kens !!

A crawl was not how you imagined your night going. Especially when Hopper just said you were to ride in the van alongside your brother and your ex.

After your breakup with Steve, you had avoided the party for a couple weeks. There hadn’t been a crawl in awhile due to no news of any convoys and it wasn’t like you were super close with everyone.

You had always tagged along with Steve.

Although everyone was nice to you and invited you, it was clear Steve was best friends with everyone. Not you.

Like when your brother came home and you asked where he had been just for him to scramble and stutter about hanging out with the party. Without you.

But, Robin insisted you join the crawl after showing up at your house to return a book she had borrowed.

“I don’t know, Robin…” You had trailed off, picking at your fingernails and leaning against the wall in your entryway.

Robin had groaned. “Please? Everyone misses you. You haven’t gone to any of the movie nights in the past couple weeks.”

You stared at her, giving her a look. “That’s because I know he will be there.” 

“Please, dude. I can’t do this without you.” She said after a moment, processing what you had said. “Everyone is asking where you are and where you went.”

You didn’t believe it.

“If I go, you have to buy me ice cream.” You muttered finally, folding your arms across your chest.

Robin cheered. “Yes! Thank you!” She pulled you into a quick hug before leaving to find Vickie at the hospital.

A couple hours later, you were sitting in the living space of the squawk, listening to Hopper deal out roles and use an expo marker to create a plan.

You saw Steve across the room, perched on an arm chair that Lucas had occupied. His hair was styled perfectly, his butter yellow sweater ironed and his face? He looked like he hadn’t missed an ounce of sleep, like there wasn’t any stress in his life.

It sent a painful jab to your heart.

Because you had been lying awake for hours for the past few weeks, thinking of him and regretting what you had said. 

You spent an hour this morning just trying to cover up the tear streaks and dark circles under your eyes.

“Alright, we understand?” Hopper concluded, turning back to the group.

Everyone nodded. You followed suit a moment after, gaze still on Steve.

You watched as his eyes left the board and to you.

Your breath caught.

But a second after, Dustin walked up to him and said something. 

You looked away as he did.

A couple minutes later, everyone began to split up.

As you started for the door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

You looked back to find Robin behind you, giving a smile.

“You okay?” She asked, walking beside you.

You shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to be.”

Robin frowned. “At least you won’t be alone with him, Dustin’ll be there.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, stepping into the night air. “But it’s not like he’s best friends with Steve right now. So, it might just be hella awkward.”

Robin chuckled.

You spotted the squawk van, Steve opening the driver side door.

“Dude! Let’s go!” Dustin stood by the sliding door of the van, hand cupped around his mouth as he called to you.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You muttered, annoyed. 

You waved to Robin and headed towards Dustin who climbed into the back. That left the passenger seat.

Fuck my life you thought, hopping into the leather seat.

“Hey,” 

You glanced over to find Steve giving you a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. “Hi.” You croaked as you clicked your seatbelt in place.

“How are you?” He asked like it wasn't the first time you guys had talked since that night. One of his hands rested casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m…doing okay.” You had to look away. “You?”

Steve sighed. “Good. Good.”

You nodded. “Good.”

“Oh my god, can we go?” Dustin groaned from the back seat, his headphones halfway on. 

Steve shot him a look and shifted the gear into drive. “Jesus.” He muttered under his breath and took off down the driveway.

As he drove, you leaned forward and turned the radio on. A Crowded House song faded in, a soft beat filling the space of the van.

It was quiet, awkward.

You thought about how it was before.

Steve would sing along to whatever song was playing, whether he knew it or not. Dustin would complain of his horrible singing voice from the back and you would laugh.

The van rides used to be full of warmth and noise. Steve and Dustin would playfully argue, you would cover your hand atop of Steve’s. 

But now, it was cold. Silent. You had to move carefully so the leather of the seat didn’t crinkle and make noise.

You stared silently out the window, watching the buildings of Hawkins pass. 

“Henderson?” The walkie-talkie crackled with Joyce’s voice.

You reached for it. “This is y/n. I copy." You then mumbled, "Over." remembering Dustin's constant reminders to properly conclude your statement.

The walkie crackled. “Okay. We’re running a little behind. You’ll have to wait for a little bit. Over.” Joyce said from the squawk's basement.

Great

You nodded, then realized she couldn’t see. “Right, okay. Will do. Over.” You set the walkie down.

“Guess we’ll just have to park?” Steve mumbled from the driver’s seat, pulling into the usual waiting position in the alley in between the book store and an apartment building.

“Mhm.”

Steve’s fingers tapped against the window. “I’ll grab us a snack. You want anything-a diet coke?”

Your heart clenched when he remembered your favorite drink. You almost forgot to reply. “Uh, yeah. Please.” 

He met your eyes. “A pack of MnMs too.”

You nodded.

“Dustin.”

Your brother pulled off his headphones and appeared between the both of you. “Fanta. Lays. Classic.”

Steve pushed his head back, sending him into the back. 

“Hey!” Dustin squeaked.

You huffed a laugh.

Steve caught your gaze, his own smile tugging at his lips.

You sobered immediately, smile fading.

He held your gaze for a second before shaking his head and opening the car door. “I’ll be back.”

The door clicked shut behind him and you watched as he crossed the street to the convenience store.

"Can't you guys just kiss and makeup already?" Dustin asked, poking his head up front again.

You sighed. "It's not that simple." You watched Steve disappear into the store. "I ended things. Like an idiot. He doesn't want me anymore."

Dustin snorted. "Bullshit."

You gave him a look. "Language."

He shook his head. "Steve is definitely still in love with you."

Your heart clenched.

"He's always asking about you." Dustin went on. "It's getting annoying. And he looks miserable all the time."

You bit your lip. "I dunno, Dusty."

"Uh, well, I know." He rolled his eyes. "Just talk to him. I can give you a chance." He picked up an old rubix cube from the center console. "I'll pretend that the radio connection is bad or something, step out of the car for a few minutes..." You watched as he began to solve the white side. "And boom you say you love him, he'll say it back, then you kiss and happily ever after."

You laughed. "I don't know if its that easy."

He shrugged. "Worth a shot."

You paused for a moment, thinking.

If your brother was saying the truth, then maybe Steve still felt the way you did. You had spent the past month wallowing in self pity, it was exhausting. You definitely wanted him back.

"Fine. Okay." You mumbled.

Dustin grinned.

You rolled your eyes.

Your gaze traveled back out towards the store as Steve exited.

But he wasn't alone.

A girl followed, bubbly, blonde and laughing at something he said.

Your heart sunk.

She put her hand on his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep.

Dustin paused, watching as well.

She said something and he smiled, nodding.

You felt tears well in your eyes when she handed him a piece of paper and he accepted it. It was no doubt her number.

"It's probably not what you think..." Dustin whispered, but his voice spoke it like a question.

You shook your head, watching Steve hoist the grocery bag higher in his hands and beginning to walk the girl to her car. When she slipped into the driver's seat, he waved goodbye and started for the van.

You swallowed thickly, blinking away tears and taking a deep breath.

"Don't mention anything." You told Dustin, your voice a little shaky. Gone was any hope Dustin had given you, and now a sense of coldness towards Steve crept in.

He gave you a sympathetic look and sunk into the backseat, toying with the buttons on the radio system.

You stared straight ahead as Steve opened the door and hoisted himself up into the van.

"Okay, i've got a can of fanta and a large back of chips for you." Steve threw Dustin's food into the backseat.

Dustin groaned as it hit him in the stomach. "Jesus christ, dude."

Steve smiled and reached back into the bag. "And a diet coke and a family size bag of Mnms for the lady." He looked at you, trying to catch your eye. You didn't reply at first. "Y/n?"

You hummed, turning your head towards him.

His smile turned lopsided. "Your food."

You let out a breath as you took the things from him. "Thanks."

He nodded and pulled out his own can of root beer. "Any news on Hop yet?"

You shook your head, popping the tab of the can open.

Steve nodded again. He straightened. "Oh, they didn't have the normal sized Mnms, so I had to get you the mini ones."

You looked at the bag. "Alright."

You couldn't shake the sight of Steve leaning into the touch of that girl. How his smile seemed genuine, how he accepted her number like you'd never existed.

It sent jabs at your heart.

You didn't want to talk to him anymore.

Joyce radioed a couple minutes later, telling you Hopper was on the move.

Steve scrambled at the keys and harshly pulled into the street.

You gripped your seat as he made a sharp turn and sped up.

Dustin guided his speed and soon, you were at an steady pace.

The crawl ended in another dead end.

No sign of Vecna.

Another zone crossed out on the map that projected on the Squawk's wall.

You sat in the passenger seat, curled up against the window as Steve drove you and Dustin home.

"No, we're not listening to Iron Maiden right now." Steve scolded Dustin. "Your sister's sleeping."

"Oh my god, it's always about her, isn't it." Dustin deadpanned.

Steve swallowed because it was. It was always going to be about you.

He had spent the past two hours trying to come up what to say to you and how to ask you to talk. He had an idea of what he wanted to say, constantly repeating it in his head.

Steve had spent the past month picking up the pieces of himself. He had never cried like the night after Robin came by his house to get your stuff because you had been too scared.

His father drilled into his head that real men don't cry.

But that went out the window when he lost you.

He tried to distract himself with work. But you were everywhere. In every song that Robin played for the listeners, in the way he made his coffee for the early morning shifts, in the storage room where you used to sneak kisses.

This had been the first week that he could get through a day without breaking down.

Talking to you again had the tension in his shoulders relax. Hearing your soft voice let him take a breath. Seeing you smile had him wanting to smile back.

But ever since he got back from the convenience store, you turned colder. You didn't look at him, you spoke in one word sentences.

He was dying inside.

He thought about that girl earlier who had slipped him a piece of paper that some guy was creepily following her and requesting he walk her to her car.

Steve glanced at you, slumped against the seat, eyes closed, lips barely parted in soft breaths.

Had you seen? Had you interpreted it differently?

Steve needed to talk to you.

He pulled in front of your house, barely able to see through the rainfall that had started just minutes before.

"Hey," He said to Dustin. "Can you give us a second?"

The younger Henderson glanced at you before nodding slowly. "Yeah, okay." He pulled the door open and hopped out.

Steve watched him walk up the driveway before turning to you.

He placed a hand on your upper arm. "Hey," He murmured gently.

You sighed softly, your eyes fluttering open. "Hm?" You hummed.

Steve practically melted when you gave him a soft look. "We're home."

home

Home used to mean his parent's house. It was where you had lived with him for the past year when his parents skipped town after news of the quarantine put in place.

You blinked slowly, glancing over at your house. "...Right." You reached for the door handle.

Steve swallowed. "Hey...can we, uh, talk?"

You straightened, turning back to him. "Talk?"

He nodded, biting his lip. "About...everything."

"Okay." You said after a minute.

Steve let out a breath.

“What you saw?” He finally said. “That girl, it-it wasn’t what it looked like-”

“Steve.”

“Seriously.” He went on, shaking his head. “I was just helping her to her car, that’s it. I swear.”

“Steve. It’s okay.”

He shook his head again, swallowing. “I didn’t-I can’t move on.” He admitted, his voice cracking. “I won’t.”

Your breath caught. “I-”

“I can’t move on from you.” He gazed into your eyes, pleading with you. 

You tilted your head. “I can’t either.”

Steve sighed with relief, his chest lifting. “Okay,” His hand gently covered yours. “Okay.”

You shook your head, pulling back. “But it isn’t that simple.”

His eyebrows furrowed, chest constricting. “What-what do you mean?”

“Steve…we were fighting constantly.” You whispered. “It wasn’t healthy.”

Steve’s lips parted, his eyes bouncing between yours. “I don’t want to fight.” He reached for you again. “I won’t. I won’t fight with you.”

You drew back, avoiding his gaze. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I will.” He choked out. “Please.”

You shook your head. “I can’t right now, I-I need to go.” You opened your door and slipped out, shutting it behind you and starting for your driveway.

A moment later, a car door opened. “Wait!” Steve’s voice cut through the rain. 

You turned slightly. “Steve, go home.”

He rounded the car and caught up with you. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me. Please.” 

You looked away. “I’m not running away.”

Steve pushed his hair from his eyes, the strands growing wet. “You are, baby.” He took another step closer. “Please, can't we try again?”

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “I can’t do this right now, Steve.” You tried to turn away, but his hand caught your wrist, his touch sending electricity up your arm. “I’m tired. Let me go.”

He only pulled you closer. 

You shook away from his hold. You said in a shaky voice, “Goodnight, Steve.”

You got three steps away when he called out to you, “Fuck, I still love you!”

The rain came in buckets as you halted.

“I never stopped.” He called out in a desperate voice. You couldn't leave like this. This couldn't be the end again. “I could never stop. Not when you told me to go to hell that night or when you never returned my calls.” He threw his hands up. “I could never stop loving you.”

Tears fell onto your cheeks as you stared at him while your heart was breaking and everything was screaming at you to run away. His hair was a wet mess, flopping across his forehead. His leather jacket was drenched, his eyes squinting in the rainy night.

“Give me another chance, baby. Please.” He pleaded, standing as if the rain didn’t bother him.

You felt tears running down your cheeks and your lower lip wobbled. Your voice broke when you spoke. “Steve.”

His expression softened and he stepped closer to you, hesitantly bringing his hands to cup your face. You shivered at his cold fingers. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry over me.” He murmured, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in soft swipes.

You let out a sob, uncontrollable tears running down your face. “I can’t help it.”

Steve smiled sadly. “Okay, honey. Let it all out.”

Your shoulders shook as you buried yourself into his chest, his body warm against the cold night.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept whispering over and over again. You couldn’t tell if it was for you or for him.

You pulled away slightly. “I still love you.” You brought your hand to his cheek. “But I'm scared.”

Steve brushed wet hair from your face. “I’m scared too.” 

“I want to try.” You breathed. “I want you.”

A smile spread across his lips. “I want you too. All of you.” He held you tighter. 

You glanced down from his eyes to his lips. 

Steve caught the signal and bent his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. You sighed as he angled his head, his fingers pressing into your cheeks. 

Your legs went shaky as his hand traveled down to hold the small of your back. You latched onto him as the rain poured around you, drops landing on your nose and chin. 

You pulled away slightly so your lips still brushed his. 

His forehead pressed into yours, his eyes barely open and hooded. “I love you.”

You smiled, eyes half closed. “I love you too.”

If there was one girl, miraculously one, in this (godforsaken) country music loving county that chose to dance to metal, he had to know what she looked like. Of course, classic rock anthems were the usual for when the girls were just strutting across the stage, no choreography needed. But this girl; you. This was his kind of music, and you were a fantasy brought to life. After the short set he saw he quickly became obsessed. The Rusty Rose was suddenly a part of his routine so he could get a glimpse of you.

Always dark lingerie, always chains, sometimes spikes, usually doing some Cirque du Soleil level acrobatics on the pole that truly deserved more than the $1 and $5 being thrown at you while drunken men howled and pawed at your heels.

The first time he stayed for the show, he lingered in the parking lot til closing just to be sure you made it to your car without any trouble. Then, surprise surprise, it became routine. He learned your schedule: Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday. As long as he was scheduled night shift, he'd finish patrol and arrive in time for your first set, stayed to see the rest until closing, nursing just one whiskey the whole time because what kind of example would he be if he drove drunk?

It was after the second week of this unspoken routine when you paused on the way to your car, the last one in the back lot, and turned to his cruiser. You were fully clothed with a long thick coat on, boots crunching on the pavement. A plume of vape smoke left the open window as you approached, the air briefly scented like cotton candy until the smoke dissipated completely.

"Hey cutie," you murmured, stopping before his side mirror and leaning your hip against the Stark County Sheriff cruiser. He liked to think he couldn't be caught off guard so easily, but then you chose to break the ice with that 'hey cutie' and he froze, just for a few seconds. Cutie? Really? He couldn't remember the last time anyone, flirting or familial, had called him cute. "The girls have really been appreciating you lingering til closing. Cop car keeps the creeps away. So thanks."

"Don' mention it." Gator grumbled, taking another pull from the cart to keep his mouth busy.

You smirked, shoving your hip off the vehicle and turning to head to your car but you paused again, turned back to him, "What's your name, Deputy?"

Cotton candy filled the air again, smoke still spilling from his mouth as he answered, "Off duty, ma'am... S'just Gator."

Your smirk had yet to leave your mouth, in fact it widened after you told him your name. Biting your lip before you jerked your head slightly in the direction of your car, "Wanna follow me to my place, Cutie?"

.

The only word that could accurately describe the sort of lover Gator was: worshipful. Yes, at first he'd tried to take control, tried to be a real man. But your praises, your compliments, your nicknames wore him down like nothing else ever could.

All the way at the edge of Dickinson in a 2 bed 1 bath unit on the ground floor of a fairly newer apartment complex, for at least a couple hours, he could let the mask drop, let his guard down; he didn't have to worry about the other deputies, didn't have to worry about his father judging the way he was not so secretly falling hard and fast for you; didn't have to worry about anything associated with the Tillman name.

You were careful with the tactical vest but he definitely heard and felt a seam rip somewhere when you tore his shirt off. Giving no room for protests when your mouth met his again, your pretty black manicured nails lightly scratching down his chest, hands adoringly caressing the softness of his stomach. He'd never felt anything like it but quickly found himself craving more of it. He moved his hands to his belt, hastily undone along with the fastenings of his cargos, then you stopped him. Without a hint of shame you batted your lashes and asked him to keep the pants and leg holster on. He must've broken a speed record with how fast unholstered the gun, released the mag to clank loudly to the floor and emptied the chamber sending a single round clinking and rolling under your bed before putting it back in the holster.

"Boy howdy, safety's never been so sexy." You commented, earning a scoffing laugh and roll of his eyes from Gator.

You didn't get to spend as much time on your knees as you wanted, your hands lazily crawling along his strong thighs, tugging on the strap of the holster, fingers walking across his gun, trailing up his solid stomach just to scratch your nails down and do it again all while humming up and down his stupidly huge cock. Gator insisted he didn't want to finish in your perfect pretty mouth. He drew you up from the floor to stand, staring up at you from where he was seated on the edge of the bed like you were some kind of angel. You climbed astride his lap, savoring the dig of the gun and holster against your left thigh, wasting no time taking him in to the hilt. The matching gasps from you both mingled between your mouths as you quickly set a rolling rhythm of your hips that had him gripping the fat of your thighs like he was scared you'd float away or he'd wake from a dream. "I'm not going anywhere." You whispered, holding his face, cradling his jaw with both hands. It wasn't too long after that he came quite quickly, embarrassed and begging to eat you out or finger you until you came twice to make up for his sexual blunder.

He was hard again by the time you were shaking from your first orgasm, he was trying to work through the waves of your first to get you to your second but he just couldn't resist being inside you again. This time it was slow, this time his big, sad brown eyes didn't look away from you for a single moment. You were crying out his name with your second orgasm, pulsing and clutching around his cock but he wasn't near done worshipping.

.

Sleep came quickly at some point, it was noon when you woke, pleased to find Gator was still sprawled across the right side of your bed.

"Pussy put his ass to sleep, now he calling me NyQuil." You mumbled once you saw him begin to stir. You got out of bed heading for the bathroom.

"Mm," he groaned and with a sleep graveled voice mumbled back, "Shut up." Then quickly added, "Sorry I fell asleep."

"Don't mention it," you repeated his words from last night with a cheeky wink while you lingered against the bathroom doorframe. You walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower, projecting your voice louder over the stream of water, "Glad you didn't sneak away, gotta get your number before you go."

Gator froze again, but melted quickly, especially when he was tangled in your bedsheets that smelled so good despite the hours of filthy activities on it. "Y'want m'number?"

"Well yeah, how else am I supposed to get to know you?"

He couldn't fathom it, someone who wanted to get to know him, someone that liked him? As a person? One night stands came and went and he thought it would be much the same here but again you've thrown him for a loop. The sound of the shower curtain pulled closed, Gator got up and stalked to the bathroom, pulling the curtain halfway open, "Y'wanna g'ta know me?"

His incredulous tone made you snort as you scrubbed shampoo into your scalp, "Yes? Is that weird?"

"Kinda." He answered immediately.

"I don't know what to tell you," you shrugged as you stepped into the water stream to rinse the shampoo from your hair, "I know you're interested in me, I know you're protective, and I know you're good at fucking and kissing, now I wanna know if we could be friends that also bang sometimes."

Gator stared at you, but you being you didn't wither under his stare - since it was your literal job to be half to almost fully nude in front people. He scoffed again, shaking his head, muttering, "Y're a fuckin' trip." Then stepped into the small shower to crowd against you under the stream, hissing a bit at the heat of it. "Y'normally crank it t' hellfire?"

You laughed, cradling his jaw in your palms, "You'll acclimate."

"So..." He began, arms sliding around your full hips, hands folded together and resting comfortably against the small of your back as you went about lathering his hair. He refrained as best he could from sobbing at the perfect feeling of your nails dragging along his scalp. "Whad'ya wanna know?"

Gator talked as little as possible about himself, but you weren't deterred.

Getting clean and chatting until the water ran cold he learned you were from a small nowhere town in Indiana that claimed it was cursed, which you didn't believe but you also didn't want to stick around to find out if it was true after learning about the freak events that took the lives of hundreds of citizens between 1983 and 1987. He learned when your grandmother died and everyone was squabbling over inheritance, you took the only thing you wanted: her cook book. You yapped and yapped as the conversation continued from getting dressed to the kitchen to find something breakfast worthy. You gave him plenty of room to take over and tell his own stories but he was far too enthralled to interrupt. Breakfast passed and suddenly you were flipping through your grandmother's cookbook with flour and butter encrusted fingers trying to find the right biscuit recipe for strawberry shortcake.

Gator was fucked, he never wanted to leave. He couldn't recall a time before when he felt so completely comfortable, at ease enough to be himself.

It was while he was helping to tidy up the kitchen while the biscuits baked when he finally asked if he needed to leave so you could get ready for work to which you shook your head, "So y'really only work three days a week?" He asked.

"Yeah," you shrugged one shoulder, "s'enough to live comfortably."

"Holy shit," he grumbled, finding himself feeling more impressed than jealous.

"Mhm." You smirked, shooing him away to the kitchen adjacent living room, "I could take care of you. You could be my cute little house husband."

A genuine laugh burst from him, startling you both, and causing a blush to creep up Gator's neck and tint his ears red, "Yeah fuckin right." He sprawled along the couch so he could still see you, hands folded behind his head, without a pound of product in his hair, strands fluttered around to frame his face. He looked boyish, he looked happy... Real.

"I would though..." You said as you opened the oven door and bent down to pull out perfectly golden brown biscuits. The biscuits sat on the tray, needing to cool, you turned off the oven and strolled and over to the living room, taking hold of his ankles to situate yourself on the couch and plop his legs on your lap, "I'd take care of you."

The sincerity in your voice, in your eyes, in the way your fingers absentmindedly rubbed along his calves, it almost scared him. It took him a few moments before he shook his head, "Y'don't wanna be part of my life, believe me."

You knew enough about his life even without him telling you much. The first night he came to the Rose, when he was close enough you saw the surname on his tactical vest. You knew enough stories from others, of what sort of man Roy Tillman pretended to be and what sort of man Roy Tillman truly was.

"Then..." You started softly, though your hands clutched him a little harder, "Be a part of mine?" You offered. Gator looked from your hands on his calves to your face, your open, earnest eyes, glittering with hope. "Forget all your shit, at least while you're with me..."

Gator didn't have to think twice as he swiftly pulled you on top of him, sealing the deal with a kiss...

.

Weeks went by, the routine stayed the same, only now the days began with good morning texts and ended with goodnight texts from Gator. You texted throughout the night on your off days, selfies doing laundry, a photo of the recipe from your cookbook, a selfie or even a video at the gym because those dancing muscles didn't just maintain themselves.

You sent selfies of your makeup for the night before heading into work. At some point you'd somehow convinced the DJ to have 'Sound of da Police' by KRS-One queued up every night Gator entered the Rusty Rose; playing just enough for Gator to hear, not enough for the rest of the patrons to catch wise. He'd roll his eyes but it secretly made him feel special in a dumb tummy swoopy kind of way he'd never, ever admit out loud.

Gator learned you weren't just naturally a pretty face and body, you worked hard for it. You preferred staying in to cook over going out to eat, you preferred meals over snacks. Though there were times Gator was able to convince you to go to a greasy spoon diner just for fries with a thick ass chocolate shake.

He knew your closet was separated into work clothes and casual wear, work clothes took up 75% of the real estate in your closet, everything organized by sets and color, it was the vast collection of platform heels that really stunned him. Somehow he'd also learned the meticulous way you did laundry, the different detergents and fabric softeners, endless garment bags to keep your lingerie from getting tangled together or around the agitator.

Gator loved the familiarity of it. He loved the way that no one from the Sheriff's office knew about you; you were just for him, something special and all his own. Though, given the way he was raised, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to lose interest... But you never did. You always had a smile for him, you always cradled his face in your palms like your truly cherished him. If you didn't see him during the day you always sent a text and a picture, sometimes you'd text him to pick up the leftovers in the fridge because they were specifically for him, and he'd find a sticky note with your lip print on it with whatever dark lipstick you were wearing that evening. Again, no one would ever know about that stupid swoopy tummy feeling he got, or that he had a collection of your sticky notes accumulating on his sun visor kept in place with paperclips.

Months passed. His schedule would change from nights to days but he'd still find a way to see you, or let you know he was thinking of you. Sometimes there was takeout in the fridge with a clumsily scribbled 'eat before you sleep - Gator ' on a sticky note. Sometimes he'd accidentally leave one of his hoodies on your bed so you could at least have his scent to sleep next to. Sometimes he'd send a text message with an image of his hand pulling something familiar and lacy from his pocket; the pocket on his right side, of course, because that was the side with the thigh holster. And you'd send back several drooling emoji faces.

It didn't have a label. It was unspoken. You were his girl. He was your guy. You were content with what it was. In the quiet early morning hours after work or during a day off, with sleep just out of reach, you wondered how you could sweep Gator off his feet and away from his shitty father. Going so far as to considering going back to your Indiana hometown... Gator wouldn't fit in at all, neither would you, in fact, but it might be... Nice? Maybe the coast? Had Gator ever been to a beach? Shit, when was the last time you went to a beach? What about passports? Then you'd get frustrated at the domesticity creeping in and grab your phone to flick through the numerous photos you'd saved of Gator and rub one out until sleep finally took you...

Then came the chill of winter, and with it, the weeks of strange silence. Weeks of short, cryptic responses, or worse, no answer at all, when you texted:

Hey Cutie, visiting the Rose 🌹 tonight?

Hey Cutie, wanna come over? Miss you 🐊

Hey Cutie!! Happy Halloween 🎃 you missed a helluva show at the Rose (Image attached: a group mirror pic of you dressed as a sexy Jack Skellington in the center and six other girls dressed as various other sexy versions of Nightmare Before Christmas characters)

Hey Cutie, dinner?

Hey Cutie, miss you, wanna have a sleep over?

Then your final attempt, seated on your couch, your fork pushing food around your plate, disinterested, Gator's hoodie was starting to lose its smell but you still wore it for warmth and comfort:

Hey Cutie, you're kinda freaking me out, you okay?

Where the fuck was he if he wasn't with you? Was it clingy? Maybe a bit. But it had become routine. Your routine. You sighed, giving up on dinner, scraping the contents of your plate into the trash bin, putting the plate into the dishwasher.

But you got a reply. A ping from your phone you tried not to get too excited about, though you legitimately sprinted back to the couch to unlock your phone screen, stomach dropping again when it was a short, weird reply:

Hey baby. I'm fine. Sorry bout all this.

And that was the last you heard of him til you got a call from a goddamn FBI agent. At first you didn't believe it, who would these days? Scammers and all? But the whole story was revealed to you, the whole life Gator had when he wasn't with you, the terror, the horror. With the extent of his injuries, they asked you if would open your home to him for his house arrest. The details weren't ironed out yet, he had a lot of healing and recovery in the hospital before court dates, but the FBI was working to get a lighter sentence, hopefully landing on house arrest.

You couldn't help but ask why you? You hadn't heard from him since that last text, hadn't seen him in weeks.

The agent then explained that in Gator's phone you were the most recent message, a draft that didn't send: I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't say it sooner. I love you baby.

You were stunned. Justifiably so. Stunned enough that the agent thought the call was dropped so you hastily replied that you were still there... Just what the fuck were you supposed to say...?

.

.

.

It was spring time when Gator Tillman was released from the hospital, his plea deal accepted, and he was headed in for five years of house arrest.

He was blind now, what the fuck did he care? He only cooperated with the feds because that's what Roy deserved, the full extent of the law. He was probably headed for a group home of other disabled criminals, since Tillman Ranch, as a whole, was evidence in Roy's still open case. What a fucking joke. He doesn't talk to anyone. Doesn't ask for anyone's help. He only accepts the home health nurse's arm because he has no idea where he's going.

"One step." The nurse warns while a door opens on a squeaking hinge.

His other senses truly had heightened. The squeaky door hinge would need to be fixed, that's for damn sure. He's guided into the home, and the smell suddenly hits him: a recently home cooked meal, the fresh linen scent of clean laundry, a vanilla candle that never seemed to lose wax or wick despite being burnt all year round.

He hadn't smelled that specific scent in so long, too long. The scent that instantly softened his stiff posture, the scent that helped him remove his mask off, the scent that held his jaw in gentle, careful, trembling hands... "Hey cutie, welcome home."