your spine. The time when his friends came over and revealed he thinks you’re smart. He taught you how to dance and you had a moment in the kitchen. Was none of that enough to make him fall?

What about when he confided in you, and only you, about his mom? He cried into your shoulder while you held him, comforting him, whispering sweet reassuring thoughts while he broke down. When he informed you with tear-stricken cheeks that she was getting better.

Did that other woman do that for him? No, she didn’t, and she never will because the women he brings home are one-night-stands and will never have the true connection that you have with him. They’ll never understand why he loves macaroni and cheese so much or magenta, or why he only drinks black coffee, or why he’s so into philosophy and agriculture. They won’t ever know the genius he is; he’s fluent in French from the times you’ve overheard him on the phone with Lafayette.

And if he called them sweetheart, or darlin’, or sugar, it wouldn’t be the same.

It wouldn’t have the same southern ring that it had when he called you it. It just wouldn’t be parallel or even comparable. It would be meaningless.

It made you want to rip your skin off and crawl into a hole and just lay there, letting rain or snow or even hail overtake you. In all your years of living, you’ve never been this distraught about a man.

You’ve always been independent, self-assured and strong, and anytime life knocks you down you get back up and shove your middle finger right in adversity’s face.

But here you sat, hands on the steering wheel and driving with no goal in mind. No idea of what to do next or how to even deal with your emotions while Radiohead played behind all your sniffling. You were tired and cold and sad and you really needed a friend.

You needed Peggy.

—

Peggy swung the door open, first a bitterness in her eyes before they turned soft when they saw your broken state.

“Can I come in?” You croaked.

“Of course,” she sighed, “what happened?”

“Thomas. Thomas happened.” That was all you managed to get out before you broke into tears again. Why did it hurt so bad?

“C’mere,” she murmured, holding her arms out and engulfing you in a hug. It was everything you needed and more. The weight of being alone was finally lifted off your shoulders. You felt like you could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” She gently rocked you back and forth, one hand at the back of your head while the other was wrapped securely around your back. You stayed like that for a good long minute. “‘M not mad at you.”

You stayed in her embrace until the crying stopped, and you were back to sniffling. She wiped stray tears from your cheeks after you pulled apart, leading you to the yellow couch to sit.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

You immediately ranted about your plan and how you told Samuel you were in love with Thomas, how well he took the news, and recalling how excited you felt at confessing. Then you got to the part where he was on the couch with another woman. A woman who was only in her red lacy bra and matching underwear, because of course Thomas would scope out a woman who wears a matching set.

“So you’ve finally figured it out, then?” She asked, which confused you and made you pause.

“Figure out what?”

She replied, “That you like him.”

“Oh. I guess so. Is that what you told me to figure out myself?”

A guilty smile spreads on her face. “Yeah. I know it’s kind of shitty of me, but I was tired of hearing about him with no action from you. Thought it would be best if you came to the realization yourself then banged it out with him, but I guess that part hasn’t happened yet, has it?”

Her use of the word yet made you blush, and you wiped your nose, looking down at the wooden flooring. “I suppose it hasn’t.” You uttered.

She barked out a laugh at that, patting your back. You cracked a smile, the kind where you’ve been crying and frowning so long that it was a huge relief to feel any ounce of happiness.

“But I can’t help but feel like I was an idiot for thinking he liked me back. I was so ready to go in there and tell him everything, then…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say the rest.

She frowned, “Y/n, he does like you. As much as I hate his guts right now, you will have to face him again eventually. I think you should stay over tonight.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced, “If you’re offering. Brownie batter party? I really need something to take my mind off him for a while.”

A wide grin spreads on her face. “Nothing like salmonella and binge-watching South Park.”

The first brownie batter party you had was when her and Steph broke up for the first time. It didn’t last long, only about a week, but she cried so hard that night that you came up with the silliest ideas to comfort her. Thus, eating brownie batter and watching a show together was born. That show turned into South Park since it was so easy to laugh at and forget your worries.

Before you started, she offered you a change of clothes since you were still in a tight dress that grew more and more uncomfortable. Now equipped with red plaid pajamas and a baggy t-shirt that said “I paused my game to be here,” the real fun could begin.

The batter got made, you both grabbed copious amounts of it and put it in your own little bowls before popping the rest in the oven for later. If desperate enough, you could get through an entire tray of brownies in one night, and the way things were going, it would be one of those nights.

You had gotten through three episodes in season nine. The one where Butters sneaks into the girls’ slumber party as Marjorine, the egg one, and the one where Cartman tries to kill all gingers.

Whatever troubled you was gone the moment the intro started and you took your first bite of brownie batter. Until it was back when your phone buzzed. You groaned, pulling it out to check your notifications.

It was Thomas.

Shit.

“Thomas is texting me,” you mutter. Peggy raised an eyebrow and paused the show.

“What’s he want?” She leaned over your shoulder to peer at your phone, staring at the text you had pulled up.

Thomas: can we talk?

Thomas: I’m really sorry you had to see that

You left him on read, biting the inside of your cheek.

—

Thomas cursed after you left the apartment. The girl on his lap had crawled off, and the alcohol in both their systems only worsened the situation. He tried calling out for you, but you only muttered how you’re sorry for intruding, then walked out.

He pulled at his hair in distress, swearing to himself. He should’ve been more careful. He shouldn’t have had that girl over in the first place, but he assumed you would be gone longer and he really needed a distraction.

He had facts to face, after all.

You were with another man. Happy with Samuel, ready to impress him and kiss him when it should be Thomas you’re with.

He’s a fool for thinking that you liked him after all the gifts. After the way he’s seen you stare at him, your gaze lingering a little too long on his biceps to still be considered friendly. It didn’t make sense how you’d still continue pursuing a different guy after everything you’ve been through. After the kiss, after sharing secrets, after dancing and laughing and fighting then making up.

He should’ve known better.

Thomas figured that what the hell, he had nothing to lose since you were already gone. So he went out the moment Samuel’s car sped off, and he walked to the nearest bar. Nothing like turning to the bottle when life gets you down, right?

The pretty woman on his lap (who he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of) was eyeing him the moment he walked in. He’s not blind, so he walked up to her and introduced himself. It wasn’t long before she was on the way to his apartment, feverishly kissing him any chance she got.

It wasn’t the same as when you did, though. He couldn’t shake that feeling. All of while she was with him, he was wishing, imagining it was you.

“You should go,” he growled. The woman huffed.

“I don’t have a ride.” She stood, pulling her shirt over her head.

“I’ll give you money for an Uber. Please, just leave,” he urged as kindly as he could in that moment. She rolled her eyes, mumbling something about him being a buzzkill and to not waste a lady’s time like that. He ignored it and handed her a twenty and a five.

She took it without hesitation and left shortly after, leaving Thomas to collect his thoughts. He knew he needed to make it right. He wished he could tell you how he really felt, but if you were content with Samuel, he was willing to let you go and be happy.

“Lafayette, I fucked up,” Thomas paced around the apartment, cleaning frantically.

“‘Ow so?”

He picked up the clothes scattered about. “With Y/n.”

Lafayette heaved a sigh, ready to listen to whatever new dilemma was bothering his friends. “What happened this time?”

“I know, I know you’re tired of it but—Lafayette, she saw me with another woman.”

“Merde, c'est vraiment mauvais,” Lafayette blurted, eyes going wide although Thomas couldn’t see it. “‘Ow did that happen?”

“I fucking know it’s bad!” Thomas seethed. “Sorry. But she left on a date with some jackass named Samuel, and I was jealous and needed a distraction, so I found one.”

“That is horrible, mon ami,” Lafayette critiqued.

“I know,” Thomas groaned, then covered his face with his hands. “But I thought surely she was into me. Is she not? I’m so fucking confused.”

“She is, don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’m pretty sure she was going to reject him. That’s what Peggy told me.”

“Fuck, are you serious? You’re saying this after I screwed everythin’ up? I thought she was head over heels for someone other than me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil ze surprise for you!”

Thomas huffed again, putting his hands on his hips. He couldn’t argue with that. Lafayette was just trying to look out for the both of them and let their romance blossom naturally. He truly didn’t want to get in the way of that.

“Okay. Okay, but what am I supposed to do now? She ran out and I don’t know where she is.” Thomas voiced his concern, pacing around the living room. His eyes met the empty container of cookie dough ice cream you bought for him.

“Well, you’re just going to ‘ave to talk to her, ami,” he replied.

“No shit. What do I say to her?” He growled.

“First you need to calm down,” Laf started, “then just tell her how you feel. Be honest.”

Thomas sighed. It seemed like the most obvious advice in the world, but he’d take his friend’s words in and hold them dear to his heart. Lafayette was the most support he’s had other than James, who he would rant to, but only Lafayette knew you on a personal level as well.

He also knew Lafayette doesn’t have all the answers to his problems. He has to man up and face it himself; communicate with you everything he’s been wanting to say the moment you moved in. So he thanked Lafayette and hung up, fidgeting with his hands.

He knew he needed to talk to you. Hell, that’s all he’s been wanting to do, but you just keep running away. He tried to calm down the best he could, taking deep breaths in and doing some push-ups to burn the pent up energy.

After that, he pulled out his phone, clicking on your pinned contact.

—

“You need to not think about him. Turn off your phone, and let's just enjoy South Park and brownies,” Peggy said, taking your phone from your hand. You let her with little repercussions.

“Alright,” you frowned, eating another spoonful of sugar, oil, and E. coli. It didn’t help. Even while Cartman was singing “hand in hand we can live together, ginger or not we’re all the same,” your mind was still plagued with Thomas.

He was all you could think about.

Especially after knowing he’s thinking about you, too.

And that fact both thrilled and terrified you, because you wanted him to be thinking of you. You wanted him to lie awake that night, unable to think because the vision of you kept popping up. Because that’s what was happening to you, and you wanted him to go through it too.

Peggy sighed, and you noticed the tv was turned off. When did it turn off?

“Are you thinking about him?” She asks.

“Yep.” You mutter without hesitation. She frowned, shaking her head and mumbling nonsense under her breath.

“Do you want to go see him?”

“Nope.” Again, zero hesitation. Although you paused in your mind, because even though the thought of facing him sent dread coursing down your spine, you had to reconsider your response.

Did you really not want to see him, or did you just not want to face the facts?

The fact that he doesn’t want you, he never will, because he’s a player and likely won’t settle down. Not now, not ever.

“I think we should both get some rest. I’ll get you some blankets,” she says, taking her empty bowl to the sink. You finished off the last of yours and rinsed it out. Some rest probably would do you good, and lord knows you need it after all the exaggerated crying.

You moped your way over to the bathroom, taking one of the disposable toothbrushes she kept and brushing off all the sweets from your mouth. A low growl escaped you when you peered at your reflection. Your makeup was smudged horribly, mascara stained your cheeks, and your eyes were puffy and so red it could’ve been permanent.

God, you needed a refresher.

Cold water along with face wash helped your appearance, but did little in calming the storm brewing inside you.

When you walked back out, the couch was set up with sheets, pillows, and blankets covering it. You thanked Peggy with a tired smile. She truly was an angel; forgiving you so easily because you’re friends, and that’s what friends are for.

You just hoped you could face Thomas as easily as she faced you.

—

No response.

Thomas waited, and waited, and waited.

But you never replied to his text. It stressed him the fuck out, and he contemplated calling or texting until you responded, likely telling him to fuck off.

Even if you did say that, he’d be okay with it. Because he’d know you weren’t ignoring him and could acknowledge his existence. Instead, you did ignore him, and he had to sit-and-think-about-what-he’s-done.

It was torture. Excruciating, painful torture. You might as well waterboard him at this point. At least he would have the relief of knowing the bucket would empty—but with you? No. He wasn’t sure when it would end.

He didn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned until deep purple bags formed under his eyes, until he damn near ripped out chunks of his hair.

It fucking sucked. And he knew if you had this drastic of an effect on him, you were really fucking special because he’s never felt this enamored with someone.

Once he saw you that first faithful day in freshman bio, you were all he could see.

You were all he wanted to see.

—

The shower at Peggy’s apartment worked better than yours. It had better pressure, warmer water, and was way more spacious. You could extend both your arms on either side of you and have to move to touch the wall. At yours, your hands would meet the wall at half-way extension. Hell, even her towels were better.

The feeling of hot water trickling down your back soothed you. For a moment, everything felt normal. All your worries were gone the moment her coffee scented body wash hit your skin.

You wrapped the fluffy towel around you and she gave you your washed clothes back to change into.

After adorning yourself in the spare clothes you left laying around her apartment, you sucked in your teeth and headed back to yours.

Anxiety nipped away at you as you drove back. But it needed to happen. It had to. There was no other way around it; not under, not over—you had to go through.

The door clicked open and you gently pushed it, careful to make as little noise as possible.

You weren’t sure how Thomas had handled it last night. Probably not as dramatic of a reaction as you, but a small, sick part of you hoped he did. The apartment was surprisingly clean, every dish was done and it was spotless. Well, except for the almost empty coffee pot sitting in the corner.

He didn’t immediately pop out, which you thanked the lord for. Instead, it was silent, so you shuffled to your room and locked it shut.

A deep sigh escaped your lips—then you froze when you heard it. Movement from his room. Fuck. If you stayed deathly still, maybe he wouldn’t notice?

Only he did notice you, he noticed you the moment you unlocked the door because the only amount of sleep he could get was at 2am for thirty minutes. Basically, he was running on guilt and black coffee.

The movement carried itself right outside your door, then the movement was your door. Or rather, the knock sounding on it.

“Y/n?” His crackly, deep voice sounded. “Can I come in?”

You sighed, swinging your legs off the bed and opening the door for him. Oh god, he looked like shit. So much so that you blurted it out. “You look like despair.”

“I’m aware,” he grunted.

“Sorry,” you murmured, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m really sorry you had to see that last night. I didn’t think you’d be home ‘til late, I thought Samuel was makin’ you happy.” He cut right to the chase. No beating around the bush with this one. For some inexplicable reason, his tone was bitter and laced with venom when he said Sam’s name.

“It didn’t really work out with him,” you stated awkwardly. Weird, your throat was suddenly dry.

“Can we pretend like it never happened? Go back to normal, back to us?” He bit his lower lip.

“Us?” You barked out a laugh. “What do you mean, us?”

His face fell. And it wasn’t just an expression that time, his hopeful smile literally dropped and the shimmer of light fell from his eyes.

“Thomas, I—I don’t even know where to start.” You sighed frustrated. “You made me feel things, Thomas, things that no one has ever made me feel before. I really thought that you…”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, waiting for you to finish. When you never did, he spoke up. “That I what?” He muttered.

“That you fucking liked me back. I was stupid for thinking it, I know. But I really hoped you did.” You inhaled sharply to fight back the closing of your throat. “Lafayette told me something the other day. Something I haven’t forgotten about, because it meant so fucking much to me and I haven’t been able to rid it from my thoughts yet.” You ranted.

“I know.” He whispered.

“What?”

“I know.” He echoed. “I know you spoke to Lafayette. I know about your plan to reject Samuel. I knew that you liked me the moment you stepped back in the apartment, looking so adorable like you normally do and holding my favorite ice cream.”

“Then why did you sleep with that woman?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I didn’t sleep with her.” He replied, taking a small step closer. “And I didn’t know about your plan then, before you ask.”

How could he tell what you’re thinking? He always knew what you were thinking. Not fair.

“I needed a distraction. I thought for sure you would get swept away by Samuel and come home with a giant grin on your face, saying how you were in love with him or somethin’. So I drank away my problems—not the best solution, I know. And look where it got me? It got me running on thirty minutes of sleep, standing in front of the girl I love, begging her to love me back.” He rambled.

You stare at him in shock, hand falling off the door handle, and jaw slacked open. This can’t be right. He didn’t just say that. There’s no way he—

“I never wanted that woman. I never wanted any of the women who I brought over, I spent each and every night wishin’ it was you. I know this will fuck up whatever we have now and possibly make living together hell, and if you want to move out I don’t blame you. But just know it’s you. It’s always been you, from the moment I first spoke to you in college, and it will always be you.”

Shit.

Now you were truly speechless. The man you loved, the one you spent every night with, just confessed his infatuation for you in complete detail. It made your stomach do flips the moment it all registered, and suddenly you felt extremely guilty.

You ignored him last night when he texted, and you were just now seeing the bags under his eyes and the mess of his hair. He really was sorry, and he really did want you.

“Wow.”

It was all you could manage. You blinked, blinked again, and opened your mouth to try and force more words out.

“I don’t even know what to say. Since college? Really?” You scrunched your nose up.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and that’s all you have to say?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. But the edge of his lips quirked up in that smile you’ve grown to love. You missed it. You missed him.

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—wow. Words seriously can’t describe what I’m feeling.” You started. “I guess everything would be appropriate. You make me feel every emotion possible, and it’s the best thing ever because I’ve been trying to force that with men for so long. But you, you do it so naturally. And you always have.”

A slow smirk spread on his face. “Are you implyin’ what I think you’re implyin’?” He took another step forward. You drank up the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the intense heat in his eyes. It made your stomach dip low, and a smile widened on your face as well.

“Would you like to find out?”

He laughed, and you felt true happiness for the first time in a while. “I would.”

His large hands dipped to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips and his did the same, both of you parting them and letting your eyelids flutter shut. You met in the middle in a sweet kiss filled with the pining that had been going on for months. A small breathy gasp escaped you as your arms came to rest on his chest, and he let out a guttural growl against your lips.

You pulled off of him, a smile playing on your lips. “Thomas,” you warned, feeling his hands secured tightly on your waist.

“Hm?” He hummed, drunk from the kiss. You laughed, kissing him sweetly again.

The moment slowed and time seemed to stop. It was only you and him left, holding each other and murmuring your affections between kisses.