angel :)

Firefighter Evan “Buck” Buckley confuses you.

You’ve only been with the 118 for about two months. You’d be lying if you said the action and excitement of actually working with the firefighters on calls didn’t excite you to come to work— something you thought you’d never say.

And the team is great. You were nervous as hell at first. Suddenly being out on calls is exciting now, but scary as shit at first. You were much too used to your boring desk job. Plus, the firefighters were all intimidating in their own ways- Hen and Bobby the most.

Hen, because you totally look up to her and admire her ability to just… do whatever and say whatever and not worry what other people think. She holds her head high, and you’re more than a little envious.

Bobby, because he’s your captain, and you need to prove your worth as an addition to the team.

Slowly but surely, you began to solidify your presence as a team member. You aren’t sensitive to the blood and gore they see on calls which definitely won you points with Hen and Chimney, and you aren’t a pushover- you’re willing to put your foot down when push comes to shove. Plus, not to brag, but you’re damn good at your job.

After a month, you’d gotten everything down pat. What’s the right thing to say, what isn’t the right thing to say. What to do so the team trusts you, what to do so they don’t ask too many questions, how to correctly come across to them as a capable person. How to seem normal and well-adjusted and fine. What normal looks like to them.

With the exception of Evan Buckley.

You just… can’t get a read on him. Ever. He’s nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive, like seriously, it’s not even fair) but no one is that nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive.)

You don’t like talking to him because he’s been more than a little sweet on you since day one. And obviously it's not serious and he doesn't mean it, just friendly camaraderie, but. But but but but but. It catches you off guard without fail every single time. Because every single time you talk to him, you get the very distinct sense that he’s looking right though you. That when you’re talking to the rest of the team, perfect smile in place, he can see through you.

It’s more than a little unnerving. It leaves you unsteady and wrong-footed. Like you’re never sure what exactly to say or how to act.

So you mostly just avoid him. You’re thankful that you’re only the arson investigator, because if you’d actually been a real firefighter, avoiding him would be a million times harder. As it stands, it’s fairly easy to do it without being obvious.

Or so you think.

“Is something wrong Captain Nash?” You ask, shutting the door behind you in his office.

Bobby rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you to just call me Bobby.”

“I think the second I do, my parents will appear in the room and lecture me about respect and manners.”

You sit as he gestures, watching with almost perfectly concealed apprehension as he laces his fingers.

“Did Buck say something to you?”

What.

“What?”

“Firefighter Buckley,” Bobby clarifies, as if that was the part of the question that needed specification. “I’ve noticed that you tend to avoid him when possible. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that. No one else has noticed.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the admission of being caught.

“How could you tell?” You ask instead of answering his question.

Bobby just shrugs. “I have three kids. This isn’t my first rodeo. Now, you mind telling me what exactly is going on here?”

You’re not really sure you can explain this to him without one, sounding like a crazy person, and two, having him lose all the respect you’ve worked hard to build with him.

You settle for the super abridged version.

“Buck… makes me nervous. I’ve had some bad experiences with men that acted like him before, so. I’m over it, of course, I’m fine he just… sets me on edge a little. I’m not like, afraid of him or anything.”

You are actually afraid of him a little. Because if he really does see through you then what’s stopping him from ripping the current back? Giving everyone a good look into your ugly and raw? What’s stopping him from leaving you exposed?

Bobby hums, contemplating.

“You don’t trust him.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” You rush to amend, heart starting to race. Fix it fix it fix it fix it— “I do trust him. I know he’d never hurt me, or anyone else for that matter, he’s a great guy—“

Bobby leans back in his seat. “He’s a genuinely nice guy, and you don’t know how to deal with that, so you avoid him. You don’t trust that he’s genuine.”

Too close too close too close too close—

Smile. Laugh. Look down for a few seconds. Raise head, hold eye-contact. Speak.

“Nothing like that,” Smile. “Just takes some time for a girl to get used to all the facts that tend to come with him. I could’ve done without the one about heart worms before lunch.”

Laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea. Imagine being present when he actually got to assist on a tapeworm removal. I was put off noodles entirely for months.”

Now Bobby laughs, a real one, so you laugh with him, and you feel a little safer, the conversation back in your control.

“I promise, there’s nothing between me and Buck. Just new-girl nerves.”

Flash a smile, appease the man.

“If that’s all, then you’re free to go. Keep up the good work.”

You stand, one hand on the edge of the armrest of the chair to hide the minute tremors in your hand. You hold your breath as you leave Bobby’s office, breathing tiny, quick breaths through your nose until you make it to the safety of your office, closing the door behind you and all but collapsing into your chair.

That was… close. You must’ve let your guard down around Bobby. His personality and dad-aura are so disarming. You hadn’t even realized he’d been watching you that close. He read you a little too easily and a little too quickly. That was too close. What if he had—

A knock on your door snaps you ramrod straight, posture perfect and easy expression snapped into place in seconds.

It takes everything in you not to deflate when you see who walks through the door.

“Buck?”

“Sorry, sorry,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, “I know you don’t like me in here, I’ll be quick. I just need that file from that warehouse fire case?”

You frown as you search your filing cabinet for the case file. “I’ve never said I didn’t like you in here.”

“Yeah, not as much as said as implied.”

“I don’t mind you in here. It’s just an office.”

You’re not sure what he wants you to say. Does he want you to agree with him, tell him you don’t want him in here, make him right? Does he want you to tell him that he’s welcome in your office?

What does he want?

He shrugs in the corner of your eye, hands in his pockets, and you honestly have to physically restrain yourself from staring at the muscles of his arms as they move and tense with the motion. It’s very conflicting: him being the unending source of the late-night fantasies you pretend not to indulge in to fall asleep, hugging a pillow, and the fact that he’s the reason you’ve considered going on anxiety medication.

“…Are you okay?”

You’re abruptly reminded that he’s still in your office and you’re still having a conversation and your grip has at some point turned crushing on the case file.

“Oh, yeah,” Smile, look down, laugh. Look up(?) “Long night last night. Didn’t get much sleep.”

He cocks his head, the action reminiscent of a dog. He really is a golden retriever. You should really stop thinking about Buck so much.

“I thought you went home early last night?”

Your smile wavers.

Laugh(?) put the case file down. Take a sip of coffee, smile(?)

“You know how it is. Work never quite ends at work.”

He doesn’t skip a beat before speaking.

“Why do you do that?”

Something cold starts to drip down your neck. An icy chill of dread.

“Do what?”

“That lying thing.”

Smile? Laugh? Sit down?

Your other hand comes up to cup your coffee. “As far as I know, I don’t have a lying thing.” You huff a breathy laugh, but it comes out wrong. More wheezing and choked than a laugh.

He leans back against the wall of your office, crossing his arms. “Yeah you do. Like, sure, maybe you did have a late night, but none of those expressions or smiles were real. You like, lie with your face.”

You feel cold and hot at the same time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you want this case file?”

“No, you know what I’m talking about. Is it conscious? Is it like code-switching? Nah, this is too—“

“Buck!” You snap, skin crawling, “Would you please just take this file and go?”

He snaps his fingers, pointing at you. “There! That’s real. That was a real expression.”

You forcibly smooth your face out, trying to project the calm you don’t feel. “Me getting annoyed with you?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles a little, a small smile on his face. “Just for a second, you looked real.”

You blink. Pause. Turn his words over in your head.

“You don’t really need this case file, do you?”

“Nope.”

You set the mug down, ignoring the way your tremors increased at your little outburst. “So you just came to what? Get under my skin? Disturb me while I’m working?”

He taps a boot on the floor. “Kind of. It’s my turn to be the man behind, and this beats mopping.”

This time, the flat glare you send him is intentional. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem as rigid as you did a few minutes ago.”

You stiffen your posture on instinct. “It’s called posture.”

“That’s not posture. That’s fear.”

His tone is light and joking, but his words hit their mark. Or maybe there isn’t a mark, and he just stabs your metaphorical bullseye anyway.

You shuffle in place, skin prickling under his gaze. “Is there a reason we’re having this conversation?”

“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”

You stare at your shoes, face hot. This is uncharted territory. The end-all-be-all of terrible conversations.

“Well for one, it’s terribly awkward, and two, I don’t see why you felt the need to call me a liar to my face.”

Buck pushes off the wall. “Okay, that’s not what I meant by that—“

“No, I think you meant what you said.”

He sighs. “Can we start over?”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like you have this misconception about me, and it would really suck if a pretty girl didn’t like me just because we got off on the wrong foot.”

PRETTY?

“You think I’m pretty?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

He smirks, a mischievous thing pulling at his lips. “No, I think you meant what you said.” He says, mimicking your earlier words.

You press your hands into your face, exhaling hard.

“Well, if your goal was to make me uncomfortable, you’ve definitely succeeded.”

“Aw, that’s no good. That’s the opposite of what I wanted.”

The gears in your brain turn.

“You came here… because you wanted me to be more comfortable around you?”

He snaps his fingers. “Ding ding ding!”

You frown. “So your plan to make me more comfortable around you was to call me a liar and purposefully get under my skin?”

Your words hang in silence for a moment.

“Well when you put it like that—“

“Is there another way to put it?”

“The plan was to get you to see that nothing bad is gonna happen if you stop doing that face-lying-thing. I mean, you haven’t been doing it for the duration of this conversation and the world hasn’t ended, right?”

You look away. “That’s because I can’t pretend with you. It always falls apart. You freak me out.”

His brows furrow. “I freak you out?”

“Yes!” You snap whipping your head back to face him, “Other people put out, like, signals, you know. What kind of people they like and dislike, and I pick up on them, and avoid the parts they don’t like and play up the parts they do like. But you don’t put out anything! I don’t know what you want.”

Buck is silent for several moments. It’s unnerving.

“Have you ever considered that maybe I just like you?”

You blink. Look away. Cross your arms.

“You know,” He continues, voice a little softer, “I have a habit of liking people just as they are. Bobby tells me it’s one of my better qualities.”

“Is planning difficult conversations one of your lesser qualities?”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“No.”

It’s easier to focus and talk about the less serious parts of this entire situation than even think about what he just said.

“How about this,” He says after you don’t speak again. “If you’re gonna fake something, or pretend you feel one way about something, you have to come tell me the truth about how you really feel.”

“Well that sounds terrible. What do you get out of it?”

He smiles, folding his hands behind his back. “You agree to let me take you on a date.”

Your face is practically on fire. Evan Buckley is asking you on a date. Buck is asking you on a date.

“Oh.”

That’s all you manage to get out. Oh.

He frowns. “Are you oka—“

You smash your face into your hands, hiding your flushed and flustered face from view. “Just— just give me a second.”

You attempt to slow your racing heart, all to aware of the fact that Buck is still in the room, still looking at you.

“…Can you turn around?”

You hear a quiet little huff, then the shuffling of footsteps, signifying he is in fact no longer looking at you.

“If I’d known you’d be this excited at the idea—“

“Shut up or I’ll say no.”

He just hums, voice teasing. “I don’t think you will.”

“I might.”

“Mm. Nope.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t,” You grumble, dropping your hands. “Okay fine, I’ll do it, but when I tell you… stuff, you don’t get to make fun of me for whatever it is.”

“I really think you have the wrong idea of who I am as a person.”

“I’ve seen how you make fun of Eddie.”

“Well, that’s Eddie. It’s like, bro code.”

“Ew.”

“Having friends is gross?”

“Yes. Get out of my office.”

He turns around, grabbing his chest, feigning pain. “Oh the hurt. The pain.”

“You’ll survive, I’m sure. You’re a big boy.”

Okay what the fuck are you saying right now. Can’t god just strike you down? Can’t some old water damage cause the ceiling to come down on you?

Buck takes it in stride, laughing loudly, though if you look close, you can see a pink tinge to his cheeks.

“So when are you free for our date?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively over the word date, and you despise the flush it brings to your face. And ears. And neck.

“Um. Saturday?”

“Cool. You have my number, right?”

You nod.

“I’ll text you the details later this week. And hey, look at me.”

He waits until you look up. “You aren’t allowed to spend the rest of this week stressing about it, okay? It’s gonna be fun, and nice."

He opens the door to your office, ducking half out before turning around. “Remember: fun and nice.”

And then he’s gone. Then you’re just an idiot standing in your office, face hot and tingling.

He called you pretty.

—

Buck's request is difficult to follow through on. Like, sure, you agreed to it, but you still don't really understand why he wants to know this. The things that go on in your head that you don't tell anyone about. He said he got a date out of (a date, you're going on a date with Evan Buckley--) but is that really... anything?

Is it a real date? Or just some little fling? And why, exactly, is the date something he considers a fair trade? Like sure, he's hot -incredibly so- and every time you think about the date your heart speeds up and million questions run through your head, like will he pick you up, is he the type to bring flowers, where are you going for the date, all of those things.

You wince from your spot on the couch upstairs, papers strewn across the table in front of you.

"Dammit," You mutter, holding a finger up to the lip that you've chewed to shreds, now bleeding steadily, blood beginning to trickle down your chin.

A napkin appears in your line of sight, and you take it from Hen gratefully.

"Thanks."

She just nods. "Something on your mind?"

You blink, a little questioning.

"Your lip," She gestures to it. "You always chew it when you're thinking about something troubling. Is this about that new case?"

"Ah," You breathe, a small shiver running down your spine at her words. Being perceived is weird. "No actually. It's..."

You decide to be honest. News will get out anyway, and Hen appreciates truthfullness. "It's about Buck."

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You shuffle the papers in front of you, hands itching for something to do, "We're going on a date on Saturday."

"Oh!" She exclaims, settling on the couch across from you. "That's... surprising. I was under the impression you didn't really care for him."

Your face heats. "That's kind of why we're going on the date. He wants to... make me more comfortable. Those were his words."

"Interesting method."

You shrug. "It's Buck."

Hen nods, a chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm guessing you're not so sure about it?"

"It's not that. I just," you debate your next words carefully, weighing the options, wondering if you should even say them, but Hen's face is open and non-judgmental, and she knows when not to gossip.

"I haven't been on a date in awhile," You admit, "Or many at all, really. I don't know what to expect."

Your hands still on the papers. "I... don't do well when I don't know what to expect."

Hen nods. "I get it. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that Buck will do everything in his power to make the date as 'comfortable'," She does finger quotes around the word, "As possible. It took him a couple tries to get here, but. He's got a good heart."

You can't help the small frown at her words. "I know."

Hen tilts her head, squinting. "Do you? Cause it seems like you aren't so sure."

Smile. Laugh.

"Well," You laugh a small, breathy thing. "In my experience, no one is that nice."

Hen snorts. "Okay, true. But Buck's been through a lot. What he may lack in tact he makes up for in earnest effort."

She stands, and levels you with a look you try hard not to whither behind. "Give him a chance. And try not to break his heart."

You smile, hoping it doesn't look as brittle as it feels. "I'll try not to."

Though I'm not sure he'll be the one getting his heart broken.

--

Buck is careful not to bother you too much at work. He still sets you on edge in that "I see through you" way of his, but he's right- nothing terrible has happened since your conversation. If anything, he's almost... gentler, in his good natured ribbing and such. He's actually rather attentive.

"Okay," He murmurs next to you at the table, most of the others finished with their food , plates cleared and being washed. "You've got your fake smile on, so spill."

You elbow him. "Cool it, Buckley."

"Great meal, Cap!" You call out to the Captain, who sends you a quick smile from the sink.

You spear a stem of asparagus prepared honestly perfectly by Bobby, and lean over to Buck. "Fine. You really wanna know?"

"Uh, yeah."

You take a huge bite, smiling as you swallow. "I hate asparagus."

Buck's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious? That's such a small thing to care about."

You glance up to ensure nobody's eavesdropping. "Bobby works really hard on everything he makes! I don't want any of it to go to waste or to seem unappreciative."

"Okay, we're really going to have to have a talk about your perception of everyone," He elbows you back, "Come on. Bobby would not be offended if you don't eat the vegetables because you don't like asparagus period. It's not like you're even saying you don't like his cooking!"

You take another bite. Only A few left. "Better safe than sorry."

"Stop eating them--"

"I have to finish them!"

"Something wrong over there?" Bobby's voice rings out over the kitchen.

"Nope!" You call back.

"Actually," Buck starts, ignoring your furious elbowing, "Our little investigator over here doesn't like asparagus."

Bobby tilts his head with a smile. "Why didn't you say something?"

Your stomach lurches. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-- "I... didn't want you to be offended?"

"Why would I be offended that you don't like asparagus?"

"Because you cooked it?"

He shakes his head. "Not how things work around here. If you don't like something, you don't have to eat it."

Your face feels like it's on fire and your palms are sweating and you kind of feel a little nauseous. But that might be the asparagus. "Right. Okay. Thanks."

Bobby goes back to loading the dishwasher, and the others are no longer paying attention, so you lower your forehead to the table, grateful that Buck moves your plate away before your head can meet your now unfinished vegetables.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because asparagus is a dumb thing to be worried about," He says, voice light and cheery.

"It was a valid concern," You mumble.

"Maybe in your head. But not quite in reality," He rubs your back consolingly a few times, though all the action does is rile you up more. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you're still sitting here and you actually can't see if the others are still looking and oh god maybe Bobby is upset because you're an adult, you should've known that and--

"I can physically feel how tense you just got."

Oh. Right. His hand is still on your back.

"Relax," He drags out the word, his voice low and deep, "No one is going to spontaneously hate you. I sure don't."

"You don't count."

"Mm, how come?"

You're glad your face is currently hidden by the table, because you flush when you mumble the next words.

"Cause you think I'm pretty."

"I do," He amends, "But I'm not sure that discounts my opinion. IF anything, it doubles it."

"That's not how that works."

"It's not?"

"No."

He leans in, his breath tickling your ear. "Prove me wrong, then."

--

Saturday approaches and your anxiety increases. Buck had in deed texted you the details -which did, actually, make you feel better, knowing a bit of what to expect and having it in writing.

When Saturday arrives and the clock inches closer to the time he said he'd pick you up, you start to question if any of this was a good idea.

Everything collapses when you have to pick an outfit. Nothing seems right- everything is either too much or not enough. You blink the tears out of your eyes because you spent too long on your makeup to ruin it, and Buck's gonna be here soon and you need to just pick something--

A knock sounds at your door and you gasp. Shit.

You rush to the front door, and wrench it open.

"Hi I'm so sorry I'm not ready yet- oh my god are those flowers?"

Buck takes the rush of words in stride, smiling and holding the bouquet out to you. "They are."

You take the flowers with reverence, the gentle, floral aroma soothing your senses.

"Are... you okay?"

You blink, not realizing that tears had begun to well up in your eyes again. "What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm a little... frazzled."

His gaze darts down. "Is that why you don't have pants on?"

You're almost one hundred percent sure you burst into flames right then and there. And if you don't, you seriously hope you do.

"Oh my god- don't look, I'll be right back, uh, please come inside and close the door!"

You race back into your room and shut the door, throwing on the closest pair of pants- which happen to be the fuzzy, old, candy heart-print pajama pants you took on three hours ago when you started getting ready.

You step back out, now sporting a wonderful outfit consisting of your black, rather nicely fitting going out top and fluffy pajama pants.

"I'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, sorry about the," You pause, swallowing your embarrassment, "Lack of pants."

He chuckles, laughing that nice little Buck laugh that settles your nerves a bit. "Hey, I wasn't complaining. I asked for the real you and this has all been very real."

Your never-ending flush revives itself as he speaks. "I"m really sorry, I'm usually more put together than this, I promise."

He takes a step toward you. "Remember why we're going on this date?"

A beat passes.

Buck takes another step. "To make you more comfortable with me. And the team, but mostly me."

You laugh a little, a nervous thing.

"But you don't seem very comfortable right now." His hands rise to the your waist, sliding down to your hips.

"Sorry," You say on instinct.

He huffs. "Still don't think you're getting the point of this. Okay, what was the big stressor of tonight, besides the actual date part?"

You look down at your feet. "My outfit."

"Well," He says, squeezing your waist and very clearly enjoying the little squeak you let out at the action, "Then why don't we sollve that by..."

Your heart siezes. Oh god, you're not ready to sleep with him, you haven't had your everything shower because it was only the first date and you didn't think--

"...Staying in tonight? I can order some takeout and we can watch a movie."

Oh.

"But your reservation--"

"Can be called and cancelled," He soothes. "I only want to do things you're comfortable with. That was the whole point of this date."

Later, after you both stuffed your faces with takeout graciously ordered by Buck, and both of you cuddled up on the couch (!) you let yourself speak.

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Sorry for freaking out earlier," You curl your arm around his bicep, face smashed into the side of it while you (pretend) to watch the movie. "Thanks for... this. And the flowers."

"You really like those flowers, huh?"

"Mhm. They're really pretty. No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"What? No way."

"Well. I haven't ever gotten flowers from a date or boyfriend," You stumble over the word boyfriend, "But like, you know. Graduations and stuff."

"Guess we're going to have to fix that, then."

"We are?"

He raises a brow. "You didn't think I was gonna stop at one date, did you?"

"Well it was kind of a mess."

He shrugs. "On one of my first dates, I choked on bread and my date at the time had to perform a tracheotomy with a ballpoint pen."

You gape at him. "Those are real?"

He traces a finger over the thin, silver scar on his throat. "Yep. So trust me, this date turned out fine. I actually uh,"

He flushes a little, a dusting of red on his cheeks. "I actually really enjoyed tonight."

You chew your lip, nervous and scared but all the sudden deciding that you're going to get over yourself and do something. No matter how small.

You stare at the end credits. "You wanna watch another movie?"

"Absolutely. More takeout?"

"I don't know how you can even think about eating more. But I do have popcorn in the pantry."

He presses a quick, soft little kiss to your cheek. "Perfect."

He shook his head, plastering on a smile. “Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t have come interrupting me unless you had something you wanted to talk about.”

His face dropped, nodding slowly. “I’m getting kind of sick of you reading me like a book, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

He chuckled, looking back at you. “Okay, guilty. Uh, I’m not sure how to address this, so I guess I better just come out and say it, huh?”

You nodded back at him, silent, but with a reassuring smile.

He clapped once. “So, uh, nobody really knows about this, but I’ve been dealing with some anxiety lately. I, uh— I don’t really want anyone knowing about it, so if you could…”

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse in a trap.”

He raised a brow. “Morbid.”

“My colloquialisms can’t be as silly and polished as yours, friend.”

He smiled. “Guess not. Don’t really have room in my head for ‘em right now, though.”

You shrugged. “That’s okay. I like you whether or not you’re acting like a landscaper’s favorite machine.”

He paused for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. Then, his face lit up.

“Chipper?”

You simply pointed at him with a wink.

“Nice,” he said with a smile. He looked back down to his hands, smile melting. “So, um, I guess I just wanted you to know. That was the reason I had to leave the game, actually. It wasn’t food poisoning, but it just seems easier to let people believe that, you know? But, anyway. You seem to be good with these kinds of things, and I just… I don’t know.”

“Sometimes it’s nice just to tell someone, yeah?”

He nodded with a small grin. “Rebecca’s seen it happen once, but I think that’s about it. I made an appointment to speak with the doc, but I just couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, head shaking. “It’s bull.”

“Ted, you remember what you told me when I talked to you about my issues with trust?”

He raised a brow. “I told you nobody good would hurt you like…”

“You told me that all people are different people. You’ve said it a few times around me, I know you’ve told other people the same. And you know what?”

“What?” His brows sat raised.

“You need to start taking your own advice.”

“I don’t like when you do that.”

“Do what?” You laughed.

He chuckled with you. “When you’re right. I’m not supposed to be a quitter, either.”

“Not for the good things, anyway, huh?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

He started standing, but you stood with him before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, there’s something I want you to know, too.”

“Shoot,” he said, gesturing for you to continue.

“I deal with anxiety, too. A lot, actually.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, now I am.”

“Don’t. I can cope, I just— I want you to know you’re not alone in this, okay? I get panic attacks, anxiety attacks, I deal with more minor symptoms pretty much every day. And you know what? It doesn’t make me any less of a person. Doesn’t make you, either.”

You saw the tears that began to prick his eyes, but decided to leave that situation alone. Instead, you pulled him in for a hug. He hugged back hard, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You heard him take a few shaky breaths before he pulled back, wiping at his eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t ever apologize for vulnerability. Least not to me, cause I know exactly how you’re feeling and it’s okay. I promise,” you reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

He smiled at you, trying to hold back from letting any more tears fall.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Ted. I do want you to try going back to doctor Sharon, though. She’s a good woman.”

He nodded, glancing at where your hand still held his own. He squeezed it again, then left you to get back to your work. You sat for a while, unable to focus on anything but what he’d told you. You hoped like hell he had really listened to you.

It wasn’t until the next day that you’d found he’d both listened to and simultaneously completely ignored you. You were walking down the hall from the office when you saw him.

“Hey,” you called out to him, both hands on his chest to stop him from moving when you got close enough. “Your appointment is supposed to be right now. What happened to—”

“I can’t do it.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, trying to move you. You refused to budge.

“No. Uh-uh. Why did you leave?”

“I’m not talking to someone who’s only there cause she’s paid.”

You raised a brow. “Excuse me, Lasso. Are you not getting paid to do your job?”

He huffed out a sigh.

“Don’t you get attitude with me,” you dropped your hands, but didn’t move from where you stood. “I gotta go, but you’re trying again tomorrow, you hear me?”

“Y/N—”

“You’re going. Non-negotiable.”

He dropped his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll try.”

You nodded once, a smile of victory on your face. “And by the way, I think Keeley’s smoking in the boot room. Might wanna see what that’s about, yeah?”

He tilted his head, a chuckle leaving him. You patted him on the shoulder as you passed to leave the building.

Your day from then on was a long one. You were running around with Beard for part of it, trying to work on strategy for the upcoming game against Man City. The whole Richmond team was on edge, and you were beginning to worry that the nervousness alone might end up being the end-all to the game. You were a firm believer that winning had as much to do with the power of the mind as the power of the body. If they were going in thinking they were going to lose— lose they would.

“That’s a little dramatic,” Beard said over his beer.

You rolled your eyes, sipping at your drink.

“It’s not. Same line of thinking as Ted’s ‘Believe’ sign. I’m just being a little more explicit about what I mean when I say it.”

He chuckled. “You two are more alike than I think you even realize, you know?”

“I think I realize.”

“Do you?”

You shrugged, nodding slightly.

“Both crazy about this team, and even more crazy about you,” you teased, flicking at the brim of his hat.

He hid a smile behind his glass. “Your never-ending optimism and knack for flattery is also pretty similar.”

You hummed in agreement. “Can’t argue with ya, there.”

“So, what do you think we should do, then?”

You shrugged. “Find some way to cheer up the team. Get them excited for the game rather than scared of losing.”

He nodded, brows raised. “Any way of implementing that?”

“I’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” You leaned back. “Remember that game against Kansas State? Our boys were so freaked about it all, then Ted did his thing and got them so excited to play…”

“Beat their asses.”

“Yeah, we did.”

You both went in for a quick high five before continuing.

“Remember how he did it?”

“Told ‘em they needed to loosen up. We had a dance party and ordered pizza.”

You smiled. “Yep. What do you say we make something like that happen again? Day before we travel, let’s do it.”

He smirked, a brow raised. “Sounds perfect. You gonna tell Ted?”

You shrugged. “I think he could use the surprise just as much as the players.”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

You put your hands up. “What’s that look about?”

He just shook his head silently.

“I’m not treating him any different.”

He raised a brow, sipping at his drink again.

“Ted’s been going through it lately, I just think he needs a little cheer up. Nothing else.”

He set down his drink, then sat up straight, eyes still trained on you.

“Quit lecturing me, Beard,” you chuckled. “I know you always think I have some thing for him, but why can’t it just be that I care about people, huh?”

“I see through it.”

You paused for a moment. “I hate that.”

He smirked, and you both finished eating.

You went home yourself, denying a walk-back from Beard. You appreciated the gesture, but the air was beginning to feel thick and suffocating. The last thing you wanted was for him to see you like that.

As much as you tried pretending like the state of the team wasn’t affecting you, you knew that trying to be the fixer for this situation was weighing on you. More than you thought it would.

You tried swallowing, feeling your throat pretending to swell just to spite you. You rushed even faster towards your flat, feeling that the oncoming attack wasn’t going to be so routine.

As soon as you were in your door, your knees hit the floor, head between your arms on the carpet. You tried to control your breathing, but it was no use. Tears fell, though you’d hardly noticed as you’d refused to open your eyes. The bleariness you were bound to find if you opened them would only make the situation worse. You began to worry about passing out if you couldn’t control your breathing, and decided to roll yourself onto your side, whole body pushing through tremors you hadn’t felt in a few months, at least.

The ringing of your phone didn’t aid your situation. You desperately hoped it wasn’t an emergency, because there was no way you’d be able to make it over to where you’d dropped your purse. But, it kept ringing. Four separate calls over the span of probably half an hour.

It was another good half an hour after the calls had stopped before you were composed enough to open your eyes, and pull yourself into a sitting position on the ground. Though, you wouldn’t have known. Time never seemed to make any sense in those situations.

You worked on breathing in and out slowly, wiping away at any remaining tears. The shaking hadn’t yet ceased, but at least that was manageable. Right as you started trying to stand, you heard the loud buzzing of someone asking to be let in. You made it over, asking who was there.

“It’s me. Are you okay?” Ted’s voice came through.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Hang on,” you said, letting him in.

It wasn’t long before a knock was at the door, and you wished he wasn’t so quick. No amount of post-panic-primping in a fifteen-second slot could make you look presentable enough to get past him. You opened the door, putting on a smile and hoping he would be too preoccupied with something else to look directly at you for too long.

His face dropped the second he saw you, of course.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

He walked in, leaving you to close the door and follow him.

“No way, McConaughey. You can’t hide tears from me, I got eagle eyes for that sort of thing.”

You crossed your arms. “I’ve just had a long night.”

He watched you for a moment, picking up on the fact that you wouldn’t be sharing any time soon. He nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s fine. If you don’t want to talk right now, that’s okay,” he smiled softly, then wrapped you in a tight hug.

You welcomed it, arms wrapping around his middle, head buried in his chest.

“You were honest with me,” you started after a moment, “so, I guess I should be with you. I just came down from a pretty bad panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, hardly made it home… I just—”

“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing your back as he spoke. “We don’t have to talk about details. Thank you for telling me.”

You nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

“You always answer when I call. I knew something had to be up.”

“What if I was just in the shower?”

“You still always call me back right away. I had over an hour of radio silence from you.”

You chuckled. “I didn’t know you had it down to such a science.”

He laughed back, pulling away from you just enough to see your face.

“There she is,” he said, a smile on his face.

“And she is a mess.”

“We all get a little messy sometimes, though, don’t we?”

You nodded. “Gotta agree with that.”

He looked at you for a moment or two with a soft smile on his face, and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, especially since Beard was also on your ass about it, that was the moment you knew. You felt your heart rate pick up, and didn’t know what to do but escape. You stepped back, leaving him looking a little confused.

“I think I need some sleep, Ted.”

His eyes were wide, looking at you. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just need time alone, now. I need rest.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Uh, alright, well I will see you tomorrow bright and early, right?”

You nodded, giving him a quick smile.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.”

He nodded again, watching you with those big, worried eyes. You wished he would stop with that. He waved a quick goodbye, leaving you alone.

You settled into bed, though you were unable to sleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about the team. Or Ted. Or the fact that you couldn’t help but self-sabotage any chance you got. You wiped away a few stray tears, and closed your eyes, hoping sleep would take over soon.

You woke up from a couple hours of sleep to a text. Of course, from Ted.

- Excited to see you today for coaches meeting :) I’m proud of you

You sighed, setting your phone down next to you. The guy didn’t seem to have a single mean bone in his body, and here you were wallowing in the fact that you couldn’t help but feel like you brought down everyone around you. As much as you tried to remain positive in every situation, you knew your mood affected the people around you whenever you were a little down in the dumps. You got up, hoping you could at least try to disguise it as well as possible for the day. At least for the morning.

You stopped to get coffee on the way in, delivering each drink with a smile. You sat next to Ted to watch the tapes, giving him the most convincing smile you could.

“You seem better today,” he said quietly, a smile on his face.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The next few days you were preoccupied with setting up the party for the team, and luckily it kept you busy enough to not fall back into the hole you’d had to crawl out of. If there was one thing you were proud of, it was your ability to pull yourself out of the hardest places. Maybe it wasn’t always through the best methods, but you figured that doing what you needed to was working just fine. If it ain’t broke, after all.

“Howdy, howdy!” Ted chimed, walking in.

You shut your laptop quickly, still taking pride in the fact that you were successfully keeping the event from him.

He quirked a brow, nodding towards your laptop. “What’s that about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now. What’s up?”

He rubbed his hands together, leaning against your desk with a cheesy grin.

“Guess.”

“You got another jar of barbecue sauce?”

He laughed. “Yes, actually, but that’s not what this is all about, buttercup. It’s about you.”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“Well, kinda,” he said with a light chuckle. “I’ve been seeing the doc a lot more frequently, now.”

You lit up. “Oh, I’m so proud of you!”

“You’ll be even more proud in a second. Get this, she actually said that she’s glad me and you are friends.”

You crinkled your nose, laughing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told her about all of your help over the past few sessions, and she told me to tell you, little lady, that I am lucky to have you.”

He nudged your shoulder as he ended the sentence, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice how you tried hiding a smile.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as he finished out by saying, “I gotta say, I agree with her.”

“In that case, you’re welcome.”

He smiled again, hopping up to sit on your desk. “So, what are you up to?”

“You’ll find out later. Later today, actually.”

He raised his brows. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, “Mhm. I really think you’re gonna love it, too.”

He gasped, “Did you get me those funky shoes from Gucci I showed you the other day?”

“What?” You scrunched up your face. “No, of course not. Those things were horrible.”

He paused, as if to say something, before raising his brows and nodding in agreement.

“Okay, so what is it?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, would it?”

He dropped his shoulders. “Aw, come on. Telling me you have a surprise and not saying what it is… That’s worse than telling your dog you’re going on a walk then leaving him home.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“You’re right, that’s just evil. But you know I like to know things.”

You reached over, patting his knee. “I know, but I think you can survive til after practice.”

“Training,” he corrected.

“Ted, we’re both American. You don’t need to adjust your language with me.”

“See, that’s why I love talking to you,” he laughed, poking at your shoulder.

You shook your head, “Okay, now get out of here so I can finish up.”

“I’ll see you at practice, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, looking a little too pleased with himself for switching up his terminology.

You laughed. “See you there, coach.”

Beard walked in a while later, looking at you expectantly.

“Yes, I’m almost ready. Pizza will be here about ten minutes before we’re done, so I’ll excuse myself a little early, and I’ve got Keeley and Higgins doing some decorating in the locker room while we’re out.”

“You know my favorite thing about you?” He asked as he sat down in his seat.

“Fact that you don’t have to actually say anything to talk to me?”

He smirked, nodding. “Exactly.”

You both laughed, then sat back and waited for the boys to make it to the locker room. Ted came in, a big smile on his face as he did.

“Hey, there are two of my favorite people on this whole planet!”

“Still not telling you,” you said, giving a glance at Beard.

He only shook his head, going back to his book.

“Hey!” Ted exclaimed, pointing to Beard. “You know, too?”

“Know what?” Nate asked as he walked in.

You kept talking, “Keeley and Higgins, too. Oh, and Rebecca, actually, but she can’t be a part of it today.”

Ted glared at you as he went to his desk chair, Roy coming in behind him as he did.

“You talking about what Keeley told me she can’t tell me about?”

“Yep,” you responded, leaning back in your seat.

He grunted in response, arms crossing over his chest. You all worked on the game plan for ‘training’, then headed out with the team to get started on the last home practice before the big game. You knew nerves were high the whole time, and were all the more focused on making sure your little pizza party was a relief for everyone. You excused yourself to bring in the pizzas with your two accomplices, and then waited outside the door until the team came barging in. You heard shouts of approval from them all as they saw the decor and food, smiling as the work you’d done was starting to prove to be a good idea. Beard and Ted wandered in a moment after the last boy was in the locker room, a smile on Ted’s face as he heard them all.

“This the surprise?” He asked as he approached you.

You smiled, nodding. Beard moved past you to enter.

“Remember Kansas State?”

He raised his brows, smile only growing. “You didn’t.”

You nodded once more. “I did.”

He scooped you up in a hug, spinning you around.

“You are the best,” he said, setting you back down with a kiss to your cheek. Luckily, the smile on your face could easily be chalked up to the surprise paying off rather than the show of intimacy from your friend. “Well, come on, let’s shake a leg so I can shake some booty.”

You laughed at that, following behind him into the chaos.

“Hey!” He called out to everyone. “Y’all say thank you to Y/N for all this.”

A chorus of ‘thank you’s erupted, and you laughed as Ted pulled you into his side.

“Couldn’t have done it without Keeley and Higgins, y’all. They did all the decorating, I just recycled an old idea of coach, here.”

The team chuckled, then went back to celebrating as the music started.

He looked to you, eyes narrowed. “You’re being way too modest. This happened cause you put your heart and soul into this team.”

“I learned from the best, Lasso.”

He looked at you quietly, a small smile on his face, then shook his head. He pulled you into the small crowd, and you all spent the next couple hours letting loose before you had to check in with reality again.

The party seemed to have helped. Morale was up as you prepared for the game, and at minimum you knew that even if you still lost, they likely wouldn’t take it quite as hard. That helped your conscience, if anything.

One more thing that took a weight off of your shoulders was what happened before the game even started. Ted told the other coaches about his struggles with anxiety before the game. He came clean about it all, and you knew he felt good about finally letting it go to them. As the others started walking out, you held him back, making sure he knew just how proud of him you were.

“I wish I had your confidence.”

He patted your back. “But, you also love your privacy. That’s okay, you know? You also do a much better job holding it down than I do when it comes to this type of thing.”

You swallowed. “I’m not so sure about that. I know how to cope the best way I can, but I think it’s much more brave that you decided to open up to them about this.”

“Hey, don’t be hard on yourself about this,” he said, a hand on your shoulder. “Besides, I’m only doing okay right now cause I’m seeing the doc so often.”

“You saying I need to see someone about this?”

He shook his head. “No. You helped me realize that, for me, going to see her was what I needed. I hope in some way I can help you realize that you should do whatever is best for you. We’re all different people with different experiences, right?”

“Right. Thanks, Ted.”

You sighed. Leaning into his side for a moment, then broke away, clapping once.

“Okay, now let’s go win this.”

The game was lost, but everyone moved past it. You knew most of that was because of Ted and his affection for the goldfish attitude, though he tried like anything to convince you they wouldn’t be feeling so okay if it wasn’t for the little morale boost you’d given everyone before it all started.

He’d also inadvertently managed to convince you to see Dr. Fieldstone.

You knocked on her door, and she looked up from her seat to see you staring at her with a smile from the doorway.

“Come on in, coach,” she said, gesturing at the chair in front of her.

You nodded, looking around the room as you sat. You noted the little bird next to you, tapping it just enough to get it going.

“I like your decorations,” you said with a smile, then looked back at her. “Also, please call me Y/N. I hardly let the boys get away with calling me coach outside of games.”

She smiled. “I see.”

“So, uh, it’s good to finally talk with you. I know we’ve seen one another in passing a few times, but I’ve been exceptionally busy lately or else I would have come and given a proper hello. I really appreciate all of the work you’ve been doing with the team. You seem like a very kind, compassionate woman. I’m happy to have you here, honestly.”

She just watched as you talked, a light grin on her face as you did, though most of the humor rested in her eyes.

You paused for just a moment, though when she didn’t speak up, you took it as an invitation to keep going.

“Uh, so, I’m not really sure how this goes. I’ve only been to see a therapist once before and it didn’t go great. Though, I promise I won’t hold it against you. I’ve just learned how to cope on my own after that experience, but Ted kind of convinced me to try to find what would work best for me moving forward, and I thought—”

“I see why you two are so close,” she chuckled. “I feel as though I know you already.”

Your brows raised. “Really? How so?”

“Well, between how talkative you’ve become now that you’re nervous, and the fact that I’ve heard quite a lot about you in general, I’d say I have an idea of who you are.”

You let out a quick laugh. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I get kind of chatterbox-y when I talk to someone new.”

“Or when you get nervous, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, looking down for a moment. “Yeah. That, too. Guess it kinda goes hand-in-hand with some of my anxiety business, huh?”

She shrugged, though gave you a look that implied she’d agreed with your statement. You smirked, as did she.

“You said you’ve seen a therapist once before?”

You nodded. “Yes, but it didn’t seem to help. They hardly listened to me, and then told me that maybe exercising and breathing exercises would help. Gave me that advice four sessions in a row without really ever caring to know why I was dealing with panic and anxiety and everything else.”

She raised a brow. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. Now, I know you might not be able to trust me—”

“Oh, no. I totally trust you, Doc. I’ve seen how great you’ve been with the team, and I learned from a good friend a long time ago that everyone has a different story. You don’t deserve to be compared like that.”

Her brows really shot up with that being said. She nodded slowly, writing something down as she did.

“Well, thank you for that. That was kind of you to say.”

You smiled at her. “I appreciate you. Really.”

“This need to reassure the people around you, do you think that might have anything to do with what you’re struggling with?”

Your eyes widened, almost shocked at the statement. You understood now how she’d made so much progress with Ted. You continued talking about what you needed to, but the session was coming to a close quickly.

“Uh, one more thing, doc?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thanks for what you said about me to Ted.”

She quirked a brow. “And what was that?”

“You told him I was good for him.”

“You are,” she said, nodding. “I think the both of you need to be reminded that you don’t always have to turn on the personality for someone to love you. I think you do that well. Both of you.”

You chuckled. “You… Are one wise woman, Dr. Sharon.”

She laughed. “I am pretty great at my job.”

“Well, thank you again,” you said, starting to walk towards the door.

“Y/N,” she called out, and you turned. “Try to remember that the whole world isn’t on your shoulders, yeah? You believe everyone deserves to know love and comfort, but you are one of those people, too.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath, then said your goodbyes. You pulled out your phone as you left her office. Being the last appointment for the day, you knew most people had already gone home, but you felt like getting some food. You dialed Ted’s number and waited expectantly, heading towards the door.

He answered, but didn’t speak.

You furrowed your brow, exiting the building.

“Ted?” You asked, waiting for a reply.

His voice came through, shaky and nervous-sounding. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Whoa, hold on, what’s up with you?”

“I— I’m kind of…” he trailed off, taking in a hard breath.

“Are you at home?”

You started walking more quickly, heading towards his flat.

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming to you, okay?”

You heard a sniffle on the other end, and a weak ‘okay’ in response. You hung up, and practically ran the rest of the way there. He buzzed you in, and you were up the stairs, bursting into his apartment in no time. He was sitting on his couch in his undershirt and khakis, clearly having been in the middle of undressing when he got hit with whatever ailed him.

You rushed over to the couch, standing next to him. He looked up at you, still crying.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked softly, reaching over to touch his arm.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Can I hug you?”

He nodded quickly, standing up and clinging to you like a child. You held him, hands rubbing up and down his back as he cried, head shaking every so often, disagreeing with the thoughts in his own head.

“I can’t even…” he trailed, mumbling against your shoulder.

“What is it, hun?” You asked, still trying to calm him as much as possible.

“Am I a shitty dad? I don’t—”

“No, no. Of course you aren’t.”

“I can’t even pick up my son from a sleepover. He had a nightmare and wanted to go home and I couldn’t be there for him,” he turned his head, cheek against your shoulder now.

You reached up to run your nails through his hair. “You’re like the best dad I could think of. Even thousands of miles apart, you spend more time talking to your kid than I ever got with my dad in the same house. He knows you love him.”

“I quit on his mom. I’m not supposed to be a quitter.”

“You didn’t quit. You didn’t forfeit. Game time was up, the match was over. Nothing you could do at that point, Ted.”

He sniffled, then nodded. “You really think so?”

“You were both fighting so long for something that only hurt the both of you. It was coming to an end naturally. You just finally had the strength to let it end, even though it was hard.”

He nodded again, and fell silent for a few minutes, still holding on to you for dear life.

“Ted?” You asked.

He hummed in question.

“Can I get you some water? I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

“Yeah,” he said, then let you go, sitting back on the couch.

You filled up a glass from the tap, handing it to him and kneeling in front of him. He drank some, then handed the glass back to you to set down on the coffee table.

“Good, thank you for drinking some,” you smiled.

He laughed humorlessly. “I’m a child.”

“You just need to be cared for a little bit right now. I know stuff like this is all new to you still, I don’t think being comforted and coddled a little is gonna hurt all that much.”

He smirked. “I guess not. Thank you. For coming here.”

You stood, going to sit next to him.

“It’s nothing. You’d do the same for me. Heck, you kind of have already, you just didn’t have to witness the crying part.”

He chuckled. “That’s… Embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not embarrassing at all,” you said, then leaned back into the cushions. “You feel like food?”

“I don’t know if going out right now—”

“I was going to order in. Thought we could watch tv or a movie or something and hang out for a while.”

He looked to you with a soft smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The next day, you woke up feeling better than you had in a while. You felt well rested, and even went to pick up coffee for everyone despite it not being a film-watching day. You made your way to the office, though you found it much more somber than you were expecting.

“Whoa,” you started as everyone watched you walk in with the tray of drinks. “Who died?”

Apparently that was a poorly timed question.

You showed up at the funeral, heading right to Rebecca for a hug.

“Hi, love,” you said, squeezing her a little tighter than normal. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I’m alright.”

You pulled back, giving her a smile. “For what it’s worth, you look hot.”

She laughed, “Charming as always, my friend.”

“It’s what I do best.”

You heard the squeal of Keeley before you saw her.

“You look gorgeous!” She said as she hugged you.

“Babe, it’s a funeral.”

“Still look hot,” she said with a grin before moving on to Rebecca.

You gave a quick hello to Roy.

“She’s… Weird about funerals.”

You nodded. “Right. Well, I’ll be back. Ted was supposed to be here before me and isn’t picking up his phone now.”

Roy furrowed his brow. “Really? I’m shocked you didn’t come together.”

You tilted your head. “Why would we?”

“You realize how fuckin’ obvious you are?”

Your face dropped. “Nothing’s happening, Roy.”

He grunted with a shake of his head, and you headed off away from people to try giving Ted another call.

Still no answer.

When it hit his answering machine, you decided to leave it and send a text instead.

- hey, are you okay? i’m at the funeral now. if you show up, i’ll be in the back row waiting for you. if not, i’m coming to you as soon as we’re out of here

You shoved your phone back into your purse, making sure to leave it on vibrate in case he called back. Getting through the day was already hard, and you knew your anxiety was likely going to be more of a when-than-if kind of situation. It only built with the fact that Ted wasn’t getting back to you. You felt like everything was dragging on forever, and it wasn’t until Rebecca was struggling to find the right words in her eulogy that he came in. He sat next to you, squeezing your knee lightly to reassure you as he did, and you gave him a soft smile. Something was off, but even then he had the ability to comfort Rebecca all the way from the back row, continuing to sing the song she’d begun. And, of course, everyone else couldn’t help but join in.

You walked with him to the repast, and took that as an opportunity to ask him about what was going on.

“Ted?”

“Yeah?”

You fell quiet for a moment, unsure of where to start. He started for you.

“If you’re wondering, it was anxiety again. I’m sorry I didn’t respond…”

“Did you at least reach out to Dr. Sharon?”

“Yes.”

You smiled at him. “Okay, I’m glad. Proud of you.”

He smirked, then looked around the neighborhood for a moment.

“Uh, we talked about my dad.”

Your eyes widened. He’d hardly ever talked to you about what happened because he could never get through without crying.

“Wow. Are you okay? I know that’s always really hard for you…”

“She helped me see the good in him again, you know? I was always so angry with him for leaving us, but he did more than leave us. He was…” He trailed off with a shaky breath. You reached over, taking his hand, and he held onto yours firmly. “He was a great dad. She helped me remember that.”

“I’m happy you could talk to her about it, Ted. Seriously.”

He nodded, one hand going up to wipe at his eyes. “I guess it just hit me thinking about today…”

“I know. I’ve been pretty on edge today, too.”

“Are you okay?” He rushed out, looking at you.

You nodded with a smile, “Much better now that I know you are.”

He squeezed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You tried to stave off the sick feeling in your stomach telling you to run the other way. You wished you could just enjoy a nice moment with him, but you couldn’t help but feel guilty somehow. He was too good for most people, and you considered yourself one of the ones he was too good for. You let it happen for a few seconds longer before you pulled away, pretending like you needed to check your phone in your purse.

“Get a message?” He asked after a moment.

“Uh, I thought I felt it vibrate. Guess not,” you chuckled a little.

He nodded quietly, shoving hands back in his coat pockets. You walked silently side by side until you reached the house, walking inside and beginning to mingle with some of the other guests there. You felt anxiety building, but tried putting it off. You couldn’t tell why it was getting worse and worse, but it was. Your pulse kept speeding no matter how easy you tried taking it.

But, you knew it was about to get way worse when you were suddenly being pulled away from Ted by Beard as a woman approached him. He watched after you with eyes wide for a moment before he turned to her, and you furrowed your brow at Beard when he deposited you in a different room.

“The hell was that about?” You snapped.

Immediately, you knew you needed to get away. It was hard enough feeling anxious, but the last thing you wanted was for your feelings to manifest as anger. But, manifest they did.

“You said you didn’t feel anything for him like that,” he said, testing you.

You scoffed. “Now is not the time, Beard. Who was that, anyways?”

“Remember the name, ‘Sassy’?”

Your stomach dropped, and you could swear the air had just gotten thinner.

“Seriously?”

He shrugged, a little smug. You let out a hard breath, beginning to walk away.

“You said—”

You whipped around. “Cut the shit, Beard. It’s none of your business.”

Eyes fell on you, and the barely contained attack was coming into swing. You started walking towards the back door and into the fresh air, hoping you could contain it all until you could get out of there and go home.

The door opened only a moment later, and you turned to find Beard staring at you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that, I just—”

“You have feelings for him. I know you do.” He shrugged, coming to stand next to you. “What I don’t know is what’s wrong besides that.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

You looked down to see your hands shaking hard as you grasped your arms.

“I—,” you felt tears prick your eyes, and looked away. “I can’t fucking tell him. I’ve known him for years, do you have any clue how shitty it’d be to drop something like that on him? Besides, clearly he’s having fun with…”

You stopped, unable to even say another person’s name.

“The doc told me I self-sabotage, but I don’t think this is that. Is it wrong to want him to be happy? I don’t think I’m the bad guy for that.”

“Nobody said you were.”

“Nobody needs to. I’m a fucking mess. I have no right being upset that he’s happy. I’m a piece of shit,” you whispered at the end, closing your eyes. “I— I need to get out of here. I gotta go, I’m sorry.”

You felt your chest heave, trying to get in air through the invisible smoke that surrounded your head. There was no escaping it, now.

Beard reached out for you, but you already started leaving. He called your name, but you couldn’t handle facing him.

“If anyone asks, please just say I got sick,” you said, back still turned to him.

He sighed, watching as you walked away, holding onto yourself as if you might crumble otherwise. He was worried you actually would, but knew you’d only get more pissed if he tried following you now.

You stumbled along the street, not really sure where you planned on ending up. The closest location was on Nelson Road, so that’s where you found yourself after it all, sinking onto the floor of the office and letting all hell break loose. It was bad enough with how you’d been feeling today, but coupling it all with how ridiculous you felt over being angry that someone else had his attention… That was the thing that nearly pushed you over the edge. Crying and shaking led to dry heaving, dry heaving led to darn near passing out, and that all led to sitting on the ground for who knows how long. You’d always been able to pull yourself out eventually, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to this time.

If people really believed that hope kills, you wished they never had to know what being completely hopeless felt like.

Pretending like you weren’t ever affected by the things that hurt you could only get you so far, and now you were feeling the hard edge of realization that being hit by the things that pained you all at once was so much worse than dealing with it little by little.

Now, a room full of people had seen you crack, too. They all saw through it. The jig was up in a small way that felt huge. Your cover-up act was all you had sometimes, and you couldn’t afford to lose it all because you couldn’t handle seeing Ted with another person, or deal with your emotions before they blew up in your face.

You sobbed, unsure of how you were still awake with how much air escaped you and how little you were taking in. You almost wished you would just pass out for a few hours. Just to escape for a moment.

You heard footsteps fall heavy and quickly down the ball, and it only worsened your panic. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to see you like this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You were cemented to the ground, a crying, shaky mess.

“Oh, thank goodness,” you heard a voice that sounded far away, then felt a pair of arms scoop you up and hold you tightly against them. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You couldn’t stop yourself this time, and just let yourself cry. Ted tried moving your hands away from your face, but you refused to budge.

“Sweetpea, I need to know you’re okay. Can you breathe with me?”

His voice was more clear now, and you heard a tone in it you almost never did.

“Please,” he whispered, and now you knew why he sounded different.

Tears fell against your bare legs, and they weren’t your own.

“Breathe with me, come on,” he coaxed, and you tried your hardest to obey his request.

Once your breathing calmed, you were able to move your hands, though you refused to look up. He pulled you into his lap from where he sat next to you, hands holding you tighter than they ever had before.

“You really scared me,” he said, quiet.

You took in another breath, face against his neck.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” He asked, hands gripping you a little tighter. “What do you mean?”

You shook your head. “I’m a mess. You’re supposed to be out having fun.”

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke.

“Why did you…” He huffed out a breath. “I ran to your apartment. Then all your favorite restaurants. I went down all the streets I thought you might have taken, and finally I ended up here. I didn’t know where else to look.”

“Why were you looking?”

“I asked Beard where you were and he said you got sick. You were already not doing so hot, and I knew that was a lie”

“You have better things to be doing right now, Ted.”

“Nothing is more important than being here right now. Nothing. Do you understand me?”

He was taking a harsher tone with you than you were used to. You took a chance and looked up at him to find him in disarray. His tie and jacket were discarded, and his hair was kind of a mess.

“Don’t ever do that again. Please. At least tell someone where you’re going.”

You nodded, taking in the deep worry lines in his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t apologize for that, I just— I was scared.”

You swallowed. “I’m— I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go see your lady friend now.”

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I know Beard pulled us away from you two for a reason, Ted. You deserve to be happy. Please don’t let me get in the way of that.”

He raised his brows. “You’re not in the way of anything.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You’re not,” he shook his head. “Do you want to know something?”

You sniffed. “What?”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb, then smiled. “She’s kinda pissed at me anyway.”

“Why?”

He took a moment to lean back against the wall, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping his arms around you so that you wouldn’t be able to scoot away. He chewed at his lip for a moment, then looked at you. You stared back, eyes wide, and mascara running all down your face. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

Hard as you tried not to, you laughed with him.

“What?”

“Your makeup ran harder than anyone on the team.”

You tried wiping away at it, but he grabbed your hand.

“Quit that.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Me having a panic attack is cute?”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but stopped when you laughed.

“I’m kidding. Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

He let out a breath. “Man, I haven’t been that scared since my mom looked in the shoebox under my bed when I was seventeen.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You didn’t answer me.”

“What?”

“I asked why she was mad at you.”

He nodded slowly, chewing at his bottom lip.

“Uh, well, when I asked Beard where you were and he said you were sick, she was in the middle of trying to get me to go to her hotel room.”

You felt your stomach sink again, looking away in hopes he wouldn’t catch the shift in your demeanor.

He continued, “I told her I had something more important to do. She didn’t like that a whole lot.”

“You did?”

“Yep.”

You swallowed hard. “So, it is my fault.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Can you quit that? I turned down sex to come sit on the ground with you, and you know what? In any case I would always rather be here with you. Panic attack or not. You could literally just ask me to sit on the ground with you and I would always say yes.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.”

He pulled your head towards his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“You always see right through me like I’m a dang department store window. Now, of all times, is when you decide to just… Not get it.”

You played with the buttons of his dress shirt and quirked a brow.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“You know, I thought you might get it all the times I asked you to come get dinner or coffee with me. Or maybe every time I come bother you and stick around way longer than I normally would with anyone else— and that’s saying something. I was really hoping you’d get it when we were holding hands on our walk today, but of course not.”

He laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before he pulled back to look at you. You watched him with wide eyes, questioning his intentions and hoping you weren’t somehow still misreading this.

“You gonna make me say it?” He asked with a smile.

“I’d prefer if you did.”

He laughed, shaking his head. He then looked up at the ceiling, trying to search for the right words to say. They must have come to him, because he looked back to you, and simply stared for a minute before he finally started talking.

“You’re one of the kindest people I know. Like, Mr. Rogers reincarnated. You always know how to cheer me up. You always know how to help me, and everyone else in your life, somehow. I think you’re incredible. I think you are so funny and so talented and crazy smart. I even think you’re stupidly gorgeous when you’ve got makeup running all over your cheeks,” he said with a laugh, then continued when he got reassurance from your smiling face. “I’ve been scared to get close to anyone since… Since the divorce. You made it so easy, though. I’ve known you forever, but now— I guess I just realized a few months ago that nobody’s ever been there for me like you. You never tell me I’m too much. You never expect me to be… I don’t know. You don’t ever expect me to be on all the time. I can just be me, good or bad, and you still treat me the same.”

You watched him with a rapidly beating heart. Though, this time, it wasn’t telling you to run. It wanted nothing more than for you to stay right where you were.

“That’s something the Doc told me. That we’re good for each other because of that,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “I know, and she’s right. She helped me realize I had feelings for you. Real feelings.”

You bit your lip, then grinned. “Are you gonna crack a joke any time soon? Because all of this serious from you is becoming a little scary.”

His face lit up, and he laughed. You smiled with him, leaning into him for a hug. He held you close, taking in several deep breaths and enjoying the moment, then kissed your cheek as he pulled back again.

“Uh, so… Is this just gonna be me confessing and you get to sit there and tell me to do a crap ton of Hail Mary’s?”

You smiled. “There’s my Ted.”

His brows raised. “Your Ted, huh?”

You laughed, wiggling out of his grip. He let you, and you stood up, reaching for him. He stood with you, not letting go of your hands.

“You’re not going to let go of my hand to check a nonexistent message again, right?”

You smiled, looking down. “You caught that?”

“I can read you almost as well as you can read me. I knew something was up.”

You shook your head, walking into him and wrapping him in a hug again.

“I see things are a little better now,” Beard said, leaning against the doorframe of the office.

You let go of Ted, turning towards Beard.

“Hey. I’m sorry about—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t be. I was kind of being an ass anyways.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile, nodding a little.

“You two figure out… All that business?” He asked, pointing between the two of you.

Ted smiled, “Yeah, we did.”

“Good.”

He waved and left with that, the two of you alone once more.

Ted grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Let’s go home and maybe… Clean up. We kind of look crazy,” he smiled.

“Can we head to mine first? I want to get out of this dress.”

“Why don’t we just go to mine?”

He raised his brows in question, and you couldn’t help but smile. Now at least you didn’t have to pretend you didn’t think he was adorable.

“I need clothes.”

He quirked a brow. “I think you’d look awfully cute in my clothes.”

You laughed, “Okay, fair enough.”

“Ready to go home, then, sweetpea?”

But the only time it seemed he’d ever take you out was when you asked. Every time you made plans, he was there ten minutes early; a bright smile on his face, and some type of gift in his fist. Seemingly, he was ready to take you wherever. He gave you a somewhat false sense of pride. At so young you had someone who was more than happy to do so much for you. Someone for your family to gush over at Christmas, and for your friends to tease. Someone you’d eventually marry and have kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids with.

Your white picket fence future, if you will.

It was dates like those that made you consider he actually loved you. That you were just as important to him as he was to you. It made you think that he was more than willing to put in the effort; that he was even excited about doing so.

Except for tonight.

Tonight was one of those times when you weren’t so sure.

You weren’t shocked that he stood you up, which in hindsight, should’ve been your first red flag. You were just disappointed.

Though, you were never disappointed with him. Just yourself.

You were disappointed that you still tried. That you still planned your outfit that day during biology, and still told your friends, regardless of their pitying looks. It hurt that you still cared. You still thought tonight would be different and that he would show up. The story of a blonde, blue-eyed white knight saving the day in his dad's beat-up trans am.

You were disappointed that even after being stood up for the second time that week, it wasn’t enough to drive you away. Wasn’t enough to make you pick up the phone and end it right there.

And surely wasn’t enough for you to consider your tears as real.

Even though it should’ve been.

The sound of tires rolling on the tarmac pulls you out of your fog, and in the direction of the big house beside you. Your poorly lit street was pitch black, except for the bright headlights that shone on the garage door until they turned off.

You grimace as you recognize the car, yet turn away and wipe at your nose when the door pops open.

The last thing you needed was for your shitty neighbour to see you crying.

Steve was…a dick, to put it lightly. You weren’t friends, but aside from living right beside him, your circles crossed enough that you knew you didn’t like him.

The King of Hawkins High was an asshole who didn’t care about anything other than ruining young girls and bullying the quiet kids with Tommy and Carol. The only people he was remotely nice to were his teammates, Brand and you.

Though, you’re positive if he saw you crying on the curb outside of your house you’d be the laughing stock on Monday morning. Steve Harrington was cruel, but his friends were crueller. And no amount of status that came from being the captain of the swim team's girlfriend would save you from that.

“Hey!” Your spine straightens, freezing under the sound of his voice. “Are you okay?”

Wiping at your eyes, you inhale deeply, trying to tame the shakiness of your breath. Jesus Christ, you just want him to leave you alone. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m good.”

You don’t look back at him, keeping your gaze forward. If you don’t pay him attention, he could just walk away. Brush you off and retreat to that big empty house of his. And then everything would just go back to normal.

To how it’s supposed to be.

But you know you didn’t sound convincing at all. And the sound of feet padding toward you indicates that fact.

“You don’t look okay, —.”

“Well, then you need to get your eyes checked, Harrington.” You snarl. Tucking your knees under your chin, you grip your calves, hands bruising the skin there as you hold your breath.

He stands a couple inches from you, car keys jingling in his pocket as he stuffs his hands in his coat. “Did—did something happen—“

“Why do you care?” Your brutal eyes find his dopey ones. “Just leave me alone. Just…go back home and pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Spare me the fucking shit-show.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. And if you closed your eyes long enough, you might even think he left. But then he clears his throat and hops down to the ground beside you.

“Did…did you and Brand get in an argument?”

You laugh, and the sound is painful and sharp. “He would have to be here for us to do that.”

“Oh…” is his only reply. He pauses. “You didn’t go with him to the party?”

His words hit you hard, like the slamming of a freight train against your ribs. Sitting there in disbelief, your lip wobbles.

A party. He stood you up for a party.

Steve doesn’t follow up with anything else, and you know he knows he doesn’t have to. Not with the way, your shoulders begin to shake and a sob rips through your throat.

If you were determined not to show him any weakness earlier, you didn’t care now. He could go to Main Street with a megaphone and blurt it to the whole town that your stupid fucking boyfriend left you for a stupid fucking party, and you wouldn’t care.

Not anymore.

A huff escapes the boy beside you. “What a dick.”

A murmur of astonishment sneaks up on you. Anger gave way to utter confusion. “…what?” You sniffle.

“I said your boyfriend's a dick. Only dicks leave their girlfriend on the side of the road crying.” He nods at nothing, as though he impressed himself. He lights a cigarette, shaking away at the lighter before stuffing it back in his pocket. He then starts grumbling to himself, leaving you in shock as you just stare at him.

There’s no way this is happening.

“He’s—he’s not a dick,” you mutter. “He just…sometimes he forgets our dates, that’s all. Just cause I’m crying doesn’t make him a dick.”

Steve shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, the front curl flopping in front of his eyes almost effortlessly. “Only dicks make their girlfriends cry, —. And believe me when I say I hate seeing a woman cry.”

You feel a pout deepen on your face, lip still trembling in distress. There’s a chill in the air, one that wafts over your partially bare legs, forcing goosebumps to creep from your elbows to your neck. It’s painfully obvious how awkward this situation is; how strange it feels to be crying to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. Much less crying to him in the middle of the night at the end of your driveway.

You’re incredibly uncomfortable, your body shivering at the cold and your hunger from a missed out dinner date. You don’t even notice your stomach growling until Steve stands up, far too distracted to hear it.

But then again, you’re far too distracted to feel embarrassed that he noticed first.

“You hungry?”

“Hungry?”

Steve crosses his arms, tilting his head down to you in the way a mischievous child would. “Yeah. You know, for food? I don’t think there's any burger joints open but Benny’s makes some pretty mean pancakes.”

Rubbing at your face, you allow your tired hands to fall into your lap. For a moment, a strange, slightly distorted moment, you actually entertain him. You aren’t too sure what makes you consider it; can’t quite pinpoint where along the line you had a sudden change of heart. Because you didn’t like Steve. You hated Steve. You hated his dumb friends and his stuck-up parents and his lack of respect for anyone. You hated his stupid Ray-Bans that he wore all the time and his loud-ass speakers that never stopped playing Corey Hart. You hated that he was always on top of the world, on the highest point of the highest building with a lopsided crown and a shit-eating grin.

But most of all, you hated how in a matter of minutes, he had shown you a completely different person.

You hated that you could even possibly fall for it.

You hated that you did.

There was something there, living in the space between the two of you, that you’d never seen before. Something boyish and sincere. Endearingly cute, and annoyingly sweet; a complete one-eighty to his typical brattiness.

As he stands a few feet away—half-facing his car and half-facing you—he swirls his keys on his finger in a constant rotating circle. He’s patiently waiting for you; gives you all the room in the world to either decline or accept.

“So?”

You chew on your lip, rubbing at your raw nose and the hardened salty stains on your cheeks. The sad part of you tells you to just go to bed. Sleep it off and ignore him for the rest of your life. But the hungry part of you—the part that also aches to be in the company of someone else—growls at the thought of warm pancakes and greasy hash browns. Exhaling deeply, you give him a hint of a smile.

“As long as you’re willing to pay for the extra syrup.”

October 31, 1984.

“And then, and then she just went on and on about…about everything. How—how, fuck, how everything’s bullshit. How we were bullshit. How I’m…how I’m bullshit.” Slamming into the headrest, he squints, lips tightly pulling together as tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes. He lets out a choked sob. “I’m fucking bullshit.”

“No.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “No.” Sighing, you put down your fork, still with a ketchup-covered piece of egg on it. “Steve, you—you are not bullshit, okay? You are like…like the furthest thing from that.”

Your eyes travel down his side profile. His face, though turned upward, droops all the same. The frown that grows is unnerving, grim and angry as he stares off into the distance. His breathing has come to a slow beneath the broken neon light of the building ahead of you. He’s usually so full of life; so bright and breathtaking, that seeing him like this…seeing him in so much pain, breaks your heart.

It mercilessly slaughters you in half right where you stand.

It's nearly comparable to the way your stomach lurched when Nancy spilled her punch. The air had immediately shifted; so much so, that everyone in the room had stopped dead in their tracks. Almost like the party itself had a pause button and that someone had kept their hand on it. The crowd was reduced to lifeless bodies that watched on in horror as Hawkins it-couple had it out. But as invested as everyone was, it was still all superficial. Because the second Steve and Nancy ran off to the bathroom everything went back to normal.

The second someone had lifted their finger off the button, the mood switched back around. People took off their masks and got rid of the caring front.

For a bit, it was easy to ignore. Steve and Nancy had their fair share of arguments, so you weren’t particularly worried. But then you saw Steve storm out of the house, and you knew something was wrong. Without much thought—and a little presumptuous on your part—you left the party and the raunchy booze behind before following him outside.

The way you had grown to care for Steve was both mindless and instinctual. Two opposing forces drove you to chase after your friend; pleading for you to catch him. To make sure he wouldn’t accidentally get himself killed on an empty strip of backroad.

Which led to this moment.

With your usual breakfast order in a bag by your feet, you had found a little patchy spot of grass in the furthest corner of the parking lot. You stayed quiet. Not once pressuring him to talk until he was ready. Because you knew he’d let you know when that was. All you had to do was wait.

So as you began to eat away at your buttered toast, that’s when he chose to cave. To splinter, and present the broken pieces of him to you on a styrofoam plate. He was full of cracking pressure that was bubbling and boiling and threatening to burst. He was a mess of tousled hair and white knuckles, covered in his dad's old wool blazer.

He was an eyesore, you had to admit. But the prettiest one at that.

It was the one unfair trait he possessed. The Harrington signature.

Sighing, you move your box to the dashboard. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you then shift in your seat, adjusting yourself until you’re facing him completely. “Look, she, Nancy was drunk. Okay, you can’t—I know what she said hurt you, and you have every right to feel that way, but…” crossing your arms, you fold in on yourself. “But you two love each other. I mean, you two love each other, Steve.”

“She’s not in love with me.”

Your mouth falls open at the admission, gaping like a fish out of water. You want to protest him; to tell Steve that there’s no way she doesn’t love him, that there’s no way anyone could not love him. You love him. Somehow, someway, you went from despising him entirely, to being so incredibly fond of him. He’s your best friend; the first person you go to when life turns for the better, and when shit hits the fan. The first person you think of in the morning, and the last thing you dream of at night. You care for Steve Harrington.

You love him.

How could you not?

He lets out a whimper; a gruelling noise mixed with a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose. The sound is awful. “I mean I…I feel kinda stupid. Cause like…that’s what I did. Nancy, she…she loves me but she’s not in love with me. And maybe—maybe that’s karma, or whatever the fuck it’s called, ya know? …I mean I did that too, to Stacey, and Angie, and Brenda. And now…” his head falls into the palms of his hands, collapsing against the steering wheel. “Now I guess it was my turn.”

You stay still then, cuddled into the seat as you fiddle with the broken zipper to your jacket.

“And, Jesus, everyone fucking knew this was coming. Right? I mean, no one seemed that shocked at the party. Not even—fuck, —, not even you! Did you…” he turns sharply to you, eyes watery and glossed over. He looks terrified; the shattered psyche of a man teetering on the edge of hysteria. You nearly cry at the sight of him. “Did you know?”

Blinking back the sting of tears, you shake your head, the involuntary action occurring before you can even think it. You’re in treacherous territory; swimming against dangerous waters and ruthless currents that would throw you from Steve in an instant. The boat, or more accurately the car, rocks beneath the weight of your conversation. It anxiously tips and shakes, back and forth until you stop it. “Steve…if I knew, I would’ve said something. You know that.”

He looks disoriented, and anxious for a moment as he stares through you like a piece of glass. But eventually, he drops the topic and turns to pick at his meal, though you can’t say how much of an appetite he has left. Biting your lip, you tighten your grip on your torso, squeezing away the remnants of your partial white lie.

Because you weren’t entirely dishonest with him. Nancy never said anything to you. She never called you, never came to an unspoken agreement, and never cornered you. She never told you she had fallen out of love with him.

But in reality, she didn’t need to.

Because Steve wasn’t wrong. Everyone could see it. It was a sick prediction; a predilection spelled out on a tossed-around piece of paper. Something to waste time as everyone waited for the shoe to drop; as they waited for the breakup.

You never took part in the rumours, but you weren’t blind. You noticed the longing stares met with empty eyes; the excited hands pressed against disinterested ones; forgotten conversations and missed calls.

You noticed all of it. But you pretended you didn’t.

Because Steve didn’t need someone to tell him he was irrational and naive and too hopeful for his own good. He just needed someone to be there for him. For once. Over the past year and a half, he had grown up. Which meant that he was even lonelier than ever.

He just needed a friend. A true friend that ate cold bacon with him when he was sad and got him coffee in the mornings before school. Someone who encouraged him in everything. Someone who gave him the same support he gave everyone else.

And ever since you realized that, ever since you started the tradition of eating breakfast late at night in his car, you were that person. You had him, that random night in June, and now—on Halloween of all days—he has you.

And there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to rob him of that.

“I just…” he cries. He won’t look at you again, and you wonder if it’s because he’s afraid to truly show you all of him. If he’s afraid to show you the fall of the King. Or perhaps, he’s just too preoccupied with the sunglasses in his hand and the mess in his head. “I just loved her so much, —.”

Offering him a gentle smile, silently assuring him that he doesn’t need to hide with you, you lean over and take hold of his hand. Your fingers wrap around his, hooking between each one until you both are interlocked. Together.

“I know.”

He stills, and part of you thinks that maybe this bothers him. That holding his hand; that physical touch of any kind was simply not meant for two friends like you. Yet, as you start to pull away his other hand comes up and cups yours. Grasps it with the same kind of urgency and tenderness you showed him. The two of you stay like that for a bit: caught up in the warmth of each other against the bitter early November air, food long forgotten on the dashboard.

July 4, 1985.

“So…that happened.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers.

“Yeah.”

Crossing your arms, you lean back further into the hood of your car. With a sigh—a long, strangled breath you didn’t know you were holding in—you close your eyes. Flash images of the mall, of the Russians, of that…thing blink in and out of focus. It’s as rapid as the fireworks that had been set off; loud and explosive, reaching every corner of your mind.

You were scared.

Steve, not so much.

He ended up telling you everything. From the biggest monster to the most minute detail. Everything. He told you about what happened to that girl Barb, Will’s disappearance, about who Hopper's adopted daughter really was. Anything odd that happened within the past three years, he managed to sum up in half an hour. You had questions. Lots of them. But right now didn’t seem like the right time to ask. So the questions you harboured would have to wait just a little longer. They’d have to wait for a day where you and your friends hadn’t nearly died five times over.

You didn’t give it much thought; the fear of watching Steve yell at you to go with Dustin failing to settle in. Except, even if you had the time, you know it still wouldn’t take. Because one minute Steve was in front of you, holding your hand and pushing you through the doorway, and the next, you were alone, forced to take care of yourself and two frightened children.

The possibility that Steve might die was never as prevalent as at that moment. And the possibility that he would drag your heart along with him was just as scary.

It didn’t matter how many times Dustin assured you; how many times he told you that this wasn’t ‘Steve’s first rodeo’. It didn’t matter that for the most part he and Robin were okay by the time you got to them.

The only thing you could process was the fact that something was going on in Hawkins. Something had been going on for a while, and Steve was very much involved in it.

He just never told you.

Even after all those times, he showed up on your doorstep, when you mended his wounds and let him sleep in your bed because of his sudden tendency for nightmares, he never told you.

Why didn’t he tell you?

“I’m really sorry, —.” Neither of you moves, permanently frozen beside each other as you look up at the technicolour sky.

People were still celebrating in the park; screams and music and the sounds of carnival rides accompanied the excruciating cracks and whistles set off in the sky. You grimace at the noise.

It’s funny how unaware people could really be. How people could force themselves to be blind when in the face of fucked up shit.

It’s self-preservation, you suppose.

Steve sighs then, and although you can’t see him you can tell he’s staring at the same thing. Turning to the side, careful not to knock over your container of now soggy pancakes, you look at him.

Actually, look at him.

Ever since you had seen him tied to that chair you weren’t able to look at him. Not really. You told yourself you didn’t want to see the evidence of his torture.

But really, it was because you couldn’t.

You were ripping apart at the seams; the guilt from leaving him already became a cauterized injury. You were helpless, with not much left in you. And so the last thing you wanted was to reopen that wound.

But now, in the safety of the secluded restaurant, with the gentle sounds of the Smiths filtering through your radio, you could finally see him.

He was horribly beaten up, with bloody stains on his shirt and dirt on his hands. His cheeks were swollen, alongside a busted lip and a black eye the size of a planet.

He looked horrible.

But he didn’t act like it.

After what seems like forever, you finally gather the courage to respond to him. “Sorry about what?”

He pauses, and you think that maybe he forgot what he had said. But then he’s wiping at his lip, flinching from the probable burn on his finger. You’re not too sure what they did to him, and you know you won’t ask.

“I just…I didn’t want you to get involved in…this. I mean that was, that was my number one thing.”

You frown. “…Because you don’t trust me?”

“What?” Steve sits up quickly, disregarding the way his body screams at him not to. He turns to face you better, disbelief spreading all over his battered face. “That’s no—that’s not it.”

“Steve,” you mumble, mirroring his actions. You lean backward, the anger and frustration from earlier finally coming to a head. “This has been going on for years. Years and you never fucking told me.”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, —, just so you know there’s a whole other inter-dimensional world beneath our feet that wants to kill us every couple of months'? Is that what you want?”

Shaking your head, you stomp off your car. Your hands clench at your sides, shoulders squaring up to Steve’s figure as you pace in circles. “I want you to talk to me! Dammit, Steve, I deserve to know these things too.”

“Why? Why do you care?”

“Because you’re my friend! …We’re friends, Steve.”

He grows quiet then. There’s a sense of bewilderment on his face, a realization of sorts you can’t quite pinpoint. Something indiscernible.

Leaning back onto your car, he looks down at his lap. “Yeah, yeah no, you’re uh…you’re right. We, we’re friends. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

You shake your head, walking over until you’re crouched down in front of him. “Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry—“ he groans and looks away in a huff, only to look back at you when you laugh in response. It’s lighthearted and gentle, a reaction he somehow constantly gets out of you no matter the context.

Though, it’s not surprising. You could never truly be mad at Steve.

And part of you knows he knows this.

Standing back up, you gather up the partially empty boxes of food and throw them out in the garbage can closest to you.

“So…” spinning on your heel, you allow yourself to give him a good once over. “My house or yours?”

He sighs again, except this time it’s a lot lighter. A lot freer. “Why?”

“Someone has to clean up that pretty face of yours, Harrington.”

He smiles then. “Yours. I like your house.”

Nodding, you toss him your keys and climb into the passenger seat. Even though it’s your car, you like when Steve drives. It calms you in a way, being able to watch him from the sidelines; to observe and monitor in his most natural state.

“Are you coming?” You call out, focusing on buckling yourself in. The car shifts lightly as he gets up off the hood and opens the door. While you mess around with your radio, flicking through the stations and playing with the volume, you completely miss the way Steve looks at you.

March 25, 1986.

The lights are dimmer than you remember.

Although the night sky hasn’t fully settled yet, it’s still fairly dark; the only source of light being from the burning out street lamps.

Even in the dark, the drive is familiar. Lucy’s diner became yours and Steve’s spot after Benny died; Halloween night was the first time the two of you had ever gone.

Typically, the sight of the long stretch in the road and the neon lights would have you relaxed, calm and at peace. It was your tradition after all. The aftermath of a stressful week, when all you needed was each other.

But tonight, you were anxious. Your nerves felt as though they were on fire. Uneasiness spreads in your gut as the car rolls over the first bump in the road.

“You don’t think Nance is gonna be bothered, do you? I mean, we kinda just left her and Robin with the kids.”

Steve shrugs, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the console separating you. “I told them you just needed a bite to eat and that we wouldn’t be long. They don’t mind. Relax.”

Slumping back in your seat, you watch as he spins the tires and pulls into the partially deserted lot. He then puts the car in park, the low hum of the heater echoing in the otherwise quiet space.

At least until Steve opens his mouth.

“But, honestly, what’s really wrong. Why are we here?”

You feel your eyes widen, shock bristling at the top of your spine. “Nothings wrong, I’m fine.” You argue.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Simply, he just continues to stare at you in a way that tells you he’s going to get what he wants. And you reason that yeah that just might be the case. But you also can’t tell where these accusations come from, so you might have a fighting chance after all.

“Nothings wrong!”

Raising his hands in mock defence, he lifts his leg up to the seat and leans on his bent knee. “Look, it’s—I’m not berating you. If anything I understand. Trust me, I do, it’s been a crazy week. But like…seriously, —, why are we here? We only ever come here when like…shits going down. So…” his eyebrows quirked up. “I think shits been goin’ down with you.”

“Wow. Didn’t realize I was in the presence of Albert Einstein.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve flips you off. “Ha ha ha.” With a groan, he rolls the tension out of his shoulders, keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

He waits for you to respond for what feels like hours—a type of patience he normally doesn’t have. The two of you partake in a staring contest, sizing the other up, refusing to back down while the other prepares.

It’s a playful rivalry; a dance the two of you are constantly finding yourselves in. Except his newfound ability to wait baffles you until you lose all of your concentration.

Huffing through your teeth, you cross your arms over your chest and kick yourself.

Of course, he was going to get his way.

“Look, Steve…” your voice is smaller than you expected it to be. Lower and softer as you try to find the words. It proves to be hard though when you don’t even know what’s wrong. “Maybe I just wanted to come here. I mean, why does it seem like we only hang out when ya know, the world's about to end or some shit?”

Steve laughs. It’s hearty and fresh and rattles your bones. “That’s because the world is almost always about to end, —.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No,” he says. Shaking his head, he leans over into you. “No, I don’t.”

You’re silent, every thought evading your mind as soon as it appears. “I just…I don’t know. Aren’t I allowed to miss my friend? It seems like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“We see each other at work. You come in all the time.” Steve muses.

Running a hand down your face, you turn to the windshield. “I mean us hanging out, going out for breakfast. It’s kinda hard to do that when you’re constantly on dates.”

The words are out in the open before you can even consider their implications. But even out of your peripheral, you can see the way Steve’s face softens. “Are you—are you jealous?”

“What? No.” Your head snaps in his direction, fear tickling at your lungs, forcing rushed air in and rushed words out. “What was in that water, Mrs. Wheeler gave you?”

“Nothing. Just water.” He says, a devilish grin stretching across the lower half of his face. He’s amused, and you can’t understand why. “You are so jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you mumble. “I just miss us. I miss getting shitty breakfast at midnight. I miss when the only problems we had was your break up with Nance and my issues with Brand. I miss when this was just our spot.”

Steve frowns, running a hand through his hair and pushing it out of his face. “This is our spot, —.”

“No, this is your spot. I’m sure you take all your girls out here.” Batting your eyelashes, you feign innocence, blatantly ignoring how annoyed the thought of those girls makes you. Steve laughs again, a mockery of your musings.

Except, the sound dies down fairly quickly. Within seconds, the air in the car turns serious, sobering you both up in the process. “No I…it’s just you.”

“Just me, huh?” You giggle nervously.

Steve’s face doesn’t change. “Only you.”

Those two words glue you to the leather; cement you there as your focus on Steve tunnels. For a brief time, he doesn’t move either. Something between you two changed, has somersaulted at top speed into uncharted boundaries. The edge of something life-changing. Distinctive, yet…expected.

As though this was bound to happen; an event that was written in the stars, long before you could see them shine.

Soon he’s leaning over, carefully, steadily. Like he could scare you off with one wrong move. His fingers inch over the console until they find yours, absentmindedly stroking your thumb, as he wraps himself around you. And then, just as slow, he kisses you.

It’s a gentle press of his lips; soft and warm and breathy. Your body, unfortunately, reacts to it; fails you entirely, as your heartbeat stops altogether.

But the moment is cut short; immediately ruined as your mind catches up with the fuzzy feeling burning in your chest. As fear twists in your belly.

You lean back, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. Your lungs expand, taking in as much air as possible while your heart shrinks.

Steve’s face falls almost instantly.

“I—shit, —, I’m…I’m so sorry.” He retreats back, clambers into his seat and places a shaky hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry, I…I thought…I’m gonna go get us some food.”

And like that’s he’s gone.

You watch him shove his hands in his pockets and walk briskly into the diner, not once looking back at you. He doesn’t offer a goofy face, a salute or even the finger.

He detaches himself from you in seconds, and it’s that realization that takes your breath away yet again.

Then the panic sets in.

Because Steve, one of the people you cared for most, just kissed you.

The idiot kissed you.

Why the fuck would he kiss you?

You and Steve were friends. Best friends at that. Not once did you see each other as anything else. Steve dated around, but he wasn’t stupid. He would never pull a stunt like this, and there was no way you would tolerate it. You loved Steve. More than anything. But that didn’t mean you were in love with him.

There was no way you were in love with him.

Just because he was always there for you didn’t mean you were in love with him. You were there for him just as much, always picking him up when he needed it. You were his lifeline because he was yours. Just because some nights you thought he looked like magic didn’t mean you were in love with him. It’s just what it was. Like how the sky is blue and the grass is green. It was a fact. Steve was magic. But you didn’t need to be in love with him to know that.

Except, the reality of it was, that once you knew Steve was magic, it was hard not to be in love with him.

Like a car driving down a dead-end street, you feel the brakes slam down. All at once everything halts, a screeching stutter of awareness that sets your heart aflame.

Nearly four years ago, you hated Steve Harrington. You hated everything he was, everything he stood for, and everyone who stood by him.

But now, as you sit in the passenger seat of his car waiting for him, as you subconsciously cradle the hand he just held, as your mouth tingles with the slight taste of him—with finally knowing what he feels like—you realize you love him.

Wholeheartedly love him.

And you’ve loved him for a long time. You loved him since his breakup with Nancy. Since the two of you sat and watched the fireworks; since you wiped away at his wounds and watched Sixteen Candles until you finally fell asleep.

But you understand now, that the entire time you loved him, you’ve been in love with him for even longer. From the night he saw you cry, to when he kissed you only moments ago…

You were in love with Steve Harrington.

But he didn’t know that. If anything, he thought the exact opposite.

And you couldn’t handle that.

He soon walks out of the diner with a large paper brown bag in his arms and a souring look on his face as he slowly trudges to the car.

Throwing open the door, you fall out of your seat, tripping over your shoes as you make your way over to him.

His shoulders slump forward when he sees you, feet nearly coming to a complete stop. “—, shit, I am so, so sor—“

Taking two fistfuls of his jacket, you pull him into you, kissing him with every ounce of energy you have. The force behind it is wall-crushing; unwavering in its determination as your lips slot together.

You stay there for a bit, embracing Steve while he takes a moment to catch up with the rest of the world. But when he does, when his brain finally seems to restart, he’s placing the bag on the hood of the car, and pushing you down with it.

Instead of a stagnant kiss, he’s moving against you; swooping down to meet your mouth and kissing you deeply. Large hands encase either side of your head as he tugs on your bottom lip, begging for you to allow access to his tongue.

“Steve,” you mumble, reaching up to his mouth again for another devouring kiss. “Steve, we should get in the car.” You drag your fingernails along his abdomen beneath his shirt, eliciting a low hum that shoots right down to your pussy.

Without warning, and with his mouth still on yours, Steve pulls you back up to him, manoeuvring you both to the backseat.

Moving back onto the car, you lie flat on your back, giving him enough space to climb on top of you and close the door.

At this angle, his hips rest flush against yours; body beginning to entangle itself with the other. You sigh as he grinds ever-so-gently into you, beginning his mouth's descent down your throat.

But then suddenly he stops, and it’s your turn to try and figure out what’s making his head spin; what’s turning the cogs and tightening the wheels as he beams at you. Lifting the upper part of his body, he kneels before you, head directly over top of yours; eyes—hopeful and soft—piercing the space between.

“I love you,” he whispers.

The sudden sentiment chokes you. It holds you hostage, stunned beyond words as Steve kisses you again. This time, his actions are less frenzied and more passionate. A slow burn; a gradual growth. The stoking of a bonfire; gentle and utterly scorching. “I love you.” Another kiss, this time to your cheek. “I love you.” A peck right beneath your ear. “I. Love. You.” He sucks on your collarbone, mouthing at the flesh soothingly as he mumbles those three little words over and over again.

Trailing his fingers down your sides, he taps on your hips before untucking your shirt from your belt.

The air is cool, but Steve’s hands are warm. Ridiculously so. Laying a palm flat on the base of your stomach, you shudder, the juxtaposition of temperature making goosebumps rise along your arms.

He catches you off guard, and so then takes the opportunity to increase the pressure of his groin pressing into yours. Rocking into you, he increases the friction, not once lifting himself from you. “God, Steve…just…” you groan. “Just fucking move.”

He laughs into your chest, and you can feel his grin grow against your skin. You can feel it brand you; a permanent mark; a golden tattoo for everyone to see.

“Someone’s a little impatient.” He tsks at you, moving back up your body to suck a bruise into your jaw.

“Or,” you growl, leaning away so you can look him in the eye. “Someone’s a little shit.”

Shrugging, he licks your cheek playfully, a permanent smile etched into his face. “I’m always a little shit. It’s just that…” his hand slides further up your body until he reaches the fabric of your bra. “You don’t know just how much of a little shit I can be.” He gropes the cup, squeezing gently. “But you will. Fuck, I promise you will.”

While he slips his tongue into your mouth, he pulls at the edge of your bra until his hand comes into contact with your bare breast. You moan then, a little louder than you’d care to admit. But you reason, that as his hips drag against yours, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all.

If anything, your sounds only seem to spur him on more, forcing him to touch you everywhere and anywhere.

And fuck, you couldn’t be happier.

Your senses are rendered to a jumbled mess; discombobulated as he works your body in every which way. With his tongue halfway down your throat, he starts to undulate with you, grinding up into your clothed core, all while rolling your nipple in between his thumb and index finger.

“…Next up, a lil’ lovin’ from Journey…”

The voice of the radio announcer surprises you, having forgotten about the car even being on.

But then the first new notes of the bass drum hit, and Steve begins humming along into the expanse of your throat. You feel the vibrations deep in the pit of your abdomen from both his voice and the speaker that your head rests on. It swirls and contorts and manifests into your own rhythmic rocking.

“You make me weep, and wanna die…just when, you said we’d try lovin’, touchin’, squeezin’…each other…”

Stroking your breast, he takes his free hand and tickles at the skin right above your pants. Giggling, you jolt your knee up, casually resting it on his hip as he shifts in the new position.

“You gonna’ sing to me the whole night, Harrington? Or are you gonna fuck me?”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh at your quip. In desperate need for air, he sits back up on his knees, fingers trailing dangerously close to the button on your jeans.

“I’m just gettin’ you warmed up, pretty girl. We’re in no rush…” he picks up your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles. It’s an action that makes your heart flutter until he’s quirking his eyebrows together in confusion.

You frown at his sudden change in manner. The nervous, self-conscious part of you thinks the worst immediately. That either something's really wrong or he may have changed his mind. “What? …Steve, honey, what is it?”

“…Do you think the radio guy knew we were gonna do it?”

Your jaw falls open slightly, until amusement bubbles out of you. “…Oh my god.” You rub at your eyes in disbelief, all severity bleeding out of you from every crevice.

“What? C’mon, babe, I’m serious. I mean that’s some pretty convenient timing if you ask me.”

You sigh, and lean up on your elbows. “Yes. Because the radio guy a hundred miles away knows who’s gonna have sex right this second.”

Steve snaps at you. “Hey. He could be psychic. We’ve seen weirder.”

“Cause the psychic is gonna play Journey—” you groan.

“Woah, woah, woah! Don’t knock Journey, okay? Who says Journey doesn’t make people horny? I mean some of their shit is like…super sexually charged.”

Sitting up, you rest on your elbows, offering a light smile in return. “Does Journey make you horny?”

He leans down until his face is only inches away from yours and his breath mixed with yours. “If it involves you? Anything makes me horny.”

Your hand glides up his chest and grabs him by the chin until his mouth meets yours in another bruising kiss. “Well, then why don’t you shut up, and show me just how horny I make you, yeah?”

Whimpering, Steve sucks on your top lip. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

You pull him back down onto you, nails digging into the flesh of his cheek as the other dips beneath the waistband of his pants, running along the base of his spine.

He bucks up into you then, hands holding your hips still as he stiffens against you. “You’re fucking sexy, ya know that?” Another slow, hard roll of his pelvis. “So. Fucking. Sexy.”

It’s at that moment when you can no longer hear the music over the sounds of your combined pants, that Steve decides to take charge. Letting go of you, he lifts the hem of your shirt, raising it off your torso and over your head.

Although the entire thing happens within seconds, it feels like it takes decades as Steve travels down the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and to your hips.

You can imagine how uncomfortable he must be. Stuck to the far corner of his rather small car, only supported by his hand and his leg that hangs onto the floor. Though you want to pity him, you simply don’t have it in you. Especially when he looks like that.

He takes a minute to get situated; to become eye-level with your cunt, while maintaining a cozy sort of closeness. Once again, he goes to the button on your pants, and, with expert fingers—ones that have probably done this a million times—he flicks it open, slowly unzipping them until the baby blue colour of your underwear peaks through.

“Jesus Christ,” he moans into your thigh with squinted eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He bites the flesh of your hip. “Prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Your heart thuds at an irregular pace against your chest as you watch him. Slow, then fast, hard and then non-existent, all at once. It’s overpowering, mind-numbing and scary. But in the most exhilarating way possible.

Your mind preens at the thought of what you think is going to happen. Of what him looking at you like that might entail. Of what hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of the fabric and pulling them down your legs will leave for your future.

But you suppose if this is at all a sign of anything, it’s a sign that from here on out your futures will be together. In one way or another.

Together.

In the way, it’s always been.

His nose is but millimetres from your damp core as he surveys the situation. His fingers—full of energy and electricity—move to the music along your waist, while his eyes dip over your stomach until they meet yours. His iris’, usually a lovely, warm pool of bronze honey, is blown black. Wide and large and, what you can only describe as starving.

You shiver at the sight, only for a soft hand to clasp around yours. “—, if you don’t want to do this we don’t have to.”

“No,” you practically shout. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let out a shaky breath. “No, I—I want to. I just…no one’s ever…ya know…”

“Gone down on you?”

You nod hesitantly. Steve’s face is pensive; quiet as he reads your expression and studies the desperation within your grip on his body. “Well…if you’re sure about this—if you want this, just know…I’m so fucking glad to be your first.”

Rolling your eyes at his coyness, you punch him in the arm. “I’m not a virgin, Steve.”

Without any doubt, he speaks. “I meant the first person to make you cum with just their tongue.”

Your eyes widen at his matter-of-fact response, and in a swift flash, Steve is pulling your underwear to your ankles and moving your legs to rest on top of his shoulders.

His hands rest on your thighs, tugging your hips to meet his mouth. And when they do; when you feel him kiss you on the space right above your slit, you can’t help but gasp.

“Steve—“

“Shhh. Just…for once, just let me do the work, yeah?” Eventually, you nod and allow yourself to lean back into the seat again. He blows hot air on you then, testing the waters with your sensitivity and how he’s going to proceed.

And you realize this is the most focused you’ve ever seen him.

“Now,” he starts, pressing another kiss into your skin, this time even lower. “Since you’ve never done this before, I just want to let you know…” he tuts your hips up just a bit higher, so that way they’re level with his nose; eyes just barely peeking over your mound. He inhales sharply. “You can be as loud as you want. Just please, fuck, please don’t hold back on me.”

And with that, he’s diving in. You feel his tongue poke out, softly licking at your already swollen clit, and you realize the feeling is unlike anything. Strange and foreign, but heavenly, too. Your chest falls hard with every aggressive rise, and the more it obscures your view of Steve, the more you adjust yourself so that way it doesn’t. You want to see him. Want to watch him.

Because it’s…unexplainable…

He just looks so very pretty going down on you.

His mouth wraps around the hooded bead and gently sucks at it; chin grazing your hole as he explores every inch of you.

He continues with his ministrations, pulling soft moans out of you. It’s an easy medley. A symphony of low groans and raw sighs and reverberated humming. Each and every noise; every perfectly composed addition gives way to how your stomach flutters with excitement and dips with anticipation. “Fu—oh, my god, Steve.”

He’s hardly touched you. Hasn’t even quite moved on from your clit, and yet? You’re a fucking mess. The blood in your veins runs hot; makes you sweat and lose your breath. It’s a dizzying experience as he changes his pressure. Alternating every five or ten or sixty seconds, either tightening the control on his lips or flattening his tongue. He has such an effect on your body already; with the reigns in one hand and your heart in the other. It’s an impossible thought. One that is full of both annoyance and extreme pride that Steve—your Steve—can get you this worked up in a matter of minutes.

Your legs feel heavy against his shoulders, knees buckling even though there’s hardly any weight there. The noises that come from him are pornographic, to say the least. Obscene and dirty; muffled by your puffy lips and full of your slick.

“You’re doing great, pretty girl. So, so, fucking good.” He growls into your folds, lapping at your drenched apex. “…Taste better than I ever fucking imagined.” You can feel him move against you; further down until his broad nose hits your clit and his tongue teases the outside of your entrance.

Regardless of the buzz floating in the air, he keeps at a leisurely pace. Concentrated on his intentions, and drowsy during his execution. It’s as though he’s dreaming; on the verge of rem sleep as he takes the time to enjoy you. All of you. From the way your eyes glaze over to the way you taste. You.

It’s all-encompassing. And it’s all he’s ever wanted.

Then suddenly he’s mouthing at your cunt; tongue dipping into your aching hole with fervour. He’s investigating, examining and memorizing every possible thing about you. About your reactions. About your ethereal sounds. As much as his brain can take, he’s soaking it all up. He’s edging you, fucking you on his tongue as you become more and more pliable in his grasp.

An unexpected high-pitched moan escapes you, robbing you of any other breath. “Holy fuck, Steve. You—fuck, you’re…right there.” Your hands flail, itching to hold onto something as familiar warmth pools in your belly. Your fingers card through his hair in response, scratching at his scalp and pulling at the root in a harsh tug.

It’s that motion that has him faltering for the first time tonight. His hips, which have been subconsciously grinding into the leather bench seat, stutter to a stop. His fingers tense up on you, causing the veins in his arms to strain. It’s a tantalizing sight. One that makes you even hotter and bothered, and you can tell from the way his body heaves that he feels the same way.

You can tell he really liked that.

You yank on his hair again, and with a loud groan he jerks up into you. A dangerous gaze shoots up to yours as he lifts himself off of you. “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe.”

“And what’re you gonna do about it, stud?”

He crawls up your body, dragging his wet mouth over every crevice and dip. He leaves a thick trail of your arousal in his wake, something similar to a map. Coordinates to the destination in which you need him most, with pit stops along the way that tell a story of your love. It’s manifested into specific places where he knows you best. Along your ribs, the place where you’re most ticklish; a spot that reveals his favourite sound in the world: your laugh. Over the far curve of your breast—a spot covered with bruises—physical proof that he finally got to touch you; to be with you. And then finally your heart. The place in which he lives; in which he loves and can be loved. His shelter.

His home.

He sucks a mark into your chest—right above where the organ resides—until moving onto your face. “What am I gonna do about it?”

You offer a barely-there nod as he runs a finger along your cheekbone, and lays a ghost of a kiss on the top of your nose. “I’m going to love you. All of you. Properly… If you’ll have me.”

There’s a fulfilling sensation that creeps up slowly from your toes to the top of your head. A sensation that forces you to nibble at his jaw in response. His lips, now covered in you, glide across your cheek; a silent sigh of relief at your confirmed desire for him.

And then he breaches you. His fingers enter you slowly, sliding in until his first knuckle hits the inner part of your walls.

Your jaw falls slack, choking on the air and his unexpected actions. His one arm has snaked around your torso, holding your upper body to his chest with his head tucked into the crook of your neck. He stays in you for a few moments, fingers remaining completely still until you ease on his hand. He takes that as his chance to start moving.

You feel as though you’re already there. You were nearly on the step to sweet release from just his mouth alone. But now, as he stretches you out with two more fingers, you feel as though you’re knocking on the door.

Much like earlier, he keeps his pace.

A steady-going progression of pulling completely out, and going completely in. You feel his fingertips graze that sweet spot that makes your toes curl. It sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head and leads your hand to come up to his bicep.

Every limb that wraps around him holds him like a vice. A deadly, beautiful vice to help coax you through your nearing orgasm. “Steve…” you warn. “Honey, I—Steve, I’m gonna—“

“It’s alright,” he mumbles into your shoulder. He then curls his fingers, your trembling body sucking him further until all he can do is provide you shallow thrusts. “Let go, —.”

“I’m gonna—fuck, I love you. I love you.”

You gasp as he slides into you once again, and without warning you cum. It isn’t violent; doesn’t happen in such a way that has you both clawing at each other until the rope snaps in you. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s strong nonetheless. A smooth ebb and flow; smooth tidal waves that wash over you with every pump of a finger.

Panting, you feel yourself squeeze Steve’s fingers as your high slowly dissipates. Pressing his forehead to yours, Steve kisses you again, swallowing your pants as your breathing calms down.

Even after you regain all of your senses; after your body lowers from floating in what felt like midair, Steve stays stuffed in you, every once in a while fucking your cum back into your spent hole. You kiss the side of his head, shifting your hips to keep him there inside of you.

“Oh, yeah…” Steve whispers. “Yeah, Nance is gonna be so fucking pissed at us.”

•••

Steve Harrington Taglist (+18)

“Morning, lover.” You giggle at him, fingers wiggling out as you reach for the brunette. He rushes over to embrace you, pulling you into his chest. It’s familiar. It’s home. It’s Peter, and that’s really all that mattered. “You’re up early.”

“Been trying to fix my suit. Dunno what’s happening with it, maybe need some new material.” He shrugs, tenderly rubbing over your ring finger. “Haven’t been able to properly love on my girl for weeks. I gotta get this done sooner or later or I will implode into the universe.”

“Mhm, yeah. Miss loving on you, too.” You peck his cheek.

“Should I take a break and love on you… now?”

You shriek as Peter suddenly tickles you, he attacks your stomach first, and your knees come up in instinct before he’s all over you. He blows raspberries into your cheek and into your collarbone, before he settles down into the midst of your laughter to look at you. The weight of his body on yours could never compare to any weighted blanket in the world.

His brown eyes looked so gentle, so filled with love and desire to give you the best of himself. The freckles across his nose reminded you of the sea — abundant and beautiful and you felt as if the longer you fixated on them, you’d get lost or perhaps stranded.

Not that you wouldn’t mind. You could get lost in Peter Parker for days, and it would be a gift from heaven itself.

“What are you thinking?” You whisper into the comfortable silence, caressing the side of his head as you realize he’s looking at you with the same fervor.

“Just thinking about you and how much I adore you.” He says without missing a beat. Peter wonders if you know how much space you take up in his mind.

He wonders if you know that his heart belongs to you.

You shake your head at him, “You are a sap, my dear Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ve established that a million times already, Y/N.”

You get lost in his features once more. Because you loved looking at Peter — not just for the adoration on his face, but for his scars and his wounds and the bruise that hasn’t gone away in days. It was what made him, him.

“You’re so pretty.” You mutter blissfully, and reach up to kiss him.

His lips are like honey, and tasted unexplainably sweet. They were always soft, and he made an effort to take care of them with chapstick or whatever lip-scrub you’d buy at the beauty store. His hands roam underneath your sweatshirt, grasping at the supple skin beneath. Peter softly nips at your bottom lip with his teeth, only ever pulling away to look at you with such astonishment that you were his.

“I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, you know that?” He kisses into your skin, leaving a tiny hickey in his wake. “I don’t think any picture, or even my own vision can ever do you justice at all.”

You blush, and push him away playfully. “Work on your suit, Parker.” He flashes you his best attempt at puppy eyes, and you ignore him. “Would you like some help?”

“Nah, Y/N. It’s fine.” Peter sits back into the desk chair with a grunt, swiveling to face the damaged suit on the table while his back is to you. “Get some more sleep.”

You hum in reply. “I think I’ll just watch.”

“Freak.”

Seeing Peter Parker at work always made your heart melt. You had never gotten used to that big brain of his, and sometimes his smarts scared you. Peter was never cocky about it though, because intelligence could only get you so far.

Peter was a lover.

He prided himself in his ability to love, and to love harder than anyone else.

His hands move skillfully across the desk, and you struggle to understand what he’s doing from behind the expanse of his shoulders. Getting up from the bed, you move to sit on the edge of his workspace, careful not to bump into anything.

“New web-shooters?” You gesture at the bracelets with cartridges around them. Peter nods silently to acknowledge your question, too focused on sewing a part of his suit together. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “Can I?” You reach for them as Peter nods once more.

You carefully examine the device. Having once worked an internship with Oscorp, you were accustomed to the kind of tech that Peter dealt with — heck, you even helped him build some of it. Yet, somehow, part of you wished that you could try the Spider-Man stuff out. You wanted to know just how bad putting the suit on was, because according to Peter, it was the absolute worst. You wanted to swing across the city with him, you wanted to perch atop of the Empire State Building, or crawl across buildings without the fear of falling.

You wished that you could see the world like Peter did.

Peter notices that you’ve been staring at the web-shooters, not saying a word either. He raises his brows in concern, gently tapping your leg. “Everything okay? Is it broken too?”

His voice draws you back into reality, and you gaze at him with wide eyes. “Huh?”

He chuckles at you. There’s a curious smile that tugs on his lips as he cutely rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “You’re doing that thing again.” You tilt your head in question. “That — uh, like… daydreaming thing. Like you’re here but you’re not.” You nod in agreement. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Ah, it’s nothing.” You brush it off, moving to place the web-shooters back. Peter grasps your wrist gently.

“I understand if it’s something you don’t feel comfortable saying aloud. But, I hope you know that I enjoy listening to you.” He chews on the inside of his mouth, looking at you intently. “It’s never not nothing. At least for me. I like making sure you’re okay.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes — God. This is so stupid.” You rub at your temples. Peter doesn’t interrupt, letting you continue on your own account. “I feel — I wish I could be with you when you’re Spider-Man.”

“You’re always with me, though. In my mind.” He points at his head. “In my heart.” He pokes at his chest.

“No, you cheeseball.” You laugh, blushing under his lovestruck gaze. “Like — like I wanna help you. I wanna be there when you’re fighting bad guys, and I wanna swing across buildings. I wanna be useful. Like a sidekick or something.”

Peter’s quiet for a moment. You hear the gulp in his throat. “You know I don’t like putting you in danger like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was just a thought.” You suddenly feel shy. “Didn’t think you’d need a sidekick anyways when you’re already such a badass.”

Your boyfriend grins. “If anything, I’m the sidekick.” Peter touches your thigh when he notices your face fall for a second. “But, hey… I’m not opposed to the swinging thing.” His eyes study the way you sit up straighter, hands no longer stringing together in your lap.

“Really?”

He nods at you with the same excitement. “I mean, given that I’m there.” You roll your eyes at him, making a ‘duh’ face before he goes on. He’s hesitant for a second, before he lets out a grumble and curses under a breath. “How about you come with me on patrol tonight?”

“Are you being serious?” You gasp, hands fumbling with Peter. “Like patrol patrol? Like you fight bad guys and I watch from a distance?”

“More like you watch from the other side of the country, but sure.” There’s a bit of pain in his smile. “Why not? But there’s gonna be rules.”

Peter lists out three things:

One. Never ever interfere when he’s fighting. Even if it looks like he’s getting his ass beaten to Brooklyn and back, don’t step in. No matter what.

Two. Don’t draw attention to yourself. The whole purpose of web-shooters and swinging is to be invisible to the human peripherals, he says.

Three. If anything goes wrong, run. Go home.

“Okay, that’s fair.” You repeat the rules in your head, saying them over and over like a mantra.

“I hate that you’re convincing me.” He slumps over, staring at his lap. “I really do, Y/N. It’s making me nervous.”

“Hey, I can take care of myself.”

“I know. I know. It’s just… I hold myself to a high standard when it comes to protecting you and if anything happens on my watch—“ You kiss him mid-sentence, cupping both his cheeks. You feel the worry through the cracks of his lips and the heaving of his chest.

“Nothing will happen, baby. Nothing.”

You’re wearing workout leggings and a thermal when Peter emerges from the bathroom in his suit. Anxiety is written all over him, but you don’t bring it up, afraid that you’d miss your one chance at this. He eyes you up and down, even though he’s worried sick, you still see the glimmer of adoration in his gaze.

“Not as cool as your suit but it’s iconic, right?” You do a twirl for him, and Peter is already dreading letting you outside. It had been hours since your conversation in the morning, and Peter for once, fears the darkness of midnight.

“Anything you wear is cooler than the suit.” His arms encircle around your waist. He props his chin onto your shoulder, whispering into your ear. “Especially when you have nothing on.”

“Is this routine, Parker?” You spin on your heels to face him, letting your hands roam over his clothed chest. “Get all horny then do your friendly-neighborhood Spider-Man duties? Not very PG of you. So scandalous.”

He softly nudges you away at the joke, and his heart somersaults at your sweet bubble of a giggle. Peter moves to fish out something from his backpack — an extra set of web-shooters.

“Yours, but only for tonight.” Peter emphasizes. You take them hurriedly, clasping them around your wrists tightly. The hero double-checks, and you feel a tingling in your skin as his gloved hands touch you. The Spider-Man mask is sitting at the top of his head. He reaches to pull it down, but you stop him.

“I love you.” You whisper at him, kissing him longingly on the lips. “Let me.” Your fingers slowly pull the material down, careful not to hurt him. With a soft sigh, Peter’s face disappears beneath it.

Leaning back by the wall, you watch Peter push the window up, where he makes his way out first and sticks to the wall. He chivalrously extends his hand to you, and you don’t hesitate to follow in his steps. You sit on the ledge of the window while the chilly air bites at your skin, and you wince as the breeze begins to pick up.

“You know how to use those, yeah?” Peter says.

You check the cartridges, making sure there’s enough web inside. “Yeah, think so.”

“Okay, so - uh, don’t press anything yet! Just aim, and then—“

You shrill loudly as a stringy web connects to the building across the street, taking you with it. The fall is horrifying, and you hear Peter in the distance coming after you. But then, you’re picking up speed, and you find yourself in the air as you swing to a high roof. Your landing is anything but graceful, so you tumble onto the harsh gravel with a groan.

“Oh, my god. Are you okay?! Y/N?” Peter is at your side instantly, and he turns you onto your back. There’s pebbles in your hair, and he picks at them one-by-one.

“Peter.” His eyes search yours. “That was so sick.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m…” You laugh till your stomach hurts, and Peter pulls you onto your feet. “I’m great! This is crazy!”

There are a couple of sirens in the distance, breaking your brief moment of excitement. Peter checks his phone immediately to listen to the police radio, and you could almost see the furrow of his brows through the mask.

“Come on. Stay close.”

After a couple of swings and a bit of falling onto rooftops, you were able to get the hang of things. Being able to crash into buildings seemed like the bigger imminent threat than anything, but by watching Peter, you were able to learn from his movements. He didn’t leave you behind once, even though he was supernaturally fast and experienced.

Peter made sure you were still with him at every given chance.

You drop down onto a top of a brick building, breathing heavily with adrenaline.

“Alright, stay up here.” Peter glances over the edge and in the darkness of the alleyway below, he sees the glint of a knife in the hands of a middle-aged kidnapper. There’s a small helpless whimper that echoes beneath, and Peter shudders. He turns to you with skittish feet, hands in front of him. “Whatever happens, please remember the rules.”

“Hey!” You call out to him in a hushed whisper before he can leave. “Kick some ass, honey.”

He blushes, and you notice his muscles relax at the nickname. Then, he’s off and swings into the shadows of the alleyway. You peer off the side, unable to make anything out in the dark.

There’s a clatter. You hear voices, none of them belong to Peter yet. Something crashes against the dumpster loudly, and you flinch with surprise.

You want to jump off so badly, but you control yourself.

Peter could handle it.

Then, there’s a hurricane of shouting and you hear footsteps rushing about. The sound of fists meeting skin sends a shiver down your spine, and you freeze as a scream emerges from a group of laughter.

The scream sounds too much like him.

“Fuck the rules.”

You hop into the alleyway and land atop of the dumpster, almost breaking your ankles at the fall. You’re able to see clearer now, and your shoes meet the ground with a scrape.

A group of big, burly men stand in a circle around Peter. They’re almost three times his size, and they don’t react as you try to stand boldly in front of them.

You count. There’s about four of them, but one is too focused on your boyfriend. His hand is around his neck as Peter tries to wriggle out of his grip. And you realize that with the wrong move, he’d snap it without hesitation.

Your heart races with horror.

“Y/N - Y/N, no. No, please.” Peter’s voice is hoarse, straining his vocal cords as he tries to break free.

For once, you visibly see the fear radiating off of him.

“Hi, boys. How about we let the insect go and maybe just get on with our lives?” You laugh nervously. You’re scared shitless, but they didn’t need to know that.

The men turn to you, realizing that maybe you are a threat.

“You know her, Spider-Man?” One pipes up, gesturing at you with a crowbar.

Oh, lord.

“I don’t have any idea who she is. Leave her alone.”

“What was your name? Y/N, right?” The guy — who appears to be the leader — makes slow strides toward you.

Oh, fucking hell.

“Yeah, you can call me that.” You quickly raise your arm, pointing your wrist at him as a web shoots out. “Or you can shut the fuck up.”

He lurches forward as you pull him towards you. His mouth is webbed shut, and you take advantage of his surprise to web his wrists and ankles. He drops the crowbar, and you take it with sweaty hands to knock him out. He’s unconscious from the impact to his head, and you nearly rejoice before you’re tackled to the ground. The painful groan that leaves you makes Peter scream; the fear that rushes through his veins transforms itself to strength, and he’s wriggled out of his captor’s grasp.

Peter webs him to the wall, pushing the dumpster against him to trap his legs against it.

He swings over to you, where you find yourself wrestling with one of the goons for the crowbar. Peter doesn’t waste any time, prying the guy off of you harshly and throwing him to the side.

Peter’s eyes meet yours in the chaos. You can tell he’s angry. He snatches the crowbar off the ground, and you look away as he swings it repeatedly against the guy’s stomach till he’s out cold.

You stand as Peter flings the weapon into the darkness, sweat beading off his forehead. It’s quiet till Peter shortly gestures for you to swing to the roof before the police arrive.

His back is to you, and you can almost see the steam blowing out his ears. “What was that?” He asks bluntly.

“I… I-I don’t know, but all that matters is you’re safe.” You try to grab his hand, but he tears his away from you.

He’s never done that.

“Safe? No, what mattered was you staying up here and staying out of danger, Y/N!” He blows up and pulls his mask off, and you curl into yourself as tears form at his eyes.

“I handled it.”

“Yeah, fucking barely.” He spits out.

You don’t fight him on it. He’s right.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were hurt, and — and I really panicked here.” Your words mesh together as you explain yourself. “I know I broke the rules! I apologize. I’m so sorry, Peter. I can’t — I was scared something happened and that I… that if I hadn’t got there in time, you’d be gone.”

“If it was you getting hurt instead of me, I would never forgive myself. You of all people should understand that.” He waves his Spider-Man mask at you. His voice is softer, like a plea. “At the end of the day, I will always be able to protect myself. You don’t have super strength. You can’t sense danger before it comes. Y/N, I know you’re capable. I saw it. But, my god, that guy could’ve killed you.”

“I understand.” You nod, attentive. He’s standing closer to you, and this time, he reaches for your hand. “I’m sorry. You can take me home now. I had fun, but I don’t wanna put you through that again.”

He pulls you close to him, and he can smell your scented shampoo through your hair. He shuts his eyes, and he whispers a ‘Thank God’ into your skin.

“I’m sorry I shouted.” His stubble rubs against your face. “I was angry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

“It’s okay. You had every right.”

He disagrees. “Doesn’t mean I should yell at you.” You kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Can’t believe you called me an insect, though.”

Peter doesn’t let you swing home the rest of the way. He likes it better like this — you in his arms, as the wind blows through your hair. Safe. It was familiar to him, it wasn’t jarring. He hadn’t a reason to be scared or nervous, because he trusted himself the most when it came to protecting you.

He ushers you through the window of your shared bedroom, and you roll onto the floorboards with the same clumsiness from the rooftop.

Peter laughs, and he tries to forget about the events from earlier.

“God, I’m sore. And I did absolutely nothing.” You wince, pawing the scratches on your face with the tips of your fingers. Peter hisses at you, scolding you about touching them.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He responds with a prideful smirk. He unzips the suit, sitting on the bed as he tucks it underneath in a box. He continues as he puts on an old shirt from college. “I’m still mad at you, but you kicked their asses back there.”

“You think so?” You move to sit next to him on the bed.

“Oh, trust me. I saw it with my own four eyes.” Peter swoons, putting his glasses on.

You snuggle next to him, knees touching as he throws an arm around you. “Thank you for letting me be you for the day.”

“Did you like being me?” He rests his head against yours.

You snicker with a pretend frown, “Yeah, until I got yelled at.”

Peter groans, rubbing his eyes with remorse. “I told you I’m sorry.”

“Mhm, I know.”

There’s a silence that washes over you both. The room is warm, and you feel Peter’s arm flex under your touch. Your eyes can’t help but wander over the bedroom walls, and your heart grows fonder at the sight of you and your boyfriend in the mirror. You feel your lids start to weigh heavy and Peter lightly shakes you awake.

“I think I have something for you.”

The beautiful boy gets up from the bed, and you struggle to sit up as he pads over to his desk. He reaches into the bottom drawer with shaky hands.

When Peter makes his way back to you, there is a unexplainable nervousness in his stance. He’s holding a different kind of web-shooter. Or well, at least the design was new. You hadn’t see it before, and you’re sure it wasn’t on display when Peter was fixing his suit. It was just the left one — black, with chrome red details. It appeared to be a little more feminine, but it was nearly identical to Peter’s original ones. It was obviously well-made and intricately designed. But as you curiously turned it over, onto the side of the cartridge, you noticed the tiniest yet messiest engraving that was a contrast from the sleek aesthetic of the web-shooter.

The handwriting was familiar.

‘Made with love, for Y/N. Yours, Spidey.’

You tear your disbelief away from the device, looking at your boyfriend expectantly. His arms are crossed over his chest, and you don’t miss the tinge of pink in his cheeks.

“What is this?” You laugh nervously.

“I made these a few years ago. On our fourth anniversary.” He pinches at the button of his nose. “I wanted you to have your own for when…”

You wait. “For when?”

“For when I was sure that you’d be in my life forever.”

Peter takes a couple steps toward you. Tenderly, he takes the single web-shooter from you.

His hand envelops yours, and he kisses your forehead before slipping the device onto your wrist.

“What are you up to?”

“You know, people like to say all is fair in love and web-shooters, Y/N.”

You chuckle heartily, feeling a tremble in your free hand. “Absolutely no one says that, Peter.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” He pauses to take in a deep breath. His eyes flicker up to the ceiling, before he makes sure to look directly at you. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll allow me.”

It was the biggest cliché, but it felt as if time was at a standstill. It felt like the whole world vanished, except for you and your lover.

Peter Parker cries quietly as he studies your features, his hand never leaving yours as his thumb draws circles over your knuckles.

“Yes, Peter. Always.” You nod at him, and you start to cry as well when he pulls you into a deep kiss. “I’ll never leave your side.”

He sniffles. “Unless I’m fighting bad guys, then, well… maybe you’ll have to leave then.”

You supposed it was true what people said:

All is fair in love and web-shooters after all.

“I don’t know why you’re making me come when you already have O’Connell and Y/N,” Jonathan said to his sister. You rolled your eyes, holding the strap on your bag tightly.

“I brought you because it’s something you stole,” Evie said.

“I made sure you came because I like to see you freak out over dust,” you said laughing. Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“Did you not see me in the coffin the other day?”

“I did and I imagine when you see one that’s not in a museum, you’ll freak out,” you quipped. You had been friends with the Carnahan’s for as long as you could remember. The three of you had been partners in crime since sandbox days. You had practically become an extra member of their family, considering how much time you spent together. You had all gone into similar fields of work which meant you got to see each other as often as you liked. “Who is this O’Connell anyway?”

“He’s awful,” Evie said. “I’m having second thoughts about letting him come along. He looks dirty and unkept and-”

“Who’s dirty and unkept?” All three of you turned around to meet the eyes of whom you assumed was Rick O’Connell.

You were instantly gobsmacked. He was so handsome. You smiled kindly, averting your eyes as he surveyed you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you another sibling?” Rick asked, extending his hand. You shook it, dipping your hat to him.

“No,” you said. Rick’s eyes went wide.

“Wonderful. If you aren’t in their bloodline, maybe you’ll be sane,” he said, letting your hand go. You smiled a bit and he smiled back at you.

“Well we have a boat to catch!” Evie said, turning around quickly as she lugged her things along with her. You and Rick walked beside each other further up the ramp to the boat.

“He certainly cleaned up,” Jonathan muttered to his sister like the rest of you couldn’t hear. Rick turned to you as he walked.

“How did you get roped into this?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve been friends with Evie and Jonathan since I was a kid. I just tag along when they want me there now,” you said, laughing gently. You had to make a serious effort not to stare into his eyes too long. He was so handsome. “Evie told me you were about to be hanged?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, like he was proud of it. “They almost got me too. Would’ve if my neck had broken.” You made a disgusted face. “Hey, I made it out didn’t I? And minimal bruising.” He put his hand to his neck to demonstrate the lack of bruising.

“I’m glad. Hopefully you know what you’re doing Rick,” you said, finally stepping onto the boat. His eyes lingered on you as you walked but you were trying too hard not to turn around and stare at him to notice. Jonathan nudged Rick.

“That’s my sister,” he said.

“Not by blood I hear.”

====

You sat below your competitors. Underneath the floor they were stepping on in fact. Evie was messing with the statue that was the reason you were all there, you thought.

“I would prefer actually if you would not touch anything,” Evie called back to all three of you. You rolled your eyes.

“I know history too Evie,” you said. You were ecstatic about the findings, probably more so than her. You didn’t have any actual hopes going into this expedition. “I know what not to touch.”

Part of the ceiling fell down beside you. It happened so fast and if Rick hadn’t had his arm on you already to pull you away, you might have been crushed. You gasped, jumping into Rick’s arms. You were all startled for a moment and then you backed away from him, clearing your throat.

“What did you touch?” Evie questioned. You rolled your eyes.

“Nothing. I didn’t touch anything. It was probably Jonathan’s fault.”

“No, I think I’m going to blame O’Connell,” Jonathan concluded. You stifled a laugh at Rick’s sudden accusatory face.

“I was right beside Y/N!”

“Alright children,” Evie said. “That’s enough.”

====

You sat around a campfire with the others, glad that everyone was safe for the time being. Eveyln had found a book. The competitors had put down their weapons in order for one night's sleep. You were glad for it too. You just wanted to go to sleep. You could feel your eyes drooping as you sat beside the fire.

“Here,” Rick said. You looked up at him and noticed he was taking off his jacket. He put it over you like a blanket. “Just drift off,” he said. “No one will notice.” You smiled warmly, trying to hide your flustered emotion.

“Thank’s Rick.”

“You want a good pillow?”

“Hmm?” He scooted closer to you. You raised an eyebrow but nonetheless put your head on his shoulder. Your eyes closed and you could feel sleep take you over quickly. In just a moment's time, you were fast asleep, breathing even.

“She likes you,” Evie noted. Rick wanted to shrug but didn’t want to wake you.

“I’m hoping so,” he said honestly, a thin smile on his face. He looked down at your sleeping complexion.

“You best leave her alone,” Jonathan said. He looked disheveled and so out of place it was almost comical. “You don’t deserve her.”

“I don’t think she’s catching my hints so I believe you’re safe,” he said. Evelyn shrugged.

“She’ll come around. She’s bright, she just doesn’t...want to believe things sometimes,” Evie explained. Rick looked away and took a swig of his drink. Hopefully that was true.

====

“Rick!” you yelled but he was yelling at someone else. His scream echoed as he ran toward the group of oncoming enemies, sword in air. You cursed under your breath and kicked up a sword of one of the already fallen men. You had never used a sword before but there was a first time for everything.

You ran forward as well, throwing your arms in the air and clashing with another sword.

Soon you found yourself back to back with Rick, slashing and screaming, killing every one of the undead things in your way. You turned at a steady pace together, moving in sync until there was nothing left for you to get to Evelyn and Jonathan.

Out of breath you moved away from him, stomping your foot down beside the dead enemy.

“That was amazing,” Rick said, paying you a rare compliment. You smiled.

“Thank you,” you said. He rolled his eyes. You would never catch the hint would you? He turned to you and contemplated for a moment.

He crashed his lips to yours. After a moment of deliberation you leaned forward into him, putting your hand on his cheek. He pulled away.

“Did you catch that one?” he asked. You laughed.

“Have I been missing something?”

“Yes ma’am you have.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you moved away from him. You held your sword up.

“Wonderful for you both!” Jonathan said, running up to you. He hadn’t been there a second before. You turned to look at him. “But can we please save my sister!”

Rick grabbed your hand tightly and pulled you along, running after Jonathan.

“We’re going, we’re going!”