Disclaimer: I don't own Your Boyfriend and any of their characters used in this fanfic.
A/N: I recently got into Your Boyfriend, and man, I've gone down a rabbit hole I never thought I'd enjoy so much. I've replayed Days 1 and 2 so many times, and with the recent release of Day 3's beta, I think I've fallen in love with this game—and, dare I say it, Peter himself—even more.
I've been in a writing funk for a long while now since I had last updated my multi-chapter fanfics in August 2020 because of the unintentional pressure I've been placing on my shoulders to be a "good" writer, my unfortunate perfectionism kicking in, me getting burnt out, and the pandemic. Playing this game and writing this fanfic has given me enough energy to write and make me feel better, even if it's just for a bit.
Anyway, this is based on a prompt that someone from the Inverted Mind, INC. server shared with me in a DM where it's goth phase Peter bullying male Y/N in their senior year of high school and Y/N hiding a huge crush on him while Peter wants nothing to do with him. When Valentine's Day comes around, Y/N musters the courage to give Peter a gift despite being super nervous, but people make fun of Y/N, even though "fluff crimes ensue."
I took a little bit of liberty with this prompt—mainly because of my headcanon of how Peter would be in high school based on his personas in the game so far (from Days 1 to 3). I'm still fairly new to this game (much less this fandom), so I've probably missed all the canon stuff that Fuboo's shared on Tumblr.
For this fanfic, here are some things to note:
• There won't be any spoilers past Day 1 (the demo)
• The ending of this fanfic will canonically tie into the beginning of Your Boyfriend (based up to Day 3), so you can think of this as a behind-the-scenes story that explains why Peter's fallen in love with Y/N
• Y/N in this is based on the "Friend" route on Days 1 & 2 where you're nice, kind, and selfless to others and Peter
• Y/N is a guy with he/him/his pronouns
• Everything here will be written in an American high school and college setting, but I'll do my best to make this as easy to understand as possible since I'm aware that Your Boyfriend is popular globally, not just within the U.S.
And finally, for my younger readers who are under 18 years old, please don't interact with Your Boyfriend or this fandom. This is per Fuboo's request and for legal reasons because this game is 18+.
With that out of the way, enjoy!
Shattered Pieces
Chapter 1: Recovering into Senior Year
It was the first day back at my high school, and a part of me dreaded it as I walked through the hallways to go to my first-period class. Now, as a senior, I can easily remember where all the classrooms were located, and it was, in a way, refreshing to see new faces scrambling in the crowd.
I still remember every part of what had happened last year in my supposed friend group—well, now former friend group—and how it drove a wedge in everyone's relationships with each other, straining each person who was involved.
I was left scarred—isolated, in fact—and I didn't quite understand why.
Everything began to get messy within my circle of former friends when hormones began to hit everyone at the start of our junior year. I don't know if it was due to the pressure of how high school would be ending soon and how we'd all be entering the young adult world—what with lots of people already thinking of their future, such as studying for the SAT or ACT, attending college, going to trade school, or just getting a job—but I tried not to reflect on it too much.
The drama within my circle started with two friends who liked each other and later became a couple between the summer of sophomore and junior year. Their names were Samuel—or Sam, for short—and Brooke. They were friends who had liked each other since the beginning of our sophomore year—I knew this since they confided in me at different times—but later in our junior year, they began having relationship issues. I tried to stay out of it as best as I could, but next thing I knew, Sam and Brooke were confiding in one or two friends about their issues, hurtful accusations and jealousy kept occurring, Sam supposedly started rebounding with another girl, and soon enough, sides were taken about who was in the right or wrong.
Unfortunately, I had gotten roped into the situation when Brook confessed to me. She told me how I had always been there at the start for her—and Sam, too—and that she understood how, in this situation, I was doing my best to remain neutral between them. According to her, however, it never changed the fact that I was still a wonderful guy who at least listened, was always so kind and considerate, and was never the type to dismiss how anyone ever felt.
I tried to establish boundaries that, as flattering as it was for Brooke to have feelings for me, I only saw her—and everyone else—as just a friend. What I had hoped, at the very least, was for us all to go back to the way before the drama happened. I wanted to stay friends with everyone, but soon enough, after I rejected Brooke and Sam found out about her confession to me, I was forgotten and left in the void.
Everyone's faces distorted, their voices a blur, yet the look of scorn and judgment on all their faces shook me to my core when I tried to reason that I didn't feel the same as Brooke. With that rejection came me getting labeled as the "bad guy" by those who were on her side and a "traitor" by Sam and everyone on his side.
I had never told any of them about my home situation. Even though everyone—especially the girls—would tell me how I was a "great guy" and came off as approachable and a great listener and consistently vent to me, they weren't close enough to me that I felt like they were my long-lost brothers and sisters. However, the feeling of being cut off—to have your number blocked; getting blocked, ignored, and unfriended on Facebook and Skype; ignored in hallways; getting spoken over when trying to talk and re-integrate myself—was enough to feel suffocating and alone.
By the time my junior year ended, I had never felt so alone—so abandoned—and yet, somehow, over summer break, I managed to regain the courage to be myself again. I had been used to being alone, after all, and after getting disappointed again and again, I didn't stop to even think for once that even friends—the people I could trust—would be turn out to be the same.
And now, here I was, back in high school for my senior year that I hope would be uneventful. At least here, at school, I could hear the incessant noises of people talking and see how everyone was so happy as they integrate themselves into their cliques, squeal or geek out at the latest celebrity gossip or materials, or laugh at whatever was going on. Here, at school, I could at least forget about home, even if it was just for a little bit. The eerie quietness of my home and never hearing the greeting of "How was school, dear?" or the sounds of dishes getting washed were enough to remind me of too many memories. The irony was that I liked the peacefulness, yet something about home never felt like…home.
After I arrived at my first-period class and sat down in a random seat, I hoped that none of my former friends would be in this class. I didn't want to deal with the judgmental looks that I knew they'd send me—both sides. There was a part of me that hoped that summer break would cause everyone to change—to revert to the way things were—but I knew that was just wishful thinking on my part.
I realized about two months into my senior year that I had been right all along to not trust my former friend group.
Both sides continued to not associate with each other—not that it surprised me at this point. Naturally, like last year, I had been ignored and unacknowledged whenever we passed by each other in the hallways. A part of me was honestly relieved that none of them tried to instigate something with me—but nothing changed the fact that I felt the daggers directed toward my back or that I knew that there'd be whispers about me as they walked past.
If there was one good thing at least about this year, it was that none of my classes had overlapped with anyone from my former friend group. It meant I could avoid at least most of them and try to forget about any unnecessary stress that they'd bring, especially since senior year also meant a senior graduation project.
I didn't understand the point of it because we were going to graduate soon. Many of us were going our separate ways, whether it was attending a trade school, joining the workforce, or attending college, but I knew I had to do it. Get good grades, try to study for the SAT and ACT again to maybe get a higher score this time, continue applying to 4-year colleges, apply for financial aid… The more I thought about the things I had to continue to do this year, the more I wondered if I should just go to community college instead because, quite frankly, that'd save me a lot less stress and money. I was already planning to stay in-state and to find a public college since that would save me even more money in the long run, compared to going out of state and attending a private college.
Yet, with all that on my shoulders, it was ultimately up to me to figure it out. My parents, despite earning college degrees themselves, have had no say in anything and continued to be absent in my life—even now. They didn't attend my middle school graduation, saying, "I'm so sorry, honey, we're busy with work" or when we had made plans to try to have family get-togethers.
A part of me wondered why my parents had me—or whether they even still loved each other. I had been used to the emptiness of the house by now, despite the mortgage still getting paid by my parents, and even when they did have supposedly "vacations," I'd very rarely see them at home.
I remember my elementary school teachers getting concerned with how often my parents had both been absent—or when my parents were there, they'd easily cover up any sort of incident. I was young and used to them being gone, and as the smart kid I was, I figured that if I had said any more—any certain things—about my home situation, I could get taken away from my parents. Despite how absent they've been in my life, that thought of the strange unknown—where I'd be taken away from what I had called as "home," despite it never really feeling like home—was more frightening to me.
I learned how to cook, clean, do laundry—everything I needed to do—on my own. It was strange that I had to report about their earnings for me to apply to financial aid because I am their dependent, but I also knew there wasn't much I could do about it.
Now, here I was, in the school library after school, trying to look up more information about college—anything like careers or the types of jobs that I could go into. The more I kept looking, the more I wondered if college was worth it. I found articles about how a low percentage of college graduates had a full-time job lined up for them after graduation, and I looked at popular careers and fields to enter, but the more I continued to search, the more intimidated I became.
Trying to figure out my future—something that I could hopefully make money with, something that would help me become independent and finally release the shackles from my absent parents—seemed a lot more daunting now.
Just then, I heard soft rock music from a distance away.
My hearing had always been keen, and naturally, I couldn't help but wonder whose headphones or earbuds were leaking that music. My head turned toward the source of the music further in front of me, so I leaned to the left—just enough to look in between the monitors to see who else was in the library.
There, standing at the counter and waiting to speak with the school librarian, was Peter. His entire attire screamed black—his long hair that covered half of his face most of the time, t-shirt with a white skull and pair of crossed bones on the back, ripped jeans, and Converse. His wired earbuds—also black—were looped around his neck, and as if on cue when I noticed them, I heard the music change to another rock song.
Peter was difficult to not notice at school. For starters, he had transferred into our school in the middle of sophomore year, which wasn't uncommon, and if not that, then his attire gave him away in most crowds. His fashion screamed emo and goth, and I doubt anyone had rarely ever seen him wear anything vibrant. He was the type of guy who had, believe it or not, a permanent scowl on his face. Whenever I had caught him talking to anyone in classes, he'd never smile—not even when laughter surrounded him.
I didn't think much of him. He and I didn't interact with each other, and we weren't friends.
I moved back to look at the monitor again, the end of my mouth twitching a bit when I recalled the article that I was just reading, and immediately closed the tab. Maybe I could head home now and grab something to treat myself…
My parents had made a bank account for me long ago and told me that I could use it whenever I need to. As much as they had been absent in my life—aside from necessary stuff—there was a part of me that, deep down, couldn't resent them. They were busy, trying to provide for me as best as they could—even if they couldn't physically or emotionally be there for me.
At least, that was what I told myself when the thoughts got too overwhelming in my head sometimes to better comfort myself.
"McDonald's might be nice," I muttered to myself, already thinking about maybe getting a Big Mac meal.
Yeah, I should do that. Get a Big Mac meal as a treat, head home maybe after eating, do homework and see if there was anything soon that was related to Key Club since I enjoyed volunteering, and try to study for the SAT and ACT again with my second upcoming attempt soon…
I let out a long soft sigh, my brain already starting to get stressed before I forced myself to remember that it was okay for me to treat myself to fast food now and then.
One step at a time.
If I took things one step at a time like I had been doing until now, I could get through my senior year. No more drama, no romance, no fake or toxic friendships—none of that.
I had survived about two months already. Seven more to go.