honey

You told yourself it was small. A small change. A small mercy. You would give him space. You would give yourself distance. You would learn how to breathe without timing it to the sound of his footsteps in the hallway.

The first day, you lingered by the drinking fountain instead. Pretended to look for something in your bag. Counted to thirty in your head like it was a game. 

He didn’t notice.

That hurt more than if he had noticed. But you told yourself it would be easier if he ignored you. 

Not long after, Eddie was the one leaning against the lockers by yours. Black denim jacket worn thin at the elbows, a guitar pick spinning between his fingers like he needed something to fidget with. He always looked a little out of place in school hallways. Long black hair falling into his eyes, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Eddie was the kind of guy who never stayed in one place too long. He’d hang out with your friends sometimes, but not long enough to feel like part of it. Most of the time, you only caught glimpses, usually when he was handing off weed to one of your friends.

Over the past few days, he had started showing up more, driving you home in the evenings, sometimes eating with you when your friends weren’t there, like he’d quietly, almost without meaning to, become a constant in your days. 

“Your knight in shining armor ditch you?” he asked, not looking at you, just smirking at the scratched-up hallway tiles. 

You swallowed. 

“He has a girlfriend,” you said, your voice flat. 

Eddie glanced at you then. Not teasing. Not really. “Yeah. I noticed.”

You hated that your chest tightened at that. Of course he had. Everyone had.

He pushed off the lockers when you reached yours, falling into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d already decided you weren’t walking alone.

“You skipping third?” he asked, nonchalantly. 

“I don’t skip.” You responded, almost offended by the suggestion.  

“Oh, tragic.” 

You rolled your eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement you couldn’t quite hide. It slipped through anyway. 

Eddie caught it. His grin widened, slow and satisfied, like he’d won something small but meaningful. 

At the end of the hall, Steve passed. 

He slowed. 

You didn’t have to look to know, somehow, you just felt it. The shift in air when he noticed Eddie walking beside you. 

You kept walking anyway. 

Steve lingered where he was a moment longer, like something about what he’d just seen hadn’t quite settled right, something he couldn’t name yet, but would think about later, long after it stopped mattering to anyone else. 

Outside, the air was cool and smelled faintly like wet pavement. Eddie’s van was parked crooked along the curb, a faded, slightly rusted van that looked like it had lived several lives already. 

He jogged ahead and pulled the passenger door open for you with a dramatic bow. 

“Your chariot.” 

You laughed despite yourself and slid inside. 

The van smelled like cigarette smoke, cassette tapes, and something warm, like leather that had sat in the sun too long. The radio crackled when he turned the key, then settled into a low guitar riff from whatever station he always listened to. 

Eddie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulled away from the school. 

For a few minutes, neither of you said much. Just the hum of the engine, the quiet music, the passing blur of suburban streets. 

You liked the silence with him. It wasn’t the heavy kind. 

Eddie glanced at you briefly. 

“You look exhausted,” he said. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I am exhausted.” 

“Senior year doing its thing?” 

“Senior year, life, the universe,” you muttered. 

“Damn,” he said.“That’s a lot of enemies for one person.” 

You turned slightly toward him. “What about you? You seem suspiciously relaxed.” 

He shrugged one shoulder. 

“I’ve accepted my fate,” he said. “Graduate. Disappoint everyone. Become a mysterious guitar player who lives above a record store.” 

You smiled faintly. 

“That actually sounds like a pretty good plan.” 

“Thank you,” Eddie said seriously. “I’ve been working on it for years.” 

At a red light, he pushed his hair back from his face, messy strands falling right back into place. His hands were rougher than most guys your age, callused from playing guitar, from working on his car, from things you never asked about. 

You noticed little things like that. Safe things. Like how Eddie could tell when people went quiet for the wrong reasons. How he never crowded too close, how he never needed to raise his voice for a joke to land. 

Being around him didn’t make your stomach tighten. It didn’t send your thoughts spiraling into something you couldn’t control. And that one felt like a miracle sometimes. 

“You ok?” he asked suddenly. 

You blinked, like the question had pulled you out of somewhere else. 

“Yeah.” 

“You went quiet.” 

“I’m always quiet.” 

“Not like that.” 

The light turned green and he drove again, letting the question drift away instead of pressing it. He always did that, like he could tell when to step back, when not to ask for too much.

You watched the passing houses through the window, the blur of ordinary life sliding by like it didn’t belong to you for a second. 

This was good. Eddie was good. 

You told yourself that over and over lately, like if you repeated it enough it would settle properly inside you instead of sitting so close to something else you didn’t want to name. 

Good guy. Good friend. 

Someone you could like. Someone you should like. 

Eddie tapped the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Then, casually, like it didn’t matter much, he said, 

“So there’s this place a few towns over.” 

You looked over at him. 

“Old arcade,” he continued. “Half the machines barely work. The other half try to steal your quarters.” 

“That sounds promising.” 

“It’s incredible,” Eddie said. “There’s also a diner next door that makes milkshakes the size of your head.” 

You smiled despite yourself. 

“And?” 

“And,” he said, glancing at you briefly, “I was thinking about going Friday night.” 

You waited. 

Then he added, a little quieter, 

“You should come with me.” 

Your stomach fluttered faintly. 

Not the wrong kind of flutter. 

Just… nerves you couldn’t quite explain, something suspended between excitement and the feeling of stepping too close to something you didn’t fully understand yet. 

“I don’t know,” you said. 

“C’mon,” he nudged your shoulder lightly with his. “You can watch me lose aggressively at Pac-Man.” 

“You don’t seem like the losing type.” 

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he said “I just look cool doing it.” 

You hesitated for a second too long. 

And in that second, your mind betrayed you. 

You imagined telling Steve about the arcade. 

Imagined him leaning against your locker, arms crossed, teasing Eddie about his terrible Pac-Man skills. Imagined the way his mouth would tilt when he smiled at you. 

Your chest tightened before you could stop it. 

You forced yourself back into the car, back into the moment. 

Eddie was watching the road now, but you had the strange feeling he noticed anyway. 

“I’ll come,” you said finally. 

His face lit up, not in a big dramatic way, just a quiet smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” 

He said it like it was nothing, but his fingers tapped a little faster against the steering wheel, betraying him in a way his voice didn’t. 

A few minutes later, he turned onto your street. 

The houses all looked the same in the late afternoon light, quiet lawns, mailboxes leaning slightly to one side, curtains moving in open windows. 

Eddie slowed the van as he pulled up in front of your house. 

The engine kept running, low and steady, like it didn’t want the moment to end either. 

For a second, neither of you moved. The radio hummed softly in the background, a guitar-heavy track fading in and out through static. 

You reached for the door handle. 

“Wait,” 

You paused and turned back. 

Eddie shifted slightly in his seat, suddenly looking less relaxed than he had a moment ago. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cassette tape. 

The plastic case was clear, a strip of white label across the front. His handwriting stretched across it in slightly crooked letters, small doodles scattered along the edges. 

You frowned a little. “What’s that?”

He held it out toward you. 

“Just… something I made.” 

You took the tape from his hand, turning it over. The label listed song titles in blue pen, some squeezed in where he’d clearly run out of space. 

“You made me a mixtape?” you said. 

Eddie shrugged one shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal, but the tips of his ears had gone a little pink. 

“Yeah.” 

You looked back down at it. 

“These are good songs,” you said quietly. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “they’re the ones I listen to when my brain gets too loud.” 

You glanced up. 

“Too loud?” 

“Yeah.” He gave a small half-smile. “You know. When everything feels like it’s happening at once.” 

You did know. 

You didn’t say it out loud though. 

Eddie nudged the cassette a little closer toward you when you hesitated. 

“Thought you might like it.” 

He pressed it into your palm, his fingers grazing yours. 

Just barely. 

The contact lingered a second longer than it needed to. Warm, careful.  

Something quiet and soft flickered in your chest, unexpected and gentle. 

Eddie didn’t pull away right away either. His fingers hovered against yours for half a heartbeat before he let go. 

The moment stretched strangely, like time had slowed down inside the van. 

Then your mind betrayed you for a second time. For a split second, just one, you imagined Steve sitting in the driver’s seat instead. The thought hit you like a sudden drop in your stomach. 

You forced yourself to look back at the tape. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Eddie leaned back against the seat again, trying to look casual. 

“Yeah,” he said “No problem.” 

You turned the cassette over in your hands once more before tucking it carefully into your jacket pocket. 

“I’ll listen to it,” you promised. 

“Good,” he said. 

A small pause settled between you again. Not uncomfortable. Just full of things neither of you quite knew how to say. 

Finally, you pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool evening air. 

When you looked back, Eddie was leaning slightly toward the open door. 

“Friday?” he said. 

“Friday,” you echoed. 

You shut the door and started up the driveway. Halfway to the porch you glanced back. 

Eddie was still here. 

One arm hanging out the open window now, a cigarette between his fingers, watching to make sure you made it inside. When he noticed you looking, he lifted the cigarette in a small salute. You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and opened the front door. 

Inside, the house was quiet. 

You leaned against the door for a second after closing it, pulling the cassette back out of your pocket. Eddie’s handwriting stared back at you from the white label. You traced one of the song titles with your thumb. He had made this for you. 

Carefully. Thoughtfully. 

The kind of thing someone did when they liked a person more than they probably should. 

Your chest tightened. 

Because somewhere in the back of your mind, without your permission, a single thought surfaced again. 

I wonder what Steve would think of these songs. 

You closed the cassette case quickly, like it might catch you in the act. 

****

The music hit you the second you stepped inside the party. Too loud, too bright, too alive. You tried to stick close to Eddie at first, laughing at his lame attempts to flirt with strangers, but even as the colored lights danced across the walls, the night pulsed under your skin like electricity. 

It reminded you of the arcades, the way he made you win that stupid stuffed bear on the claw machine, the way he drove you home after school that week, windows down, letting the wind whip through your hair while you both laughed about nothing at all. Eddie had a way of making life feel light, almost weightless, and for a moment tonight, you let yourself float with him. 

You swayed with him on the edge of the room, his hands brushing your waist, steadying you as you laughed at something ridiculous he whispered. You felt… good, glowing even, under the strobe lights, your hair falling freely around your shoulders, your short black dress clinging just right to the curves of your body. You wanted to enjoy your night, even if the happiness didn’t feel like it would last. 

Then you felt him before you saw him. Steve, standing by the punch table, Nancy chattering away at him, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on you, sharp, stormy, and something in the pit of your stomach twisted as you realized he’d been watching. 

You waved, forcing a smile that felt strange on your face. This was the first party in years you’d come to without your friends. A pang of guilt fluttered in your chest. Why did it feel so wrong to see him watching, even as you tried to be carefree? 

When Eddie rested his hands on your waist, closer this time, your laughter spilling over, Steve flinched, though he didn’t understand why. Anger prickled through him, hot and unexpected, and he quickly shoved it down, forcing a calm mask over his features. Nancy, mid-sentence, frowned slightly but didn’t ask, not really understanding the sudden shift in his mood. He muttered something about needing air and stepped outside. Lighting a cigarette in the cool night air, he lingered in the shadows of the side porch and exhaled slowly. 

Good, he thought, smoke curling around him like a veil, trapping him inside his own lies. She deserves to be happy. 

But it didn’t feel good. Not really. Every laugh that escaped your lips felt like a stab to his chest, a rhythm of joy he couldn’t touch. Because every time you laughed with Eddie, every time he saw you in the hallway at school walking beside him with those sparkling eyes, every time Eddie draped his jacket over your shoulders as a shield from the cool air, Steve’s chest tightened in a way that made no sense. He hated himself for staring. Hated the jealousy twisting inside him. Hated that he could feel pain from a jacket, from a smile that wasn’t meant for him. Why did it feel wrong? Why didn’t he want to see you happy with someone else, even as he kept telling himself that he did? 

He leaned back against the railing, eyes following you across the yard through he window, the way Eddie brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, the small grin tugging at your lips. The colored lights traced over your shoulders, your short black dress clinging perfectly to you, swaying just enough as you moved, and Steve’s stomach knotted, sharp and hollow. The ache went deeper than longing. It was something ancient, clawing, like he had been waiting years for this moment he could never have. Steve wanted to look away, he wanted to tell himself to quit obsessing, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop staring. 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to run inside, pull you close and demand that your laughter belonged only to him, that your eyes met his and no one else’s. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk it. There was a strange, undeniable pull toward you, as if the universe itself was conspiring to bring you together, and yet… his mind whispered reminders of his girlfriend, the one he had promised himself he loved. His heart and his reason were at war, and neither side was willing to yield. 

Inside, you laughed at some joke Eddie made about the playlist, and you didn’t notice Steve’s shadow by the doorway. You didn’t know the storm he was quietly weathering, the quiet ache that tightened around his heart as he realized something dangerous : you belonged somewhere else… but part of him wished it was with him. 

****

The buzz of the day still lingered in your mind as you walked down the hall, Jonathan joking about something you only half-listened to. Eddie lingered close, his hands brushing yours occasionally. You tried to smile back at him, tried to let yourself sink into the lightness he offered, but a heaviness settled over you, like a weight you couldn’t shake. 

By the time you got to your room, Nancy was sprawled across your bed, legs swinging over the side, while Jonathan leaned casually against your dresser. Eddie collapsed onto the floor, pulling you down next to him, and it should have felt like nothing, like any ordinary night. But your mind was elsewhere.

You tried to focus on the game Jonathan had set up on your TV, the retro adventure you’d all spent hours obsessing over last week, the same one Eddie had beaten you at just to make you groan and laugh. He nudged your shoulder with his elbow, grinning. 

“Rematch?”  

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen. Every laugh, every nudge from Eddie reminded you of the way you wished he could fill the space your heart reserved for someone else. The thought made your chest tighten, and your smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Damn your thoughts for making you believe you could move on so easily. Damn your body for reacting every time Steve was near. Damn everything for making you fake your laughter when all you wanted was to feel something real and uncomplicated. 

Across the room, Steve leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed. Nancy was chattering at him about something, and he nodded absentmindedly, his gaze drifting toward you more often than toward her. He looked calm on the surface, but you could almost feel the storm coiled in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly every time Eddie laughed or reached for your hand. 

You caught his glance for a heartbeat and, reflexively, turned your eyes to Eddie, as if hoping the other boy’s presence could anchor you. It anchored nothing. You felt guilty, suffocating even, because Eddie’s attention felt safe, warm, simple. And your heart ached for the one person who couldn’t, and wouldn’t, be safe for you. 

Eddie leaned closer to show you a trick in the game, and you laughed softly, too quietly, as if you were afraid Steve might hear it and realize the truth you couldn’t say. His stare followed every movement, silent and exacting. You knew he could see the way your body leaned into Eddie, the way your smile lingered too long on someone who wasn’t him. And it made you feel guilty. Strangely, crushingly guilty. 

Jonathan let out a loud groan from the other side of the room, and Eddie smirked. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” He nudged you again. His hand brushed yours, and you almost didn’t pull away. Almost. 

Steve cleared his throat as he shrugged off his jacket, sitting down beside Nancy. 

You tried to focus on the game, on the jokes, on anything else, but guilt gnawed at you anyway. You wanted to let yourself be happy here, with Eddie, with your friends, in your room where the world felt smaller. But it didn’t feel right, because your heart wasn’t here. It was somewhere you couldn’t reach, somewhere Steve was waiting, whether he knew it or not. 

Eddie leaned back, letting out a contented sigh. “You’re good at this,” he said, eyes soft, searching for a flicker of warmth from you. You tried to give it. You wanted to. But your fingers hesitated on the controller, your gaze flicking again to Steve, and you realized you were trying to split yourself in two, trying to be somewhere that didn’t exist : happy with someone who wasn’t him, laughing with someone who wasn’t yours. 

Steve’s eyes fell on your nightstand, where a mixtape lay, covered in doodles he recognized as Eddie’s. His chest tightened, the silence between his thoughts and his voice growing heavier, darker. He could feel the way you leaned into Eddie, the warmth of your presence spilling over someone else. And he couldn’t stop staring. He hated that he couldn’t. He hated that it hurt. He hated that every moment you smiled at him felt like a betrayal he hadn’t asked for, but couldn’t escape. 

You glanced at him again, and for a second, just a second, his gaze met yours. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and something raw passed between you. Something that wasn’t a word, but a warning. A confession. A fracture. You turned away quickly, heart hammering, hoping nobody else noticed, hopping no one could see the ache etched so clearly across his face. 

And here you thought that getting close to someone else was how you stopped loving someone. 

How naive you were to believe that. 

****

The night was quiet, the kind of quiet where every rustle of a leaf or snap of a branch felt too loud. You and Eddie had left school hours ago, driving to a small clearing in the woods where the world felt like it belonged only to you. It had been weeks, and without really noticing it, you’d grown close to Eddie, close enough to miss him on the days he didn’t show up to school. Somewhere along the way, your routine had started to shift, quietly rearranging itself around him instead of just revolving around your friends and… him. It should have felt simple. Refreshing, even. But nothing about it felt as easy at it was supposed to. He pulled a small joint from his jacket pocket, offering it to you with a grin that tried to make everything feel easy. 

“Relax,” he said, lighting it. “You’ve been carrying so much lately. Let it go, even just for tonight.” 

You hesitated for a moment, then took it. The smoke filled your lungs and made your head swim, warm and buzzing in the best way, but it didn’t burn like you expected. You leaned back against the trunk of a tree, and suddenly everything was softer, the moonlight, the leaves, the sound of Eddie laughing at something you couldn’t remember but wanted to. You’d never smoked before, only ever lingered in it when your friends did, but you had to admit, it felt good. Even if it was just a temporary haze you could disappear into for a while. 

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, leaning in closer,  “I always thought a girl like you wouldn’t even look at a guy like me, let alone be this close.” 

You paused, trying to find the right words, but nothing came. His words hung in the air between you, warm and full of unspoken meaning. You could feel the sincerity in them, and it made your chest tighten, not with pain, but with the weight of something you couldn’t quite name. 

He seemed happy, and part of you wanted to feel the same way, to let yourself fall into the moment. But something stopped you, something in the back of your mind, just out of reach. 

You let out a soft, broken laugh. “Eddie…” you whispered, but the words felt fragile. 

He leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered against your cheek, gentle, careful. You wanted to lean into him, you wanted to believe for a second that maybe this could be enough. So, you did. Hesitantly, softly, you kissed him. 

It was tender, almost heartbreaking. Warm, yes, but bittersweet, because you wanted it to mean more than it could. Your lips barely brushed his, a fleeting whisper of hope, a tremble of longing that wasn’t his to take. Your heart pounded in your chest like a warning drum. You closed your eyes, imagining warmth and closeness, imagining a love that could almost belong to him. But as soon as your mind reached for that fire, it flickered and dimmed, replaced with the image of someone else. 

You pulled back slightly, the soft smile on Eddie’s lips faltering as he sensed the hesitation, the sadness you couldn’t hide. He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just rested his forehead gently against yours, his voice barely a whisper, “You deserve someone who doesn’t hurt your heart like this.” 

A shiver ran through you, one that had nothing to do with the cool air. Even in the haze, even with your body pressed against someone who genuinely cared for you, your heart refused him. It belonged elsewhere. Always elsewhere. 

Eddie’s hands were warm on your back, his presence steady, grounding. No matter how much you tried to be here, fully present, fully happy with Eddie, a part of you would always be somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn’t reach. In the space between a look and a breath, where he waited, and your heart ached for him alone. 

You wanted to tell him, to tell someone, to say the words that had been buried so deep for so long : I love Steve. But you couldn’t. Not tonight. Not here. Saying it would shatter everything delicate, everything fragile and safe about this moment. 

So, you kissed him again. Softly. Hesitantly. A kiss born from a desperate need to feel something, anything, to feel alive, to test the edges of what your heart could hold. It was warm. Tender. Sweet. And utterly cruel. 

When you finally closed your eyes, when your lips parted and the night seemed to breathe around you, all you could see, vivid and unavoidable, was him. 

And you realized, with a hollow ache in your chest, that even this, the laughter, the warmth, the floating, the closeness, wasn’t enough. Your heart had already chosen. Maybe it always had. And no matter how hard you tried to trick it, to bend it into something easier, it always found its way back to the truth, leaving you aching for it.

You sighed, leaning back as Eddie rested his head on your knees, his soft hair brushing against your bare skin, sending shivers through you as your dress rode higher. You told yourself this was your fate, doomed to fake your love until it maybe became real, doomed to watch the one you truly loved slip through your fingers while you played a role you weren’t sure you could keep up anymore.

****

A few days later, people were already talking. 

It wasn’t loud, not at first, just whispers in the hallways, glances in the cafeteria, the way someone nudged someone else when you walked by with Eddie. But it didn’t take long before it settled into something that felt almost real. 

You and Eddie. 

It sounded right when other people said it. It almost felt right, too. 

Eddie’s hand found yours easily now, like it belonged there. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t hide it, never made you feel like something fragile or complicated. He just held on, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as you walked through the halls. He made you laugh, really laugh, the kind that made your chest feel light instead of tight. 

And he never pushed. Not for more, not for answers, not for something you weren’t ready to give. 

It should have been enough. You told yourself it was enough. 

Until Steve walked into the room. 

It was subtle at first. Something in the air shifting, like the pressure before a storm. You’d be mid-laugh, leaning into Eddie, and then suddenly your chest would tighten, your breath catching just slightly as your eyes flickered, without permission, toward the door. 

Steve. 

He didn’t look at you right away anymore. Not like he used to. 

He got quieter. 

When you sat next to Eddie in class, Steve would lean back in his chair, his gaze fixed somewhere else, his jaw tight like he was holding something in. The easy teasing, the casual touches, the familiar ease between you, it was all gone, replaced with something distant. Controlled. 

But sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, you caught him staring. 

And it did something to you. Something confusing, sharp and impossible to name. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He had Nancy. You had no right to read into anything, no right to wonder why his silence felt heavier than his words ever had. 

So you leaned into Eddie more. You let yourself laugh a little louder, let yourself exist in something simpler, something safer. 

Even if it felt like you were forcing your heart into a shape it was never meant to fit. 

****

The evening was warm, softened by the hum of distant traffic and clinking glasses. You sat outside at a small restaurant table with Nancy and Robin, a string of dim lights glowing above you. 

Nancy was mid-story, animated, smiling, her hand brushing yours affectionately. “I’m just saying,” she grinned, “You look happy. Like, really happy. It’s about time.” 

You smiled back, nodding, your fingers curling slightly around your drink. “Yeah… he’s good to me.” 

“He’s more than good,” Nancy insisted. “Eddie’s like perfect boyfriend material. Sweet, funny, actually listens? You deserve that after… well, you know who.” 

You let out a soft laugh, your gaze dropping to the table. Deserve. The word sat strangely in your chest. 

Robin, sitting across from you, didn’t smile. She watched you instead, quiet, her head tilted slightly like she was trying to read something you hadn’t said. 

“And?” she asked gently. “Is it serious?” 

Your heart skipped. 

You hesitated, just a second too long. 

But then you nodded. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steady enough to sound real. “I think it is.”

Nancy beamed. “See? I knew it.” 

Robin didn’t. 

She held your gaze, something knowing flickering behind her eyes, something that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Like she could see through you, straight to the truth you refused to say out loud. 

You looked away first. 

“Have you two done it yet?” Nancy wiggled her eyebrows, nudging you playfully “I heard that he’s—” 

“Jesus, Nancy, don’t—” you cut her off, swatting her arm with a laugh, heat rising to your cheeks. Since your last boyfriend, you hadn’t really let yourself go there. It was complicated. Sure, you were attracted to Eddie, but that wasn’t something you were ready to touch. Not yet. 

You didn’t notice Steve at the table behind you. Not at first. 

Didn’t notice the way his laughter with his friends had gone quiet. Didn’t notice how still he’d become when he heard your voice, your words. 

Yeah. I think it is. 

The sentence echoed in his head, louder than anything else around him. 

Later, when the night had cooled and the restaurant had nearly emptied out, you stepped away from the table, needing air, needing space from Robin’s eyes and Nancy’s certainty. 

You didn’t expect him to follow. 

“Hey.” 

Your breath caught as you turned. Steve stood a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders tense. 

For a second, neither of you spoke. 

It felt like standing on the edge of something fragile. 

“Hey,” you echoed softly. 

He nodded, glancing away, then back at you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something tight in it, something carefully held back, like whatever he wanted to say was already fighting to stay unsaid. 

“I heard,” he said finally. 

Your stomach dropped. “Heard what?” 

He huffed a quiet, humorless breath. “You. Earlier.” A pause. His jaw tightened slightly. “About Eddie.” 

Oh. 

That sharp, familiar ache bloomed in your chest. 

You forced your shoulders to relax. “Yeah?”  

Another pause. Longer this time. 

Then, quieter, almost careful, he asked, “So… you guys are serious, huh?” 

The question hit harder than it should have. 

For a moment, everything in you wanted to crack open. To tell him the truth, the real, ugly, aching truth. 

No. 

I’m just trying. 

It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. 

But you couldn’t. 

You wouldn’t. 

Because this, this right here, was exactly what you’d been trying to avoid. The complication, the risk, the possibility of ruining everything. 

He had Nancy. 

You had made your choice. 

So, you nodded. 

“Yes.”

The word felt wrong the second it left your lips. Too heavy. Too final. 

Part of you begged him to see through your lie and call you out on it. Part of you begged him to end this sweet, unbearable agony of loving him when he wasn’t yours. And part of you, quiet, furious, helpless, just wanted him to leave. To stop looking at you with that stupid, beautiful face that made everything hurt more. 

Steve’s face didn’t change much, just a slight shift, a flicker of something in his eyes, that looked like disappointment, or maybe hurt, or something deeper he refused to name. 

“Ok,” he said quietly. 

Ok. 

Like that was it. Like that was enough. 

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. 

You wanted him to say something else. You didn’t know what, just something. Anything that would make this easier, or harder, or clearer. 

Instead, he just nodded once, stepping back. 

“Good,” he added, though it didn’t sound good at all. “He’s… good for you.” 

The same words. The same lies. 

Your chest tightened painfully. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. 

But as he turned to leave, something in him broke just slightly, barely visible, but there. 

A beat of silence passed. 

Then, with a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of a laugh, like he couldn’t believe he was even asking, he murmured, 

“Since when did it get… like this?” 

It wasn’t really meant for you. Or maybe it was. 

But either way, he didn’t stay long enough to hear an answer. 

As he walked away, something in you twisted sharply, unbearably. 

Because no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you told yourself this was right, that this was safe, that this was what you should want… 

It wasn’t Eddie you were thinking about. 

That night, Steve called. You told your mom to make up some excuse, anything, something believable, something that didn’t require you to say no yourself. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to hear his voice. You let the phone stay unanswered, and when the house finally went quiet, you chose silence over him. You cried yourself to sleep instead, Eddie’s mixtape playing low in the background, your thoughts tangled and heavy, and your chest aching in a way no one on the other end of a phone call could fix. 

**** 

The evening started quietly. 

Too quietly. 

You sat between Nancy and Robin on the hood of someone’s car, the metal still warm beneath your thighs, the distant sound of music drifting from the house behind you. Jonathan laughed somewhere nearby, too loud, too careless. It should have felt easy. Familiar. Like every other night you’d spent like this. 

But it wasn’t. 

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of your sleeve as Nancy leaned into Steve, her head resting briefly against his shoulder. He smiled down at her, soft, automatic, and something in your chest pulled tight. Sharp. Suffocating. 

You looked away, draining your third cup of the night. The alcohol was starting to settle in, warm and hazy, but it didn’t make the ache go away. 

Eddie found you a moment later. Of course he did. He always did. 

“Hey,” he said gently, nudging your knee with his. “You disappeared.” 

You forced a small smile. “I’m right here.” 

He studied you for a second, like he didn’t quite believe you. Like he could see the space between where you were sitting and wherever your mind had gone. But he didn’t push. He never did. Instead, he tilted his head toward the darker stretch of the yard, away from the noise, away from everyone else. 

“Walk with me?”  

You hesitated. Just for a second. 

Long enough to feel it, the pull behind you, the gravity of something you were trying not to look at. 

Then you nodded. 

The noise faded as you followed him, the grass soft under your shoes, the night wrapping around you like something quieter, heavier. Eddie led you further back, toward the darker stretch behind the house, where the music dulled into something distant and muffled, like it belonged to another world entirely. 

He leaned against a tree, pulling something from his pocket, glancing at you with a small grin. 

“Thought we could use this,” he said, lighting a joint. 

You hesitated for a second, then stepped closer anyway, the flame flickered between you, briefly illuminating his face before fading again. You took a drag when he offered it, the smoke filling your lungs, slow and heavy, your head starting to buzz in that soft, floating way. 

You leaned back against the tree beside him, the rough bark digging into your shoulders, your thoughts loosening, but only lightly, still tangled. 

Eddie watched you for a moment, his gaze steady, but quieter now, something almost concerned behind his eyes. 

“You’ve been somewhere else lately,” he said softly. 

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “Have I?” 

“Yeah.” He stepped closer, not enough to trap you, just enough to be there. “Even when you’re right in front of me.” 

Your chest tightened slightly. 

“I’m here,” you murmured, but the words felt thin, like they didn’t quite reach him. 

He didn’t argue. He just reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. The touch was familiar, gentle, but tonight, there was something more behind it, something deeper, searching. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

Your breath caught at the weight of it, the sincerity in his voice, the way his hand rested against your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you. He never rushed, his hand slid to the back of your neck, careful, patient, giving you space to pull away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t. 

He kissed you. Soft at first, like he was testing the water, giving you time. Then again, a little deeper, and something inside you shuddered. His lips lingered, warm, steady. His hand found your waist, grounding you, steadying you. 

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful, but it wasn’t hesitant either. It built, slowly, deliberately. The kiss deepened, his lips trailing from yours to your jaw, then lower, brushing against your neck, and your heart twisted sharply in your chest. The moment shifted, the intensity growing. Something in you screamed to stop it, to pull away, but you couldn’t. You didn’t. 

He didn’t push. He never did. 

But he didn’t stop either.  

“F—k,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm, his voice low and rough in a way you hadn’t heard before. “You have no idea what you do to me.” 

Your heart started pounding, not with excitement, but with something closer to panic. His hands tightened slightly at your waist, grounding, wanting, as his lips found yours again, slower now, deeper. His kiss was full of everything he felt, everything you couldn’t. 

And you tried. You tried so hard to sink into it, to drown out everything else. To let yourself want this the way you were supposed to. To forget that it wasn’t him you were imagining, that it wasn’t him you were waiting for. For a moment, you almost believed it. That if you leaned in enough, if you gave him enough, it would quiet the thoughts in your head. 

Bu your heart knew better. 

Something was wrong. Something was missing. 

Because even as you closed your eyes, it wasn’t him you saw. 

“Damn…” Eddie whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you, his forehead almost resting against yours. His voice softened, something real slipping through, unguarded.

“You know… I really, really like you,” he said quietly. “Like… more than I meant to.” 

And just like that, everything shattered. The words cracked something open inside you, like glass breaking under the pressure. 

“I—” Your voice broke, barely a whisper. You turned your head slightly, shaking it like you could escape the weight of what he’d just said. “Eddie…” 

He stilled immediately, his hand falling away, but his eyes stayed on you. “Hey, it’s ok, you don’t have to—”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice shaper than you intended. Your hands came up to cover your face, like you could hide from what was happening. “That’s the problem. I do.” 

Silence stretched between you. You forced yourself to look at him, and it hurt. It hurt because he was good. Because he was kind. Because he deserved something real. Because he was looking at you like you were something worth choosing.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling. 

His expression faltered, confusion flickering across his face. “Can’t… what?” 

“This.” You gestured weakly between you. “Us. Whatever this is.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice quiet, not angry, but hurt in a way that made it worse. 

Because I don’t love you. 

Because I love someone else. 

“I’m not… I’m not there,” you managed, your throat tight. “I tried, Eddie. I really tried. But it’s not fair to you. I’m just—” You choked on the words. “I’m just using you to forget something I can’t forget.” 

He went still, his expression falling, and the night felt suddenly colder, heavier, like the quiet itself had turned against you.

“Someone else,” he said quietly. 

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. 

He exhaled slowly, looking away for a moment, his jaw tightening just slightly before he forced himself to relax again. Even now, he stayed gentle. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice thick with something you couldn’t name. “I figured.”  

The guilt clawed at your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely leaving your mouth. “You didn’t deserve that.” 

He looked back at you, something sad but understanding in his eyes, and for a moment, you thought he might say something else. But instead, he shook his head, the edges of a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“No,” he said quietly. “But you don’t deserve to feel like this either.” 

That almost broke you. Because even now, he wasn’t thinking about himself. He stepped back, giving you space, the distance between you suddenly more palpable. 

“Go,” he added, his voice soft but firm. “Figure it out.” 

And that was it. 

No anger. No shouting. No fight to make you stay. 

Just quiet heartbreak. 

And somehow, that hurt more. 

****

You didn’t remember walking. 

Only that your vision blurred, your chest tight, your hands shaking as everything you’d been holding in finally cracked open. At least the guilt felt lighter now. You couldn’t keep leading Eddie on. That wasn’t fair. Not to him. Not to you. 

But God, how you wished you could just feel it the way he did. He was good. So good. And still, it wasn’t enough. 

You almost ran into him. 

“Hey—”

Steve. 

You stopped short, your breath hitching as you looked up at him. He frowned immediately, stepping closer the second he saw your face. Your smudged mascara, your red, glassy eyes. 

“Hey, what happened?” he asked, voice soft with concern. His hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, like he was afraid to touch you too much, like you might fall apart right there in front of him. 

That was it. 

That was all it took. 

The alcohol, the haze still lingering in your system, the weight of everything you’d been trying to hold together, it all surged at once. Everything felt so intense. Too intense. 

Something in you snapped. 

“Don’t,” you said, shaking your head, your voice already breaking. 

He stilled. “Don’t what?”  

“Don’t act like you care,” you choked out, tears spilling over, their salt catching on your lips. 

His expression shifted, confusion first, then hurt. “I do care—”

“Don’t you see?” you burst, the words ripping out of you before you could stop them. “I’m trying to forget you, Steve! God, I’m trying so damn hard!” 

Silence crashed between you. 

He went completely still. 

“I thought I could,” you continued, your voice shaking violently. “I thought I could let you be happy and just… move on. But I can’t. I can’t do it.” 

Your hands pressed against your chest like you could hold yourself together. 

“I’m trying to be good,” you whispered. “To do the right thing. But all I do is hurt people I care about.” 

His face went pale, his eyes widening, like everything you said was rearranging something inside him in real time. 

“I love you,” you said. 

The words hung there, raw and irreversible.

“I loved you. I still—”

Your voice broke completely. 

A sob tore through you as you stepped back, like you’d said too much, like you destroyed everything in a single breath. 

Steve didn’t move.  

He looked frozen, stunned, every wall cracking all at once. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. 

“I didn’t want to,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I didn’t want to ruin anything. You have Nancy, and I—” 

You started to retreat again, unsteady, exposed, every word feeling like a weight dragging you further under instead of freeing you. 

He moved then. 

Fast. 

His hand caught your wrist, stopping you just before you could disappear completely. Electricity shot through you at the contact, like it always did, like your body never got the memo. 

“Don’t,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t walk away after that.”  

You froze. 

His grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. 

“I didn’t know,” he admitted, his breath uneven. “I didn’t— I swear, I didn’t understand what this was, what you were to me, until it started hurting.” 

Your heart shattered. 

“Seeing you with him,” he continued, his voice low, breaking at the edges, “It felt wrong, and I didn’t know why. I kept telling myself you deserved it, that I should just be happy for you… but I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. » 

His hand trembled slightly against yours. 

« I tried to ignore it,” he whispered. “Tried to be good. Tried to be good to Nancy…but…” He exhaled shakily, eyes darting down for a moment before meeting yours again. “But it didn’t change anything.”  

Your breath caught. 

“I love you,” he said. 

Soft. Certain. Terrified. 

Everything narrowed to the space between you. 

“I think I always have,” he added, quieter now, like the truth had been there longer than he wanted to admit. 

Your thoughts tangled instantly, Nancy, Eddie, everything you’d just broken to get here. 

“What about—” you started, but the words fell apart before you could finish. 

He shook his head slightly, stepping closer, his forehead brushing yours. 

“I don’t have the answers,” he murmured. “Not for any of it.” 

A pause. 

“But I know this.”

His voice softened, like a confession, a quiet truth wrapped in something deeper. 

“When I look at you, nothing else makes sense.” 

And then he kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careless. 

His hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek as his lips met yours, warm and certain. There was hesitation in it. A tremor of guilt, of fear, the ghosts of all the what abouts still lingering at the edges. But those doubts drowned under something stronger. 

You didn’t hesitate. 

You leaned into him, and for the first time, nothing in you resisted. 

No pretending. No more trying to fit pieces where they didn’t belong. 

His lips moved against yours like he was trying to say everything he never could, like he was making up for lost time, for silence, for all the moments you stood just out of reach. Each kiss was a quiet apology, a promise, a declaration of something you hadn’t known you needed until now. 

And it hit you all at once, how easy it felt, how right it felt, how impossible it had been to replace. 

A quiet, bitter thought flickered through you. 

All this time… 

You pulled back slightly, breath unsteady, your forehead still resting against his. 

Nothing was fixed. And whatever this was, it wasn’t simple. 

But for the first time, you weren’t trying to run from it either. 

Even if everything else fell apart tomorrow, and it might, your heart still pounded with everything you couldn’t say, all the messy, tangled feelings you still carried. But right now, in this moment, he was here. 

And he loved you. 

The truth of it crashed over you, knocking the breath from your lungs.  

His hand was warm against your skin. His eyes never left yours, like he was waiting for you to pull away, or stay. 

You stayed. 

And for the first time, you weren’t just choosing him. 

You were choosing yourself too.

a/n : I’m happy they end up together but…… 😭 Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕

Your head throbbed, and your eyes felt heavy. Inside, the party raged on, music booming, laughter spilling into the night, but you only watched from your quiet corner, a bittersweet smile hovering on your face. You had once been the life of the party, the one whose presence made a night worth remembering, but now, here you were, tucked in the backseat, ready to call it a night before midnight.

Thinking about it, parties weren’t the only thing he’d taken from you. He’d stolen something else too, the spark in your eyes, the part of you that used to feel untouchable. You realized it the moment you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the bathtub, trying to figure out what was missing. You’d learned to look away from mirrors. You wished you could flee your thoughts just as easily.

A loud laugh jolted you out of your reverie. It was Nancy, already tipsy, clinging to Steve, laughing like the world revolved around her. And there he was, looking at her with that infuriating, devoted smile, his puppy eyes sparkling as he looked at her. 

He opened the front door carefully, guiding her inside with gentle hands before slipping into the driver’s seat. You sank a little deeper into the back, clutching your now empty red cup, and tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, even if your heart whispered otherwise. 

“You good?” he asked, glancing back at you as he started the engine. 

You shivered as a gust of cold air swept through the car. “Jesus, it’s freezing,” he muttered, turning the dial to crank up the heat before pulling onto the road. 

“Just tired,” you offered softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the red cup. 

The streets were quiet, the glow of the streetlights painting everything in streaks of gold and white. Rain began to fall lightly, blurring the world beyond the window. You leaned back in the backseat, exhausted, the faint smell of alcohol and smoke from the party still clinging to the air. Nancy was slumped against the window, head tipped lazily to the side, her hair messy from dancing and a few too many drinks. Without thinking, you reached over and gently stroked her hair, smiling at your best friend. She’d been drinking a lot lately. You knew she needed this, needed to let loose. She put far too much pressure on herself, and tonight, at least, she deserved a little freedom. 

“Thanks for driving me home early,” you said softly, trying not to sound needy “I… I didn’t want to stay out so late tonight.” 

He flicked a glance at you through the rearview mirror, one corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said casually. “I was ready to bail too. Josh is a dick.” 

You smiled, a little, the tension in your chest loosening. He didn’t make you feel guilty. He didn’t need to. That small consideration hit harder that you expected. 

The low hum of INXS - Never Tear Us Apart filled the car, soft and calming, as Steve hummed along quietly. When the car hit a bump, your hand went out reflexively to steady yourself against the driver’s seat. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you, his fingers brushed yours lightly, just enough to make contact, and then retreated back to the wheel as if nothing happened. Your chest skipped a beat, and you let your hand rest on your lap, suddenly noticing how his warmth still lingered on your skin. You glanced at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his gaze briefly flicking to you, a hint of concern in his eyes. 

“Just… worn out,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, fragile and thin. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the car hum along the road. Then almost under his breath, he murmured, “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I’ve got you.” 

His words wrapped around you in a way that made something inside you loosen, and you allowed yourself a small smile, just enough to feel lighter than you had all night. 

You wanted to say something, to tell him how safe and seen you felt in that moment, but the words caught in your throat as you glanced at his girlfriend, still blissfully asleep beside him. Instead, you leaned back, letting the soft patter of the rain and the distant music fill the silence between you.

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song had ended. You stepped out into the rain, your little black dress clinging in the wind. He tossed his jacket over your shoulders, it smelled like him, warm musk, with just a hint of smoke. It hurt to feel so safe and so wrong at the same time. As you retreated to your room, you realized something you weren’t quite ready to put into words. 

2.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you wandered through the nearly empty mall, the scent of popcorn and perfume hanging faintly in the air. Nancy had wandered off into a clothing store, leaving you and Steve alone near the record shop. 

You had your favorite ice cream in one hand and a bag of clothes in the other. It felt like the first time in ages that you were truly enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the ice cream, or maybe it was him? But either way, you felt light, carefree, and almost… happy. 

You were wandering through the aisle of the record shop, letting your fingers trail over the vinyls, the familiar smell of paper filling the air. The buzz of the place was comforting and safe, but then you felt a shift, a presence too close, too eager. You glanced up to find a guy standing beside you, leaning in just a little too much, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “You come here often?” 

You half-rolled your eyes, already bored with the cliché pickup line, but you forced a polite smile, just to brush him off. “Sometimes,” you replied, glancing away, hoping he’d get the hint. 

He didn’t. 

His eyes lingered just a second too long, not meeting your face but clearly looking at your legs, the hem of your dress grazing just above your knees. You could feel the weight of his gaze as it slid over you, uncomfortable and persistent. 

“Nice dress,” he added, his tone dripping with insincerity. “Looks great on you.” 

You tried to step back, but he shifted, blocking your path. You could feel the unease creeping up your spine, your stomach tightening. You opened your mouth to brush him off, but before you could, you felt Steve’s presence at your side. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to, but the way he stood next to you, close but not touching, made the guy falter. He glanced between you two, then looked back at Steve, who hadn’t even acknowledged him with more than a cold glance. 

The guy hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, but still he smirked and muttered something about “maybe seeing you around”. Arrogant, clueless… and painfully reminiscent of your ex. He backed off, though not without a lingering, almost apologetic glance at Steve. 

You looked up at Steve, expecting something. Anything. But he didn’t react. His expression stayed neutral, almost unreadable, yet the tension in his posture spoke louder than words. He wasn’t angry. Not at the guy, at least. 

“Everything alright?” Steve said after a beat, his voice casual, his hand brushing against yours. 

“Yeah,” you said, straightening up and brushing it off. “Just an asshole.” 

He gave a simple nod, then turned and kept walking, the conversation forgotten, but the brief interaction lingered between the two of you like unspoken tension. 

Minutes later, Steve pulled a cassette from the shelf, turning it in his hands before handing it to you. 

“Thought you might like this,” he said lightly, but the brief glance he shot you felt careful. 

You blinked at the tape, U2, With or Without You. “You… thought of me?” You asked, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

Steve handed you the cassette with a slight smile, the edges of the packaging worn from his own handling. “Yeah, it’s cool,” he said softly, his tone almost secretive, like there was something more to the song that he was letting on. 

You looked at him, confused for a moment. “Why this one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He just nodded, urging you to take the cassette. “Trust me.” 

You hesitated, but his earnestness nudged you. You accepted the cassette, but before you could even think of putting it in your bag, he pulled out a walkman from his jacket pocket, holding it out to you. 

“Here,” he said, his fingers brushing yours for a second as he handed it over. He seemed a little more nervous now, his usual confident demeanor slipping just a fraction. 

Curious, you took the small device from him. He stepped closer, just enough to close the space between you two, and carefully settled the headphones over your ears. His breath brushed against your cheek for a moment, warm and unexpectedly intimate in the quiet of the store. You felt the familiar stir of something unspoken. 

The moment you pressed play, the soft opening chords of “With or Without You” began to fill your ears. It hit you that this was the kind of music that perfectly captured how everything about being near Steve felt, like you were floating. The lyrics, soft but intense, wrapped around you like a memory you weren’t ready to name yet.

You didn’t pull away from the walkman, letting the music play out, but your mind kept drifting back to look in Steve’s eyes. The way he was watching you now, slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t just the song. It was everything about the moment, the way he handed it to you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the way you didn’t want to move. Your eyes kept flicking to his lips, and your mind couldn’t stop reminding you how perfect he looked right here, in this exact moment, near you, with you. 

He stepped back a little, watching you. “Well?” he asked, his voice quiet. 

You didn’t know how to answer. The music spoke for you, and for once, you didn’t need words. Was he trying to send you a message through it? 

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he felt. “It’s…” you stared at him, your cheeks warming. 

When Nancy’s voice echoed from the clothing store, calling for you, your stomach twisted with guilt and a strange, bittersweet ache. You had already crossed a line in your mind, and the thought made your heart race. Steve sighed, pulling the headphones out, avoiding your gaze as he turned and walked away. He joined Nancy in a gentle embrace. You watched them, wondering if it was all in your head. Had you read between lines that weren’t even there? 

Even after you left the store and walked back to the car, the cassette still in your bag, you couldn’t stop replaying that quiet stretch of time: the proximity, the lingering glances, the way he made you feel. What was going on? 

3.

The phone rang just after ten, sharp against the quiet hum of your house. You picked it up, expecting your best friend, but instead, it was him. 

“Hey… she’s not answering,” he said, voice a little rough, like he’d been up too late thinking. There was a distant noise in the background, faint street sounds, maybe the neighbor’s dog barking in the yard. 

“Oh, ok,” you murmured, pressing the receiver to your ear. 

“Mind if I stay on the line for a bit? Just… talk?” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. 

You hesitated for a moment, then said softly, “Sure.” 

At first, the conversation was light. School, homework, the weather. But soon, it shifted into more personal territory. He asked about your plans for the future, and you found yourself speaking in a way you hadn’t before. You had always been so guarded, but now, in the quiet of the phone call, it felt easier to open up. 

He seemed to listen to everything, about the classes you loved, your dream to travel, the things you wanted to leave behind. But then, almost out of nowhere, his voice dropped a little, and he said, 

“You know, I’ve been thinking… I really like talking to you. It’s just… with her, it’s hard sometimes.” 

You frowned, not sure what he meant at first. “With Nancy?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a soft laugh, a little nervous. “She’s… she got everything figured out, you know? She knows exactly what she wants. She’s all about studies, college, plans.” His voice softened, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before. “Me? I can barely get through the week without feeling like I’m just… floating. I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now.” 

Your chest tightened. You could hear the quiet vulnerability in his words, the weight of the uncertainty he carried. “But you’re not… I mean, you’re not just floating,” you said quickly “You’re figuring it out. It’s not a race, you know.” 

He was silent for a beat, then sighed. “Yeah, maybe. But sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her. She’s got everything planned, she’s smart, she knows where she’s going. I’m just trying to go with the flow… and sometimes I think she deserves someone who has it all together.” 

There was a pause on the line, and you felt a sudden pang in your chest, a bittersweet ache. You realized, for the first time, how much he was struggling with the comparison between himself and Nancy, how much he worried about being “enough”. Steve, if only you knew how much more than enough you were for me… But I’m not her. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him he didn’t need to be perfect to be worth something. Even if, to you, he was perfect in every way. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let the silence linger for a moment, absorbing the weight of what he had shared.

Eventually, the conversation drifted back to lighter things, shared memories, inside jokes, but even as you laughed, you sensed the way you fit together too easily, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth, because he wasn’t yours and never would be. 

“I… I’m glad you broke up with him,” he said quietly, after a long pause. “You deserve to be happy, Y/N.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. The breakup had been hard, devastating, you had never told anyone about the worst of it, the things he had done. He’d been abusive, manipulative. He’d left town in the end, but the scars stayed with you. 

“It…wasn’t easy,” you whispered. “I- If I ever got out of… him… it’s because of you.”

You swallowed, the memory of that night still sharp : the day he had caught your ex hitting you, stepping in without a second thought, and the long talk that had followed. That conversation had given you the courage, the courage to finally leave. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Steve,” you whispered. 

You could hear him exhale softly, a quiet, almost involuntary sigh that lingered longer than a normal pause. 

“You’d have found your way, but I’m glad I was there,” he said finally, his voice gentle but carrying a weight you couldn’t place. “You can always count on me. You’re my friend, I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.”

For a second, you thought you heard a small catch in his tone, like he had held back something just for you, a fleeting hesitation that made your heart thrum in a strange, unfamiliar way. Then he laughed softly, almost to shake it off, and the conversation returned to its usual warmth. 

You talked for almost an hour, your voices comfortable in the quiet of the night. When you finally said goodnight, your chest felt heavy, but your heart was full in a way that scared you. 

You pressed the phone to your cheek, closing your eyes for a second, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. You realized that the feelings you’d been brushing aside, hoping they would fade, or that they weren’t as strong as they seemed, were only growing. What you’d once thought was affection for your knight in shining armor was starting to feel more like… love? 

4.

The cassette clicked when the song ended. Static hissed softly before the next track started, something slow, something romantic, like it was mocking you. The room smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap beer and the rain that had followed you all inside. It was late. It always was when things finally went wrong. You were at Steve’s place, lounging with your friends. Jonathan and Robin were bickering about which movie to pick, their voices rising over the low hum of the conversation. You sat on the couch, your purple dress falling over your tights, a beer in your hand, your fingers twirling your hair in a small, restless habit.

She was talking, Nancy, about something small. School, maybe. Or her brother. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her voice faltered, just a little, like she was embarrassed to need comfort over something so stupid. 

He noticed instantly. 

He always did. 

He turned toward her, full body, no hesitation. Black outfit, perfect hair, arms that could hold you steady. He was so pretty. His knee touched hers. His hand found her wrist, thumb pressing lightly where her pulse jumped. You knew that touch. You knew exactly how it felt, how it steadied you, how it told you without words that you were safe now, that nothing bad was going to happen while he was there. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You remembered sitting on the edge of your own bed months ago, knees pulled to your chest, shaking so hard your teeth rattled. You remembered his voice then, low and careful, like sudden movements might break you. You remembered thinking, stupidly, desperately, that maybe this was… love? That had to be. He was so gentle… 

Across the room, she exhaled. She leaned into him without even looking, like she had done it a hundred times already. 

And he let her.

Something hot and poisonous curled in your chest. Jealousy, sharp enough to make you nauseous. You hated it. You hated yourself for it. She was your best friend. She had held your hair back when you were sick with fear. She had never once asked you why you stayed so long with him. She had never once said I told you so. She’d always been there for you, but now, all you could think about was how much you wished her boyfriend would stand up and claim you, right there, in front of everyone.

He smiled at her, not wide, not performative. Just soft. Private. The kind of smile you only gave when you were already in love and didn’t even realize you were showing it yet. His thumb brushed over her skin again, absentminded, intimate. Possessive. They were in their own little world.

A small laugh slipped from you, barely there, as you realized how much you’d been avoiding the truth.  

What you had hadn’t been the beginning of something, it had been the aftermath of something terrible. He hadn’t chosen you. He had caught you when you were falling apart. He had stayed because you were bleeding, and he was the kind of man who didn't walk away from broken things.

You felt stupid for ever believing otherwise. For thinking the way he had looked at you, careful, concerned, endlessly patient, meant you were special. You were just delusional. 

You swallowed hard. Your hands were clenched in your lap, nails biting into your palms, grounding you in a way he no longer would. The room felt too small. Too loud. Every laugh they shared sounded like a door closing. 

He didn’t love you. 

You imagined a future you weren’t in. Him as the perfect husband, knowing her coffee order by heart, dropping her off with a passionate kiss, wrapping her with love. He was the perfect father always at their kids’ competitions, cheering them, while you watched from the sidelines, smiling, pretending this didn’t hollow you out. 

He wasn’t looking at her the way he had looked at you. He wasn’t doing it to protect her. He was doing it because he wanted to. 

No, he didn’t love you.

You were just the girl he saved from drowning. Just a friend. 

You were never meant to be anything more. 

The thought stung, sharp, like glass breaking in your chest. 

You wished you hadn’t needed saving. Because maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been so broken when he found you, he might’ve seen you the way he saw her now.  

But he didn’t.

He was looking at her. He was touching her. He was choosing her. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your heart was shattering just watching him love her in all the ways he never could with you. 

You caught her watching you from across the room, her eyes piercing through the walls you’d built up. Robin always knew. She was the kind of person who could see right through anyone, and right now, she saw all of it. She saw the chaos inside you, the ache that twisted in your gut, the feelings you couldn’t suppress. Her look wasn't pity, it was sympathy. Understanding. It made you feel so exposed and stupid. You quickly dropped your gaze, desperate to shield yourself from her silent accusation, even though you knew she wasn’t judging. 

Your vision blurred, a scream building inside you that you couldn't release. You’d never be his. No matter how different he was from her, no matter how many arguments they had, he loved her. And that was something you could never change. 

You were stuck, trapped between what you felt and what you knew you had to do. Part of you wanted to keep them both, wanted to hold on to the fragile thread of your friendship with her, to keep being near him, even if it meant torturing yourself every time you saw him with her. But deep down, you knew that staying in this place was only hurting you. Watching the man you loved, knowing he would never be yours, was like slowly suffocating. You were lost, unsure of what to do, because the longer you stayed, the more you were drowning in your own feelings.

5.

The bleachers were empty, the late-afternoon sun low and warm across the field. You climbed to sit beside him, metal scraping beneath your sneakers, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. You were wearing a blue sundress, light and cute, the kind that made you feel soft even when everything else hurt. It was strange how something so ordinary, something you’d shared with him every day after school, had grown heavy and complicated now that you understood what you were really feeling. 

You stared down at your hands, clenching and unclenching, trying to steady your racing heart. You had to tell him. Even if it broke you, even if it changed nothing. You couldn’t spend your life wondering. You tried to ignore it, tried to push it away. You told yourself it was just loneliness, just envy at the sight of them together. But the truth pressed anyway : you weren’t jealous of them. You were jealous of her, because she had him.

Steve shifted beside you, hair falling just right over his forehead, yellow sleeves pulled tight over his arms. He was so close, and yet so impossibly distant, because everything you felt was locked inside.  

“She’s the one,” he said suddenly, casually, as if the words weren’t knives in your chest. “I want… kids, a house, the whole thing someday.” 

You froze. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and every detail of him. The curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled at the thought. You wanted to speak, to shove the truth out of your chest, but your throat closed. 

He turned to you, grinning, mischief in his eyes. “And hey, you’d better play at the wedding,” he added, nudging you playfully. “You’re the best at piano.”

Your fingers slackened on the bleachers, the realization hitting you in a wave : you couldn't speak. You couldn’t tell him, not now, maybe never, because he was happy with someone else and you had no right to take that from him. You forced yourself to smile faintly, the world tilting slightly around you. 

“Of course,” you whispered, voice barely audible “I’d… I’d love to.” 

He frowned, tilting his head, but didn’t press. Then his lips quirked into that small, almost boyish smile, the one that made your stomach twist with a mix of longing and despair. 

“Eddie asked about you today,” he said, voice low, almost shy, “I think he likes you,” he laughed, a little uncertain, “I don’t know why, but I… don’t like it.” 

Your chest twisted. His words, innocent, protective, faintly jealous, were both a balm and a knife. Why did you have to make it so complicated, Steve? You were meant to be grateful that he cared, and yet it hurt like hell, because the way he looked at her, not you, was always sharper, softer, untouchable in a way you could never reach. 

“Steve!!” Nancy called his name, and his eyes lit up instantly, warm and unmistakable, like loving her was the easiest thing he’d ever done. 

You forced yourself to look at him : the way he met her by the bleachers, the careful way his hand rested at her waist before he kissed her softly, whispering sweet nothings meant for her alone. 

You wanted to step closer, to tell him that he could love you too, that you’d wait, that you’d be everything he didn't know he wanted but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Not after everything you’d seen, not after seeing how he looked at her. You had no right. 

So you stayed quiet. You swallowed the words back down, letting them die in your chest. You didn’t want to ruin what they had. You didn't want to hurt anyone. 

“Y/N ! You’re coming?” he called from the bleachers below. 

Why did his voice feel like a shard of glass in your ribs? 

Yeah, I’m coming. It doesn’t matter that I love you, Steve. I’ll just keep it to myself. I’ll watch you be happy with someone else because you deserve it. Hell, it hurts, but I think I love you more than I love myself. And it’s ok. It has to be ok. I can handle it. You wanted to scream it out…

Instead, you nodded, your voice faltering slightly as you spoke, betraying the weight of everything you couldn’t say. 

Now wasn’t the time, and it felt like it never would be.

a/n : Um... I don’t know? Feedback is always welcome (likes or reblogs too ofc) TYSM for reading, kisses baby 💕