⋆.𐙚 ̊Blonde Bombshell⋆˙⟡ᢉ𐭩

Stan had spent almost his entire senior year trying to rid himself of labels.

He wasn’t sure when he started to hate being labeled as a jock, something weird and foreign tightening in his chest when he overheard a joke about him failing classes or every time he was completely overlooked when it came to anything academic.

He knew he wasn’t a genius but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t only good for throwing a ball around a field.

There was a week period where it felt almost constant and he’d decided by the end of it that if he could only be one thing or the other, then he didn’t want to be a football player anymore.

It came with a sort of instant regret, hours spent laying flat on his back and staring at his bedroom ceiling just wondering if he had done the right thing or not.

He only got to self wallow for the first half of the night before he was hearing familiar soft taps at his window, growing louder and more consistent when he tried to ignore them at first. Eventually he was groaning and pulling himself out of his mattress and self pity, making his way over to the window sill and yanking it open with a scowl.

Your expression was the opposite, smiling brightly at him like you always seemed to be.

Stan had liked being your neighbor when you were growing up because being an only child in a seemingly endless suburbia was overly depressing. You’d moved in when he was around the age of eight and you had been on his front porch asking his parents if he could come out and play before your mom had even gotten the first box out of the moving truck.

You liked to play together despite how different you were.

It helped Stan was secretly a lot more sensitive than he’d ever let his dad or friends at school see and he could easily get lost in your imagination fueled games instead of roughhousing or getting dirty. You’d run around the woods near your neighborhood with sticks for swords, cardboard crowns you’d spent hours making the night before and royal titles you would strictly refer to eachother as.

He had never felt as important as he did back then, being the strong and loyal knight who would protect the kingdoms princess against any and all things evil.

Then he had turned sixteen and it started to be less fun to have somebody you went to school with right next door. You’d be able to overhear his parents fighting late into the night, watch him sweat as he was forced to do chores outside in the hot sun, and his mom even invited you to his grandmas ninetieth birthday where her dentures fell out during the candle blowing.

Your entire neighborhood was cookie cutter houses that were a little too close together and lacking a lot of privacy.

If you stretched enough then you could reach out your window and be able to graze his with your fingertips. Or, in the method you preferred, easily toss a few loose marbles at his glass until he talked to you.

“Stop looking so grumpy.” You were still smiling at him as you rested against the windowsill, propped up on the wood with one of your legs dangling outside.

He hated it when you did that and he told you as much almost every single time up until you teased him about caring for you. After that he just decided to let you do whatever you wanted.

“I’m really not in the mood.” He meant for his voice to sound harsher than it came out, similar to the tone he’d used on his mom when he got home or his coach when he’d pressed him about quitting because he was just lazy.

Stan always had a really hard time being mean to you.

“I heard about football.” Now you sounded more serious too, still soft and overly concerned for something as trivial as a high school sport but you knew it was important to Stan so it was important to you.

He preferred it when you were bubbly and a little empty headed, your flat face always giving him a bit of anxiety deep in his stomach.

Back when he was a little younger there was this thought in the back of the head that he just didn’t like to see you unhappy. Maybe even some left over bravado from his days as a knight that would willingly jump in front of a dragon to protect you, cover your scraped knees with the last of his band aids even if they had his favorite characters on them. He had decided that was ridiculous around the same time you stopped hanging out as much.

“Yeah.” His response was short, clipped and making it obvious to you he really didn’t want to discuss football anymore today. “It’s not a big deal.”

You were quiet for a long few seconds and he thought it might be the biggest gap of time you’d gone without speaking in his presence, always filling any silence with excited rambling or nonsensical questions.

“I think you’ll be good at whatever you do.” You said back simply and you said it so confidently that he faltered for a second to look at you, the way you were watching him and so easily hanging halfway outside the window like you didn’t have a care in the world. “Goodnight Stan.”

You were pulling yourself back in the window and closing it softly, your pink curtains following immediately after. He stared at the side of your house for a bit before closing his own with a sigh and dragging himself back to bed.

There was large gaps of times you didn’t talk to each other at school but you were at his window almost every night, and occasionally he was the one knocking on yours.

He’d come to you when his parents separated for the first time and you’d clung tightly to the fabric of his letterman jacket as you helped him into your room that same night. Maybe you were able to see the despair from across the small gap between your houses or maybe the fact he had even reached out first was enough for you to know something was really wrong.

You didn’t talk much but you did hold him for a while, arms wrapped around his neck as you let him cry against your shoulder.

Anxiety had filled him the entire way to school the next morning thinking everyone would suddenly know that Stan Rosado was not as tough as he seemed but nobody looked in his direction, nobody except for you smiling softly across the hallway as you waved in greeting.

Stan didn’t think you were dumb necessarily but you didn’t seem to put any thought to all of the trivial things him and other people your age did.

You never got upset over a bad grade and you always had this light giggle that would fill the classroom after your teachers bad puns, a slight confused look around when nobody else would laugh. You asked too many questions during simple conversations and occasionally he’d peak over at your test and see you were just doodling between the questions instead of actually filling them out.

But still, despite what others said behind your back, Stan didn’t think you were dumb.

You always seemed to know exactly what to say and you were endlessly patient where others would lose their cool, level headed and mature when he’d honestly expect you not to be.

And you had the most active imagination he’d ever experienced in his life. He remembered sitting in piles of leaves as you stood in a makeshift cape and told him engaging stories of universes he could barely comprehend and he also remembered getting the same feeling when you’d stand in front of your English class and read your poetry.

But you’d shut down whenever somebody asked you something serious and get this big smile on your face, shrugging your shoulders and twirling your hair like it was supposed to be obvious you wouldn’t have an answer.

If he was being honest, Stan really didn’t understand that part of you.

Your perfumes were always so sweet he could tell you were in a room before he saw you, heeled shoes clicking through the hallways as you hurried to classes you weren’t going to pay any attention to, and clothes so bright he sometimes felt a little dizzy if he looked at you for too long.

Which he always seemed to be looking at you.

Atleast ever since you had suddenly become very very very extremely pretty, seemingly overnight if you asked him. It was like you transformed from just his childhood friend in the neighborhood, content with mud on your cheek and spending your days arguing over who gets to ride your shared bike next, to something entirely new.

Stan never thought you were ugly even though he didn’t really think about that stuff much at all until high school.

He knew that the role of princess fit you extremely well.

But now you were distracting and he clearly wasn’t the only one who thought so. Almost every guy on the football team talked about you, especially since you had joined the cheerleading squad. He’d watch the nerdy boys ogle you as you passed in the hallway and flush bright red whenever you’d wave or smile in their direction, girls giving you judging looks for dressing up each and every morning like you were going to a magazine photo shoot.

He got the weird urge to defend you in those moments, to inform them that you had been wearing flowing skirts and glitter heels long before high school.

But instead Stan would face his locker and pretend he didn’t know you at all.

He wasn’t sure why he almost felt embarrassed to be seen with you. The feeling didn’t go away even though he was fully aware he’d be a source of envy if he ever responded to your attempts at conversation with something actually engaging instead of just shutting you down with a short reply and walking off before you could continue.

There was a very cruel part of him that wanted to tell you what everybody thought of you just so you could prove them wrong.

You weren’t stupid or trying to get better grades with your short skirts and your soft giggle was as real as anyone’s could be.

Sadly gossip held a power over high schoolers like nothing else so you entered your senior year with the far fetched reputation of the stuck up bimbo.

He would get a weird feeling in his stomach when he’d see you eating alone at lunch because he knew how much you liked to talk during meal times. The same sensation building up anytime you’d cheer at a football game and not have any girl friends to laugh and small talk with to fill the gaps between routines.

They all liked you in their own ways, lust or jealously, but you felt untouchable to the general public and you were possibly too optimistic and naive to try and correct it by yourself.

You never acted like anything was different when you were back home at your windows.

Sometimes he’d wait for you to bring it up, to ask him why he ignored you in the hallways or acted like he’d never heard of you when you were paired for an assignment.

But you never did.

You’d smile at him and ask him how his day was like you weren’t around for almost all of it, sitting a few rows over and doodling in your glittery journal instead of actually taking any notes.

One of the rare times you approached him at school was on the final game of your senior year, finding him during halftime. He was resting against the gate on the less crowded side of the field, away from the bleachers and curious eyes of students who knew he should be playing instead of standing around watching.

He almost didn’t come but he figured he should be around to see it and also his mom had not so casually mentioned to him that you and the other cheerleaders each got a solo performance section to celebrate your final season.

That explained why you looked a little nervous as you jogged over to him, big bow in your high ponytail and your cheer uniform looking as bright as the day you had gotten it.

Stan liked when you wore your uniform, it reminded him of the way you used to play dress up and walk an imaginary runway made out of cardboard for him, showing off your different costumes and princess dresses.

“Hey.” Your smile was just as cheery as ever and he could hear the soft rattling of your pom poms as you pressed against the gate right where he was standing. You would have been touching if it wasn’t for the metal between you. “You came.”

He had the instinct to tell you that he hadn’t come for you and he was just checking in on the team, maybe bitterly hoping they wouldn’t be as good without him, but the excited expression on your face took that idea away as swiftly as it came.

“Yeah you were really good.” He replied instead and apparently it was uncharacteristic for him to compliment you because now you were really beaming, dropping the poms so you could reach over the gate and touch the sleeve of his jacket.

There was a split second where he wanted to look around and make sure nobody was watching but he decided how stupid that was too, just like the reflex to disappoint you and tell you he wasn’t there to see your performance.

Stan had already quit football and he knew most of the school was talking about it, or at least that’s how it felt. He didn’t really care what anybody thought about him at this point but he realized he still didn’t want you to be upset with him.

“I’m glad you came Stan. I know it must have been hard.” Your frown was immediate and if it was anyone else he would have thought you were making fun of him but not you, of course you weren’t.

He was suddenly overly aware of the fact you were clinging to his jacket and how nice you smelt, floral and feminine in a way he had only experienced while being forced into shopping for perfume with his mom.

It was like he was hit with the realization that you weren’t only just extremely pretty but he was also very attracted to you. You were still watching him with those soft eyes of yours, blinking up through long lashes and tilting your head in that cutely confused way you always did when you didn’t really understand something (more often than not).

“It wasn’t.” He answered back. “But it was worth it.”

Things shifted quickly after that and he was feeling very stupid for the way he had treated you in his teenage years.

He couldn’t believe he had ever seen you smile at him in the hallways and ignored you, your presence now a stable for his mornings. You walked to school together most days, arms brushing and laughing softly as you joked and caught up on the things you didn’t talk about hanging outside your window.

You were every where all of a sudden, bringing him a snack in the library during his study period and waiting for him by his locker before lunch time.

Stan was very knowledgeable to the power you held now and he wasn’t minding it nearly as much as he used to. Maybe he had just needed to grow out of that stupid teenage rebellion phase or maybe it was possible football and the guys on the team made him even duller than he already was but regardless of the reason, he was glad he had gained his senses back.

It was an honor to be seen with you, to feel the glares from the other guys when you’d hold onto his arm and smile up at him like he was the single most interesting person around, even without the title of being the star quarterback.

He’s currently feeling the jealousy in the hallway around him as you lean back on his locker, pressing a piece of paper against his chest as you explain its contents.

“If it’s stupid you don’t have to come.” You’re saying and you have a lack of confidence to your tone which is rare from you.

He takes it from your hands and flips it over so he can read it, scanning the details and a brief description of a poetry club performance that day a few hours after school is over. His eyes go back to yours and you’re bouncing in place a little as you anticipate his reaction, nervously biting your lip.

“Of course I’ll come.” He says easily, soft even, and you immediately relax which makes him grin.

Your hand is back on him now without the paper in the way, resting on his bicep right where his shirt sleeve stops and his bare skin begins. Stan, not for the first time, remembers just how beautiful you are, and feels his arm heat up under your touch a little.

“Really?” You’re smiling brightly and squeezing him gently. He lets his hand rest on your side and tries his best to be casual about it even though he’s getting increasingly distracted by your skirt the longer you stand there. “Stacy said you probably wouldn’t want to.”

He scoffs at that, shifting and feeling the way his shoe brushes against yours. He’s not very fond of any of your cheer ‘friends’ and especially not that one although he’s a bit pleased that you talk about him with them.

There’s a part of him that knows it’s hypocritical considering how he acted in recent years.

“Of course I’d come.” He shakes his head in annoyance and now you’re thankfully back to smiling at him. “Stacy’s a bitch to you.”

“Stan.” You smack his arm lightly in scolding as your eyebrows furrow, rubbing it soothingly after when he apologizes under his breath. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not trying to be but she really could be nicer.” He tries to reason with you and you give him an attempt at a stern look even though it just makes you look like a frustrated bunny.

“Keep that to yourself tonight okay?” You suggest and he reluctantly nods even though the soft rubbing you’re doing to his arm makes him feel like he’d agree to anything at this point. “Will you come over beforehand?”

Stan is quick to accept the invitation and then he spends the rest of the school day thinking about obsessively.

He used to spend alot of time in your room, movie nights or sleepovers when his parents were out of town. It was just you and your mom next door and he always liked the energy your house had, similar to the one you carried with you daily.

It was warm and peaceful, relying on natural lighting and soft orange lamps instead of the bright whites his own mother was so fond of. He hadn’t been over in a long time, since that night his parents separated and even then he was too busy crying on you to really process the fact he was in your bedroom alone.

Now he was overly aware of it.

Your mom had looked ecstatic when she saw him at the front door, pushed aside lightly by you as you appeared and took his hand. You dragged him up the stairs towards your bedroom and he tried not to flush as she warned you to keep your door open while he was inside of it.

She had a similar energy to you so he knew she was only joking, laughing a little as she said it like she found herself more humorous than the people around her did.

But it still planted the idea in his head.

Stan didn’t think you saw him like that at all and he wouldn’t really blame you considering he hadn’t been the biggest charmer since you were kids.

Sure, you were pretty much always touching him in some way and you spent almost every single day with each other for a portion of time, but he couldn’t tell if that was simply because you had been friends for so long and you were a bit lonely under the facade of the glitter and shiny lip gloss.

Your room smelt as good as you always did, candles in random places and your clothes strewn across your vanity chair and along parts of your bed. You were clearly in the middle of trying to pick an outfit and he was thrown right back into your childhood games, sending you a fond look to see you were already watching him with mild embarrassment.

“Don’t judge me.” You shake your head as you let go of his hand and he laughs a little as he shifts closer. “I bet your room is worse.”

“It’s cute.” He reassures you and you get that little pout that you like to pull out and weaponize at will. “And you’re not wrong, mines a disaster.”

For every band CD he has next door, you have a pile of magazines. Your cute pink decor is the complete opposite of his darker aesthetic and he almost laughs at the absurd amount of pillows you have on your bed.

You’re shifting closer and despite how typical it is for you to evade his space, he’s for some reason highly aware of your bedroom door being open and your mom being right downstairs in the kitchen.

His breath hitches a little when he feels your fingers playing with his, wrapping them around each others occasionally as you stare up at him.

“I’m a little nervous for tonight.” You admit and he softens, momentarily forgetting his own inner turmoil.

“You’ll be perfect.” His response sounds strictly genuine because he means it, knows you’ll get up on any stage and captivate an audience with what you’ve wrote. “And I’ll be right there if it’s scary.”

You sigh softly and shift closer, the small space between you nearly gone now. You’ve stopped playing with his fingers and are full out holding his hands, squeezing them and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb

“I’m so glad you’re coming.” Your voice drops to a whisper now and he suddenly feels very nervous, heart racing as he stares down at you and tries to not let it show on his face too much.

But you are impossibly beautiful and he’s once again remembering that he’s in your bedroom with you, practically alone and able to have enough warning of either of you heard your mom come upstairs. He’s just starting to think he’s delusional and seeing things that aren’t there when your eyes drop down to his mouth.

You’re kissing him before he can even catch his breath from the shock of the look, soft and hesitant as you rock up on your tiptoes and press your mouth against his.

You pull back immediately to give him a second, maybe thinking he’s going to reject you or just wanting to check his expression.

There’s not much to see because now it’s his turn to move in and kiss you much more eagerly than you had him, releasing your hands so he can hold the small of your back and tug you closer to him. Your arms go around the back of his neck as you respond to the pace perfectly, mouths moving in sync like you’d kiss each other a hundred times before.

It feels a bit like coming home, his chest warming when you make a soft noise and lean against him further like you can’t help yourself.

You kiss for a long time, heads tilting and his tongue teasing your bottom lip until you’re letting him in. He really starts to feel it then, a low heat in his gut from the taste of you as it deepens and gets more sloppy.

He had imagined a lot of things with you and kissing was a frequent one but this was something out of this world entirely, the softness of your body and the smell of your hair when you kept pressing closer and closer so you didn’t have to stop kissing for even a second.

“Leaving soon sweetheart.”

Your mom’s voice from downstairs was sobering but not even enough to make you stop right away, giggling against his mouth and kissing for another long minute before you were reluctantly pulling away.

The back of his neck was hot as you beamed up at him, bouncing in place excitedly and squeezing him in a tight hug almost like you were thanking him for kissing you.

Your poetry performance was amazing, only stuttering once before your eyes found him in the front row and you visibly relaxed. You took a deep breath and continued and he felt a feeling of pride that was entirely unfamiliar to him before now.

Stan wasn’t a football player anymore and he still wasn’t exactly a model student but now he had something more important to focus on.

He got to be your boyfriend.

He had officially asked you a few weeks after your first kiss with a dozen more filling the gap, lying in his bed and staring at his ceiling together when it just slipped out.

You’d rolled over onto your stomach so you could see him properly, smiling brightly and telling him how you’d like nothing more than to be his girlfriend.

And he could tell you meant it even though he figured there was a million other things you should probably be more focused on. You never paid much attention in classes to begin with but you’d practically sworn off any of the little studying you would do to spend time with him after school, ignoring your less annoying friends when they’d invite you over on the weekends.

Stan felt a little guilty that your life seemed to suddenly revolve around him and then a little worse when he realized maybe it always had.

But you still never brought up those years he treated you like any other peer in the hallway.

You’d been dating for a few months when he finally decided to ask you about it. You were on a camping trip with him and his extended family, spending time about two hours from home at the small log cabin his dad had obsessed over building when he was younger.

Stan had been having a perfect trip with you, feeling almost out of body from how amazing you were. You got along with his mother since you were a child, filling the slight desire she had for a daughter occasionally when you’d come over and ask her to do makeup or nails with you.

Even his dad, a hard ass who he truthfully wished would’ve followed through with the brief separation from his mother, seemed to adore you and Stan wasn’t confused on why.

You were sweetness in human form, smiling at him while you cooled off in the lake and holding hands during hikes. You’d kiss him softly each night under the stars before retreating to your own room (his mom was quick to inform him you wouldn’t be allowed to sleep in his bed).

Now you were currently curled up in his lap outside as you both silently watched the fire, the crackling of the burning wood the only sound outside of your quiet yawns and the animals in the woods around you. His parents had gone to sleep an hour ago but it was the final night and he wasn’t quite ready to go inside yet which meant neither were you since you had a tendency to go where Stan went.

That was one of the reasons he felt the sudden urge to have the weighted conversation with you.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” He tried to whisper but his voice broke the silence loud and you sat up a little in his lap to face him and furrow your eyebrows in soft confusion.

“Why would you be sorry?” You cupped his jaw and leaned in to kiss him which distracted him immediately, kissing you back and getting lost in the sensation for a few minutes before he pulling off to get back on topic.

“I wasn’t nice to you at the start of high school.” He said and his hand went to the small of your back to rub soothingly incase you got upset but he was yet to see you anything other than positive and almost ditzy.

Even now, this soft pout of yours was the closest thing to an unhappy expression you’d ever shown. And he knew you were more concerned about him feeling the need to apologize than over what he was apologizing for.

“You weren’t mean either.” You reasoned and he knew you were right but that didn’t make him feel any better about it.

“I just didn’t want you thinking I believed all those things people said about you.” He says softly, brushing some of your hair behind your ear and getting a little lost in the way your eyes sparkle at him, saying a bit more than he had meant to in his distraction. “I knew you weren’t dumb or shallow and I didn’t defend you when I should have.”

He realizes his mistake as soon as you tense up in his lap and anything he had thought about not seeing an upset look on your face before was thrown out the window. Your expression had completely shifted into one of confusion and then hurt.

“People think that about me?” Your voice sounded so pained that his entire chest tightened with regret.

Stan for some reason hadn’t realized that you weren’t aware of the terrible things people said about you behind your back. He should have known considering you always thought the best of everybody, trying your hardest to be friends with the bitchy girls on the team and missing the social cue of them laughing every time you turned your back.

The first time you hear the cruel labels came from his mouth and he couldn’t feel more guilty about it.

“I think I want to go to bed.” You whispered softly as you kissed him briefly and slid off his lap, wandering off to the cabin before he could shake the stupid out of his teenage brain and follow you.

Things changed about you after that and Stan felt terrible over it.

You didn’t treat him any different, still so soft and attentive, but your demeanor in general shifted. You’d stopped wearing such bright colors, spent less time on your hair in the mornings, and even started to study instead of hanging out with him after school.

He was proud of you for wanting to focus on your academics but he hated the reason for it and it was breaking his heart to watch you suddenly obsess over getting good grades and focusing less on things you enjoyed like dressing up and writing your poems.

Even now, pressing him against the brick wall beneath the bleachers, you seemed distracted.

He almost felt bad for still letting you kiss him the way you were when you were so clearly somewhere else mentally but you liked to kiss about as much as you liked dolling up and he was still an eighteen year old boy she wasn’t able to resist you when you got like this.

Your mouth was eager as it moved against his, tongue tangling with his and your chest pressing him harder into the wall as you made out. He liked you so much more everyday and he was more than happy to be nothing but the guy you kissed when you were stressed out, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.

“I have to go.” You pecked his lips repeatedly as you spoke and he frowned. “Study group at the library.”

“Can’t you stay with me?” He requested softly, kissing your neck and keeping you held tightly against him so you couldn’t pull away just yet. You giggled lightly when his hand pressed against the small of your back, playing with the back of his hair and sighing softly. “Come have dinner at my house tonight. My mom said she misses you.”

“I can’t Stan, I have an exam on Monday.” You explained gently and the words still felt foreign coming from you.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to get good grades to prove yourself to anybody but especially not him, you were perfect as you were without keeping yourself up late with too much coffee. But he didn’t, young and too immature to say something meaningful even when he meant to.

Instead he was just kissing you again to try and distract you and it seemed to work thankfully, especially when he was letting a hand slide down off your back to where your tiny skirt turned into the smooth skin of your thighs.

You made a pleased little noise when he was rubbing the back of it for a second before going back up and cupping your ass gently, lifting you off the ground enough that you were falling fully against him.

The kiss heated back up after that, even more so when he kept groping and squeezing your flesh over your panties. You and Stan hadn’t done much yet even though your kissing sessions often got pretty intense, wandering hands and desperate noises that he definitely could have gotten off to if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his cool and impressing you.

It was sometimes torture having such a pretty girlfriend and especially one who dressed like you, barely in any clothes at all the times you tugged him across the windows into your bedroom.

“Stan.” Your voice was whiny and he had to suck in a breath to calm himself down, kissing your neck again a few times before stopping to let you speak. “Don’t get me all needy before I meet up with the group.”

“You’re always needy baby.” He reasoned and smiled down at you, kissing the corner of your mouth as you rolled your eyes and lightly smacked his chest in scolding.

“I mean it Stanny.” You sigh softly but don’t step away from him at all and immediately melt into another round of your tongues rubbing together.

You keep kissing for another few desperate minutes, his hand that’s under your skirt lightly bunching up your underwear and tugging it upwards so it applies some pressure to your core. The noise you make into his mouth is heavenly and he swallows it eagerly.

Finally you do take a step backwards and he lets you even though his chest is rising with sharp breaths and his jeans feel a lot tighter than they had a few minutes ago.

“You’re evil.” You smile at him but peck his mouth one more time, thighs rubbing together for a second and he audibly groans at the movement. “I’ll come over after we are done okay?”

He nods his head eagerly and lets you slip away from him, another mistake to add to the list he looks back on in the future.

You don’t come over that night and you don’t even answer your window when he lightly knocks against it. The next morning you tell him that you’re sorry and you fell asleep after studying but it becomes a pattern quickly.

You stop walking back home with him after school because you get a tutor, dinners with his mom are completely out of the question since you never have the time anymore, and you fall asleep during almost all of your late night calls despite it being the only chance you have to really speak to each other uninterrupted.

Stan can’t be mad at you for wanting to focus on school especially with graduation in less than a few weeks but he misses you more than he thought possible and he still feels the guilt for slipping up and making you feel this insecurity in the first place.

The end comes in the same exact way you began.

You’re laying in his bed together after your final exams, staring at his ceiling and thinking about he almost positively failed the majority of them. He thinks he’ll still be able to graduate and it’s a little relief to know you aren’t having the same anxieties.

He expected you to seem a lot lighter now that you didn’t have the weight of studying on your shoulders anymore but you’d been tense all day long.

He feels like an asshole for missing the version of you that would giggle and ask him common sense questions, knowing that’s his own insecurities coming into play. That’s not something he’d ever say to you but he’s still thinking it now as you lay next to him and hold his hand tightly.

“I have to tell you something.” You start softly and his head turns to the side to look at your profile and the way your eyebrows are a little furrowed as you stare holes into his ceiling.

It’s like he can sense it before you even start, before the words college and accepted leave your mouth. His chest tightens and aches when you finally look at him with that sad expression, lip quivering a little as you wait for him to react.

Stan had heard you talk about colleges in passing but he wasn’t sure you were actually serious, especially about the ones further away. Your small town had a tendency to keep people trapped in it and he wasn’t ever planning to have to cope with you leaving, another big mistake of his was not taking you seriously.

“That’s far isn’t it?” He whispered back and you hesitated for a second before nodding, rolling onto your side so you could be closer to him when he let out a shaky breath.

Stan wanted to tell you that distance didn’t matter and he would stay with you even if your relationship dwindled down to two phone calls a day but you were already so busy the last few months and that was just high school, still in his time zone and right next door if he desperately needed you.

You were going somewhere that he couldn’t even travel to by car, where letters and care packages would take a week or more to reach you.

He knew what the outcome realistically was and he was sure you did too considering how upset you looked.

“I love you.”

It filled the quiet room and you sucked in a sharp breath after he said it. He didn’t confess it because he thought it would make a difference in you leaving or because he wanted you to feel bad about him being left behind in your town but more so because he didn’t know how to properly convey how proud he was of you.

Your hand squeezed his and you gave him a soft smile that didn’t quite meet your glossy eyes.

“I love you too Stan.”

You spent the night laying together in mostly silence like you were too scared to say the wrong thing, eventually kissing him deeply as if you were attempting to apologize and making love for the first time in his quiet bedroom that felt suffocatingly small all of a sudden.

—

High school wasn’t something you put much thought into now that a decade had passed by.

You’d spent a few years feeling like you were completely lost, missing how simple things were when you were in your teenage years and thinking you were much further behind everyone else at your university than you actually were. But eventually you gained your footing in the new city and started to feel like you actually fit in.

You made friends that would never have thought there was a time you were widely regarded as stupid, talked to people from all walks of life who were shocked you’d been a cheerleader like it hadn’t been your entire brand back then.

And you had a rotation of non serious boyfriends who would never know about the freckled boy who lived next door to you.

You spent the first few years thinking about Stan every day, calling him a handful of times every few months and trying to catch up but eventually the pain of the distance outweighed the benefits of hearing about his life back home. It would leave you shockingly bitter when he’d boast about a promotion at his job, a sick feeling in your stomach anytime he sounded happy and god forbid when he’d casually mention the name of a girl he worked with.

Stan was trying his best to be normal with you despite the fact you had broke up the week you moved away, the night full of tear flavored kisses and quiet confessions that felt much more serious than high school sweethearts.

He was more than that in your eyes and always had been, even before you started dating each other. You’d always found comfort in the boy next door, your first friend in town and the only person who ever seemed to really understand you underneath all the pink fabric and hairspray.

You’d been hurt when he had accidentally told you about your reputation but not because you felt like he insulted you. It was more so the fact he didn’t necessarily seem like he had disagreed, maybe a little pleasantly surprised that you weren’t completely shallow.

Still, you paid more attention after he had slipped up with that.

Sometimes he explained things a little slower to you like he thought you needed more help understanding basic concepts. He’d praise you when you did something simple as if you had exceeded his expectations and you knew in his mind it was all innocent, genuine pride and him just trying to make things easier for you, but it settled weirdly in your chest.

You didn’t think that he thought of you as nothing but an eye candy girlfriend but for some reason you thought that of yourself.

But you still had let your entire life revolve around him since you were little, doing your best to catch his attention when it was fading away and getting focused on other things like the rotation of sports he did or his parents separating. Stan always felt like something you had to put a lot of effort into and you were ecstatic when it was finally returned.

You’d never been happier than the months you were together before he brought up the gossip surrounding you. It was the brightest days of your life, the last time you can remember living and not caring about anybody’s opinions.

It took a long time for him to leave your system but you still thought about him every time a certain song came on the radio or the trees started to brown for fall, thinking of him and his letterman jacket draped over your shoulders as you kissed outside on the football bleachers.

The small of the beach reminded you of him and so did hot coffee, anybody with a similar curl pattern or that little squeak to their voice when their volume increased. Stan was a passing thought that never fully faded even when it had been almost ten years without seeing him and a handful since you’d as much as heard his voice.

Your mother had moved with you when you left for college so you had no real reason to ever be back in that small town you grew up in, your childhood house sold and your existence practically erased.

It gave you a small satisfaction to know you were probably one of the few in your graduating class that had branched off into the world, gone further than those girls who thought you were good for nothing but applying lip gloss in English class.

You were turning 28 soon and it had been months since you thought of Stan yet he was still the first one on your mind when you opened up your email and saw the most recent notification.

‘Come join us to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of our class of ‘98.’

A high school reunion back in your home town, hundreds miles away and full of memories you still hadn’t fully shaken.

Your first instinct had been to send the email straight to the trash and forget you’d ever seen it but then you thought about Stan again.

The vague memory of his face alone was enough for you to pretend the mean girls and judgmental peers didn’t exist, turning your laptop off and sucking in a deep breath as you really contemplated making a trip like that just to rub your amazing life in the faces of some bitchy high schoolers.

And admittedly, you got a little flutter in your stomach at the idea of seeing Stan again.

You didn’t know if he would even be attending, had no clue if he was still living in the town or even in the country. You got the sickening thought that you weren’t even sure he was still alive but your mothers still kept in contact occasionally and you were sure she would’ve been somebody who got a call if anything had happened to him.

As soon as your mind went to him, you knew the choice was made for you because now you were spiraling down the same hole you’d been in your entire life.

You’d taken the time off work and asked your mom to apartment sit for you before the night had even ended, sending back an RSVP email and booking a flight immediately after.

—

Stan wasn’t really sure what he was expecting when he arrived at the reunion but it certainly wasn’t this.

The gym looked exactly the same as he remembered it, smelled familiar and was decorated with streamers he was almost positive had been used at his prom all those years ago.

He hadn’t gone far from home at all in the last decade, only about half an hour from where his dad still lived in his childhood home. His mom had finally gone through with the divorce and took her retirement funds to a much warmer climate, a bit bittersweet but he was too relieved for her to really feel upset.

The faces around him were either familiar because he hadn’t lost touch with them, frequently seeming them when he was in town grocery shopping and going out for drinks after work with a few of the guys from the football team, or because they really hadn’t changed all that much.

Ten years felt like a much longer time than it actually was. There was a handful of wrinkles, some protruding stomachs and a couple of babies being balanced on hips, but other than that it felt like he was thrown back in time.

Although his focus was a bit all over the place because there was only one person he was really interested in seeing tonight.

He wasn’t sure you were going to come at all, last he knew you were still across the country and doing extremely well for yourself which his mom loved to remind him. She also couldn’t help herself from throwing out the fact you were possibly still single despite knowing Stan had completely blew any chance he had with you a decade ago.

But he still spent the entire evening half listening to conversations and watching the gym doors so he would be able to see you as soon as you entered.

Hours of sipping bad punch and listening to throwback songs passed and he realized you weren’t coming. Of course you weren’t coming, you probably had no time to spend on their little boring town that you were always much bigger than.

Stan excused himself from talks of football highlights and loser jocks bragging about their office jobs, heading outside the back exit and sucking in a deep breath of the night air.

He could see the bright lights of the football field off in the distance and he was half tempted to make his way down there, deciding against it as he pulled a pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket.

He had barely started lighting it when he heard the soft clicks of heels coming in his direction, his body tensing in anticipation like he somehow already knew exactly who it was before he even looked up.

You froze when he did, your eyes meeting as your lips parted in surprise.

You looked as beautiful as the day you had left him standing in the airport with teenage tears streaming down his face. It was like you hadn’t aged a day other than the new maturity in your gaze and the slight sharpness where old baby fat had softened you before, the bright colors you used to wear a bit duller now but still just as fashionable as always.

Stan couldn’t move, couldn’t catch his breath and definitely couldn’t stop the cigarette from fumbling out of his fingers and landing in a puddle near his feet. He broke his trance then, cursing lightly under his breath and glancing down at where it was sinking under the water.

You were closer when he looked up again and had a slightly amused look on your face, sending a wave of anxiety down his spine that you were possibly judging him before he’d even gotten to say anything embarrassing.

“Those are bad for you.” Your voice was the biggest change about you so far, deeper and much more mature now. You’d lost that airy tone that he liked so much, especially when you’d giggle and say sweet things to him.

“Bad habit.” He said back and now it was your turn to look a little thrown, eyes flashing with a hint of surprise that made him feel a little better.

Stan had taken good care of himself in the last ten years, not wanting to be one of those guys who peaked in high school and spent the rest of their adult lives talking about how much potential they had. He was still lean and fit, shoulders a little broader now and chest fuller. His voice had deepened both naturally over time and from his admittedly terrible habit of smoking.

The light rasp clearly shocked you but your expression was neutral again swiftly, barely noticeable if he wasn’t paying so much attention to your face.

And it was still a very pretty face.

“Didn’t think you were coming.” He continued when you didn’t reply and your head tilted, leaning your shoulder against the brick wall his back was pressed to.

“Figured it would be a good break from work.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, like you hadn’t had to rearrange your entire schedule and get on a plane for hours just to make it to a town that barely had a motel you could stay in.

“What’s work for you now?” His body shifted so he was fully facing you and you let your eyes drag down his frame without any hesitation, a light heat filling him at the action.

You looked at him like he still belonged to you and there was a big part of him that agreed with that. He’d never been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a few months and he knew in the back of his mind that he was accidentally comparing them all to you.

From the way you loved him wholeheartedly and your kind nature that couldn’t be replicated down to the more trivial things, the way your perfume smelt and how his skin buzzed with electricity whenever you touched him.

Standing here with you, feet apart and barely even speaking, was the most chemistry he’d felt since the last time he was with you.

He always felt bad when he would eventually break up with the women he’d been seeing, giving them a cheap excuse about not having the time or feeling like he wasn’t in the right place for a serious relationship. They’d look at him like they knew it was something else, a few of them outright asking him if there was another woman.

That was hard to answer.

Technically there wasn’t, he hadn’t even heard your voice in years, but he still remembered the way you kissed him and your prom photo was hidden in the top drawer of his dresser to this day.

Stan had always believed the concept of one true love was something silly, a fairy tale and more fitting for one of your made up stories than reality, until he tried to move on from you. It was like his heart refused to forget you no matter how hard he tried to get you out of his head.

“I write children’s books.” You say softly and he snaps out of his whirlwind of thoughts, posture softening at the revelation.

“That’s amazing.” The pride is obvious in his voice. “Truly, that sounds perfect for you. I bet they’re fantastic.”

It’s so sincere that you’re a little visibly taken back for a second and he wonders why. Maybe you had not expected him to be happy about your successes or it was possible it had it just been a long time since somebody had complimented your work.

“What do you do?” You’re quieter now.

He sighs automatically and his hand goes to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, a habit he’d had since he was a preteen that makes your lips curl up a little at the sight of it. There’s a split second of silence where he considers lying to you but he knows immediately how stupid that would be.

“Nothing interesting. Worked my way up to owning a mechanic shop a town over.” He shrugs as he answers like he’s trying to convey to you he knows it’s nothing to boast about before you can form that opinion on your own.

“That’s great Stan.” You sound so earnest that he has a hard time doubting you even though it’s instinctual that he does. His name leaving your lips distracts him momentarily from any job insecurity he might have though. “It’s nice you’re still local.”

“Is it?” His eyebrows raise and he scoffs a light laugh. “I’m sure you’re already bored of our town again compared to where you live.”

You watch him for a few long seconds, scanning over his frame again slowly and he hopes you can’t see the way he visibly shudders under your gaze.

“It’s got its benefits.” You’re nearly whispering now and he has to really take a breather, wondering if he’s reading your tone wrong or if you might be flirting with him subtly.

There’s a moment where you’re both just watching each other like you’re trying to figure out what the other’s intentions are. He has a feeling, maybe a little too optimistic, that you had come here for the same reason he did.

He can’t think of anything else you’d be traveling down memory lane for, pretty positive you hadn’t kept up with anybody from high school after you left so abruptly.

His gaze went down to your hands, pretty and adorned with a few pieces of jewelry but empty in the spot he had hoped they would be.

“Not married?” He still asked just to be safe even though he knew deep down he wouldn’t have cared if you were, not with the way you were looking at him now. You shook your head slowly, bottom lip pulled between your teeth like you were trying to resist an amused smile. “No boyfriend?”

Now you faltered a little and he felt a flare of jealously that had no real basis. You weren’t his anymore, hadn’t been for a long time and it would be stupid to expect somebody as gorgeous and amazing as you to still be single after all these years.

Still, he selfishly felt a little beyond hostile at the thought of you having somebody you were going home to. Even worse, picturing you underneath anybody who wasn’t him.

“It’s not serious.” You said as a loose confirmation and it came out a little quickly, like you were trying to pitch an idea to him.

“Does he know that?” He pressed but he was shifting closer to you and smiling, just a little bit smug at how quick you were to reassure him about your boyfriend. You hesitated but shook your head again and then let out one of those light giggles he had missed so much, beyond relieved you were still capable of them.

Stan wasn’t sure how it had escalated to the point where he was right in front of you, his hand sliding to the still familiar position on your waist. Yours landed on his chest and you rubbed softly, eyes locked in the swell under his shirt like you were appreciating the new definition that came with him being a grown man and not a teenage boy.

“What’s his name?” He was asking in a whisper and his nose bumped against yours, clearly teasing you now with both the action and the gesture.

“Stan don’t.” You said back and it was breathy, a little shaky like you were already slipping away from any control just from a little touching. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

He didn’t blame you for the state you were in and how quickly you got there because he felt like he was absolutely insane, never once thinking he would ever be in a room with you again let alone holding you like this. He figured he had to be the luckiest guy in the world to have such an undeniable chemistry with a girl like you, drawn to each other even after a decade.

“Why not?” His hands slid up your sides now, noticeably rougher from years of blue collar work. “You don’t love him?”

Truthfully, you didn’t.

You had been with Alan for almost three years and you still felt like you were preforming every time you were together. The same act you put on for coworkers and book companies, everyone you interacted with your entire adult life other than the person standing right in front of you.

You’d refused to let him move into your apartment when he had asked and luckily he was head over heels for you and willing to live apart if it’s what you wanted but that was just one part of keeping him at an arms length.

You told him you loved him because it felt like an obligation when you’d been together that long but it left your mouth tasting like tar every time you had to say it.

“It doesn’t matter if I love him.” You whisper which is an answer within itself and your breath hitches when he cups your face.

“I’ve never loved anybody other than you.” He says immediately after your statement ends and now the heat in your stomach is replaced with a nearly painful amount of longing and despair. “So it does matter to me.”

You can’t bring yourself to say something like that to him because unlike Stan, you have a lot to lose when you leave town again in two days. It’s the same dilemma you had when you broke up in high school, unwilling to settle for a boring suburban life even though you felt unfulfilled anywhere without him.

So you didn’t speak at all, instead pressing your mouth against his gently.

It was slow at first, like trying to remember an ancient language, but it didn’t take long for your bodies to remember just how in sync you naturally were. You kissed him deeply and he returned it eagerly, still holding your face as your heads tilted to taste more of eachother.

You felt like you’d come back to yourself finally, that weird feeling that a piece of you had been missing suddenly voided just because you had Stan’s hands on you and his lips moving against yours. You smoothed over his chest until you were holding his shoulders and then down to his biceps, squeezing softly in experiment as the kiss got more desperate.

There was a lot of time that passed before you pulled away from each other and it was hesitant, soft kisses still being pressed as you tried to stop. They were lingering and insistent, entire body tingling with butterflies that had been dormant for so long you thought they’d died off.

“I’m sorry if this makes things hard for you but I missed you more than you could possibly imagine.” He was whispering it against your mouth and pressing another light peck to the corner of your lips, your eyes nearly teary from the sincerity of it.

“I promise you I know.” You said back and his eyes flickered back to yours at that, looking a little shocked that you returned the sentiment so easily.

“Where are you staying tonight?” His hand that was on the small of your back pulled you a bit closer and you took a break from the eye contact to halfway nuzzle into his neck.

It was ridiculous how familiar he smelt after all this time, a scent you probably couldn’t have described in the slightest only a few hours ago even though it lingered in the back of your mind. You’d been searching for it and not able to come close to the real thing until now, surrounded by it as you clung to him.

“The motel off Main.” You answered in a muffled voice, the fabric of his jacket pressed against your throat as you hooked your chin over his shoulder. He rubbed your back softly as you practically hugged him, both of you dizzy with relief that you weren’t alone in your feelings.

“Stay with me.” It was a statement and not a request but you sighed softly and pulled back just enough to shake your head and be able to blink up at him again.

“I can’t do that Stan.” You touched his cheek gently, a little transfixed by the stubble you could feel that wasn’t there in high school. He was such a man now, the image you’d held onto of that boy you loved so much slowly blending with what was in front of you. “You know I can’t.”

His gaze saddened but he kissed you again, short and sweet but still more passionate than any amount of sex or intimacy you’d experienced with anyone else after him, including your boyfriend of three years.

“Tell me why.” He practically begs against your mouth and now you really feel like you’re going to cry. “Give me a good reason and I’ll drop it, I swear I will.”

“It’ll already kill me to leave again.” You say instantly and now you have to take a few steps back because you don’t think you’ll follow through on the rejection if he’s touching you the way he is, so gentle and familiar like he still knows his way around your body. “Just with this alone. It would be so much worse if I spent the night with you Stan and you know that.”

“Worse than you leaving now?” He asks and takes a step closer which results in you moving backwards again.

He says your name like a plea and reaches out to grab your hands and stop you from going any further away, squeezing them gently as they connect and hang in the space between you.

“One night with me.” He tries again and you can almost hear the younger version of him in his voice, higher pitched and a little less confident as he begs for you to sneak out with him to go star gazing. “We can go to the motel, you don’t even have to see where I live.”

You flinch at that even though you know that would actually make it a lot less painful for you. You don’t want to see the life he had built in your absence, the bed he had other women sleeping in and the pictures on his walls that showed all the years he had lived without you around.

As much as you tried to fight it, there was little convincing needed before you were giving him a soft nod and a parting lengthy kiss before swiftly walking away to your car before he could say anything else to you.

You cried the entire drive to the motel and you found that it was mostly out of relief.

You’d been almost positive you’d see him here so it wasn’t necessarily about that but more so how you felt so assured to know the connection you still had to him wasn’t just in your head. You weren’t some silly woman obsessing over a high school sweetheart who had never paid her a thought after adulthood.

Stan had missed you too, he couldn’t love anybody after loving you and he was begging you for even a few more hours together.

You got yourself together just as you got to the motel, thankful that he was still a few minutes behind you so you could go to your room and splash some water on your face and try to look presentable.

You figured you looked normal by the time he knocked on the door and you were opening it but his face fell immediately and he was stepping in to pull you into a tight hug. You returned it and took a deep breath against his chest, holding his back like it was a life line.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispered against your hair and you felt struck by how easily he was able to read your mood. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“I’m happy. I promise.” You said back as you clung to him but he didn’t look like he believed you when he pulled back to see your expression more clearly.

You stared up at a him for a few seconds before you were listening to your desires and kissing him.

Stan was kissing you back eagerly despite his wants for conversation, knowing this could comfort you just as much as anything he could say would.

Your hands were eagerly pushing his jacket off his shoulders and then sliding under the fabric of his shirt before it even hit the ground, tugging it upwards without breaking the kiss. You made an impatient sound when he had to pull back for half a second to get the shirt fully off but then your eyes dropped down to scan his bare chest and you seemed to forget all about kissing him.

You rubbed over his stomach with your nails making a shudder rip through him as his own hands went to the bottom of your shirt too.

He selfishly wanted to see you undressed for him, needed to feel your skin pressed against his so you could get as close as possible.

There was this urge to take his time and really appreciate every inch of your body that was overtaken by your mutual desperation to just be with each other already, to have you underneath him and full of him to the point you weren’t going to ever want to be without it again.

You immediately understood his want as he tugged at your shirt and pulled it over your head too, your hair flowing softly over your nearly bare shoulders as your hand went behind your back to try and unclasp your bra. He pulled the straps down onto your arms as you did that so that when it finally released, it fell off your body easily.

He was mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautiful and so much more woman than he had experienced before. His hand was on you immediately and you made a softly shocked but pleased sound at the groping, followed by a genuine whine when he kissed across your chest alongside his exploring hands.

Stan was gentle with you because he loved you too much to ever make you uncomfortable but there was the primal urge still lingering under the surface, the need to throw you on the bed and make you regret leaving him there in your frozen town.

Instead he kissed his way back up to your mouth and lifted you off the ground enough to carry you over to the bed.

You watched him once he laid you down on your back, sitting up on your elbows so you could observe the way he removed your heels and gently set them on the floor.

“Stan.” You said softly when his hands rubbed over your thighs to get inside of your skirt, innocent for now as he simply felt around for the waistband of your tights and started to pull them down. He stopped halfway to raise an eyebrow at your interjection. “You’re so sweet.”

“I’m trying to be sexy.” He countered but it was with a light smile and you laughed at his retort, the sound better than anything else he’d ever heard.

He continued to pull off your tights but he left the skirt on for the time being as he finally climbed over you and kissed you again, softer this time.

“Yeah that too.” You mumbled against his mouth. “But you’re sweet.”

“Other guys weren’t sweet to you?” He can’t help himself from asking even though he really hates even thinking about you with anybody else, hand brushing your hair out of your face to soothe both you and himself.

“Don’t want think about other guys Stan.” You scold softly, blinking up at him and looking so beautiful he almost feels dizzy. “Didn’t think about them then either.”

That settles low in his gut and he feels that heat, having been slightly lessened during the soft conversation, come back with a vengeance. He’s sure his eyes must have darkened at your gentle confession because you’re suddenly looking all over his face, your chest rising and falling a bit quicker now.

“Yeah?” He whispers and you nod immediately, leaning up to try and kiss him again and making a disappointed noise when he doesn’t let you. You fall back against the bed with an impatient sigh. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

You both knew exactly what you had been implying but he just wanted to hear you say it directly. You eyed him for a long few seconds before you were cupping his face and bringing him down closer to you.

“I was thinking about you Stan.” You said it so softly he barely caught it.

“You were still thinking about me when they fucked you?” His voice is low and he finally kisses you although much slower than you were craving, clearly still teasing you even though you’d told him what he wanted to hear.

You tried to deepen it but he wasn’t allowing you, the hand he wasn’t holding himself up with softly rubbing up and down your side.

It was clearly frustrating so you didn’t respond at first, instead shifting your body underneath his so your hands could slide between your chest and tug at his belt buckle. He surprisingly let you do it, only stopping you after you’d gotten it unfastened.

“I want you to talk to me baby.” He said sweetly and kissed the side of your mouth, trailing down your face until he was sucking marks into your neck.

You hadn’t gotten a hickey in a long time and the slightly juvenile showcase of possession made your stomach twist with even more desire, remembering how you used to feel when he’d mark you like that. It made you smile a little that he still had the same habits when it came to your body.

“You still make me nervous.” You confess and it’s a dizzying mix of sweet nostalgia and an intense level of need shooting through you as you stare up at the ceiling of the motel room, wishing so bad you were back in that childhood bedroom of his so you could stop yourself from ever making the decision to leave him behind.

“I don’t remember you being nervous.” He’s back to looking at you now, your neck feeling colder now from his spit on your skin. His nose brushes yours as you let out a breath of anticipation. “I remember you driving me crazy.”

“Don’t lie.” You’re kissing him again and thankfully he lets you, tongue licking into your mouth just in the way you like. You respond to it eagerly, holding onto his back as he shifts and lets his core fall between your spread legs so you can feel him pressed against you better. “I could barely think the first time you touched me.”

He shifts his hips at that and the way he swears under his breath makes you think it was purely instinctual, your throat tightening at the same time you spread your thighs more around his frame.

Your skirts bunching up on your waist the more you move but you ignore it, reaching back down for his dangling belt right when he kisses you again.

He uses his free hand to help you get it out of his belt loops, tossing it somewhere to the side of the bed and immediately sitting up so he can get your skirt off finally. You giggle a little when he taps your hip to signal he wants you to lift them, biting your lower lip and smiling as you watch him pull it down your legs.

There’s a shaky breath that leaves him as he takes you in entirely, sitting up on his knees and scanning over your frame for a quiet gap of time that makes your heart race painfully.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He says softly but there’s a clear desperation in his voice, calloused hands rubbing up the soft skin of your thighs under he’s going over the fabric of your underwear and stopping at your lower stomach so he can go back down. “Nobody could ever compare to you.”

You’re both quieter when he finally gets himself to the same level of undressed as you, laying back down over you and kissing you softly as he helps spread your legs again for him to fit between.

He’s so gentle as he moves you, the same type of affection he’d given you back when you were teenagers and experiencing so many firsts together. Stan had been just as nervous and inexperienced as you then but you never would have known by the way he took care of you, talked you through it and comforted you when it felt painful or too unfamiliar.

It makes your eyes well up in tears at the same time a soft whine leaves your mouth, his body shifting so he’s pressing right against your core. You’re already so sensitive just from the build up and kissing him, being with him again like this, so the feeling of how hard he is against you nearly sends you to insanity.

You’re grateful for the fabric barrier between you to help keep you a little bit stable but it’s not doing much, automatically chasing after the feeling with your own hips until he’s giving you what you need and slowly grinding down against you as you kiss deeply again.

It’s not going to take you long to be ready for him, willing to bend over and let him take you as soon as you saw him standing outside the school if that’s what he wanted from you.

There was no time to even feel pathetic about your devotion to him never wavering, that same want for his approval that you’d carried around since you were a kid still so prominent in your heart. Luckily, even after all the years, he never made you feel like you were stupid for wanting him so desperately.

After only a few minutes of the soft desperate grinding and your tongues tangling, filling the motel with gasps and wet noises that made your stomach tighten, he was tugging off your underwear without breaking the kiss.

You only pulled away once his boxers were off, glancing between your bodies and sucking in a sharp breath of air at the sight of him.

“You okay?” He said in a whisper and your eyes shot back up to lock with his, full of concern and an emotion you were scared to name.

“You know what this is to me right?” You said quietly back and your voice shook a little from the overwhelming feeling you were getting the longer you looked at him. “I need you to understand before we do anything.”

He watched your face for a few seconds before he was kissing you sweetly.

“I love you more than what is possible.”

His voice was barely audible as he spoke but the words landed just as heavy as they did the first time he spoke them to you. You’d felt the same sensation then, a burning desire around your chest and a comfort in knowing he felt the same way about you.

You liked that he was never too full of himself to tell you it first, to make sure you knew how much he cared about you any second you started to doubt it. Stan wasn’t just responding to your confessions out of obligation but making them himself in earnest.

“I’ll be okay with whatever this is for you because I just want to be with you.” He continues on and you almost want to tell him to stop before you really start to cry. “Even if it’s only for tonight. If that’s what you can give me, then I will take it.”

“I wish I could give you more.” You whisper back and your voice is tight and pained, he furrows his brows and shakes his head at the sound of it. “I’d give you tomorrow and the next day. I’d give you the rest of my life and those ten years we lost if I could.”

“Don’t think about it sweetheart.” He says softly and you try to let that comfort you but it barely even scratches the surface, although a bit soothed when he kisses you again.

It’s deep and distracting and so him that you barely register the fact he’s shifting and pushing into you slowly until it hits you all at once, that full feeling and the light pain from being properly stretched for the first time in a long time.

You’re trying your best to keep up with the pace of the kiss to distract yourself from the slight burn, both where he’s rocking into you softly and deep in your chest. You can almost feel yourself reconnecting what that version of you you’d left behind a decade ago, the character you’d adopted in your adult life dying off to make room for the rush of memories feeling him inside you brings.

Stan is as gentle as he was back then because he still loves you just as much, more if it’s even feasible.

There’s a part of both of you that could easily be unearthed, that feral need and intensity you feel every time you’re near him from the sheer chemistry you have together. But you’re grateful he’s deciding to make love to you instead for tonight, kissing your cheeks softly when he realizes you’d finally started to cry.

He stops moving for a few seconds just to make sure you’re okay and that immediately makes you grip tightly onto his arms and shoot him a panicked look.

“Sorry baby, just checking in.” He says in a tight voice, nearly a groan as he buries his head down into your neck now that he knows you’re alright.

You wrap your arms around his back, practically hugging each other as you whimper and softly whisper that you want him to keep going.

He’s just as sweet when it’s over, even as you lay there on your side and let the tears fall freely. He keeps checking on you every few seconds, wiping you down with a warm rag after he unsuccessfully attempts to convince you to take a shower.

Eventually he settles for making sure you’re cleaned up before he’s pulling his shirt over your frame which causes you to visibly relax a lot more. He waits beside you, softly rubbing your back until you’re finally sitting up and crawling into his lap.

He breathes a sigh of relief when you kiss him softly and lean against him comfortably, clearly grateful you’re alright.

“I love you.” You finally whisper it after you’d sat in silence for nearly an hour, just holding eachother and pretending this didn’t all end when the sun comes up. “I’m not sure if that’s enough but I do love you.”

“You could stay with me.” He says back and you wince immediately, knowing he was going to suggest something like that but still wishing he wouldn’t have anyways. “I have plenty of space and…”

He trails off and you don’t think he can even see your expression with the way you’re pressed into his chest, maybe just realizing within himself that there is no point in trying to convince you to stay.

You and Stan are both overly aware of how this is going to end, torn between feeling like this was a mistake because of how much worse it was going to hurt now and understanding this was something you needed to do.

Loving Stan was not something you were ever going to get closure to because it was never ending, deep in your veins and apart of your soul from the moment you knocked on his front door. He’d been your person long before you’d gotten together, starting from the second he stood up on a boulder and announced to the entire forest that he would protect the princess with his life.