laura

Individually, none of it should be enough to hold his attention.

The problem is that once he notices you the first time, he can't seem to stop.

Every time he looks up, somehow you're there again.

Not because you're demanding attention. Not because you're trying to become the centre of the room. If anything, what catches his attention is how effortless you seem. There are people at parties who perform confidence and people who perform coolness, and Joe has spent enough years in entertainment to recognise both on sight. You don't appear to be performing anything.

You simply exist as though you belong wherever you've decided to stand.

People seem to gravitate towards you naturally. Conversations form around you without effort. Complete strangers look comfortable in your company within minutes. Every time Joe catches sight of you, you're talking to somebody different, and every single person seems to be laughing.

Which becomes a problem.

Because somewhere between the second glance and the fifth, Joe realises he's no longer accidentally noticing you.

He's looking for you.

The discovery is deeply annoying.

Joe Keery is a grown man. A reasonably sensible grown man. He should not be standing in the corner of a party scanning a crowd for somebody he's never spoken to before. He should not be wondering whether your voice sounds the way he imagines it does. He should not be finding himself irrationally curious about what kind of person inspires that many people to orbit around them.

And yet.

Every time he tells himself to stop looking, something drags his attention back.

A laugh, a movement, the sight of you pushing your hair back from your face while listening to somebody speak.

It's ridiculous. Embarrassing, honestly. The sort of thing he'd mock one of his friends for doing.

Then you catch him, properly, from the opposite side of the room.

For one awful, suspended second, neither of you looks away. Joe feels it immediately. That strange, electric jolt of being caught in the act.

Your eyebrow lifts slightly. Not offended or confused. Amused, rather. Like you've just discovered something entertaining. Like you've caught a dog standing on a dining table and are waiting to see whether it's going to jump down on its own or need assistance.

The corner of your mouth twitches.

Joe immediately looks elsewhere.

Far too late.

Because the damage is already done.

Now he knows what your smile looks like when it's directed at him.

And unfortunately, that's significantly worse.

The first conversation lasts forty-three minutes.

Joe knows this because he checks the time afterwards and nearly chokes when he realises how long it's been.

Not during.

During, he forgets time exists.

Somehow the two of you end up standing beside each other near the drinks table, and within minutes it feels as though somebody accidentally skipped over the awkward introductory stage entirely. There is no stilted small talk. No fumbling attempts to establish common ground. No polite conversation limping awkwardly from one topic to the next. One minute you're exchanging names, and the next you're halfway through a discussion about something completely ridiculous as though you've known each other for years.

Joe finds himself relaxing before he's even consciously aware he's doing it.

Which would be dangerous enough on its own.

Unfortunately, you are funny.

Genuinely funny.

Not in the rehearsed, attention-seeking way that some people at parties try to be, constantly waiting for laughter before delivering the next line. You're funny in the far more dangerous way, where humour seems to arrive naturally, effortlessly, often catching him off guard when he isn't expecting it. The sort of funny that makes somebody laugh halfway through taking a drink and nearly regret it.

That would already be a problem.

The fact that you're also clever only makes it worse.

And confident.

And somehow entirely unimpressed by him.

Which turns out to be catastrophic.

Most people either know who Joe is or know enough to pretend they don't. There's usually a moment, however brief, where he can see somebody placing him. Connecting him to something they've watched. Something they've heard. Some version of him that exists outside the room.

You don't seem remotely interested in any of that.

When he mentions a project he's worked on, you nod politely, ask one perfectly normal question, and then immediately become distracted by something else entirely. Within thirty seconds, the conversation has moved on, and Joe finds himself weirdly disappointed by how little weight his answer seemed to carry.

He should probably find that refreshing.

Instead, he finds it wildly attractive.

Everything about you becomes weirdly attractive after that.

The way you talk with your hands when you're excited about something, as though the words alone aren't enough to contain whatever thought is trying to escape. The way you interrupt yourself halfway through stories because you've suddenly remembered a detail you consider significantly more important than the point you were originally making. The way your entire face changes when you're passionate about something, your eyes lighting up so dramatically that Joe finds himself getting distracted from the actual conversation.

At one point, you become so animated telling a story that you nearly knock your own drink out of your hand.

You save it at the last second.

Joe laughs.

You continue talking.

Joe keeps watching.

And somewhere around that moment, he realises he's stopped paying attention to what you're saying.

Not because he's bored.

Because he's become distracted by you.

The discovery is deeply irritating.

There are beautiful people everywhere. Interesting people everywhere. Funny people everywhere.

The problem is that very few people are all three at once.

You are.

And now Joe has to deal with that.

At one point, you say something so unexpectedly funny that he actually doubles over laughing. Proper laughing. The kind that sneaks up on you and leaves your face aching afterwards.

When he finally looks back up, you're watching him. Far too pleased with yourself. The smile on your face is infuriating.

"You are genuinely annoying."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"It absolutely was."

Joe shakes his head, and you grin wider.

And for one brief, awful moment, he becomes aware of how close you're standing.

Close enough that he can catch the scent of your perfume whenever you move. Close enough that every time you lean towards him to say something over the music, his attention immediately abandons whatever thought he was having beforehand. Close enough that when you laugh, he can feel himself wanting to be responsible for it again.

That realisation lands somewhere low in his stomach and remains there.

The conversation continues.

People drift past.

Hours seem to collapse into minutes.

And by the time somebody interrupts to ask how long you've been together, Joe's already in significantly more trouble than he'd like to admit.

By eleven o'clock, people have started noticing.

Not the flirting.

The chemistry.

There's a difference.

The flirting comes later.

The chemistry is immediate.

Every time somebody interrupts one of your conversations, you somehow end up finding each other again afterwards.

Every time Joe gets dragged somewhere else, he catches himself looking around the room until he spots you.

At one point somebody asks how long you've been together.

Neither of you are.

The assumption lingers awkwardly in the air for several seconds.

You don't correct it immediately.

Neither does Joe.

Which somehow makes it worse.

The balcony is quieter than the rest of the party.

Not silent. Never silent. The distant hum of traffic drifts up from the streets below, mixing with the muffled bass vibrating through the glass doors behind you, but compared to the crowded warmth inside, it feels almost peaceful. Cool air brushes against overheated skin. The city stretches endlessly beyond the railing in a sea of lights, windows glowing gold against the darkness, and for the first time all evening Joe finds himself able to think clearly.

At least, that lasts for about thirty seconds.

The two of you have ended up leaning against the balcony rail together, drinks forgotten somewhere in the conversation, talking about absolutely nothing and somehow everything at once. The ease of it is becoming a problem. Every topic seems to lead naturally into another. Every story somehow turns into a joke. Every joke somehow turns into the two of you standing slightly closer than you were a few minutes earlier.

Joe can't remember the last time meeting somebody felt this effortless.

Which is probably why he asks the question. Mindlessly. Carelessly. The sort of question people ask a hundred times without thinking.

"So when did you graduate?"

You answer immediately.

Joe nods. Then Joe does some maths. Then immediately wishes he hadn't. For a second, his expression goes completely blank. The number lands. His brain attempts to process it. Fails. Attempts again.

And directly opposite him, your entire face changes.

"Oh no." The words leave you with the unmistakable tone of somebody who has just watched a disaster unfolding in real time.

Joe points at you immediately. "What do you mean, oh no?"

The smile spreading across your face is deeply unhelpful. In fact, the smile suggests you're enjoying this.

"Joe."

"No."

A laugh escapes you. Not a polite laugh. Not an awkward one. A genuine one. The kind that's been ruining his life all evening.

"Joe."

His stomach drops. Slowly. Horribly.

"How old are you?"

You're already grinning when you answer.

"Twenty-three."

Silence. Complete silence.

The city continues existing around you. Cars continue moving. Music continues playing somewhere behind the glass.

Joe's soul quietly leaves his body.

"Twenty-three?"

"Yep."

His eyes narrow. "Twenty-three."

You nod. "Still twenty-three."

"Jesus Christ."

The worst part is that you don't look remotely concerned. If anything, you look delighted. Like you've just been handed front-row seats to the world's most predictable breakdown.

Joe drops his head briefly, rubbing a hand across his face as he attempts to reorganise his entire evening.

Because suddenly the last four hours are replaying themselves inside his head in excruciating detail. The flirting, the laughing, the fact he'd spent half the evening wondering what kissing you would be like, the fact he'd spent the other half trying not to wonder what kissing you would be like.

Meanwhile, you're standing opposite him looking infuriatingly amused.

"You're being weird about this already."

Joe lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Already?"

"Joe."

"I'm thirty-four."

"So?"

The answer arrives so quickly that it almost derails him further.

"So?"

You shrug. Actually shrug. As though you've informed him of the weather. As though he isn't currently having a mild existential crisis.

Joe stares. You stare back, completely unbothered.

The cool air catches a strand of your hair and sends it across your face. Without thinking, you tuck it behind your ear, and Joe immediately finds himself distracted by the movement in exactly the same way he's been distracted by every movement you've made all evening.

Which is deeply inconvenient.

Because the attraction hasn't gone anywhere. If anything, it's becoming worse.

You're still standing too close. Still looking at him with that infuriating mixture of amusement and confidence. Still somehow managing to make him feel like the most interesting person in the room whilst simultaneously refusing to let him take himself too seriously.

The chemistry is still there. The problem is that now Joe is aware of how much chemistry is still there. Which feels considerably more dangerous.

"Why are you smiling?"

You bite back another laugh.

"I'm just enjoying watching you try to explain why this is apparently a catastrophe."

"It is a catastrophe."

"It really isn't."

"It kinda is."

"Joe."

Something in your voice shifts slightly. Not enough for anybody else to notice. Enough for him. The teasing softens around the edges.

You step a little closer. Not enough to force the moment. Just enough that the distance between you suddenly feels different. Smaller. More noticeable.

And for one awful second, Joe becomes aware of everything at once.

The warmth of your shoulder beside his. The city lights reflected in your eyes. The fact that neither of you has looked away. The fact that despite the conversation, despite the maths, despite his increasingly dramatic internal spiral, he still wants to keep standing exactly where he is. Exactly this close. Looking at you exactly like this.

Your smile softens, just slightly. And somehow that's infinitely more dangerous than the laughter had been.

"Oh," you say quietly.

Joe frowns. "What?"

You tilt your head, the corner of your mouth lifting.

"That's the problem."

"What is?"

Your eyes flick briefly to his mouth before returning to his. The movement lasts less than a second. It still nearly kills him.

"You liked me before you knew."

And unfortunately for Joe, that's exactly it.

Because nothing has changed.

The number did.

You didn't.

The city hums quietly around you.

Somewhere below, traffic moves through the streets in ribbons of white and red light, whilst music continues to pulse faintly through the glass doors behind you. The breeze has picked up slightly, carrying the cool edge of approaching midnight with it, and for a moment neither of you says anything.

Joe just looks at you. Really looks at you.

Not at the number that has spent the last ten minutes sending his brain into increasingly dramatic spirals. Not at the imaginary problem he's somehow managed to construct out of thin air. Just at you.

The woman who made him laugh until his face hurt. The woman he'd spent half the evening looking for in every room he walked into. The woman he'd been finding increasingly ridiculous excuses to stand beside for the better part of the evening.

The number changed. You didn't.

"Joe."

The sound of your voice pulls him out of his thoughts immediately.

"What?"

Your expression softens slightly. Not teasing this time. Not entirely.

"Do you think I'm a child?"

The question hits him like a bucket of cold water.

"What? No."

"Do you think I'm incapable of making decisions?"

"No."

The answer comes even faster.

You study him for a second.

Then, "Then what exactly is the issue?"

Joe opens his mouth. Closes it again.

Because that's the problem. There isn't one. Not really.

There are concerns. Thoughts. Questions. A brief existential crisis taking place somewhere in the back of his mind.

But there isn't actually an issue.

Not when he's standing here looking at you. Not when every instinct he has keeps drawing him back towards you. Not when you've been the most interesting part of his evening since the moment he arrived.

You take a small step closer. Not enough to force the moment. Not enough to corner him. Just enough that the space between you suddenly feels different. Smaller. More noticeable.

Joe becomes aware of everything all at once. The warmth radiating from your skin despite the cool night air. The way you're looking at him now, patient and amused and entirely aware of the effect you're having.

His attention drops briefly to your mouth before he can stop it.

The movement lasts less than a second, but you still catch it. Of course you do.

Something in your smile changes. The teasing fades. What replaces it is infinitely more dangerous.

"Hi."

Joe lets out a helpless laugh. "Hi."

Neither of you moves. Neither of you looks away.

The tension that's been building all evening settles between you, no longer hidden beneath jokes and conversation and accidental touches. It's simply there now, undeniable and impossible to ignore.

His hand finds your waist almost absent-mindedly.

The breath you take catches slightly.

That doesn't help. Nothing helps.

"You still being weird about this?" you ask quietly.

Joe smiles despite himself. "A little."

"That's unfortunate."

"Why?"

Your gaze flicks briefly to his mouth before returning to his eyes. The gesture is tiny and devastating.

"Because I was kinda hoping you'd kiss me."

For one suspended second, neither of you moves.

Then Joe laughs softly, the sound full of disbelief and relief and something dangerously close to affection.

And then he kisses you.

The entire evening seems to collapse into that single moment. The city disappears. The party disappears. The noise inside his head disappears.

One hand settles more firmly at your waist as yours finds the back of his neck, and the kiss deepens naturally, neither hurried nor hesitant, as though both of you have spent hours arriving at exactly this point.

The first kiss isn't rushed. If anything, it's almost cautious, as though neither of you quite trusts that this is actually happening. Joe's hand tightens slightly against your waist, drawing you a fraction closer, and something about the movement makes your breath catch. The sound seems to affect him just as much as it affects you, because the next kiss arrives almost immediately afterwards, deeper this time, carrying all the tension that's been building between you for hours.

You can feel him smiling briefly against your mouth.

Not because anything is funny.

Because he's relieved.

Because after spending the better part of the evening wanting this and trying not to want this in equal measure, he finally doesn't have to pretend anymore.

Your hand slides into his hair almost absent-mindedly, fingers brushing through the soft curls at the back of his neck, and Joe lets out a quiet breath that disappears between you. The reaction sends an entirely unfair rush of warmth through your chest. He steps closer without seeming to realise he's doing it, the distance between your bodies disappearing until there's barely any space left at all.

The cool night air has long since stopped feeling cold.

Everything feels warm.

Your skin, your face, the hand resting against your waist, the look in Joe's eyes every time the two of you pull apart for half a second only to immediately drift together again.

It's impossible to tell who kisses who next.

At some point the distinction becomes meaningless.

The conversation is gone. The teasing is gone. The careful distance is gone. There is only the undeniable feeling of finally giving in to something you've both been circling around all evening.

When you finally pull apart, it's only far enough to look at each other.

Neither of you says anything immediately.

You don't seem particularly interested in creating distance.

Joe doesn't seem capable of it.

Your foreheads drift together.

The corner of your mouth lifts.

"You know," you murmur, "for somebody who was having a crisis five minutes ago, you seem remarkably recovered."

Joe groans and you laugh, the sound is warm and bright and entirely too satisfying.

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"No." His smile appears before he can stop it. "No, I really don't."

The grin that spreads across your face in response is so pleased with itself that he almost starts another argument purely on principle.

Unfortunately, that would require wanting to stop standing exactly where he is.

And that seems increasingly unlikely.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

The city glows beneath you. Music pulses faintly through the glass behind you. Somewhere inside, the party continues completely unaware that the two of you have apparently disappeared into your own private universe.

Joe's hand is still resting against your waist. Your fingers are still tangled loosely in the hair at the back of his neck. Neither of you seems particularly interested in fixing that.

His gaze drops briefly to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.

The look on his face is enough to send warmth rushing straight through your chest.

Because the panic is gone now. The overthinking is gone. What's left is considerably more dangerous.

You study him for a second, a slow smile beginning to creep across your face.

Joe immediately looks suspicious. "What?"

Your smile widens. Nothing reassuring has ever followed that smile.

You lean forward just enough for your lips to brush briefly against his cheek. Then his jaw. Then, finally, his ear. When you speak, your voice is quiet enough that nobody else could possibly hear it.

"Your place or mine?"

The silence that follows is genuinely spectacular.

Joe just stares at you, completely blank, like his brain has temporarily stopped functioning.

Then he laughs. Once. Short and disbelieving. Drops his forehead against your shoulder. And mutters, "Oh, you are trouble."

Your laugh echoes out across the balcony.

The answer, judging by the arm tightening around your waist immediately afterwards, is pretty obvious.

“You have to help me complete it, Mr. Mathew’s makes totally no sense during class.” You didn't need to be asked, you were going to help her anyway. Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out.

“Nance.” The mousy brown haired girl turned around, to find her boyfriend already navigating through the halls toward her.

Steve leaned casually against the lockers, his hair perfectly styled as always and a grin plastered on his face. You instinctively took a half-step back to give the couple a little privacy, but mostly because you never knew what to say around him.

“What do you want, Harrington?” Nancy got straight to the point, lifting a brow, though you noticed the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

Steve cocked his head to the side, like he was confused by what she meant. “Can’t a guy come say hi to his girlfriend?” He asked exasperatingly.

Nancy rolled her eyes, not bothering with his antics. “Not when class starts in a few minutes.” You looked down, fighting a smile when Steve’s eyes flickered towards you, pausing for a second before scoffing.

“Anyway, my parents are out of town. So, are you in?” Steve asked, leaning closer. Nancy looked confused by the matter,

“In for what?” She turned towards him, leaving you to hug your books closer to your chest.

Carol sighed loudly, “no parents? Big house?”

Nancy chewed on her bottom lip, considering his offer for a second before looking back at you. You shrugged your shoulders, it wasn’t like you could make the decision for her.

“C’mon, it’ll be lowkey. Just us.” Steve promised, as he was waiting for her answer he looked back at you again. It only for a second, but long enough to notice the way you were trying very hard to disappear into the locker beside you. Long enough to notice how every time Steve’s gaze fleeted towards you, you immediately looked somewhere else, avoiding eye contact.

He found it strangely endearing, Steve jerked his chin in your direction. “You can bring her too.” The words had left his mouth before he could rethink them.

You blinked in response, not expecting to be brought into the conversation so suddenly. Nancy looked between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “You want her to come?” She didn’t mean it in a bad way, she just knew social gatherings weren’t really your thing, especially not involving other teenagers in a secluded house.

“I mean—she’s your friend isn’t she? Maybe that’ll convince you more,” he shrugged, and you looked horrified.

“It’ll be fun.” He said to you this time, fighting back a smile. Because for someone who barely spoke to him, you were surprisingly easy to tease.

Nancy nudged your shoulder with a playful smile on her face. “See? Steve said it’ll be fun.” She mocked.

You huffed, glaring at her. “I heard him.” Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that, the first words you had said all morning were expressing your annoyance at the ladder, but he found it amusing.

Nancy turned back to him laughing, and Steve smiled automatically—of course he did. She was his girlfriend, the girl he’d spent months chasing, the girl he was supposed to be looking at.

Yet, when he caught you shuffling on your feet, a nervous habit of yours, something unfamiliar settled in his chest.

The relationship had come completely out of nowhere, at least it had felt like it. One day Nancy was your best friend who spent lunch periods with you in the library complaining about classes and discussing college applications, the next day she was dating Steve.

You hadn’t expected it, not because Steve was a bad guy, he just didn’t seem like the type of guy to go for a girl like her. Nancy liked schedules, and didn’t have time for relationships—Steve was reckless and deemed “the king of Hawkins.”

But she was your best friend, and if she was happy you were happy for her. Even if lately it felt like you were fitting yourself into places around her new relationship, waiting for her to leave you in the past.

The thought vanished as laughter erupted around the pool, you and Nancy had shown up at Steve’s house not long ago, being immediately pulled into his group's shinangins.

You sat on the side of a lounge chair, knees pulled up to your chest while you observed Steve bringing a beer can horizontally to his mouth.

“Let’s go, Harrington!” Tommy cheered as Steve began to chug the whole drink down, the liquid dripping down the sides of his mouth.

“Idiot.” Nancy scoffed, and you found yourself looking up. The porch light caught against his features as he grinned victoriously, sweeping his hair back while everyone around him groaned.

You couldn’t peel your eyes away, he looked good. The realization caught you off guard, but you were only observing his handsomeness objectively, just like anyone else would.

The moment lasted all of two seconds before Steve extended another bottle toward Nancy. “Your turn,” he motioned.

Nancy was quick to deny, laughing. “No chance.”

Without warning, she took the can and pushed it into your hands. “She’ll do it.” Your eyes widened as all pairs of eyes turned immediately to you.

“Nancy—”

“Oh, come on, have some spirit!” Carol yelled.

“You got volunteered, you can’t back out now.” Tommy explained.

Heat rushed to your face as you looked to Nancy for help, but she was only laughing. “Go on, you can do it.” She said softly.

You rolled your eyes, Steve smirked in your peripheral as you gave in, lifting the can to your lips.

Then you drank and drank, and the cheering grew louder, by the time only a small amount remained you lowered the can, panting out of breath.

“Holy shit!” Carol cried out, as you moved to sit back down.

Steve’s eyes lingered on your face before letting out a surprised laugh. “Wow.” He was genuinely at a loss for words.

“What?” You shrugged, titling your head.

“I did not expect that from you, you’re trouble.” He pointed at you, the smile that spread across his face made something twist in your stomach.

“I think I’m the least troublesome of everyone here.” You shook your head, unable to keep his gaze for longer than a moment.

You barely had time to finish another drink before someone was already cannon balling into the pool, soaking everyone nearby.

“Hey!” You couldn’t stop laughing as Nancy’s hand wrapped around your wrist, and suddenly you were being pushed along with everyone else into the heated pool.

All sound disappeared beneath bubbles and moving water, you kicked upwards until your head broke through the surface, sucking in a deep breath.

As soon as you opened your eyes, you found Steve floating directly in front of you, close enough to see the water droplets running down the side of his face, his hair plastered messily across his forehead. A huge smile stretched across his face, not polished for anyone else to see, just beyond happy.

You forgot Nancy, forgot everyone else in his huge pool, forgot that the boy in front of you was your best friend's boyfriend. Staring into his wide brown eyes, you smiled back. Shy and easy, the kind of smile that appeared before you could think twice.

Steve’s expression changed at the sight, but before you could dwell on it further, water splashed all over him, his attention faltering. “Nancy!” Steve screamed, turning around to face the culprit.

You looked away as they got into a splash fight, your smile vanishing. Your chest suddenly felt oddly light, what was wrong with you? The buzzing that swarmed throughout your body must’ve been from the alcohol, nothing else. You forced yourself to focus back on everyone else, blending into the background like you were meant to.

Eventually, you all climbed out the pool, the temperature difference shocking you as you wrapped your arms around yourself to fight the chill.

A shadow appeared beside you, you looked up to see Steve holding out a towel. “For you.” Was the only thing he said.

“Oh, thanks.” You mumbled quietly, not feeling as light as you had in the pool anymore.

His smile lingered for a split second before his name was called out, you followed the sound automatically. Nancy was already several steps ahead, standing by the staircase that led to Steve’s room.

Your stomach dipped, reminding you that you couldn’t share moments with Steve—that would be ridiculous. Nancy was your best friend and you knew exactly where you stood, wrapping the towel a little tighter around your shoulders, you slipped out of the house while no one was paying attention. The walk home felt colder without the girl by your side, behind you, Steve’s house lights flickered in the distance. You never looked back.

The next day, you couldn’t bring yourself to seek out Nancy, you avoided the cafeteria entirely. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Steve’s smile from the pool. The library was vacant as you settled your belongings on the table in a quiet corner, but you weren’t reading any books.

Your eyes kept drifting to the same sentence without processing a single word, you just couldn’t focus today, you needed space to clear your head, that was all.

Meanwhile, across the school Steve sat in the cafeteria with his arm draped lazily over the back of Nancy’s chair. She was picking at her lunch while flipping through the pages of a textbook, ignoring Tommy’s loud words.

Steve glanced across the large room full of other students, something felt out of place. His brows furrowed as he lowered to speak to Nancy. “Where’s your friend?”

Nancy finally looked up, having noticed your absence. “Oh, she’s probably in the library.”

Steve’s frown deepened, why weren’t you with them? He meant to ask. “The library?” He repeated instead.

“She likes it there.” Nancy shrugged. “Not everyone enjoys sitting with you people for an hour.”

“Ouch,” Tommy winced, but she returned to her book, and the conversation should’ve ended there. Except, to Steve it didn’t, and he couldn’t stop glancing at the entrance waiting for you to show up, for some reason it bothered him when you didn’t.

You walked to your final class, adjusting the books in your arms and keeping your head down. “Hey.” You recognized the voice a little too well, swallowing as you looked up.

Steve stood a few feet away, rubbing his neck as neither of you said anything. It wasn’t unusual, conversations between you didn’t start unless there was a third party, still, Steve stayed where he was.

“You okay?” He broke the silence, your grip tightened around your books, looking around to see if Nancy was nearby and had set him up to this.

“Yeah.” You responded, though the answer came too fast, and Steve studied you closer.

He didn’t know why he was confronting you, only that yesterday you’d been laughing and today you vanished. And right now, you looked like you wanted to sprint in the opposite direction. “I’m fine.” You tried again, forcing a tight smile.

“Okay,” he said carefully, fearful that anything else would scare you off.

You took a step backwards, the quiet between you felt tense with something you couldn’t explain. “I should get to class.” You gestured.

Steve nodded, his mind snapping back to reality. “Right—yeah.” He blew a breath his mouth, watching as you disappeared into the crowd, he couldn’t figure out why he cared so much.

The first time you noticed her absence, you told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. Students poured through the doors of Hawkins high while you waited by the front steps, to walk home with Nancy as you always did.

You stood there for nearly ten minutes, you checked your watch as the parking lot was beginning to empty when you finally spotted her. Relief immediately coursed through you until you realized she wasn’t alone.

Jonathan Byers walked beside her, the two of them talking about something that had their heads bent close enough to not notice the world around them.

You watched Nancy nod along to whatever he was saying completely invested, as a strange feeling settled in your chest. You had no right to be jealous, Jonathan’s little brother was missing—everyone knew that, she was probably consoling him.

“Nancy,” you called out, though your voice barely carried across the parking lot. You watched them in silence as they drove away in Jonathan’s car, neither of them seeing you standing there.

That evening, you stared at the phone blankly, dialing your best friend's number shouldn’t feel as hard as it did. The line rang twice before you heard Nancy’s voice, “hello?”

You immediately relaxed. “Hey,” you said lightly.

“Oh, hey.” She replied, but her voice sounded distracted, you tried not to let the worries get to you.

“I was wondering if you still wanted to work on the history project together.” You asked patiently, hearing paper rustling on the other end.

“Oh.” Your heart sank, you knew that tone. “I promised Jonathan I’d help him with something, can we do it another day?” She sighed.

You hated yourself for feeling disappointed, but you instantly attempted at burying it down and keeping your voice casual. “No no, it’s fine—another day.” You waved off.

You stared at the wall, Nancy paused before continuing. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

You smiled tightly, because Nancy never went back on her promises. “Okay.” You agreed, then hung up the line.

Steve didn’t notice until days later, when the pattern kept showing up. Nancy was stuffing books into her locker, mind somewhere and body elsewhere. Steve stood in front of her, not quite understanding her rush. “You wanna grab breakfast before first period?” He asked with a smile, perhaps she was stressed and needed a break.

She looked up unexpectedly, mouth hanging open as her gaze strayed towards the clock. “I can’t,” she shook her head. “I have to go…help Jonathan with something.”

Steve frowned, not understanding why she was ditching her boyfriend for someone else. “Why are you with that weirdo?” His jaw tightened.

Nancy sighed. “Steve. Don’t call him that.” She sounded angry, like the name bothered her more than it should’ve.

“Oh so now you suddenly care about him?” Steve blinked, as Nancy slammed her locker door shut.

“His brother is missing. Would it kill you to have some compassion for once?” She asked before walking away, the words stung deeply. Steve remained rooted to his spot, glancing up he caught you standing a few meters away, your smile dropping when Nancy's fuming form passed by, and your eyes locking onto Steve’s dropped shoulders. You recovered quickly, keeping eye contact but not moving to follow Nancy, he realized in that moment he wasn’t the only person being shut out.

By the time you walked the distance to Nancy’s house, you knew how the conversation was going to end. You stood on the front porch with your arms crossed tightly over your chest, as you watched Nancy step outside and pull the door shut.

She was the first to break the silence. “What’s going on with you?” She asked, and your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” You looked at her desperately.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She answered, and the accusation hurt, mostly because it wasn’t entirely wrong. You couldn’t be around her anymore without thinking of what happened back at the pool, or how she left you waiting in the parking lot.

You looked away, “Nancy—”

“No, seriously.” She cut you off. “Everytime I see you lately, it’s like you don’t even want to talk to me. It’s been like that since Steve’s house.”

“You’ve been busy.” The words left you suddenly, feeling like a weight taken off your shoulders.

“I know that, and you know why.” There it was, the excuse you’ve been repeating to yourself all week. The one about the canceled plans, about feeling like you’ve already been cut from her life.

“It just feels like you don’t want to be around me anymore.” You spoke, looking down at your shoes.

Nancy opened her mouth then closed it again. “You—you know that’s not true, I just…” her gaze landed on Jonathan’s car parked outside.

“Jonathan needs me.” The words shattered something in your chest, they didn’t sound cruel but they were honest.

You nodded slowly, trying to show you understood, but your eyes had already filled with tears. “What about me?” Your voice cracked.

Guilt flashed across her expression for a moment, then she stepped forward. “You’ll be fine.” She said firmly. You flinched, she didn’t seem to notice.

Your vision blurred, but she was right—you’ll be fine, you always were. You nodded, and Nancy looked like she was about to say something then backtracked the last moment. “Good.”

You watched her climb into Jonathan’s passenger seat, and a sob left you once they rounded the corner, sinking onto the curb in front of the wheeler's house.

You buried your face into your hands, wiping angrily at the tears that flowed down your cheek. You had no idea how much time had passed when you heard a car pull up, your eyes were stuck on the gravel beneath you, not bothering to see who it was.

“…Hey.” The voice caused you to look up immediately, Steve was standing right in front of you, his expression shifting the second he saw the wet patches on your face.

“What happened?” He rushed out.

You looked away, he must be here for the same reason you had been. “Nothing.”

Steve nodded, though he didn’t buy it for a minute. Sighing, he crouched down to sit beside you on the curb, only a few inches of space left remaining between you. Finally he spoke, “you can tell me, you know.” His voice softened, but he didn’t turn to look at you yet.

“She doesn’t have time for me anymore.” The confession felt humiliating, you realized you had said it to her boyfriend one second too late. Steve knew what you were talking about, because he’d seen the way Nancy was always halfway out the door lately.

Anger flashed through him, not directed at you, but towards the situation, at what he could’ve done. Instead of acting on it, he simply shrugged off his jacket.

You looked confused, but before you could protest, he draped it over your shoulders, the fabric was still warm from his body. Your throat tightened, the gesture felt surprisingly more intimate than you liked. “Steve…”

“It’s cold out,” he said, like it explained everything. You pulled the jacket closer anyway, not responding, and the silence felt more comfortable than it usually did.

After a couple of moments, Steve sighed. “Look at us, just sitting on the side of the road.”

You glanced up at his words, suddenly realizing how pathetic you probably looked to anyone else. You couldn’t help but smile at that, if there was someone you’d want to accompany you right now, it was Steve.

And he felt like he’d won a battle seeing that smile, the same warmth that swept over him that night swimming settled in his chest once again.

He looked at you in the evening light, his jacket hanging off your shoulders, the faint smile that replaced your tears. His breath caught—the realization hitting him all at once. He didn’t just feel empathy for his girlfriend's best friend, he was feeling something he absolutely should not be feeling.

You looked back at him, your eyes connecting in a way they hadn’t before. There was no distance or interruptions to pull his gaze away, and his eyes dropped briefly to your lips. Then snapped back up a second later, no.

He couldn’t.

Nancy was still his girlfriend, and you were hurt.

The last thing he wanted was for this moment to become something you’d regret, so he stood up clearing his throat.

“You wanna go home?” He asked gently.

The question startled you. “What?” You stared at him.

“I’ll drive you.” Steve said, lowering his hand for you to use. A smile slowly spread across your face, and Steve’s stomach managed to flip all over again. This was very, very bad.

The Byers house felt wrong the moment you stepped inside. They had called you for backup which wasn’t fair considering Nancy had ostracized you for the past few weeks, though she promised to explain everything when you showed up.

But there wasn’t enough time, the air was heavy like something in the walls was holding its breath. Jonathan was already inside, moving quickly through the living room and checking windows, the strange cluster of lights strung up across the walls.

They were Christmas lights that blinked brightly in uneven patterns, almost as if they were saying something.

You frowned at the sight, goosebumps crawling up your skin. “Okay…Nancy, what’s going on?” You asked, fearing the worst.

Nancy glanced at you, hesitating. You matched her look of silent communication, she was telling you to brace yourself, for what, you didn’t know.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

“It’s here.” Jonathan finally spoke, eyes glued to the walls.

You blinked, chest feeling heavier. “What’s here?”

Before either of them could answer, a low scraping sound rolled through the house. Deep enough to make your stomach drop and for all three of you to freeze.

Nancy stepped slightly in front of you without thinking, “did you hear that?”

It came again, closer this time, dragging across wood as a sharp crack sounded from above. You flinched, ducking low.

Jonathan’s voice was tight, holding what looked like a weapon in his hands. “It’s trying to get in.”

“Trying to get in where?” You demanded, panic rising now. Nancy opened her mouth—

And the ceiling above you cracked as dust fell in, then stronger like something had hit it from the other side.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, what had they dragged you into? “No,” you breathed, “no, no—what’s going on?”

Before anyone could react, the front door swung open hard. Steve stood there, eyes wide and stuck at the scene unfolding in the living room.

“What is going on?” He yelled, at the exact moment, Nancy fired her shotgun at the ceiling, though it did no damage to whatever was coming for you.

“Steve, you need to leave!” Nancy cried out, all of you stepping back as another crack came.

“It’s not safe, get out now!” Jonathan demanded, his eyes not turning toward him.

You realized at that moment you were the only one unarmed, eyes locking behind you with Steve’s, he instantly caught the look of fear in yours, he couldn’t leave you in this mess.

In the next flash of a moment, Steve was in front of you before you even realized it, hands at his side protectively. “No, I’m not leaving!” He responded, and the ceiling burst open with a violent crash, something dropped into the house.

It wasn’t like anything you’ve ever seen. It was alive and breathing, and the demogorgon moved fast, too fast.

“Go, go!” Nancy yelled as she and Jonathan ran out the room, but when you attempted to follow suit, you tripped on one of their wire traps, sending you flying across the floor, bait for the demogorgon.

Steve immediately turned back, stepping between you and the creature with a wooden bat clutched in his hands. “Stay behind me!” He instructed, the bat connected with a sickening crack as it lunged towards you.

It recoiled and you barely had time to register what was happening before Steve grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. “Move!” He snapped.

Nancy stared at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. This wasn’t the Steve she knew, but he wasn’t looking at her. He kept his body between you and the demo as it screeched and lunged again, Steve was quick to batter it back down.

“Steve!” Nancy shouted, but he couldn’t hear it.

Every hit was aimed at keeping it away from you, he didn’t know why but the thought of the creature harming you rather than him or anyone else made something ugly shine through his hits.

The demo screamed at the damage down, then retreated back to scramble up through the broken ceiling as quickly as it had come down.

Silence enveloped the whole house, until only broken breathing remained. You were shaking, you hadn’t even realized until Steve turned back towards you.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with concern, looking over your form.

You shook your head immediately. “No.”

His grip loosened and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Nancy was staring at him, like something had clicked into place at your interaction.

Steve finally lowered the bat. “What the hell was that?” He asked exhaustedly.

No one answered, having no idea where to start.

When the chaos had finally settled, the air outside the Byers house felt colder than before.

Nancy stood near the porch steps with Steve, thinking about how Steve had gone to check on you first.

She watched him for a long time before cutting through the silence. “You ran in there like that, without knowing what it was.”

Steve didn’t look at her, he wasn’t guilty—just processing. “I saw it go after her.”

Nancy’s expression tightened, her voice softening. “You didn’t even look at me when you came in.”

Steve frowned, “what?”

Her eyes flickered around his face. “When you walked through that door,” she said slowly. “You went straight to her.”

Steve froze, because she was right. He hadn’t even realized it, in the middle of danger his first thought was to protect you.

Nancy crossed her arms tightly, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.” She said regretfully.

“Noticed what?” Steve blinked.

She let out a quiet breath. “How often you asked where she was, how you kept having these silent little moments I tried turning a blind eye to. How your first thought was always her, not me.”

Steve’s stomach dropped, he hadn’t expected things to turn out this way. When he first met you, he only knew you as Nancy’s shy best friend. But in an even shorter time than that, you managed to get close to him in a way others weren’t able to.

“Nancy—” he tried explaining.

She huffed. “You like her don’t you?”

The words hung between them unavoidably. Steve’s eyes flickered to the door where you sat inside on the couch, still shaking and wearing his jacket from last night. And for the first time, he knew what he had to do.

“Yeah.” He admitted quietly.

“Yeah.” Nancy said feeling defeated. “Thats what I thought.”

The drive home was quieter than Steve expected, there were too many things neither of you knew how to say out loud yet. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, turning to glance at you every so often.

You were still wearing his jacket, it was the only thing that was keeping you grounded. He suddenly pulled the car to a stop, filling the car with sound for the first time since you’ve climbed in. “It’s alright if you’re not okay.” He said.

A beat passed, “I just mean…” he hesitated. “That was a lot.”

You stared down at your hands. “I’m fine.” You said above a whisper.

Steve didn’t push, even though you expected him to, he just nodded slightly. “Okay.”

He paused, sucking in a breath. “I’m not great at this kind of stuff.” He admitted.

You looked over. “What kind of stuff?” You asked.

Steve looked like he didn’t want to elaborate but did so anyway. “The—feeling thing.”

That made you let out a small broken laugh. “Yeah, me neither.” You agreed, earning the faintest smile from him.

“Back there, at the house.” Steve started, your chest tightened, but he didn’t stop, because if he didn’t say it now, he didn’t know when he’d have the courage to next time. “I wasn’t thinking, I just saw you and—”

He stopped himself and swallowed thickly. “I can’t explain it, I just moved.” You stayed quiet at that, knowing exactly what he meant.

Steve’s jaw flexed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…” he paused again, words sounding jumbled from the recent events and the talk he had with Nancy. “I care about you, and I couldn’t leave you like that.”

You fully looked up, staring at the side of his face, but if he looked at you now, he’d lose all control. “I know I really shouldn’t be saying this right now.” Steve exhaled, your heart was stuttering much louder than it had been when the demogorgon clawed its way at you.

“But I have to.” Steve continued, pausing to face you completely.

“I like you.” He said, much quieter, fearful. You stared at him, no clear emotion written on your face.

Steve suddenly cleared his throat. “I probably should’ve waited,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you whispered, squeezing your hands together, but you couldn’t think clearly.

“I didn’t think you noticed me like that.” You said, and Steve let out a breathless laugh.

“I didn’t either.” You looked back up at him, and could see how nervous he was. That realization made something warm spread through your chest so fast it almost scared you.

You swallowed through your fears. “I like you too.” You said, and Steve froze completely.

Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh and looked away, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Okay. That’s uh—”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “That's what?”

His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. “I didn’t think that was possible.” He admitted, smiling now too.

“So…that’s a yes?” He asked, exhaling slowly.

You blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. “Steve.”

“What?” He rushed out.

“That was a very bad time to ask that.” He grinned despite himself.

“Yeah, I know.” He paused, but didn’t give up. “But is it?”

You looked at him, really looked at him before nodding once. “Yeah.”

Steve’s shoulders visibly relaxed, all the tension escaping at your answer. “Okay.” He smiled at you, you left the car thinking of how much of an idiot Steve was, but he was an idiot with a big heart.

You found Nancy sitting outside school two days later, she saw you approaching immediately and her shoulders tensed, yours did too.

Neither of you seemed to know where to start, before Nancy sighed, forcing herself to look at you.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to say.” She admitted, looking just as heartbroken as you.

“I don’t think there’s a perfect thing to say.” You said, earning a small smile.

You both sat in silence for another beat. “I was a terrible friend.” She laughed humorlessly.

The confession caught you off guard, Nancy’s gaze was elsewhere. “I kept thinking I’d make it up to you later. I thought just because you understood me…you’d wait.”

You had waited, every single time. But she never came back. “Nancy—”

“And I hurt you.” The words settled heavily between you, it was what needed to be said, but the force of it was still surprising.

“I really messed things up.” Tears were flowing down both of your faces, but you still managed to huff out a small laugh.

“We both did.” You said, shaking your head. Nancy nodded, taking your hand in hers, leaning her head against your shoulder.

For a moment, both of you just stayed like that, content in each other's embrace. You missed this, what your friendship felt like before relationships and outer dimensional creatures, but there was no going back now.

Then Nancy smiled weakly. “Steve likes you.”

Your eyes widened immediately, groaning. “Nancy. Oh my god.”

Nancy laughed, a real laugh that brought a smile to your own face. “You should’ve seen his face.” She continued, and you buried your face into your hands.

“I think he really cares about you.” Her smile softened, your hands slowly dropped as the amusement faded from both of your expressions.

Nancy hesitated before quietly adding. “I think you care about him too.”

You didn’t answer, and that was enough. A realization flickered across her face, not sadness, or jealousy. Just quiet acceptance that people had changed, and growing up meant accepting that.

“You know…” you looked up at her, her eyes shining with emotion. “We might not be the same after this. But I’d like to try.”

note: i hope you guys like this bcs it will be once in a blue moon that i write something that isn’t smut. <3 reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Looking back, the first time he saw you leaning against the wall, it never felt like the start of a life-changing friendship when you were just a stranger. Scribbling something on your arm with a pen made you keep your mouth in a tight line. That specific expression caught his attention and made Art look twice. Catching him staring didn’t make you smile at all, but you just blinked at him with a blank expression. The memory of that exact moment never really left his mind, even without him talking to you right then. Running into you again was accidental when he spotted you at a corner table in the library a few days later. You were hunched over an open textbook while tapping a pen against your jaw with one earphone loose.

Asking a question he already knew the answer to was just an excuse to get your attention. “What do you want?” you muttered as you pulled the other earphone out of your ear. You kept your eyes on him while waiting for a good reason. “Is the assignment due tomorrow?” he asked as he pointed at your open textbook. You didn’t even pause your reading to give him a proper glance. “You really don’t pay attention to the lectures at all,” you replied before going right back to reading. Getting called out like that made sure he never stopped thinking about that interaction. Your presence became a normal part of his day without him even trying, and he kept seeing you everywhere on campus.

His phone lit up with your name on the screen all the time. His schedule bent around yours without him even noticing it. People always assumed he had a crush on you, but the idea felt entirely wrong, given his attachment was built on comfort rather than romance. Having someone who never asked for anything from him felt like a relief. Art never really thought about how much he relied on you until he caught himself looking for your face the second he walked into a room. Having you around just felt natural, so he never bothered to think twice about why you were always there. He just welcomed your company when trying to imagine his day without you seemed pointless. “I got you a coffee,” you mumbled as you slid a paper cup across his desk.

Glancing between the steaming cup and the heavy dark circles under your eyes made him raise an eyebrow. “How did you know I needed this?” he asked while picking up the cup. A careless shrug of your shoulders was the only response you gave him at first. “You look totally exhausted,” you stated before turning your attention back to your own work. Smiling down at his notes made him realize he really liked having you around. The best part about having you around was how effortless you made everything feel for him. You were just his friend and easily one of the best ones he had. It was always the little things you did without him even realizing it that made him feel more comfortable in this friendship.

You knew exactly which professors he hated, and you always sent dumb memes at two in the morning just to make him laugh. Ordering food when he couldn’t decide what to eat just showed how uncomplicated everything was between the two of you. Getting along so well made schoolwork bearable, and late nights feel much more enjoyable. Art liked the fact that you never pushed him to talk about things. Asking why he flaked on plans or changed his mind at the last second was something you never did. Making it easy for him to be himself mattered even when he didn’t know who that was. You never hesitated to tease him whenever he started acting up. “You’re being totally dramatic again,” you snickered as you threw a crumpled piece of paper at his head.

Managing to catch the paper in the air made him shake his head at your antics. “I’m just stating the facts,” he countered as he tossed it right back to your desk. An unimpressed eye roll was always your favorite response to his teasing. Art genuinely liked you, but definitely not in any sort of romantic way. Thinking about you like that never crossed his mind, and you were just his person. Knowing you were always there for him didn’t feel scary at all. There was nothing to figure out, and he genuinely thought this was just how a good friendship worked. He didn’t remember how long that phone call lasted after he totally lost track of time while talking to you. It could have been twenty minutes or two hours, but all he really remembered was how quickly he calmed down just by listening to you.

“Go drink some water and stop overthinking so you can actually sleep,” you mumbled as you let out a brief yawn right into the microphone. You waited in line until you heard him move. “Yeah, okay,” he whispered before pulling the phone away from his ear to disconnect the call. He tossed his phone onto the mattress beside him and actually got up to get a glass of water just like you told him to do. He didn’t even think to show any appreciation right then, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Climbing back into bed a minute later meant he just rolled over on his mattress and finally rested. That was exactly what an amazing friendship looked like to him. It meant having someone who always picked up the phone to listen whenever he called.

Then there was Tashi, who joined the organization shortly after he began attending the meetings. She pulled up a chair beside him during one discussion before she asked a question that made everyone pause. She laughed under her breath right after, so Art accidentally snorted his drink. She didn’t talk loudly at all, but people still turned their heads to watch her in every room she entered. He liked the way she looked like she belonged everywhere. They started talking right after that small interaction. “Are you always this easily amused?” she asked while raising an eyebrow at his spilled drink. She leaned against the table while observing his reaction. “I- I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he choked out as he wiped the table with a napkin.

He started looking for ways to get near her after that meeting. He didn’t connect the timing to anything important, and he didn’t think his interest meant anything serious either. He already had you in his life to look after him. Everything with you felt incredibly easy and so familiar. He didn’t ask himself why he liked having someone new to look at. Why would he ever question something so harmless? He definitely didn’t stop talking to you just after he met someone new. You always called him after lectures, and you constantly dragged him to film screenings you knew he would like. None of that changed, and you were always his favorite person to spend time with. “We have to go see this tonight,” you demanded while shoving your phone into his face to show him a movie poster.

He leaned back to actually look at the screen. “Alright, I’ll buy the tickets,” he agreed as he pushed your phone away with a laugh. He never felt the need to talk when he hung out with you. He didn’t have to entertain you, so he always chose to be around you when his schoolwork stressed him out. Tashi caught his attention in a completely different way. She was entirely new to his everyday life, and she always did things he didn’t expect. People watched her when she entered a room, as if she might do something worth remembering. He really liked that she argued with him instead of just nodding along to whatever he said. “You’re totally wrong about that,” she argued while rolling her eyes at his movie opinion.

Art enjoyed the fact that she didn’t know him the way you did, and she didn’t seem to want to know him that well either. He kept finding Tashi after the organization events until they just started going home together. They kept hanging out after lectures, and eventually, they started dating, but they decided to keep the entire relationship a secret from everyone else. She wasn’t demanding at all, and she didn’t expect him to text her back right away or make a big deal out of them being together. She just showed up, so he did exactly the same thing. The arrangement worked for them without any effort. “Let’s just keep this between us for now,” she suggested while playing with the edge of his sleeve. She looked up at him to make sure he agreed.

“Yeah, I get that,” he replied, and keeping things private sounded perfectly fine to him. Being together didn’t take over his life, and it just folded into his normal schedule. They kept it to themselves mostly after she asked him to. She mentioned she hated how people in the organization always gossiped about couples, so she wanted to keep their relationship totally unbothered by anyone else. He understood exactly what she meant, and he was perfectly happy to respect her wishes. He didn’t think hiding his relationship with Tashi was a big deal at all. It just wasn’t something that needed explaining to anyone else.

She never asked him to distance himself from you anyway. She never made things weird when he canceled their plans when you needed help editing a paper. She didn’t mind when he picked up your coffee first before meeting her. It was never a choice between the two of you. That was just how his life already looked before she arrived. He had you as his best friend, and he had Tashi as his girlfriend. Those two relationships didn’t feel like they overlapped at all. He didn’t treat you differently, and his everyday actions proved he relied on your presence just as much as you counted on his support. That care showed up clearly whenever you suffered from a bad migraine, and he immediately came over to your place to check on you.

“Did you take your medicine yet?” he asked as he placed a glass of water on your nightstand. He sat on the edge of the mattress to check on you. “Yes, I took it an hour ago,” you mumbled while hiding your face in your pillow. He always needed your input, so he texted you first the exact second something shitty happened on campus. He also insisted on getting your final approval before submitting any of his assignments. Not telling you about Tashi didn’t feel like a lie, and he thought it just meant his friendship with you was exactly the same as always. He genuinely believed he could have both the girl he was learning about and the best friend who already knew him. Art never bothered to ask what the entire friendship actually looked like from your perspective.

He never even thought to ask, and you were just being your usual self by constantly remembering things everyone else forgot. Packing extra towels for him before practice became a totally normal thing you did. You always sent him customized playlists whenever he complained about having a hard time training. Waiting with him before his big matches happened all the time, even when you definitely had somewhere else to be. Bringing his favorite candy to the tennis courts just after he mentioned it once was another thing he took for granted. He never tried to read into your actions, and he assumed that was just how you treated all your friends. Showing up at your place at one in the morning with takeout food and his laptop usually ended with him passing out on your couch right in the middle of a sentence.

“You really need to get actual sleep,” you mumbled before dropping a blanket over his shoulders. Thinking about how much you cared about him probably crossed your mind right before you walked back to your own bedroom. He didn’t bother acknowledging it the next morning, and he just expected you to look after him. Looking after each other just felt like a totally normal part of knowing you. You actually joked about marrying him one time while acting like the idea meant absolutely nothing to you. “We should probably just get married if we’re both single at thirty,” you suggested with a shrug of your shoulders. Art immediately laughed at the idea, and he thought you were just kidding. “You wouldn’t even survive living with me for a week,” he teased as he kept looking down at his phone screen.

He totally missed the way your smile dropped for a second before you forced the corners of your mouth back up to act normal again. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap so he wouldn’t notice how much his quick rejection actually hurt you. The entire interaction felt totally normal to him, and he genuinely believed you two were just best friends making dumb jokes. He never bothered to notice how often you gave up your free time for him without expecting anything in return. He never imagined you would ever leave his side when you were always there. Art never stopped to think about what being his best friend might have actually been costing you emotionally. Sticking around for seven whole years proved exactly how much you were willing to endure for him.

He couldn’t even remember the exact names of every single girl he dated, and none of them mattered. He dated girls who didn’t fit into his life at all, and a few of those relationships ended on bad terms. None of those girls ever really lasted, anyway. Breaking up with them usually ended with him resting next to you in his car while drinking from a bottle of vodka. “You really need to eat something,” you sighed while pushing a bag of chips across the center console. He always acted like he didn’t care about the breakups, even when he was clearly upset. You never bothered to ask for the details or tell him he made a mistake. Pushing that bag of gas station food toward him was your only response to his bad decisions.

You always knew exactly what he needed to feel better that night. You always just listened to him complain without getting angry at his bad choices. The memory of you sneaking out with him after his worst tennis loss was something that never left his mind. Going back to his empty home was the last thing he wanted to do, so he just drove straight to an empty parking lot. Resting in the open trunk of his car with your legs swinging over the bumper became the only way to spend the night. You were both eating gas station snacks while passing a cheap bottle of alcohol back and forth between you. “I think we’re both just really bad at being adults,” you mumbled into the cold night air. Art let out a genuine laugh at your observation, even though nothing about the situation was actually funny.

Laughing with you was just the easiest way to respond, and he genuinely didn’t know how else to thank you for sticking around. Thinking about how much you cared for him was something he just ignored, so he could keep things easy between you two. That was exactly what the years looked like between the two of you. You always adjusted your schedule to be close to him. He never asked you to do that, nor did he ask whether you wanted to stop doing it. You were his best friend, so he just assumed you would always be around. You kept yourself close for the worst parts of his college life, too. Art spent way too long finishing his undergrad degree, and he kept dropping subjects he hated. He didn’t know what he actually wanted to do with his life.

Pursuing tennis full-time felt totally inevitable, given that everyone expected him to go pro right after graduation. Going to law school was just his backup plan if his athletic career fell apart. Thinking about actually making a final decision just made him want to ignore the future entirely. The sport took up so much of his time that he didn’t even know if he loved playing anymore or if it was just the only thing he was good at. “You don’t have to figure everything out today,” you muttered as you passed him a cold water bottle after a brutal practice. He just nodded at you without saying a single word. Art just ignored the big questions about his future so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pressure. Your degree requirements were already finished, so you should have graduated way before him.

Your career path was clear, but you refused to leave the university. You picked up extra units and extended your time at school just to be near him. “I think I might actually be allergic to the real world,” you joked as you tapped a highlighter against your chin. He never asked why you signed up for more schoolwork, and he totally failed to connect the dots. You were just there with him like you always had been. Art wasn’t ready to leave the campus, and he was incredibly scared of facing the real world alone because he needed more time to figure his life out. You gave him that time without him ever asking. He just took your constant support for granted without realizing what you actually gave up to be by his side.

So he didn’t think the weekend road trip would mean anything more than a fun getaway when he brought it up. He would never expect what will happen will take something big in his life. “We should all go down to that music festival,” he suggested as he tossed his car keys onto the table. He looked between the two of you while waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I’m totally in,” you agreed before he even finished his sentence. Patrick immediately teased the two of you about always doing things together. Hearing him joke around like that made the trip feel like just another regular weekend for the three of you. Art totally forgot to tell you that Tashi was actually the one who came up with the idea to go there. He wasn’t trying to hide her from you, but the detail just slipped his mind.

Art drove over to pick you up with Tashi already waiting in the front passenger seat. She was looking out the open window while scrolling through her phone. You climbed right into the back seat without asking him any questions about her. Patrick got in right beside you with his headphones resting around his neck. No one said much at first, and the car's engine noise mixed with the radio playing in the background. He didn’t check the rearview mirror to look at your face, and he didn’t notice the sudden way you stiffened when Tashi turned around to introduce herself. “Are you the famous best friend he always talks about?” she asked while giving you a polite smile. She rested her arm over the center console to look at you.

“Y-yeah, that’s me,” you replied as you tried your best to sound totally normal. Art just smiled from the driver’s seat without bothering to look back. He acted like the seating arrangement didn’t matter at all, and he behaved as if you hadn’t spent the last seven years right beside him. The four of you spent the long drive talking over the radio and bringing up old inside jokes. You made it through his jokes and laughed when he teased you from the front seat. You let Patrick steal your snacks without saying a word. You sang under your breath as the music played to make the car ride feel perfectly normal. Then Tashi reached over to change the station to a song you didn’t recognize. Finding out about her presence like that probably ruined the entire trip for you, but you forced yourself to keep quiet.

No one said what they actually thought. He just turned the radio volume up before you looked away out the side window. It was a long, awkward drive until all of you finally reached the destination. You all gathered on the beach with cups in your hands later that night. You drank alcohol while you listened to stories you already knew. Art got up halfway through the conversation to grab more bottles from the cooler. You watched him walk away as your cup rested on your knee. Patrick looked directly at Tashi the second Art got far enough away. “So, do you and Art actually have a history together?” Patrick asked as he took a sip from his drink. Patrick watched her face closely while he waited for her answer.

The wind blew some sand across your shoes while she thought about her response. “We knew each other from the organization a few years ago,” Tashi answered while she gave him a polite smile. She traced a finger across her knee instead of looking back at him. “Yeah, sure,” Patrick replied before he kicked some sand with his shoe. You kept your spine totally rigid so you wouldn’t give away how much the conversation bothered you while refusing to move away from your spot. Tashi lowered her gaze to look down at her drink. “I actually texted him last week to mention I was coming to this festival,” Tashi stated as she traced the rim of her cup. Patrick glanced right at you like he already knew what she was going to say next. You looked straight ahead at the bonfire without blinking.

“I definitely didn’t think he would bring other people with him,” she added while she pulled her jacket more around her body. Her words sounded entirely careful, but her intention to get him back was incredibly obvious. “I only showed up today because I hoped we could fix things and get back together,” Tashi explained as she looked back up at Patrick. Neither of you said anything back to her for a few seconds. You gave a small smile before you drank from your cup and just nodded your head as you understood her completely. You really shouldn’t have found out about their secret relationship this way. You swallowed hard as you forced your hand not to grip your drink tighter, but thankfully Art came back two minutes later and relaxed a little when you saw that big grin on his face.

He held a new bottle in his hand, and he immediately started talking about something else. He dropped down into the sand without noticing how entirely quiet the rest of you were. You just laughed at his words, so he wouldn’t ask what happened when he was gone. He didn’t notice anything different about you at all, and that went on for an hour until Patrick eventually announced he was ready to head back to the hotel. The fire burned out completely a while ago. The alcohol clouded your mind, but you clearly remembered every single word Tashi confessed. Tashi stood up before she brushed the sand off her clothes. Patrick let out a yawn, and Art let out a groan like he wanted to prolong the night, but you chose to keep your mouth completely shut.

The four of you walked down the beach road together, but you asked them to stop by a street stall to buy some barbecue that was already cooked. It didn’t take long to buy it, so you just held the paper bag while Art kept swinging his bottle around as he told a story you had already heard a million times. Patrick wandered ahead while Tashi trailed behind everyone else. You walked right beside Art the entire way back. The three of you followed Patrick toward the entrance of the hotel. Tashi walked away toward her room first once you all stepped inside the lobby. “I’m gonna go to sleep now,” Tashi announced as she turned down a different corridor. Everyone just watched her leave without offering a goodbye.

Patrick walked away next while he typed on his phone screen. “Don’t wait up for me tonight,” Patrick called out before he walked down the opposite hallway. The two of you ended up walking down the hallway alone together. He sang a melody quietly instead of saying anything out loud. His bottle was nearly empty, and his legs were covered in sand. The hallway air smelled entirely like salt water. It could have been any normal night for the two of you, but it definitely wasn’t. You looked at him entirely differently after hearing what Tashi said. He had no idea you planned on walking away from him for good. You just passed the bottle back and forth between you. Neither of you talked much because you never really needed words to understand each other.

You both reached the door at the end of the hallway after a few minutes of walking. He pushed the door open to let you step inside the room first. You walked straight to the desk to put down the paper bag of food you carried from the street stall. He followed right behind you before he pushed the door shut. “I really don’t know if I want to go pro anymore,” he admitted as he walked to the center of the room. Hearing him bring up his future felt totally familiar after listening to him doubt himself for years. “Everyone just assumes I was built for tennis, so they expect me to do it,” he explained before he took another drink from the bottle in his hand. He passed the bottle over to you, so you took a drink. You just looked down at the floor without offering any advice.

“I think I really love playing, but maybe I just got good at it early enough to forget how to want anything else,” he muttered as he kicked at the carpet. You didn’t answer him right away, so he just kept talking. “I really don’t know if I love the sport because it belongs to me or because everyone else expects me to play it,” he confessed while looking at you. He searched your face for some kind of answer you didn’t have. He let his shoulders sink as he stood there with his arms resting at his sides. He dropped his head forward to let his chin hit his chest while he stared at his feet for a long time without saying a word. “I just don’t know who I actually am without tennis,” he admitted while looking back at his feet.

“You’ve been complaining about that exact same thing since our sophomore year,” you replied as you walked over to stand closer to him. You handed the bottle right back to him after making your point. “I guess I really haven’t evolved much since then,” he agreed as he scratched the back of his neck with a laugh. He seemed to accept your observation without becoming defensive. “You actually have grown up a lot,” you corrected him while nudging his arm. You wanted to reassure him that his personal growth was incredibly obvious. He just needed someone to remind him of his own progress. “You think about things more now, and you don’t run away from your problems anymore, so that totally counts,” you pointed out as you nudged him again.

He didn’t say anything back to that right away. “What about you then?” he asked while tilting his head. He stopped talking about his own problems to look at you. “I’m gonna get a real job soon,” you stated as you looked at him. You tried your best to sound totally confident about your upcoming plans. You knew this conversation was going to change everything between you two. “I need to pay my mom back since she paid for seven whole years of college,” you explained as you walked back to lean against the edge of the desk. He turned his entire body to face you. “You could’ve graduated already?” he asked as he widened his eyes. The realization completely disrupted his previous train of thought. He looked at you as if he were seeing you for the very first time.

“I actually finished my degree requirements three years ago,” you answered as you looked right back at him. That piece of information made him completely speechless. He just stared at you without blinking. “Why didn’t you just leave school then?” he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. He genuinely couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly delay their life that long. “I just didn’t want to leave yet,” you admitted as you gave him a shrug of your shoulders. You didn’t tell him you waited around just because you wanted him to notice you. Thinking about how long you waited for him to finally look at you differently was something you kept entirely to yourself. He didn’t ask for a better explanation after he walked over to hand the bottle back to you.

The two of you stood there near the desk while the conversation completely stopped. You really thought everything between you two was already ending, even without anyone saying it out loud. “I’d probably just be the sidekick if anyone actually bothered to make a movie about us,” you muttered as you took another drink from the bottle. He turned his head to look at you with a confused expression. “W-why would you even say that?” he asked while he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because people always want to watch you,” you pointed out before you handed the bottle back to him. You watched him take it while you thought about how he always got exactly what he wanted without even trying. “You never actually know what you’re doing, but you always end up exactly where you need to be,” you explained as you crossed your ankles while leaning against the desk.

He just shook his head at your words before he let out a laugh. “That really doesn’t sound like a main character to me,” he argued while he took a sip of the alcohol. “It totally does,” you countered as you looked right back at him. “You just can’t see it yet,” you added before you looked down at your shoes. He stopped talking completely right after you said that. He kept looking at you for a long time while his hand dropped to his side with the bottle. You kept looking at him for a few seconds before he finally looked away. Neither of you brought up what you were actually thinking about. He set the bottle down on the desk to pull off his jacket. He threw his jacket onto the nearest chair before he walked over to the bed.

He kicked his shoes off his feet to drop back onto the mattress like his legs gave out. You grabbed the paper bag from the desk before you walked over to join him. You sat down right beside him while you pulled out the barbecue on a stick you bought earlier. “I just knew you’d complain later if we didn’t get these,” you stated as you placed the food between you two. He pushed himself up onto his elbows before he sat up fully on the mattress so he could look at the food. “You always make sure I eat when I completely forget to do it myself,” he mumbled as he grabbed a stick of barbecue. “You literally never think about anything,” you teased before you took a piece of the food for yourself. He just laughed at your observation while he started chewing his food.

“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” he agreed while he continued chewing his food. You adjusted your position until your knees almost bumped against his leg. The mattress sank down under your combined weight while he started talking again. He talked about Tashi, and he complained about Patrick while you sat next to him. You didn’t try to interrupt him at all, so you just listened to him speak. He wiped his hands on the empty paper bag before he pulled his guitar from the foot of the bed. He never asked for permission because he never really cared. He placed the instrument on his lap while his fingers started moving over the strings. He played some random sounds instead of a real song. You knew he only did this when nobody else was around. You adjusted your position on the bed while you watched him play.

He didn’t even look up at you because he didn’t have to. You figured this was just his way of talking when words completely failed him. You never told him to stop playing, so you just kept right beside him like you always did. The bottle you both drank from earlier was just on the desk. He kept playing because his hands needed something to do. You knew he was totally drunk, but he managed to play fine. You crossed your legs on the mattress while you stared at him. You always just stuck around without ever asking for anything in return. You told yourself tonight would be different. “Seven years,” you spoke up as you looked right at him. You thought about how long this secret had existed. He stopped playing before he blinked a few times.

“What?” he asked while he turned his head to face you. He looked totally confused by your statement. “I’ve been in love with you for seven years,” you admitted as you met his eyes. You finally said the words you kept hidden for years. The realization failed to register in his brain right away. He kept his fingers resting on the strings without playing another note while he just stared at you. “I don’t know when it started,” you admitted as you looked down at his hands. You tried to think about the very first time you realized your feelings. “Maybe when we were… I don’t know... seventeen? Eighteen?” you explained as you let out a sigh. You remembered how young you both were back then. “Maybe it’s when you asked if I wanted to walk home instead of calling a cab,” you continued while you watched his reaction.

You thought about all those little moments you memorized over the years. “Or when you shared your fries and said you didn’t want to eat alone,” you pointed out before you shook your head. He didn’t answer you, so you just kept talking. “Or maybe it was every time you told me something that felt small to you, but I held onto it for days,” you confessed as you folded your hands together in your lap. He just kept his eyes on you without making a single sound. You let out a breath while you tried to calm your nerves. “I don’t know. I just know that I’ve loved you,” you stated as you looked right back at him. You never planned to actually tell him any of this out loud. You shook your head slightly before you spoke again. “Quietly-” you stopped yourself as you thought about how you hid everything from him for years.

“Constantly,” you continued while you watched his expression. He looked completely surprised by everything you just said. You didn’t give him a chance to speak. “For seven fucking years-” you finished as you let out another breath. He didn’t move an inch after you dropped that information. You didn’t cry or try to make a big deal out of the confession. You just sounded completely tired of holding it all inside. “I don’t want anything from you,” you stated as you gave him a sad smile. You really just wanted to get it off your chest before you finally left. “I just didn’t want to leave without telling you,” you added while you looked down at your hands. “I wanted you to know that someone loved you that long. That hard-” you continued as you looked up at him.

You wanted him to understand how much you cared about him. He just kept staring at you like he couldn’t process your words. “Even if you never noticed…” You whispered while you gave him a small shrug. You totally accepted the fact that he never saw you that way. His mind went completely blank after hearing your confession. He didn’t even know how to react to something like that. The alcohol from earlier lost its effect because the situation just messed with his head right then. Everything happened way too fast for him to understand. He reacted without thinking about what he was actually doing. He leaned forward over his guitar to get closer to you before he put his mouth on yours to kiss you. The kiss wasn’t romantic at all, since he never actually planned to do it.

It was just a panicked reaction because letting you walk away wasn’t an option. He acted on instinct when his brain failed to come up with any actual words to say. Knowing if he meant to do it or if he even wanted to kiss you in the first place didn’t matter right then. You were going to leave, so he did the only thing he could think of to stop you. Your lips didn’t move at all against his. You never even tried to kiss him back, so the mistake became completely obvious to him. You leaned away from him to put some distance between the two of you. You looked right at him without blinking. “Don’t do that,” you stated as you shook your head at him. “Don’t kiss me because you don’t know what else to do,” you told him before you got up from the mattress.

Your words hurt him because having an excuse for his actions was completely impossible. He couldn’t even try to defend himself when he knew you were right. Watching you stand up from the bed was all he could do without trying to stop you again. He nodded his head because he knew he deserved your anger when you refused to say anything else. You walked over to the corner of the room to grab your bag. You packed your things right in front of him so you could commute all the way back to the city from the beach alone. You walked straight toward the exit without looking back at him once you finished. You opened the door to leave the room before you shut it behind you. He didn’t move from the mattress while his mind tried to process everything he had ignored over the last seven years.

His guitar rested right in his lap. The drink from earlier was on the desk. He never wanted any of this to happen the way it did, but he ruined it anyway. He didn’t leave his spot, and he realized taking his mistake back was completely out of the question, but he had an excuse to see you again because your graduation was the very next day. It was also his birthday, but caring about that at all right then felt completely pointless. He entirely skipped the actual ceremony, so he didn’t even bother asking anyone for photos. He just looked at his phone while he scrolled past all the pictures other people posted online. He saw your face in every single post. You looked completely happy while you posed with your friends.

Seeing you graduate made him realize your life was moving on without him. He avoided the event entirely because figuring out how to act around you after the previous night was just too confusing. He typed a message asking for one last drink and sent it right away before he could change his mind. He called it a tradition so you wouldn’t reject the invitation. Meeting you right then was just something he really needed to do. He completely hated the idea of watching you finish college when he had no idea what to do with his own life. The thought of not seeing you at all bothered him even more. He grabbed his bag before he left his place. He arrived at the meeting spot completely late, so he parked his car and walked over to find you already waiting there.

He always expected you to come because you always listened whenever he asked for something. Thinking you were just a really good friend was his usual mindset for years. You didn’t smile at him when he walked over. You never even tried to tease him like you usually did. You just looked completely exhausted. “You really took your time getting here,” you stated as you crossed your arms over your chest. You didn’t sound angry, but you definitely sounded completely done with him. “I made it,” he pointed out while he gave you a shrug. You didn’t laugh at his excuse at all. He told you to walk to the convenience store with him just like you both usually did. You walked right beside him without saying a single word.

The silence between the two of you felt completely wrong this time. Everything between you two was totally falling apart. Being entirely distracted meant he completely failed to notice the obvious lack of lights coming from the storefront. Reaching the dark building only revealed that the glass doors were completely locked. “I totally forgot it was Sunday today,” he muttered as he checked the closed sign on the window. You just turned around to walk away, so he followed right behind you. The two of you ended up walking another three blocks to find a liquor store that was actually open. He bought some alcohol and shoved the cans into his bag. You both walked back to his parked car right after, so he could drive back to his home.

You followed him up the stairs without asking any questions. You both ended up on the roof of his home a few minutes later. You crossed your arms over your chest again while looking out at the street below. He pulled a couple of beers from his bag and popped the tabs open before he handed one over to you. You uncrossed your arms to take the can from his hand without making any eye contact. Neither of you tried to make a toast before drinking the alcohol. He just watched you stare out at the street below. Thinking about everything you told him the previous night finally took over his brain. He realized your actions were never just about being a good friend. It all made sense after you confessed your love for seven years, and his mind started playing back every single time you put him first.

Mistaking your love for basic kindness happened entirely on his end. He always took your presence for granted because having you around was just convenient for him. He looked down at the beer can in his hand while he thought about the butterball candy he gave you during a road trip years ago. You joked about it tasting expired before throwing the wrapper at his face. Laughing at your reaction just turned it into a normal habit between the two of you after that day. He forgot he actually did that with Tashi first, and she was the one who started it. You never knew about her, so that candy became an inside joke without you knowing it was already something he did with another woman. You let him take up all your free time without ever asking for anything back.

You gave him seven entire years of helping him out and keeping quiet whenever he messed up. Thinking about that kiss back in that hotel room made him feel awful since he only did it to stop you from walking out the door. He just panicked instead of admitting he was terrified of losing his best friend. He couldn’t get that night at the hotel out of his head. You were resting on the edge of the mattress and pointing out that it had been seven years. Your voice didn’t even shake while your hands never tried to reach for his. He knew he messed up the second his lips touched yours, since it was nothing but a selfish reaction. He felt completely guilty about it because he knew it was wrong. He never forgot the exact way you told him not to do that right after you pulled away.

You told him not to kiss you just because he didn’t know what else to do right before you grabbed your things to leave. Hearing those words in his head just made him realize he had completely ruined the best thing he had ever had. He never tried to bring it up again because he couldn’t lie to your face about his feelings. He actually did love you, but it definitely wasn’t the way you wanted him to. He never felt that kind of romantic urgency or devotion you held onto for all those years. “I really don’t want you to leave,” he muttered as he took a sip from his beer. You just kept looking at the street below without turning your head. He loved having you in his life because you were the only person who truly understood him.

The idea of letting you walk away completely terrified him. He couldn’t tell you how much he needed you because it felt entirely selfish to hold onto you when he couldn’t give you what you deserved. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you,” he confessed while he stared at the side of your face. You didn’t give him an answer right away, so he just drank more of his beer. “You’re gonna have to figure it out eventually,” you replied before you took another drink from your own can. He couldn’t force himself to say he loved you too when he knew his version of love wasn’t enough for you. Bringing you up to this roof for a final drink was the only way he knew how to let you go, and keeping his mouth shut seemed like a good way to make you wait beside him just a little longer.

Hoping your presence would fix something inside him was probably selfish, even if only temporary. You just drank your beer without looking in his direction at all. Your mind was already thinking about something else entirely, instead of him. “Happy birthday,” you mumbled before you took another sip from your can. Hearing you say that made him feel incredibly awful because you sounded so distant despite being right there beside him. “Congrats on graduating,” he replied while looking right at you. Giving you such a basic response made him feel completely pathetic. You didn’t even bother saying thank you back to him.

“I should go now,” you muttered as you set your empty can on the ledge.

“Yeah,” he replied while staring at his own shoes. You turned around right away before walking toward the roof access door. You didn’t try to look back at him. Watching you leave without saying another word was his only choice. There was absolutely nothing left for him to say to stop you from leaving. He wanted to apologize for kissing you like that back at the hotel. He wanted to say sorry for wasting so much of your time. He wanted to ask for forgiveness because he just couldn’t love you the exact way you needed. Realizing he was actually losing you didn’t happen until you told him you were already done. Saying any of those things wouldn’t fix anything at all, right then. He just let you walk to the stairs without even trying to follow you this time. Waiting around for him wasn’t your job anymore.

You were always the only constant thing in his entire life. You were the only person he relied on whenever he didn’t know what to do with himself. Keeping him company whenever he felt completely lost was something you always did. You supported him whenever playing tennis brought him nowhere. You listened to him complain when he was doubting himself and felt like getting his degree was totally out of reach. You never judged him whenever he doubted his future career and felt like he was just faking his way through life. Letting you take on all his problems without ever giving you anything in return was his biggest flaw. Thinking you would just be around forever happened because he assumed friendship worked that way.

Kissing you completely ruined that comfortable illusion between the two of you, and he knows that pretending everything was fine just wouldn’t work anymore. He had no idea who he was without you around, and that’s something he can’t even fully grasp. He spent so many years relying on your help for everything, so how can this be an easy road to fill the void you left? He doesn’t even actually want to figure out his own life by himself when he’s used to hearing your advice and opinions. He didn't even know how he was supposed to survive his own mistakes without you there to save him. It felt like he finally woke up to realize he destroyed the only real thing he ever had, and like he spent seven whole years draining you empty just to keep his own head above water. There was no one left to save him like he always expected you to do whenever things went wrong. He just had to live with the reality that he pushed you away like he never even cared at all.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

Art is driving. One hand on the wheel, the other slung lazily out the window, sun catching the bones in his wrist. The wind keeps blowing his curls into his eyes, but he doesn‘t fix them. You want to reach out and do it for him, but you don‘t. He has that curly blonde hair you always want to run your fingers through. But well, you‘ve done enough of that, it‘s nothing new the fixing things he doesn‘t ask you to fix, offering pieces of yourself he never asked to keep. He glances in the rearview mirror once. Not at you. At her. Tashi. She‘s sitting in the passenger seat like she‘s always belonged there, and maybe she has. Maybe that‘s the part that hurts most.

Patrick‘s next to you, headphones on, mouthing along to some sad gay song like he‘s in a different movie entirely. Like he‘s annoying the fuck out of you about this situation. You‘re grateful for him, really, for his silence, for the way he doesn‘t ask you what‘s wrong. He already knows. He‘s the one who knows you and Art too closely. You tell him things, but he doesn‘t rat you out to Art. Sometimes you think everyone knows it already. Like it‘s not a secret anymore, well except for Art. It‘s just a punchline. Seven years in love with your best friend, and he still introduces you as his “bro” when he‘s drunk. You laugh too hard at his jokes. You always have. It‘s easier than saying you‘re scared he‘ll leave and forget you entirely.

By the time you arrive, the sun‘s too bright and the sand‘s too hot and you already feel like you‘re a mess. The air smells like salt and cheap alcohol. Art‘s shirt is off before the car even finishes parking. He runs straight toward the water, laughing, yelling something you can‘t hear. Tashi follows. You sit on the hood and watch them, beside Patrick who‘s ready to tease you already. To give you a reality check. You don‘t take a photo. The view is so beautiful, too bad you‘re not in the mood. You don‘t move. You feel like the only person on earth who knows they‘re living inside a memory. Patrick opens a beer beside you and offers one without a word. You take it. Drink half in one go. It doesn‘t help. You ask him something stupid like, “Do you think we‘ll remember this?” and he says, “Only if it hurts enough.” And god, you think maybe that‘s the truest thing you‘ve ever heard.

Later, when the sky turns heavy and violet, someone suggests karaoke like it‘s a joke. Like they don‘t know the kind of night they‘re summoning. But Art lights up, yeah, of course he does, and you‘re already nodding before you think better of it. Because you know he will ask. That‘s how it always is. One look from him and you forget your boundaries. You forgot to take. You forgot what you really are to him. You forget you ever wanted to have any. And the place is a patchwork of bad lighting and worn leather booths, and the mic smells like every feeling that‘s ever touched it. Art picks something old and loud, something to shout with his whole body, and Patrick howls through every line like he‘s exorcising something. You‘re on your second beer. Your third. You lose count by the time you‘re singing with Art, shoulder to shoulder, yelling lyrics you don‘t know into the same mic. He looks at you like a memory. You look at him like a prayer.

Then he says, “I love you,” in the middle of the chorus, smiling at you, but it‘s followed by “bro,” and that‘s the part that lodges in your throat. You don‘t even like that- that fucking term. It‘s a punch in your face. That one fucking word. That one stupid syllable that flattens everything you thought maybe tonight could be. Everyone claps. You do too. You smile like it‘s funny, like it doesn‘t hurt. But you feel it. In the pit of your stomach. You feel it wants to be cut out and thrown in the ocean. In your jaw, clenched around the scream you won‘t let out. Like you want to scream at him if he‘s blind.

Bottle after bottle, you find yourself sitting outside with a cigarette you don‘t finish and a heart that won‘t shut up. Art plops down beside you, drunk and golden, knees bumping yours. “You good?” he asks, voice slurred just enough to make him seem soft. You nod. Of course you do. What would you even say? That you‘re not sure you can keep doing this? That being his friend feels like bleeding in public and hoping no you can just hit him in the head to the point he‘ll have an amnesia and tell him you‘re his girlfriend?

Yeah, no, that won‘t work, so you just sit beside him. Let him talk about nothing. About surfing tomorrow. About how Tashi‘s good at it, apparently. It‘s not like you have anything against the woman, you don‘t. You can‘t just help to feel envious that will maybe, maybe make you say shitty things if you are just in front of Patrick. But you just nod again. You keep nodding. And when you finally speak, it‘s just to say, “Let‘s go back.” Not because you want to. Because if you stay here one second longer, you‘ll say the wrong thing - or worse, the truth.

You love the place you guys picked. But right now it just feels different. The room feels like it‘s breathing without you. The windows rattle slightly from the ocean wind outside, the curtains flutter like someone else‘s heartbeat. And Art is perched at the edge of the bed with his guitar in his lap, bare feet on the floor, hair damp from the shower. He looks golden in the lamplight. Familiar. Comfortable. You‘ve spent years memorizing this version of him. The quiet one, the one that only shows up at 1 a.m. when no one else is looking. The version that looks so peaceful. The one who loves music besides tennis. The one who- who gets your heart. He plays something without a name, just a slow set of chords, barely holding shape. Maybe it‘s something he‘s composing. It should soothe you. Instead, it burns.

He doesn‘t notice you watching him. Or maybe he does and doesn‘t care. You always have the chance to look at him because... because he lets you. Or probably he‘s just that oblivious. You‘re sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, knees pulled tight to your chest like that could keep it all in. The want, the ache, the exhaustion of waiting. The pining. He hums under his breath. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Seven years,” you say suddenly. It startles even you. He pauses, one hand still on the frets. You don‘t know why you bring it up but the following words you‘ll say will fuck you up, you just know that.

“What?” he questions, your words made him stop playing his guitar and look up at you.

You let out a shaky breath. “I‘ve been in love with you for seven years.” You quickly press your lips together. Feeling the environment. Feeling him how he‘ll react. Observing him. Overthinking many things.

It hangs there, heavy and soft, too real to take back. You watch his face. First confused, then careful. He blinks like he‘s trying to remember something important. You keep going, because if you stop now, you‘ll never start again. You will never say shit again if you are sober.

“I don‘t know when it started. Maybe when we were I don‘t know... seventeen? Eighteen? And you asked if I wanted to walk home instead of calling a cab. Or when you shared your fries and said you didn‘t want to eat alone. Or maybe it was every time you told me something that felt small to you, but I carried it around for days. I don‘t know. I just know that I‘ve loved you. Quietly. Constantly. For seven fucking years.”

He doesn‘t speak. He just stares with his mouth half-open, hands still resting on the guitar like he forgot they were there. You don‘t look away. Not this time.

“I don‘t want anything from you,” you say. “I just didn‘t want to leave without telling you. I wanted you to know that someone loved you that long. That hard. Even if you never noticed.”

And that‘s when he kisses you.

He kisses you like he‘s doing you a favor. Like it‘s the polite thing to do. You feel it instantly. The shape of it, the temperature, the lack. His mouth on yours is nothing like you imagined. It‘s soft, yes, and it‘s careful, but it isn‘t full. It isn‘t real. He doesn‘t touch you like someone who‘s been waiting seven years to feel your mouth. Like... like someone who will think like fuck I want her too despite of the friendship. He touches you like someone trying to soften a blow. Like someone stalling. You don‘t even close your eyes. You just wait for the part where it starts to matter and it never comes.

You pull away, slow and stunned, like your body already knew before your brain caught up. Your face is warm, but not from the kiss. Not from anything good. You feel numb. Like a robot or something. He‘s still looking at you like he doesn‘t understand what just happened. Like you kissed him. Like this is something you started. You wait for something, anything. A breath. A question. A fucking name. Or maybe something like, Are you drunk? Or let‘s do it better, maybe call you bro? But there‘s nothing. Just his face, blank and open, like maybe you should say thank you.

So you just pulled back before the kiss could become anything. Before you convince yourself to pretend it feels like love. His hand is still on your face when you say it, quiet, tired, done. “Don‘t do that.” Your voice doesn‘t shake. It‘s steady in the way grief is steady. “Don‘t kiss me just because you don‘t know what else to do.” You wait for his face to shift. To see his reaction. To read him like you always do. For guilt, for panic, for anything human. Maybe today is the day you won‘t be able to read what the situation is because he just looks at you like you‘ve made things difficult. Like you‘ve embarrassed him.

He just sits there, watching you like he‘s hoping you‘ll backpedal. Like you‘ll laugh and say it was a joke. Like you‘ll make it easy again. But you‘re drunk enough to do that anymore. You are too aware despite the drinks. You‘re not young anymore. You‘re not stupid. You‘re just tired. Tired of loving him the way he‘s always let you quietly, invisibly, as long as you never asked for anything back.

And what gets you, what really fucking gets you is that he didn‘t even say no. He didn‘t reject you. He didn‘t turn away, or flinch, or apologize. You keep thinking and thinking that all the things you say, he‘ll be just speechless. Stunned? But he can just kiss you? Kissed you like a Band-Aid. Like pity. Like he was trying to keep you from crying, not because he cared, but because it would be inconvenient if you did. He kissed you to shut you up, and you almost let him.

You nod. Not because you understand, but because you‘ve finally decided to stop waiting. You stand. You don‘t slam the door. You don‘t say anything else. There‘s no last word. You don‘t say anything after that. You don‘t need to, anyway. Just you, leaving with your mouth still tasting like him, and your heart still convinced you should‘ve waited five more seconds, just in case. Just in case he would‘ve said it. Just... just maybe he came to his senses and said anything. Something.

You don‘t cry in the hallway. Not yet. You don‘t have the dignity for that. You just press your back to the wall, close your eyes, and try to remember what it felt like to still believe he could love you back. So stupid. So dumb for someone who‘s always receiving compliments about being smart. And when the tears come, they don‘t come loud. They come like shame. Slow. Quiet. Familiar. You feel like you just stabbed yourself in the stomach way up to your chest. That‘s how it feels. Seven years.

You think about what you said. I love you. Three words you spent seven years swallowing, and when they finally left your mouth, they didn‘t sound brave. They sounded desperate. Like you said, it‘s because you are too tired to feel it anymore. Desperate that he will love you back. It was easy to mean them in the moment, easier than you thought it would be. But now they sit in your mouth like something spoiled. Bitter. Embarrassing. You thought saying it would free you, like maybe the weight would lift once it was real. But it didn‘t. It just made you feel stupid. Like you misunderstood the assignment. Like you ruined something that was never yours to begin with. You weren‘t brave. You were just drunk. And stupid. And still in love with someone who looked you in the face and offered you silence.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

Steve was nervous. Maybe not nervous, but anxious. Eddie’s birthday was tonight.  

Why is that a problem? You may ask. Let’s back up. 

Steve and you started dating recently. You’ve been in an official and exclusive relationship for a couple of months now. 

But there was one tiny detail. See, Steve used to date this girl, Stacy, who’s good friends with Eddie right before he started dating you. So she’ll probably be there tonight. It’s not a huge problem, but he still wanted to let you know in order to not hide anything. 

“Why are you so fidgety?” you ask him. 

“I’m not fidgety.” he says quickly. “But I do need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Stacy’s gonna be there.” he lets out.

“Okay… Who’s Stacy?” 

“Uh, she’s the girl I was seeing before I started dating you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” you chuckle dryly. 

“What?”

“So, Eddie’s birthday is basically becoming a reunion of your girlfriends.”

“What do you mean?” he frowns. 

“Well, we’ve got me: the current girlfriend. Then, Nancy: your ex-girlfriend. And Now Stacy! Some fling you had before me.” you list sarcastically. 

“Nancy is literally one of our best friends.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“And Stacy is Eddie’s friend.”

“But how many girls have you dated, Steve?”

He freezes. Was this a trick question? “What?”

“Half of Hawkins? Did everyone get a turn?” you continue with the sarcastic tone. 

“What are you saying? That I’m some kind of… slut?!” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re implying it.” 

“I just don’t love constantly meeting girls who have a history with you.”

“You know I don’t care about them, right?”

“I know.”

“No, I mean it.” he steps closer. “Babe, I’m with you. I don’t care if Nancy, or Stacy, or whoever is there tonight too. I just want to hold your hand and then take you home.”

“Okay.” that softens you, you give him a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re allowed to be uncomfortable.” 

“Fine, I’ll survive Stacy.” 

“Thank you.”

“But if she says anything like ‘Steve used to do this thing when we dated’... I’m leaving.” you warn him. 

“You’re not leaving.” he laughs.

“Watch me.”

He grins. “Come on, trouble.” 

But little did you know she’d do something way worse than that… 

When you got to the bar it was all fun and games, until she walked in. 

Steve didn't notice her at first. But you caught her immediately. 

She walked in, pretty, confident, and wearing something very familiar. A blue polo shirt that looked a little big on her. 

And by the way Steve chokes on his drink when he sees her in that? You confirm it… it was his. 

“Honey-” he starts.

“Is that your shirt?” you interrupt.

“...Yeah.” he looks down. 

“She keeps your clothes.” you nod, trying to gain some patience. 

But she sees you, and she’s walking over, smiling, like nothing’s wrong. 

“Hey, Steve!” she greets him with a big smile. “Oh my god, It’s been forever!”

“Hey, Stacy.” he gives her a polite smile. 

“Oh, and you must be the Mrs. Harrington.” she addresses you, trying to be cute and funny. Like she’s not wearing your boyfriend’s fucking shirt right in front of you. 

“Yeah.” you simply say.

“Wow, you two are cute.” she comments. “And I love what you’re wearing!” she tells you. 

Your jaw tightens. Steve notices. 

“Stacy, uh…” he looks at her. “Is that mine?”

She looks down, like she was just noticing. “Oh my god! I forgot it was yours! I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” she laughs.

“You just found it…” he asks, incredulously. 

“Yeah, how funny is that?” she just laughs and walks over to the bar. 

Your eyes stay on her. You were really trying to convince yourself you were not gonna be that girlfriend. You were not gonna get jealous, or let Steve’s past bother you. But she’s stepping over the line. 

“Tell me you’re seeing this.” you tell Steve. 

“I am seeing this.” 

“She’s doing this on purpose.” 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?!”

“Okay, probably.” 

“Steve-” 

“But, I don’t care. And you shouldn’t either. She’s being petty.”

“She knows you’re with me.” like obviously. “And she wore it on purpose. Aren’t you mad?”

“At her? A little.” he shrugs. “But mostly because she made my girlfriend upset.”

You don’t say anything else. You just look at him, serious face, clearly upset. 

“Come on, baby. Don’t give her what she wants, just ignore her.” he takes your hand. “I love you.”

“...Okay.” 

“There she is.” he smiles at you and kisses your forehead. 

For about twenty minutes, Steve thought he had fixed it. 

Until Dustin noticed too. 

“Dude, does Stacy have one of your shirts?” he asks. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together for him. Stacy’s wearing a big polo shirt + Steve loves polo shirts + Stacy and Steve used to date = that’s his shirt!

You stop listening to Eddie’s story. 

“It’s nothing, dude. Not important.” Steve tries to dismiss it. 

“What? I’m just asking. You never let me have your shirts-” Dustin starts complaining. 

“Oh, that’s because you never dated him.” you step in. “If you want his clothes you just have to go on a date with him apparently!” 

“No, no, no. Babe-”

Dustin looks between you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve throws him a bad look. 

“Sorry.” Dustin tries to smile and soften the moment. “I’m- I’m gonna go now.”

“Honey, it’s just a stupid shirt.” he explains again. 

“It’s not just about the shirt. It’sfucking weird, Steve!” 

“I know, I know.” 

But Steve was beginning to regret thinking the situation was over. Because even his friends started to notice. 

More and more. 

Robin walks over and drops on an empty chair beside you. 

“Steve, don’t you have a shirt just like that one?” she asks. 

“Robin, don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“No more questions.”

“That’s your solution?” you step in, looking at him. 

“That’s yours!” Robin tells him in case he didn’t know. 

“Yeah! It is! Go ahead, tell her.” you snap. “They used to date for like a month before me, and now she’s trying to… I’m not sure. Make me jealous? Seduce him?”

“And what? She just kept one of your shirts?” Robin frowns. 

“Apparently.” you say. 

“That’s crazy.” 

“Or we can just ignore her and she loses.” Steve comments.

“No, but still. She found an old shirt from the guy she used to see, knew he had a girlfriend now, and decided to wear it either way.” you list.

“She has a point.” Robin agrees.

“I don’t think we should start anything.” he says.

“She’s making a statement.” Robin says.

“Do not encourage this.” he leans closer to you. “Hey.”

You just look at him.

“I know you’re mad.” 

“I’m annoyed.”

“But you know I’m not looking at her, right?”

“I know.” your expression changes. 

“And you know I’m here because I want to be with you.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t let her get this much space in your head.” he keeps thinking about it. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

“What?”

“I can just tell her. Make it clear that I'm not interested, that I'm happy with you, and that whatever she thinks she's doing isn't going to work.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” you sigh. “Because she wins. If you go over there because of this, then she gets exactly what she wanted.”

“She just wanted to annoy you.” he whispers. 

“Exactly.” you say. “I know it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” he kisses your cheek. 

“I hate that she makes me feel like this.” 

“You know she doesn’t get anything, right? She wanted a reaction but you didn’t give her one.” he explains, but since you don’t respond, he talks again. “I don't care about the shirt. I don't care that she kept it. I don't care about a girl I dated for a few weeks before I even knew what I wanted.”

That makes you smile a little. “You’re cute.”

“You know what we can do?” he states, giddy. “I’ll just have to be extra clingy with you so she takes the hint.” 

You start laughing. 

But the rest of the night moves like this. Not a big statement, he just stayed close. 

If you moved to get a drink, his hand would find yours before you even walked away. 

If you’re standing with the group, his arm would settle around you. 

He didn’t want to be performative, he was just being Steve. 

“You okay?” he checks. 

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“You know, you don’t have to make sure everyone knows.”

“I’m not. I’m holding your hand because I like holding your hand.” he hugs you. “And I love being all over you.”

You laugh at that. 

“You’re actually having fun again.” he whispers in your ear. 

“You’re making it sound like I was some sad little puppy ten minutes ago.” you smile. 

“I was going to say grumpy.” he says and you shove him playfully, but he pulls you closer again. 

You hated that there was a whole other version of Steve before you had been there for it. But it’s easy to get out of your own intrusive thoughts when he looks at you like that. 

You may have not had him before. But he does a great job reminding you he’s here to stay. 

And that’s it… you win. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“Fucking asshole,” you grumble, digging through the organized mess on his desk. Face pulled tight with barely concealed anger, you finally find your wired earbuds underneath a pile of papers.

You bunch them up in your hand and shove them into your pocket with a grunt. This is the third time he’s taken something from you without asking, just this week. First, it was your favorite pen. Then it was the new toothpaste you bought. It’s a new habit he’s developed, on top of his already annoying ones. Like not closing cabinets. Like eating all of your snacks and leaving the empty boxes filled with nothing but crumbs. 

Really, you never wanted a roommate. When you moved into your apartment, you finally felt free, finally felt like you could feel comfortable in your own space without the nuisance of other people. But your landlord got greedy. Upped the rent without warning.

And of course, he insisted that his nephew would be a good roommate. Would be able to split the cost with you. Sure, you could’ve turned him down. Could’ve begged him to let you handpick your roommate. But he never told you what an annoying fucking prick he is.

Two years living with him has felt like an entire lifetime.

“What are you doing in my room?”

Immediately, you spin around, heart plummeting, banging against your ribs violently. You jolt so hard that your hip slams into the desk painfully. “Jesus!”

“Chill, Princess.”

Steve’s leaning against the doorframe, one shoulder braced on the wood, blocking half of it. The hallway light spills in behind him, casting his body in shadow, outlining the broad slope of his shoulders and the messy curl of his hair. 

He’s wearing an old, washed-out tee, the light grey fabric stretching across his torso. His legs are covered in dark denim that hugs the muscles in his thighs in a way you absolutely refuse to acknowledge. You grind your teeth together at the sight, fingernails digging into your palms so hard you’re sure they’re leaving dents.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, teeth clenching.

Steve holds his hands up in defense and steps further into his room. “Sorry, is your highness better?

“Shut the fuck up,” you grunt, pushing past him, your shoulder checking into his.

At the contact, he stumbles back slightly, a low chuckle rumbling his chest. “What crawled up your ass today?” He asks, following after you like a lost puppy. More like a rodent. “Seriously.”

“You did!” You yell over your shoulder, plopping down on the couch. As you sink into the cushions, you hope the tension will bleed from your body. All you want is to relax, to enjoy the rest of your weekend in peace. Leaning forward, you pick up the remote and flick on the TV, some old romcom playing. Like the world is openly mocking you.

To your dismay, Steve slides in front of your view, his hands on his hips. “What did I do now?” It takes everything in your body not to lunge up and yell in his face, to list off every single thing he does that drives you up a wall. But you don’t. Instead, you lean to the side, looking past his hip to glare at the TV screen. Noticing your shift, Steve steps to the side.

Anger tears through your veins, your teeth sinking down on the inside of your cheek. Your eyes snap up to his, chest heaving with barely concealed rage. “What do you think?” You breathe out, digging into your pocket and holding up your headphones.

Steve raises an eyebrow, tilting his head like he has no clue. “What? I made sure they didn’t get tangled this time.”

A soft puff of air comes out of your nostrils like a bull. “You took them.”

“Uh-huh?” 

“Without asking, asshole!”

He just rolls his eyes, his hands dropping to his sides. “Okay? You take my sweatshirts all the time.”

An embarrassing heat creeps up your neck at the memory. You shake your head, as if you can shake the redness from your face. “That was once, and it was an accident! I thought it was mine!”

“My clothes are like, three sizes bigger than yours!” Steve crosses his arms across his chest, biceps bulging with the motion.

Slowly, you cross your arms too, mirroring his body language. “Leave me alone, Harrington. I’m seriously not in the fucking mood.”

“Yeah, I can tell. God, you’re so uptight all the time,” he says, flopping down on the couch next to you, taking out his phone. “You need to get laid.”

What?

Your head snaps over to him, your face heating up. You tell yourself it’s only from the pure anger coursing through your entire body. “Excuse me?” 

“What? I’m serious. Maybe it’ll help you relax.”

At the sheer amount of audacity he’s throwing your way, you scoff. “What will help me relax is you leaving me alone and not stealing my fucking shit!”

“Mm. How long has it been?” He asks, not even looking up from his phone. The blank expression on his tilted-down face makes you want to send your knuckles into his jaw. 

“That is absolutely none of your business!”

“A month? A year? What’s the deal, Princess?” He asks, a video playing low on his phone, as if this is such an everyday conversation. It just pisses you off even more.

“Fuck you,” you growl.

“Sorry, I’m not offering. You’re not my type,” he mumbles, smirking lazily up at you, his eyes finally flicking up.

God, if only you could strangle him. 

Your teeth grind together, your nails digging into the meat of your bicep. The sharp sting is the only thing grounding you enough not to lunge across the couch and do just that. “Leave me alone.”

Steve just lounges back, his legs spreading, taking up even more unnecessary space. You jolt your leg back like his skin is acid when his thigh brushes yours. A low beep sounds from the device in his hands, a low vibrating following. “Ah, shit,” he mumbles. “Could I borrow a charger?”

Your jaw almost drops at his audacity. Instead, you keep your face pulled tight, trying not to let him burrow into your skin even more than he already has. “Absolutely not.”

“Please? I asked this time,” he offers, smiling like a proud kindergartener. He knows how much it pisses you off, knows exactly how to get under your skin. “Please?”

“If I say yes, will you go into your room and leave me the fuck alone?”

Seemingly considering it for a second, Steve just shrugs. “Fine. Where is it?” He asks, already rising off the couch. As soon as he stands up, the tension already melts from you. The further he is, the happier you know you’ll be. 

If you have to sacrifice an extra charger, so be it.

“Top drawer, next to my bed,” you wave him off, focusing back on the TV. You grunt, realizing you’ve missed three entire scenes. As you pick up the remote to rewind the movie, Steve shuffles away, lowly whistling some tune you don’t recognize. 

After a few moments, you hear the familiar screeching of your old drawer. The same one you have to open slowly at night, careful not to wake him up. All the color drains from your face as you suddenly remember why you only open that drawer at night. 

Quickly, you bolt up off the couch, socks sliding on the hardwood floor as you beeline toward your room. “Wait! Steve, hold on-” You skid to a stop in front of your door, stumbling slightly as your socks slip from beneath you.

You hold onto the doorframe, chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon. Your stomach drops to your feet once your eyes settle on him. He’s standing next to your bed, a large grey object in his hand. 

Your vibrator.

His face is painted in shock, his lips pulled into a wide smile. “Princess, what is this?” He asks innocently, waving it around tauntingly. Laughter bubbles from his chest, too warm and bright for this situation. 

Every part of your body is set on fire, humiliation building so quickly within you it almost makes you dizzy. “Steve, put that down!” You yell.

Steve just laughs even harder, promptly ignoring your demands. “No way. This is too good. Jesus, how many settings does this thing have?” He asks, tilting his head as he runs his thumb down the base of it. Slowly, he pushes one of the buttons, a low buzzing filling the room. “Oh, wow.”

“Stop it!” You stomp into the room, your voice shaking pathetically. It just adds to your embarrassment, to the pure anger ripping through your entire body.

His thumb finds another button, and the speed increases, the sound of the buzzing nearly matching the volume of the blood pumping into your ears. “Do you use it every night? How hard does it make you-” his taunts get cut off when you lunge forward, attempting to tear it from his hands. He just laughs, holding it high above his head, just out of your reach.

You jump up to grab it, growling when he dodges out of the way with another laugh. “I’m serious! Stop being such a dick!” Again, you jump forward, your fingertips just brushing the toy. At the contact, he almost trips over his own feet, stumbling backward. 

“I can’t believe you have one of these, princess! Is this why you’re always so-” His words are interrupted again when you jump up and try to climb him to get it back. It almost slips from his hand, and he readjusts his grip. “Whoa!”

His feet slip out from under him when you advance on him again, your body colliding with his as hands shoot out to grab onto you. You both fall backwards, Steve landing with a loud grunt as his back slams on your carpeted floor. 

You land on top of him in a heap, both of you a tangle of limbs. The vibrator still buzzes loudly in his hand between you two. Slowly, in a daze, you pull up, your eyes narrowing at him. He meets your eyes, deep honey pools staring up at you. Coffee strands fall over his eyebrows, his pink lips slightly parted. 

“Give it back, Harrington.”

“Make me,” he says lowly, thinking you’re too embarrassed to make much of a scene. His thumb presses down on the button again, the speed increasing. He holds it between your chests mockingly, knowing you can feel the buzzing through your shirt.

With a downward twitch of your lips, you tug at the toy, giving him a warning glance. In response, his grip tightens, fingers brushing against yours as you both fight for control. “You know, you could just ask me to help you with this thing,” he says lowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Slowly, his eyes flick to your lips. 

Although you know he’s just teasing, only trying to get under your skin, your heart thuds harder against your ribcage. Your grip on the toy tightens, and you find the off button. It clicks off, the low buzzing ceasing. The only sound between you is his low breathing and the pounding of your heart in your chest. With a triumphant smile, you tear it from his hand. 

Just as you’re about to climb off of him, you feel something shift against your thigh. Hard. Firm. At first, you think it might just be the hard muscle of his thigh. But as you readjust, and you see the tick of his jaw, you realize exactly what it is.

“Are you…” Steve swallows hard, realizing how easily you can feel his growing erection all the way through his jeans. But, he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hips gently move up into the plush skin of your thigh. “Maybe,” he admits, his voice lowering. 

“You’re a pervert,” you mumble, though no venom laces your voice. Just like you wanted, you take back the toy, rolling off of him.

He sits up, watching you with a smirk. “You’re the one who jumped on me,” he says defensively. As you stand up, he adjusts himself discreetly, clearing his throat when you notice. “And for the record…”

“Shut up,” you suddenly snap, swallowing the lump of anger in your throat. Instead, it twists into something darker. Deeper. 

It’s like someone has flicked a light switch deep within you, turning two years of pure rage into a storm of emotions in your stomach, twisting deep and ugly. You want to see that smirk wiped off his face, want him to be putty in your hands. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he smirks, watching your expression shift. 

With a soft breath out, you grind your teeth together. “Sit down.”

His smile falters slightly at your sudden assertiveness. Steve raises an eyebrow, slightly intrigued. “What?” He crosses his arms, not making any motions toward the bed. “This an invite, princess? Because if so, I’m gonna need a real-”

Quickly, he stops talking when you hold up the vibrator in your hand. You’re eyeing him with a dangerous look he’s never seen in his life. The slow movement of his throat causes the fire within you to blaze even brighter. “On the bed. Now.”

Adams's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, his smirk fades completely. Slowly, he walks to the edge of the mattress, watching you warily. You can just about hear how hard his heart is pounding in his chest. A smile spreads on your face when he spreads his legs slightly without thinking, giving himself room. An action that previously made you want to rip all your hair out. Now, it’s nothing but convenient.

Shuffling over to him, you lean in close, your faces inches apart. Your eyes drag up and down his face, scanning each crease. Up close, you can admit how pretty he is. Freckles and moles dot his face like twinkling stars in the night, soft brown hairs grown above the curve of his top lip. Stubble lines the sharp curve of his jaw, enticing you to drag your lips down it. A light pink is crawling its way onto his cheeks and the tips of his ears. The wide, innocent look in his eyes is nothing but endearing, deep pools of honey staring up at you.

“You know, I think it’s time you got knocked down a peg, Steve,” you purr, your breath hot against his ear.

A shiver goes down his spine as the vibrator hums to life between you two, a low buzzing reverberating through your ribs. Steve looks up at you, conflicted between cocky and nervous. Leaning back slightly, his hands fist your bed sheets. “You wouldn’t-” he starts, but his voice cracks. Softly, he clears his throat, shaking his head as if it’ll stop the tremble of his words. You press the vibrator dangerously close to his crotch, the head just barely teasing the denim. “Princess, come on.”

Against his objections, you lean in closer, pressing the toy against the seam of his jeans. Inhaling sharply, his hands grip the bedspread tighter. “Fuck-” he huffs out, hips jerking involuntarily against the buzzing plastic. The pretty rose on his cheeks darkens, and his lips part. “Stop playing,” he says, but his voice is strained. Despite his words, his legs spread even wider. “You wouldn’t.”

With a smile and an innocent bat of your eyelashes, you turn it up a setting, pressing it even firmer. “Not so cocky now, huh, princess?” You mock.

His mouth falls open in a silent ‘o’ as the vibrator presses firmer against his hard length, his arousal undeniable with the denim stretching tight. Steve squirms slightly, very obviously trying to hold back a groan. “Fuck,” he whispers, biting his lip hard. Looking up at you, his eyes are wide with embarrassment.

“You’ve never used one of these, huh?” You tease, seeing it written all over his face.

“N-no, of course not,” he stammers, hips twitching against the vibration. His hands are fisted into the bedsheets, knuckles turning white. “I don’t- I don’t need one. I’m a guy, we don’t-” He cuts himself off with a choked sound once you adjust the angle, pressing the buzzing directly against the most sensitive part of him. “Oh, my god.”

You laugh mockingly as you watch a small patch of the denim darken with pre-cum. “You like that, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t respond, his chest heaving. He follows your line of sight, groaning once he notices the dampness that has soaked through his briefs. Slowly, you sink to your knees, taking the toy off for just a moment. He looks down at you with glazed-over eyes once you begin to fiddle with the buttons. Eyebrows raise as you drag his zipper down, the sound echoing off the walls in the silent room.

He says your name, a low pathetic whine, followed by “what the fuck?” 

Once you tug at his jeans, he lifts his hips to help you, revealing tight black briefs. The fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, pulled tight against the curve of his erection. Slipping your thumbs into his waistband, you tug them down his thighs. His dick springs free, hitting the soft curve of his tummy through his tee. It twitches in the cool air, the tip flushed a pretty pink.

Although this is meant to put a hit on his ego, you’re only human. So, you can’t blame yourself for taking a moment to rake your eyes down what your roommate is working with. A trimmed patch of dark hair sits at the base of him, stretching up the small strip of skin at his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. A long vein runs along the side of him, a drop of pre-cum trailing down it.

And, unfortunately, he’s big. Certainly more so than any partners you’ve had in the past. Girthy, too, which causes a thought to fly through your head. Quickly, you push it away, taking a deep breath.

“No wonder you’re so cocky,” you whisper, wrapping your fingers around the base of him with one hand, the other wrapping around the toy again. Firmly, you press it against the underside of his shaft, right under the head.

At the contact, he gasps sharply, hips lifting off the mattress. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, hands flying to your hair. He doesn’t push you away, just grips the strands desperately, nails scratching against your scalp softly. “Jesus Christ, your-” His dick twitches against the toy, his whole body already trembling, despite the low setting. His mouth opens in another silent moan.

Eyes flicking up, you press it harder against him. “I’m what? Hm? Keep talking.”

“You’re not- You’re not supposed to-” Steve can’t form words, his hips bucking shallowly into your hand and the vibrator. Eyes roll back slightly, his face flushing a deep red. “This is- I’m supposed to be the one making you, ah-” a choked moan leaves his lips. 

With a laugh, you turn it up a setting, smirking in triumph when he whimpers. “You’re supposed to be making me feel good?” You finish his thought. “How long have you wanted to do that? Huh?”

His eyes widen as he realizes what he said, his thighs shaking at the increased stimulation. “I was just…”

“Tell me, Steve,” you urge, eyes flicking up to his. Without warning, you flick it up a setting, the buzzing getting quicker, louder. In response, he whimpers through clenched teeth, eyebrows furrowing.

“A year,” he murmurs, throwing his head back, revealing the expanse of moles to your gaze. You try and fail to keep the emotion on your face at bay, a soft heat crawling up your own face. Never once, in your two years of living with him, had you thought he’d have those sorts of feelings toward you.

Desperate to hide the shift of your face, you rise slightly, dragging your lips across his fluttering pulse. The position is less than comfortable, so you sit down next to him on the mattress, turning your body toward him, attacking his tanned skin again. 

“A year, huh?” You repeat softly, watching how purple blooms beneath his skin where your teeth just were.

Once you’re next to him, his hands fall back to the bedspread, fingers tightening around the sheets. You swipe your tongue out, tasting sweat and the remnants of his cologne that you’ll never admit you love so much. His dick jumps against the toy, pulling another whine from his throat.

“Three more,” you whisper against his skin. “Three… What?” Steve murmurs, his eyes widening. You pull back, dragging the toy in circles, causing his hips to jerk up again.

“Settings,” you whisper, turning it up again.

Breath hitching hard, his knuckles begin to turn white against the bedspread. Steve moans loudly, the noise going straight toward your core. You’ve never heard a man make those kinds of noises before, no matter how good you know he was feeling. You especially never thought Steve Harrington would make those kinds of noises.

“Baby, I can’t, I can’t take more,” he whines out, turning and pressing his forehead against yours. Mint fans across your lips as he pants, his eyes squeezing shut, long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks.

The nickname spurs you on even more, and you turn it up even higher, the plastic vibrating harder against your palm. “Shh, yes, you can,” you urge. 

Turning his head, he looks down at his lap, jaw hanging open as more pretty moans leave his throat. He looks down in awe, as if he can’t believe this is happening. If you’re honest, neither can you. But you definitely don’t hate that it is.

Pre-cum leaks in a steady stream down his shaft, seemingly never-ending. It drips down your knuckles from where your fingers are wrapped around his base, enticing you to drag your fist up and down slowly. The added stimulation pulls louder whimpers from his lips, loud enough to make you worry about your neighbors.

“Come on, where’s that bold Steve gone?” You tease.

“He’s-” Steve gasps, back arching as the stronger vibrations reverberate through his entire body, the muscles in his thighs tightening. His hips are bucking erratically now, completely losing control. “He’s dying right now, oh god,” he moans pathetically. “Please, please,” he begins to babble incoherently, completely at your mercy.

Your name falls from his lips, repeating over and over like a mantra, a prayer. “Please what, baby? Please turn it up?” Seemingly too embarrassed to say the words, Steve nods, a few strands of hair plastering to his forehead. With a tut, you shake your head, smoothing back the strands. “Use your words, tell me what you need.”

“Please, turn it up, please,” he begs, honey eyes brimming with tears. 

“Good boy,” you praise, the words surprising both of you. He whimpers, hips bucking into both your palm and the toy. At his request, you turn it up two more clicks, the settings maxed. Further than you’ve ever been able to handle.

His whole body goes rigid, a strangled groan escaping his lips as shockwaves of pleasure rip through his body. Eyes rolling back completely, his dick twitches sporadically against the buzzing. “I’m… fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Not yet,” you murmur, kissing his jaw sweetly, contrasting with how rough you’re being with him.

At your words, he whimpers, body trembling so hard you’d almost be concerned. You can tell he’s just teetering on the edge of orgasm, but holding back somehow. Sweat beads on his forehead, trailing down his temple. “Fuck you,” he chokes out, but there’s no heat in it, only desperation. 

You laugh in surprise, raising an eyebrow. A soft whine, comparable to a kicked puppy, leaves his lips once you take the toy away. His eyes snap open, lips parting. Surprise flashes across his features, more tears brimming at his waterline. “Don’t talk to me like that, and I might let you cum.”

“I’m sorry,” he spits out immediately, voice breaking. “I’m sorry, please, please, I can’t take it.” His voice is hoarse, whiny.

“Hm,” you hum, tilting your head at him. His lower lip trembles, and you take the hand that’s still wrapped around his shaft away, instead dragging your knuckles against the pink skin. Gently, despite his state, he presses his lips against your skin, eyes pleading.

His hips grind up uselessly against nothing, a hand leaving the bed sheets. He wraps his fingers around your wrist, thumb brushing against your pulse point. “Please, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t steal from you, I’ll close the cabinets, fold the laundry.” 

A soft smile twitches at your lips before you can stop it. “Will you stop stealing my snacks, too?” Nodding quickly, he kisses each knuckle again, his lips searing into your skin. “Never again.”

“Promise?” “I promise,” he whines again, blinking at you.

“Okay, fine,” you shrug, as if he’s not affecting you at all. In reality, it’s quite the opposite. It took the same effort on your part to take the toy away as it did for him to plead with you, if not more. Slowly, you press the vibrator right against the most sensitive part of him, his hips jolting at the shock.

It only takes a few more moments for him to throw his head back, for more pleas to leave his mouth. Except, this time, he doesn’t wait for you to answer. He cries out, body convulsing as he cums harder than he ever has in his life. White ropes shoot across the revealed skin of his stomach, some landing on his tee. 

Before his whines can get even louder, you smash your lips against his, muffling his increasing whimpers. His tongue slides against yours, his fingers tangling into your hair as he presses you firmer against him. Once you’re sure he’s thoroughly wrecked, you flick off the toy, leaning over to place it on your nightstand.

Steve collapses against the mattress, his dick still twitching slightly, oversensitized from the intense orgasm you just gave him. He looks up at you with glazed-over eyes, a drop that could either be sweat or a tear sliding down his temple. Chest still heaving, he attempts to catch his breath. “Fucking hell,” he breathes out.

You go to the bathroom for a moment, bringing back a box of tissues. Gently, you clean up his release from his tummy, bringing even more scarlet to his cheeks. Crumpling up the tissue, you toss it in the trashcan next to your bed. Then, you sit with your legs folded beneath you next to him.

“How are you feeling?” You tease, placing your palm against his chest. Even through his tee, you can feel the rapid beating of his heart. Eyes rake down his torso, and a smile pulls at your lips as you watch the soft pudge of his stomach rise and fall with each deep breath.

“Like… Like you just broke me,” he says, managing a weak, shaky laugh. His larger hand covers yours against his chest, fingers intertwining. “I can’t feel my legs,” he whispers, looking at you with a dazed, adoring expression.

You smile down at him, gently pressing your lips against his. Slowly, you pull back, tilting your head. “You gonna be nice to me from now on?”

Nodding eagerly, he squeezes your hand gently. “I’ll be so fucking nice, princess, you’ll think I’m a different person.” The pad of his thumb traces circles on the back of your hand, the motion melting the ice walls you’ve put up in front of him. “I promise.”

“You know, if you pull the same shit again, I won’t stop next time.”

Steve shudders at your words, his thumb stopping its motions. “You’re a monster,” he breathes out, but there’s really no resistance in his words, just awe. “A beautiful, evil monster.”

Gently, you lower yourself next to him, propping yourself up on an elbow, peering down at him with a soft smile. He rolls onto his side to face you, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer weakly. Tired lips press against yours softly, his thumb stroking your jaw.

“How did you turn me into this?” He laughs softly.

“Into what? A pathetic puppy?” You tease, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “You basically just turned me into your little bitch. Didn’t think you had it in you, really.” Your finger draws a pattern up his pec. “And I didn’t think you could make those noises,” you volley back with a shrug.

Embarrassment prickles at his face, his cheeks turning a bright scarlet. His eyes drop, as if he can’t even look at you.

“Hey, hey, no,” you say quickly, tilting his head back up. “Look at me,” you whisper, smiling once those familiar pools of honey find your gaze. “I liked it. Like, maybe too much. I’m happy I could make you feel that good.”

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Mhm,” you hum. Slowly, a question comes back to the forefront of your mind. “Hey, did you mean it earlier? When you said you’ve wanted to do something like that for a year?”

Slowly, he nods, and you can tell he wants to look away again. But this time, he doesn’t, his gaze holding yours steady. “Maybe for even longer. And I don’t mean… You doing stuff like that to me. I wanted- I want to make you feel good. Better than any of those shitty exes I always hear you complain about.”

At his words, your lips part, the color in your face definitely matching his. You’ve never had anyone admit something like that to you without any ulterior motives, and the earnest expression on his face tells you that there are none. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he nods, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Can I? Is that okay?”

“Please,” you whisper, completely forgetting your original motive behind doing this in the first place.

A smile spreads across his face as he rolls you onto your back, using an elbow to prop himself up next to you. His fingers slowly trail down your body, finding their way to your center quickly. Starting with gentle circles, he presses the pads of two fingers against your clit through your shorts. “Like this?” he asks, although you know he can tell by the hitch of your breath.

Nodding, you close your eyes gently, a soft whimper leaving your lips. “Mhm.”

Fingers work against you slowly, deliberately, taking their time to explore what feels good. He’s in no rush, completely content in allowing you to feel each movement, each shift. “So pretty,” he whispers, learning you, memorizing your body language. 

A soft breath leaves your lips as he applies more pressure, your legs spreading open for him. He watches your face carefully, adjusting his pressure and speed based on your reactions. When you bite your lip, he focuses on that spot, knowing it's going to drive you crazy. “Look at you, so cute.”

Slowly, his fingers slip underneath your waistband, sliding under your panties. “This okay?”

You nod enthusiastically, moaning once his fingers brush your clit, this time with no barrier. Steve picks up the pace just slightly, pressing a little harder. Slowly, his fingers dip lower, the middle one teasing your entrance. “God, you’re so wet, all for me?” He whispers, looking down at you in awe. “Makin’ me whine like that turned you on this much?”

All you can manage is a soft nod, followed by a whine once he presses the tip of his finger into you, sliding it against your walls. Working you slowly, he sinks it in even deeper, down to his knuckle. Despite only having one finger curled within you, the thick digit is already stretching you open. 

“Gonna put in another one, okay baby?” 

At your more than enthusiastic nod, he slides another one in, curling them with each shallow thrust. Burning ever so slightly with each movement. Easily, he finds that spongy part inside of you, the one that causes your back to arch off the mattress and stars to explode behind your eyes. Steve knows he has you right where he wants you when he feels your legs start to tremble against his forearm. “Come on, princess, let me hear you.”

He tears more desperate moans from your throat, which he promptly swallows when he leans over and presses his lips to yours. Pulling back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling as you pant. “Feels s’good, Steve,” you whine, eyebrows furrowing.

Your back arches and your toes curl once the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circling so expertly you can’t help but moan louder. He laughs softly, pressing against that spot within you firmer. Before you can process anything, that familiar feeling builds quickly within you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Walls clench around his fingers, pulling another chuckle from his lips. “You close?” He asks, although you know he doesn’t need to.

Nodding quickly, you wrap your fingers around his wrist, needing something to ground you. Unlike you, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even hesitate to pick up the speed, to curl his fingers even deeper with each thrust. 

“I won’t torture you, baby, waited too long for this,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours again, already addicted to the feeling.

It only takes a few more thrusts of his wrist, a few more circles of his thumb for you to cry out his name, for that tightness in your stomach to release. Shockwaves tear through your veins, every part of your body trembling with pleasure. His name is on your lips, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Steve doesn’t let up, riding you through your orgasm, only slowing down when tears prick your eyes from overstimulation. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out, apologizing gently when you wince at the loss. You watch with wide eyes as he holds up his fingers in front of you both, the skin glistening with your arousal.

Then, he does something that forces another groan from your lips. He wraps his lips around his fingers, cheeks hollowing around them as he tastes you. Eyes rolling back, he moans at the taste of you on his tongue.

“You’re going to kill me,” you whisper, pressing your thighs together once the dull throbbing sharpens.

He smirks around his fingers, taking them out of his mouth slowly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. Leaning down, he kisses you softly, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. With a shaking hand, you slide your fingers through his hair, scraping your nails against his scalp gently.

“Steve?” You murmur, pulling back slowly.

“Yeah?” He whispers, thumb stroking your bottom lip.

“Sorry for… also being a bitch to you. I haven’t been the best roommate either.”

Lips twitching into a frown, he shakes his head, a cute pout falling onto his mouth. “I wouldn’t wanna live with me either, baby, you don’t have to apologize.”

“Hey, no,” you whisper earnestly, cupping his jaw, smiling once he leans into your touch. “I’m glad we’re roommates, Steve. I know I never show it, but I am. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yeah?” He asks, voice cracking softly, as if he finds it hard to believe you.

“I promise. Except maybe when you steal my snacks,” you joke, leaning up to kiss him when he begins to protest. 

“I’m glad too, princess,” he murmurs against your lips, rolling onto his back and pulling your head against his chest.

As he wraps his arms around you, you think back to every moment with him. Every argument, every blowout. Despite your emotions, despite your previous words, they never did feel that serious. Never felt like they had any sort of venom or purpose behind them. It sort of felt like you were dancing around this unspoken thing, avoiding seeing past his annoying quirks just so you could dodge your feelings.

So really, it was never about him being a dick. About him stealing your shit, not closing cabinets, and leaving sweatshirts scattered around the living room for you to clean up and fold later.

At that thought, a previous argument pops to the forefront of your mind. With a deep breath, you nuzzle into his chest.

“I stole your sweatshirt on purpose,” you admit, wrapping your arm around his middle.

Steve laughs loudly, the sound warm and bright, rumbling against your ear. “I know. I left it out for you.”

The most important part on his list wasn’t to love a girl in high school, but it was to show off that he could get any girl he wanted. His mindset was the average high school boy’s mindset, so it wasn’t much of a shock watching him go from the sweetest boy who knocked at your door, awkwardly asking your mum if you could go out and play with his friends on the field to wanting to be with every girl under the sun.

After graduation, he stopped trying to impress his friends and he completely dropped his whole act. It was partially because of his breakup with Nancy taking a toll on him, but he also grew out of the phase and realised that what he called love wasn’t love at all.

In his awkward growing out stage, he reconnected with you again. Nothing happened between the two of you, but your lives changed in high school, and you wanted different friendships. You would shyly wave at him from across the corridor, but you hadn’t had a genuine conversation since elementary school.

He started to take it slow with you, because instead of his worst fear being people’s expectations of him, it was losing you. After you being part of his life since growing up young together, he couldn’t afford to let you go.

You’d been friends with Steve since five where you’d gotten playdough smudged on the bottom of your shoes in the classroom, strawberry yoghurt dripped down your shirt, an unknown reason to glitter being spread all over your face, and scrapes on your knees and elbows. Teachers found it hard to separate you because you always had to be in arms reach of each other.

Steve found it easy to start speaking to you again, because all he had to do was bring up an awful memory of you when you were younger, and the conversation would go on for hours. He started bringing you over to his house and you would turn up to his work building without any notice.

It started to feel exactly how it did when you were younger, and being without him suddenly felt like a crime again. You reached the point where you’d be talking to him over the phone for hours, leaning into the phone as much as you could before the cord stopped you from pulling too far back.

You pressed your phone to your ear, already smiling to yourself as his voice cuts through. “Would you be up for a cinema trip tomorrow?” He asks, going straight to the point.

An amused laugh escapes before you can try to answer him. “Hi, Steve. It’s nice to hear from you.”

He sighs, and you can hear him shifting around in whatever room he’s in. “Hey, sorry. Wanted to ask before I ended up forgetting about it when that’s why I called you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You reply. “Wait. What movie would it be before I agree to this?” You ask.

“Can’t it be a surprise?” He asks.

“What if it ends up being a shitty, cheesy movie?” You ask, raising your eyebrows as if he can see you.

He groans. “You like cheesy movies anyway, so what’s the difference?”

“You find them cheesy, not me.” You sigh. “What movie is it?”

“Dead Poets Society.” He huffs.

“How do I trust that this is going to be good?” You ask.

“You just need to trust me.” He stops. “If it disappoints you that much, then I will never choose a movie again, but it shouldn’t.

Your friends were telling you to take it slow, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were back in high school, rambling on about all his good qualities, ignoring the bad. It was more mature than a high school relationship, but it brought up the giddy feelings. You felt exactly how it felt to carve your initials on the underside of a table in class, drawing a wonky heart around it.

You’d just walked out of a bar together early on in the relationship, leaning yourself against him as he led you over to his car, settling you down. You had a lot to drink, and nobody could mistake that for anything else. He had just slipped into the driver’s seat when you started laughing to yourself, turning to him and mumbling.

“We should get married.” You laugh, leaning the side of your face against the leather seat.

He rests his hands on the steering wheel, brushing his thumbs over it before turning to look at you, looking speechless. “Hold your horses, baby. We haven’t even been on a vacation together yet.”

“Let’s plan a vacation then.” You grin.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” He laughs, starting the car and reversing from his parking space.

You shrug. “Then we can make it work that way.”

He glances at you through the rearview mirror. “I’m not saying no to you, but we have a long way to go, and a lot of things to do in the meantime.”

“So, no?” You ask quieter.

“Not in this current moment.” He laughs, shaking his head before focusing back on the road.

He started to bring you to meet his friends and the people that he works with, and suddenly you’re well known, and you find out that he brings your name up a lot more than you expected. Then he started to take you out to dinner, something that he wasn’t used to.

He dressed up smart, a dress shirt, a dark blue tie, trousers and leather shoes, something that you’d never seen him in before. It hadn’t been a thought that he had those in his wardrobe, he was usually in jeans and a shirt, so you appreciated the small effort.

The dinner started off a little awkward as he filled the silence with ‘um’s, trying to find a dish on the menu that he liked. His finger brushes under the dishes on the menu, mumbling the words to himself.

Steve cleared his throat. “I think I’ll get the steak.”

You nod, glancing down at the menu. “Sweet and sour chicken.”

“Sounds good.” He says with a warm smile, gently tugging your hands towards his and resting them on the middle of the table, brushing his thumb over the back of your hands. “I still can’t believe you’re my girlfriend after years.” He says, shaking his head.

“Our parents were rooting for us.” You laugh, resting the side of your face on your hand. “Remember the playdates?”

He tilts his head back as he laughs. “Oh, God. Don’t get me started on those.”

“They were obsessed with wanting us to be girlfriend and boyfriend, in their words.” You mock, rolling your eyes. “We had zero idea on what that was actually like.”

“I don’t know what they were trying to get out of it, but it didn’t work.” He laughs. “We were just incredibly clingy children.”

“Plan failed when we got into high school. There was no hope at all.” You brush your hands over his, fidgeting with his silver watch.

His eyes stay on you whilst he stays quiet for a moment. “I don’t think we talked much in high school.”

You shake your head. “We didn’t. I think the longest conversation we had was at grad. We never had many classes together anyway, so I rarely saw you.”

“We were very different people from each other.” He adds.

“Oh, yeah. Extremely different. My head was so far into studying all the time, I don’t think I did anything fun for myself.” You nod.

He laughs. “That’s where I was the opposite of you.”

“Where were you when you weren’t at a party?” You ask, a grin twitching at your lips.

“Great question, actually.” He replies. “Wish I could tell you.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I don’t know how I didn’t hate you. You were exactly the type of person I didn’t like.” You laugh. “I think you were an exception just because I knew you years before that.”

“Couldn’t say I was the most amazing person then.” He trails off, pretending to glance around the room.

“Definitely not.” You mumble.

It goes quiet for a moment whilst he thinks, brushing the pads of his fingers over your wrist. You watch as waitresses pass by in a hurry, families walk into the restaurant, a toddler runs down the walkway, and glasses clink together. He gently squeezes your hand.

“I’m never going to be that person again. It was some pathetic teen phase that I had and definitely will not be going back to.” He assures you. “I’ve never done this stuff before, so go easy on me please.” He laughs awkwardly.

“You’ve never been out for dinner with someone?” You ask.

He shakes his head with a grin. “You think I had time for that?”

“Slightly shocking, but also not shocking at all.” You whisper.

“I’m just worried that I’ll do something wrong, because I have no idea what I’m doing half the time. I’m honestly just going with what feels right.” He admits.

“You’re doing perfectly fine, Steve. You haven’t rushed anything too much, and you’re going at a really nice pace.” You say with a sweet smile.

He grins, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to your lips, letting out a quiet sound. “Thank you, baby.”

You’ve said the words to yourself many times during different relationships, but you had a good feeling about Steve. You both changed, and it pulled you apart for a while, but the feelings stayed.