????? ?????~~ -- sokeefe oneshots

Sophie wasn't jealous.

Nope. Not at all.

Which was why she had been sitting in this car for two whole hours, completely ignoring Keefe while he talked to Quinn.

TWO. HOURS.

Two hours of her laugh. Two hours of Keefe's stupid smirking voice. Two hours of Sophie slowly losing her mind.

And what was worse?

Keefe was still smiling.

Like he wasn't even aware that his girlfriend—his fiancée—was sitting right next to him, slowly spiraling into full-blown homicidal rage while he just laughed at whatever Quinn was saying.

Oh, and let's not forget the occasional smirk he'd throw in. The "Oh, come on, Quinn, you know me" and the "Wow, you really haven't changed" and the worst one of all:

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you too."

That had nearly made Sophie fling herself out the window.

Instead, she had stuffed in her headphones, cranked up Tyler, the Creator, and shoved her head out the window like a golden retriever, desperately trying to pretend she wasn't dying inside.

And Keefe?

Still hadn't noticed.

He was just driving, one hand on the wheel, the other casually tapping against his knee like he was soooo relaxed, completely unaware that Sophie was on the verge of committing a felony.

She pulled out her phone and angrily typed out a text to Biana.

Soph: If I commit murder, will you be my alibi
 Biana: WHO ARE WE MURDERING.
Sophie: Quinn.
Biana: THAT BITCH
Sophie: Keefe's been talking to her for TWO HOURS.
Biana: TWO??! ITS HIS FUCKING EX WHAT THE FUCK
Sophie: That's what I'M saying.
Biana: SO HE'D RATHER TALK TO HIS EX THAN HIS FUCKING FIANCE? 

Sophie: EXACTLY THE HELL??

Biana: IGNORE HIM THE REST OF THE DAY AS PAYBACK

Sophie: BETTER IDEA: ONCE WE GET THERE, YOU PICK ME UP.

Biana: SURE JUST TELL ME WHEN.

Sophie groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat.

She was being so dramatic. She knew she was.

But also?

WHO JUST CASUALLY TALKS TO THEIR EX FOR TWO HOURS??

Especially when their fiancée is RIGHT. THERE.

She didn't want to be jealous. She wasn't normally jealous. But this? THIS WAS A BIT MUCH.

And Keefe? Oh, he was so clueless.

He just kept talking, kept laughing, kept driving, completely oblivious to the fact that Sophie was mentally stabbing Quinn in the face with a fork.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She ignored him.

She turned up her music, crossed her arms, and stared out the window, fully committing to being the most passive-aggressive person in the world.

And Keefe?

Didn't even notice.

Because he was still. Talking. To. Quinn.

And at this point, Sophie wanted Biana to drive up next to them and murder Keefe. Or murder Quinn. Or both. 

Oh, So Now You Notice? (A/N: this was supposed to be anotther part but since its a oneshot book, i edited it all together.) 

Sophie had had it.

Like, full-on, I'm-going-to-scream-into-a-pillow-for-three-hours had it.

First, she'd been ignored for a two-hour car ride. Then, when they finally arrived at Quinn's house, Quinn had sweetly offered Keefe the master bedroom—for himself.

"Oh, there's plenty of space!" Quinn had chirped, fake smile firmly in place. "But, you know, Keefe needs his space, right? You can take the guest room, Sophie!"

And Keefe?

Keefe had just smiled.

Had just shrugged.

Had just gone along with it.

Like it wasn't a huge freaking deal that he was literally leaving his fiancée to sleep alone while his ex got to act like the perfect host.

And that?

That was the final straw.

Sophie had tried to brush it off. She really had. She'd gone to the stupid guest room, thrown herself onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince herself that she wasn't overreacting.

That she wasn't actually mad.

That she wasn't about to commit a suicide.

But then?

She had called Biana.

And Biana had made things so much worse.

Biana: WAIT, HE'S SLEEPING IN THE MASTER BEDROOM??? ALONE???
Sophie: Yeah.
Biana: AND QUINNS WITH HIM??
Sophie: Yep. But shes in a different bed though. But same room.
Biana: OH, HELL NO.
Sophie: ...
Biana: GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE. IM COMING. WHATS THE BITCH'S ADRESS

Sophie: um...u spelt address wrong. but its 51 Westwood Willow Avenue, Orlando, Florida.

And Biana?

She wasn't lying.

Sophie packed her bags, grabbed her things, and left.

Didn't slam the door. Didn't send a goodbye text.

Just walked out.

And Keefe?

Didn't even notice.

Not that night.

Not that morning.

Not until hours later, when he finally wandered out of his room, looking way too well-rested for someone whose fiancée had literally left him.

And when he did notice?

Well.

That was fun.