cecilia.

You looked up at him, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “It’s good to have you back, Finn.”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, it’s good to be back. Really good,” Finn answered with a clumsy smile, assessing the situation.

You’d undeniably changed since he’d last seen you, which was almost ten months ago. Your skin was kissed deeper by the sun, and you stood differently, more confident, than you used to back then—when you were fourteen and racing him down the street on your bikes. It only struck him then, just how little he’d actually seen you in person since his acting career had taken off. The only comparison he had enough confidence to make to the woman standing in front of him right now was the girl with braids and bandaged elbows ten years ago, who waited for him so they could run off to wreck havoc in her yard until late evening.

Finn had been in love with you then. The mischievous glint in your eyes and the way your dirt-stained fingers would brush through his too-long hair. The nights you’d sneak out so you could giggle for hours on end under the porch lights. But that was then, and this was now. And Finn couldn’t believe he’d realized that from a simple hug.

One hug, after almost a year apart. Was he still in love with you now? After all this time? That was the question circling his mind later that night, as he laid sprawled across his bed, the window cracked open to let the air in.

It’s true you didn’t text as much anymore. The rhythm of your conversations had slowed down due to timezones and Finn’s unforgiving schedule. The replies took longer to come, contrasting the all too short phone calls. He guessed he couldn’t blame you: you had your own life, now—still, it hurt. He felt ridiculous for it, guilty even, but part of him still felt entitled to your attention with childish, aching insistence.

Maybe he’d ruined your friendship, the one you built since kindergarten, by having left for so many months at a time and coming back for such a short time. He was the one who left first, after all, and maybe you’d just followed. So why did it hurt so much to realize you might’ve learned to live without him? 

However, the smile you’d given him earlier that day—it had been you. Not the girl he’d left behind, nor the woman he saw now. There was a slight crook to it, a bit of a tease as your lips moved around his name. Finn. Those were all exclusive to you, belonged to the person he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, you. The one he was still, catastrophically, in love with now.

Finn, for the first time in a long time, had no obligations for the two months of summer to come. Sixty whole days, he estimated, he could spend trying to undo the distance between the two of you. If his absence had already drowned any chance he had of being more to you, he could at least try and salvage your friendship. As long as you were still here, choosing him in any capacity, he could live with that. Probably.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand and searched for your contact. hey, are you doing anything tmrw.

From his bedroom window, he could see yours glowing across the street. The reply came within minutes. nothing much, why?

you’re up to go to the lake? Finn texted back.

we haven’t been there in like three years lol

cmon. entertain me.

The three dots blinked back at Finn for what seemed like an eternity. Then, ill be in front of your door at ten. dont make me wait, and Finn couldn’t hold back the grin that split his face.

Said lake was a tiny, clear thing secluded within a forest. Pale stones framed the water, bright enough to make the surface shimmer, and the trees leaned close to hide the sky. You and Finn had found it together years ago on a boring summer afternoon, back when disappearing for hours had been easy. And before Finn had started disappearing himself.

The drive there was mostly silent, punctuated by low music and surface-level conversations that made Finn squirm. Polite was not a word he’d ever use to describe whatever the two of you had been. Once you reached the trailhead, you’d both taken out your snacks, your towels, the drinks you brought… and before Finn could prepare himself, you were pulling your clothes off, revealing the swimsuit underneath.

He tried hard not to look. He tried very, very hard, but Jesus—he was only human, and you stood there glowing in the welcoming sunlight, the water sparkling behind you. A knot of admiration tightened in his throat as his eyes betrayed him, staying on you a little too long.

You jumped in the water with a splash.

“Isn’t that water, like, freezing?” Finn called, eyebrow arching as he tugged his shirt over his head. He felt a small swell of pride when he noticed your gaze flicker to his bare torso.

“It is, but I don’t remember it scaring you when we were younger.” To prove your point, you splashed him, cool droplets scattering on his skin. Finn yelped and hopped back with a laugh. “You’d jump in before me and drag me in with you.”

He settled onto one of the rocks and dipped his toes into the water.

“Yeah, well, I’m not used to it anymore.”

“Hollywood will do that to you,” you laughed.

There was a fake sonority to it. You swam closer, never breaking eye contact, Finn could swear he saw hurt in your gaze. The idea he had put it there sat unwelcome in his chest. Him leaving, not making enough space for you.

“Listen, I—I’m sorry,” Finn started, toes rippling the water.. “I’m sorry I haven’t been as… available, I guess? I’ve been really busy, I’ve been for—for a while now—”

“Years, actually,” you supplied. You rested your crossed arms on a lower rock with your chin tipped up toward him. Finn momentarily forgot the conversation as sunlight traced the line of your shoulders. “You’ve been busy for more than a while, Finn. You don’t need to… to apologize for it, I’m not mad about that. I just… I think I hoped you wouldn’t forget about me. You did promise it back then.” You let out a small laugh. “The lack of texts, the calls… barely seeing me when you’re home… It kind of feels like I—like we don’t really matter anymore, you know? And that’s okay if that’s true. I just wish I’d got more of a heads-up, and—”

“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried,” Finn blurted out.

The eagerness of it stopped you in your rant, and Finn was equally stunned by himself.

“I mean—I didn’t forget about you, that’s what I mean. Not once. No, you’re—you’re always in the back of my mind. Always. And I hate that I made you feel like I don’t care, because I do care about you, about—about us. You’re one of the people who matter the most to me, and I kinda hoped that maybe I could fix whatever this weird feeling is this summer. If that’s what you want too.”

You both stared at each other for long seconds, seconds that felt like eternity, until your wet fingers slid around his wrist. The knot in Finn’s throat loosened as he watched it happen—

Before you yanked him off and into the lake.

He surfaced with a sharp gasp, sputtering, only to grab you and pull you flush against his chest before dunking the both of you back under the water. Your laughter rang bright, and Finn took it as a very definitive “Yes”.

After that, summer had been a film montage, the kind you’d find on old VHS tapes stuffed into cardboard boxes in the cellar. Finn hadn’t lied: he was certain now he couldn’t forget you even if he were to crash his car and fall into a coma. You’d still be there, and he especially didn’t think he could forget this summer.

It was as if time had stalled just for the two of you, and for days at a time you laughed at him the way you always had, and Finn could wrap his arms around you again and feel you melt into him. Slowly, but surely, you were finding your way back. You and him, him and you.

It began with the late night drives. Finn would show up at your door with his keys jingling and before you could think better of it, you were in the passenger seat beside him. The leftover heat of the day made your thighs stick to the leather, and Finn—ever attentive—would roll the windows down just enough. Enough for the night air to rush through your hair, and the streetlights to cast fleeting glows across your profile. (Enough for him to steal glances). You’d turn the radio, choosing songs you both knew by heart to shout lyrics at each other with no regards for pitch. Somewhere along the way you’d stop for fast food, knowing each other’s order by heart, and Finn would park by the old playground you used to spend hours at as children.

Now you sat on the swings, Finn in nothing but swim shorts and a worn graphic tee and you drowning in a sweatshirt you’d borrowed from him, bikini straps peeking out from the collar. Grease slicked your fingers as you shared your fries and drinks, the music from the car drifting over. Finn hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

“You definitely pushed me off that swing back then,” you recalled as you swung back and forth slightly.

“I did not,” Finn countered. Then, remembering, “You asked me to push you. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, not literally! How dense were you as a kid? Actually, no. How dumb are you now?”

“Okay, that’s it. You lost privilege to my kindness. Hand over the burger.” He reached toward you from his swing.

“Finn Michael Wolfhard, take one step closer and your ass is grass.”

“I paid for it with my money!”

“You’re a millionaire! One burger won’t bankrupt you—spare the poor—Finn!”

You took off running, barefoot through the sand and laughter ricocheting as Finn chased you. When he finally caught you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground, shrieking and begging for mercy, elbows flying to his ribs. You both went down in a tangle. Finn’s back hit the sand and you landed atop of him, hair fanning out like a halo around your face.

He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life, he thought. His fingers tingled with the urge to tuck stray strands of hair away, do something, anything, other than stare. It didn’t help when you collapsed on his chest laughing, and Finn’s heart betrayed him by doing something similar. He laughed too even as it hammered wildly beneath you.

Okay, he told himself firmly. Get it together. This summer was about fixing your friendship. Your longtime, childhood friendship, and not falling into fantasies that could never happen. You didn’t feel the same way. You’d never, ever, given him any indication that you did.

But then there was the pillow fort, and Finn wasn’t so sure anymore.

It was a stupid idea, part of the grand rekindling of your friendship plan of the summer. Picture this: two grown adults in their early twenties building a pillow fort on the cold floor of your bedroom, fairy lights included and all. It shouldn’t have made Finn feel so soft, but the warm glow of the lights and the press of your thigh against his as you crawled inside your archeological wonder of a build, balancing Finn’s laptop on both your laps as a movie played. Just like in your teenage years. Finn had always been soft when it came to you.

By the time the credits rolled, the fort had sunk into itself slightly. The lights had dimmed in the mess of patchwork colors of the blankets. Finn folded his legs awkwardly to fit, shifting as you adjusted one corner of the fort. When you finally settled, you laid on your side, facing him. Faces inches from each other. Your breath brushing his lips.

“Hi,” you murmured with a laugh.

Finn answered in a breath. “Hi.”

“This is… cozy,” you observed.

“It is. We did a great job.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “One criticism, though. It's really small.” He moved his legs for emphasis.

You rolled your eyes. “Not my fault you grew up to be a giant! You’ve changed a lot since we were kids.”

“I didn’t change that much.”

“You kinda did. I mean—your voice is grainier, and your music doesn’t suck as much anymore—” Finn gave you a playful shove that you gave right back. “Sorry, sensitive topic. But also, your hair’s a little less curly—” Your hand lifted. Finn’s breath got stuck in his chest as your fingers toyed with a stray curl on his forehead. “And, your freckles multiplied.” Your hand drifted lower, tracing them gently beneath his eyes, across the bridge of his nose. The lone one near his mouth. Your eyes stayed there. 

With shaky fingers, Finn reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist. You stayed unmoving. Helplessly staring at each other as his thumb ran over your pulse point, beating erratically.

Maybe, and just maybe, his feelings weren’t as unrequited as he thought they were?

The rest of the summer only seemed to confirm it with small, almost unnoticeable moments that could escape the regular person who didn’t pay nearly as much attention to you as Finn did. The lingering of your fingers on his forearm when you walked side by side, or the hesitant glances at the bar when you went out that particularly hot night. Finn recognized the signs because he’d lived them before, years ago, when he’d first realized he was in way too deep.

Was that happening to you too? Could it be… finally?

He planned to ask you. Palms sweating, he rehearsed it a hundred different ways. He’d tell you, and quietly hoped it wouldn’t ruin the friendship you two had spent nearly a month and a half rebuilding.

However, that’s when you started pulling away.

Just as summer began to fade, the air cooling and the streets emptying of children’s laughter, you did too. Most of what Finn and you had planned were canceled with clumsy excuses, and your interactions could be summarized to an hesitant wave from across the street, or a quick response to a text Finn sent the day before. You were retreating, and Finn was struggling to understand why.

He replayed every moment in his head, wondering if he messed something up, or if his flirting that he, honest to God, thought subtle, had crossed some invisible line. If he’d ruined things again by wanting more. That worry was why, lying in his bed one night much like he had at the beginning of the summer, he texted you. hey can we see each other?? i kinda want to talk to you abt smth if that’s alright.

Ten minutes passed. sorry i can’t, some friends are throwing a party tonight. maybe tmrw? i’ll update you.

Oh. Right.

Of course.

You weren’t pulling because you suddenly hated him. You now had a life away from Finn. You went to college, had friends and hobbies he didn’t know about… His absence had left a gap you’d learned how to fill, and he couldn’t fault you for that. He had no right to expect your world to shrink around him just because he’d come back.

Still, Finn spent the night bitter anyway, strumming his guitar hard enough to leave indent on his fingers.

And still, Finn lunged for his phone the second your caller ID lit up the darkness of his room.

“Finn?” you called. The music behind you was thrumming loud enough so that he could only barely make out what you were saying. 

“Yeah? What’s—Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am. Um… can you—could you pick me up? The friend who drove me  is drunk and I—I kinda just want to go home.”

His fingers were already wrapped around his car keys before you finished the sentence. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, I’m on my way. Send me the address.”

Not long after, Finn pulled up in front of a random house in a random street. Purple LED lights bled out the windows, music thumping loudly. He tugged his hoodie lower over his face not to be recognized as you slipped in through the car door, the hem of your skirt riding up just slightly as you moved.

He forced his gaze forward, but all thoughts were wiped from his brain when he saw the mascara streaking down your wet cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked, concerned, already reaching for you.

“Can you just—drive? I’ll tell you later. I just want to get out of here.”

Finn pulled away from the curb.

You drove in silence for a while, the heat in the car clinging uncomfortably to you. Twenty minutes passed before Finn sighed and turned into an empty parking lot across a gas station. He killed the engine. You turned to him, confused.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Because I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” Finn explained, facing you fully. “You call me, in the middle of the night, mind you, to pick you up from a random party after barely talking to me for days. I’m not starting the car again until you tell me. Now—what’s wrong?”

You pressed your lips together, studying him and clearly weighting your words. Finn could wait all night if that’s what it took. Finally, you spoke.

“Some guys flirted with me at the party. I… flirted back, I guess.”

Ouch. Not especially what he wanted to hear. An ugly possessive streak in him made a somersault in his stomach. “Did he try something?”

“No! No, he was—He was nice. He didn’t do anything bad. But he wasn’t…” You hesitated, eyes darting around the car before finally settling on Finn. You took a deep breath. “He wasn’t you. That was his only problem.”

Finn jolted so hard his elbow slipped off the steering wheel where it was resting to slam into the horn, a loud blare echoing through the empty lot. “Sorry—shit, I’m sorry,” he apologized frantically, rubbing his elbow. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Oh my God. Fine. Here we go.” You rubbed your temples. “One of the reasons I’ve been so… distant lately is because I know you’re leaving soon. Summer’s ending, you have your career, I get it. I do! I just… I didn’t want to be the one left behind again, waiting for you like an idiot. Again. So I thought I’d beat you to the punch, you know. Go to a party and try to move on all by myself.”

Finn’s heart was pounding violently as you kept on going. “And then there was this guy and he was genuinely really nice, and cute, and I thought maybe—maybe I could forget about you. Turns out I can’t, because he didn’t have your eyes or your hair, or even your stupid laugh, and I’ve been in love with you my whole life and it’s becoming kind of embarrassing to latch on to you when you clearly don’t feel the same.” You laughed. “So yeah. I tried to move on from you, and it didn’t work. There. I said it. Can we go now?”

Finn couldn’t breathe. His pulse was roaring in his ears. All he could do was stare at you, mouth agape, as you stared back. Probably expectantly, too, but Finn was way too much in his head to think about it.

You were in love with him. You were in love with him—

Wait. There was a slight problem.

“What—Sorry, I need you to tell me what made you think I didn’t feel the same.”

“Huh? I—”

“Because I do,” Finn cut you off eagerly. “I do. I’ve been—fucking hell, I’ve loved you since we were kids, I thought you didn’t like me back! I didn’t want to overstep and to—and to ruin—us. And I thought, with your new life and everything, maybe you didn’t want me there, because I left so many times and I was busy. But I want you. I’ve always wanted you, I just thought I was alone in it. 

Finn leaned closer. “You—You actually did like me back? This entire time?”

“Yes. Yes I did. I do,” you whispered.

“And you… still do?”

“Yes. Do—do you?”

“Yeah, I did. I do.”

Silence had fallen over the car. The dashboard lights slid across your face just long enough for Finn to wonder—are you crying? Are you laughing? He didn’t get long to guess before a wet laugh broke free of you out of nowhere. He laughed too.

“Oh my God, we’re complete idiots,” you said, wiping your eyes.

“We really are,” Finn added with a dumb smile, nodding. “We’re so stupid.”

He didn’t give you the chance to answer. Not when all he ever hoped for was out in the open. Finn reached across the center console and pulled you toward him, crashing his lips into yours like you’d disappear if he didn’t.

The kiss was a little messy, salted with dried tears, but it was eager and felt right. In the way you smiled against his mouth, or how he bit softly at your bottom lips like he always wanted to. In the way his hand cradled your cheek. In the way the centre console was annoying by its mere presence with how much you wanted to pull the other’s body into yours like crash-test cars. When you finally pulled away, Finn had to consciously remind him how breathing worked.

“Took you long enough,” you teased.

“Me? Why am I always the one who has to do things?”

And Finn kissed you again.

Once more when you climbed out of the car. Another by the gas station's doors. One more between the aisles. Again and again and again until Finn was paying for slushies with one hand while you smeared violet ice against his cheek, later kissing the cold from his lips. For a moment, you looked exactly like the girl who’d drown him at the lake, and he looked exactly like the boy who’d help you build your pillow forts. And yet, you both looked older now. 

All that Finn knew was that he’d do anything, make every effort and make as much space in his schedule as needed, to be, to keep you with him. 

He’d choose you, again and again.

“It looks good,” Max calls out from where she’s lounging on the couch, still watching the movie you had rented. 

Hopper is out at dinner with Joyce and told El she should have a “girls night.” El didn’t really understand but you and Max came over anyway. You brought a bunch of makeup, nail polish, a movie, and something you called face masks. 

She really likes “girls night” so far. Maybe she can ask Hopper if they can do it every week. 

After some begging from Max, you called Steve and asked him to bring some food. El doesn’t really know Steve but he’s your boyfriend and Max likes him a lot. The boys sometimes make fun of him which is weird because she can tell they also like him a lot. 

“They’re idiots, they don’t wanna admit it but they all wanna be like him,” is what Max said when she asked her. She probably looked confused because Max added: “They pretend not to like him.”

“It is long,” you agree, running your fingers through it when you stand up from the couch. Your nails scratch her scalp a little and it’s surprising how good it feels. 

“Have you tried braiding it?” Steve asks, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He gets very annoyed by greasy hands. 

“Braiding it?” El repeats hesitantly. Her hair is longer. It curls at the ends when it dries and sometimes she feels it on her neck and thinks a spider is crawling on her. 

“Steve could probably do a french braid on you,” you chime in, grabbing some plates from the cabinet. 

“‘Steve could?’” Max repeats, sounding very surprised. 

“Oh yeah he did all sorts of braids on my dolls when we were kids,” you smile, something mischievous twinkling in your eyes. 

“He wanted a baby sister so bad and he had to be ready to style her hair.” 

“Hey!” 

“Sometimes he helps me with my hair.” 

“You’re a blabbermouth,” Steve complains, grabbing your waist to pull you in so he can tickle your sides. 

You laugh and squirm in his arms, but you don’t bat his hands away. Steve looks down at the smile on your lips and his grin grows wider like he’s been infected. 

“You can braid my hair?” El asks, something warm blooming in her chest. 

Steve stops his assault on your ribs but still keeps his arms around you when he turns to El.

“Yeah of course I can, you want me to do it right now?” 

“What about the food?” Max complains.

“You could learn patience,” Steve retorts and you give him a look. “Ugh fine, you two start eating, it won’t take me that long.” 

She takes a seat on the couch while Steve rummages through your bag for a hairbrush. She can feel him come up behind her, gentle hands moving her hair so it’s gathered on her back.

 Max, seemingly bored of the movie, pauses it and stands up to rummage through the takeout bags. You tell her to not fill herself up too quickly while she nibbles on an egg roll. 

He starts by brushing her hair at the bottom, detangling the ends and working his way up. She should remember that because sometimes her hair gets all tangled and it hurts to brush. 

“Tell me if I pull too hard, yeah?” Steve says, his voice quiet like the words are just for her. 

He starts near the top of her hair with a small piece but she can feel him touching the rest of her head which is weird. He hums a little under his breath as he works, she’s noticed that Steve is not very good at sitting still or being quiet. 

“…What are you doing?” El asks after a moment. 

He pauses, hands stilling in surprise as he processes her question, but he relaxes just as quickly. “Oh you add in the hair as you go when you do a french braid, you’ll see in a sec.” 

Steve is a strong guy. He gets into fights and for the most part can hold his own. That’s partly why the boys like him. But right now every movement and touch of his fingers feel purposeful. He’s taking extra care to not press too hard or tug on her hair, as if doing so would hurt her. 

El decides she also likes Steve. 

“There you go,” Steve announces softly, tying off the braid with a yellow scrunchie Max gave her. “Cmon, let's go to the bathroom so you can also see.” 

She follows him into the bathroom and he opens a compact mirror, angling it so she can see her hair in the big mirror. She doesn’t understand how he really did it but it looks pretty. She feels like one of the girls in the magazines. 

“You like it?” Steve asks, there’s a hint of something in his voice. She doesn’t have the word for it yet but she can tell he wants her to like it.