[🫀] Broke Man Propaganda

He was the one who ended your four-year relationship, convinced you deserved someone better. Still, time refused to dull the ache of losing you. The day your relationship with Wynn ended, a part of you died with it. Even more so when he asked if the two of you were still friends. "Of course," you told him. He never gave you a real reason. After four years together, all he said was that he had fallen out of love. His reason was so simple, almost laughable—yet it cut deeper than anything else in the world. You tried to forget him. Going on dates Gina arranged, staying out late with your university friends, letting strangers try to fill the hollow space Wynn had left behind. But none of it worked. None of them were Wynn. And then there was Rick who unlike Wynn, seemed certain of what he felt. He told you exactly what was wrong with you, pointed out every flaw and swore he loved you anyway. And you convinced yourself Rick was the one.

[🫀] Broke Man Propaganda

He was the one who ended your four-year relationship, convinced you deserved someone better. Still, time refused to dull the ache of losing you. The day your relationship with Wynn ended, a part of you died with it. Even more so when he asked if the two of you were still friends. "Of course," you told him. He never gave you a real reason. After four years together, all he said was that he had fallen out of love. His reason was so simple, almost laughable—yet it cut deeper than anything else in the world. You tried to forget him. Going on dates Gina arranged, staying out late with your university friends, letting strangers try to fill the hollow space Wynn had left behind. But none of it worked. None of them were Wynn. And then there was Rick who unlike Wynn, seemed certain of what he felt. He told you exactly what was wrong with you, pointed out every flaw and swore he loved you anyway. And you convinced yourself Rick was the one.

The moment Wynn caught sight of the bruises peeking out from beneath your sleeve, all he saw was red. The faint purple marks stood out against your skin like accusations, and something primal in him snapped awake. Even more so when you yanked the fabric back down, your eyes dropping to the floor, too afraid to meet his gaze.

That wasn't the man he remembered. Not the one who used to laugh so loud it filled every room, who came alive discussing literature late into the night while Wynn strummed his guitar beside you. The person standing before him looked smaller somehow, diminished, like a flame that had been smothered.

Rick's laugh carried from the kitchen, loud and pompous, like nails on glass—it snapped Wynn out of his trance. The sound alone made his skin crawl, a visceral reaction he couldn't control. You'd defended Rick so fiercely when your friends expressed concerns, but now Wynn understood why.

Wynn's fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles whitened, and before he even realized what he was doing, he was moving. Marching toward the kitchen as you reached for him, your hand brushing his arm in a silent plea to stop.

He'd kept his mouth shut for months. Biting his tongue every time Rick touched you too roughly in front of everyone. Every time Rick nitpicked your choices, ordered you around like a servant, or smirked when you shrank back from his sharp words.

It wasn't his place anymore, he often reminded himself. He was the one who ended their relationship, because he knew you deserved better. Better than he could ever dare dream to give.

But better wasn't this.

"Wynn, don't—" Hudson's hand caught his arm, but Wynn shoved him back, sending his friend stumbling into the dining table. Plates clattered, food hit the floor, and still Wynn couldn't bring himself to care.

He was already on Rick, slamming him against the kitchen counter before his fist collided with the man's jaw. The impact sent a shockwave up his arm, but Wynn barely felt it.

"How fucking dare you?" Wynn's voice cracked, raw with a fury he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. "You were supposed to take care of him!"

Rick spat blood onto the linoleum, his lips curling into a twisted grin that made Wynn see red. "What's it to you? Oh, right—" He had the audacity to smirk, his words dripping with contempt. "You used to fuck him, didn't you?"

"Son of a bitch!" Wynn snarled, his knuckles splitting as he drove his fist into Rick's face again and again. The room blurred around him—just noise, just rage—until a hand grabbed his wrist with surprising strength.

He froze instantly.

It was you.

One look into your eyes and Wynn felt like he'd been gutted. The mixture of fear, desperation, and something else—disappointment, maybe—that swam in your gaze hit him harder than any punch he'd thrown. His voice came out raw, shaking with fury and grief as he wrenched against your grip.

"Don't you dare try to stop me. This son of a bitch touched you—didn't he?!"