works of emily

you manage to avoid steve for the first three days you’re in hawkins. you spend some much needed time with your family; watching christmas movies, looking at the christmas lights, baking cookies.

you don’t see steve once. the physical version of him, at least. but everywhere you go, you feel his presence lingering from old memories. all over town. in the grocery store aisles. the sidewalks. the familiar cracks in the road.

now it’s the night of christmas eve, and all you have to do is make it through one more day.

you fall asleep on the couch after making a bottle of wine disappear, the faint sound of christmas music playing on the radio. your front door slams shut, followed by a startled, “shit, sorry.” dustin stands in the doorway, shoulders hunched.

you rub your eyes. “what time is it?”

“almost 9.”

you sit up. “how’d you get home?”

dustin hesitates like he already knows you won’t like the answer. “…steve.”

oh. of course. you nod. “okay.”

he starts toward his room, but you stop him. “dustin.” he turns slowly. “did he see my car in the driveway?”

he cringes. “yes.”

you fall back against the couch. “fuck.”

he lingers awkwardly, unsure what he can say that won’t make things worse.

you stand and go to the window. you move the curtain only an inch. and just as you expected, steve’s car sits outside. his silhouette is visible in the driver’s seat. hands tight around the wheel. shoulders tense.

dustin speaks again, voice softer. “he asked how you were.” there’s something hopeful in his tone. he still thinks miracles can happen.

you shut the curtain. “want some ice cream?”

dustin nods, “always.” but he’s still watching you like he’s afraid you’re going to shatter.

you eat in comfortable silence. wash the bowls. go about normal tasks like your heart isn’t about to jump out of your chest.

but something forces you back to the window. something in your stomach. you pull the curtain aside again.

the car is still there.

but steve isn’t.

your head turns instinctively, scanning the street.

and then you see him, pacing the sidewalk.

your breath catches.

he walks back and forth along a short strip of snow, carving out a path that looks worn from repetition. his hair is damp from the falling snow, curls sticking to his forehead. he’s wearing a jacket way too thin for the weather. his posture is folded in, shoulders hunched from weight you can’t see but can feel.

even through the dim light of the flickering streetlamp, you see the exhaustion in his face. not just tiredness- heaviness. strain. the look of someone who’s been carrying a weight on their shoulders for far too long.

he drags a hand over his face, pressing his thumb into his brow like he’s trying to push away a headache that never leaves. he stops and glances toward your house, hope flickering in his eyes.

then he shakes his head at himself and keeps pacing.

your stomach drops.

you step back from the window.

dustin appears beside you quietly. “he looks like shit.”

you swallow. “yeah.”

a few moments later, a knock comes. soft. uneven.

“do you want me to get it?” dustin whispers.

you shake your head, “it’s okay just—go to your room.”

dustin backs away hesitantly.

you inhale slowly and open the door.

steve stands under the porch light, snow dusting his hair and eyelashes. it’s melting down his cheeks, leaving thin tracks. his nose is red. his lips are pale. his breath is shaky.

he looks wrecked. and small. and scared.

“hey,” he says, voice worn thin. “sorry. i—you didn’t have to open the door.”

up close, it’s even worse.

dark circles shadow his eyes. his jaw is tight with emotion he’s trying too hard to hide. he hasn’t shaved in days, not intentionally, but because he doesn’t seem to care enough to try. his fingers are red and raw, knuckles rubbed almost raw from fidgeting.

“you’ve been out here a long time,” you say quietly.

he lets out a slow breath. “yeah. i didn’t know if i should knock. i walked up to your porch a bunch of times. kept telling myself to leave.” he shakes his head. “that didn’t work, i guess.”

he looks up at you with eyes that are red and wet, full of the kind of vulnerability that makes your heart twist.

“i’m not um—doing great,” he says. the words sound like they escaped him without permission. “i know that’s not your problem anymore. i just… it’s christmas eve. and it felt wrong not to see you.”

you see the truth in him immediately.

he’s unraveling.

he’s been unraveling since the day you left.

and he came here anyway because something inside him refused to let go.

“steve,” you breathe, unsure what to follow it with.

he steps back, sensing your tone. “i’ll go. i didn’t come to make things worse. i just needed… i don’t know,” he shakes his head. “a moment with you. even if it was just standing here.”

he waits. he doesn’t assume anything. he just waits.

you grip the doorframe, fighting the storm inside you.

you should close the door. that’s what you had told yourself over and over on the drive back. you wouldn’t let him back in. you wouldn’t let yourself crack.

but closing the door now feels so cruel. and a part of you will always love him. not the naive love from before. the older one. the bruised one. the love that aches but still exists. the part of you grasps at all the good moments you shared with the boy in front of you.

but there’s another part too. the part that remembers how slowly he chipped away at you. how small the cuts were, but how constant. how deep they eventually went.

that part begs you to shut the door.

your mind spirals.

close it.

don’t close it.

protect yourself.

he looks destroyed.

you don’t have to be the one to fix him.

you can’t watch him fall apart.

if he comes in you might break.

if he leaves you might break too.

your voice shakes, “i don’t know what to do.” you don’t even mean to say it out loud.

his eyes soften, full of apology. “you don’t have to do anything. if you want me to go, i’ll go.”

and that’s the problem.

you don’t want him to go.

you don’t want him to stay.

you want a world that doesn’t require choosing.

but that world doesn’t exist.

your hand tightens on the doorknob. loosens. tightens again.

“either choice is going to hurt,” you whisper.

pain flickers in his eyes. he nods.

he steps back. “i don’t want to hurt you. not more than i already have.”

that hits harder than you expect.

he turns and starts walking down the stairs. each step looks heavier than the last.

when he’s halfway down, something inside you panics.

“hot chocolate.”

he freezes. turns his head just a little.

“hot chocolate,” you repeat, clearing your throat. “do you… want some hot chocolate?”

he blinks at you, confused.

“you don’t have to,” you add quickly. “you just look freezing. and like you said, it’s christmas eve and…i can make some. if you want.”

his breath catches. he nods. “yeah. i… yeah.”

you step back enough for him to walk inside.

you make the hot chocolate while he sits in front of the fireplace. he holds his hands out toward the flames like someone starved for warmth.

you sit at opposite sides of the couch. the silence is thick. neither of you knows how to break it without breaking something else too. your eyes are on him as the fire flickers across his face, softening the exhaustion that has settled there for months.

finally, he clears his throat.

“so,” he says gently, eyes still on the fireplace, “how’s california?”

you stare down at your hands. the ceramic of your mug is too warm against your palms. “it’s good,” you say. “busy. loud. different.”

he nods slowly. “you like it?”

“yeah,” you answer. “i do.”

another pause. a heavier breath.

“are you happier there?”

you look at him then, and his face is already preparing for the worst. you take a breath that hurts all the way down.

“yeah, i am.”

steve swallows hard. the reaction is small, just a tiny falter in his breathing, but you see it anyway. his face cracks in a way that is almost imperceptible, except you have known him too long not to notice.

“good,” he whispers. “i’m glad you’re happy.”

you know that’s not true.

the fire pops. neither of you move.

then steve speaks again, voice barely above a whisper. “can i tell you something?”

you nod.

he stares into the fire like he is afraid to look at you while saying it. “i’m not myself recently,” he says. “i haven’t been, since you left.”

the words settle between you like falling ash.

he exhales a shaky breath. “i think about the breakup every single day. i know that sounds pathetic, but i do. i replay everything. every moment i messed up. every time i should’ve shown up and didn’t. it feels like punishment.”

you close your eyes, because hearing him say it hurts in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“steve,” you start, but he shakes his head.

“no. i need to say it.” he finally looks at you, and his eyes are red, glassy, exhausted. “i keep thinking if i’d done things differently, you wouldn’t have left. not just me. hawkins too—your family. dustin. every time that kid hears someone mention you he just gets so sad, and it’s all my fault,” his voice breaks.

you feel something tighten inside you, something old and bruised.

you set your mug down, because your hands are trembling. “i care about you, steve,” you say quietly. “i always will. that isn’t the problem.”

he watches you with a kind of desperate hope that twists your stomach.

“but caring doesn’t erase everything else,” you continue. “it doesn’t undo the way you hurt me. and i can’t keep doing this. not with you sitting in front of me looking like this. not with me feeling everything i tried so hard to let go of. i need you to—” a tear slips down your cheek. you don’t wipe it away. “I need you to move on, steve.”

steve nods, once, like someone accepting a verdict they already knew was coming. his jaw trembles, but he forces it still.

“i’m trying,” he whispers. he meets your eyes one more time, searching for something. he doesn’t find it. “i’ll try harder.”

the quiet that follows is thick, heavy, final.

you stand. he stands too. neither of you knows who moves first.

you walk him to the door.

he slips on his jacket slowly, carefully, like he’s savoring every moment in your presence, because he knows that it will be his last. when he steps out onto the porch, the cold air hits him immediately, warmth of the hot cocoa long gone. the warmth of you slipping away fast. snow is falling in soft flakes around him, catching in his hair.

for a moment, all you can hear is your own heartbeat.

“merry christmas, steve,” you whisper.

he looks at you with a smile so sad it almost doesn’t look like a smile at all. “merry christmas, y/n.”

he doesn’t turn around right away. he just stands there, staring at you, long enough for your eyes to sting again, long enough for a lifetime of memories to pass through that tiny gap between you.

you take a breath that feels like breaking. “please don’t call me.”

his face folds. not dramatically. just a small, quiet collapse of something inside him.

he nods, lip quivering unapologetically as he mutters a small, “i won’t.”

you nod too, even though nothing feels understandable at all.

then you close the door.

————

eddie huffed out a breath that almost counted as a laugh. he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt nervous.

you checked the time, "well, i should let you two get to it. have fun with... whatever it is you guys do.” you ruffled your brothers hair, "see you later twerp."

eddie watched you walk back to your car. only for a second, he told himself. only long enough to make sure you didn’t slip on the ice.

dustin started walking toward the school entrance. “come on, we’re late.”

eddie snapped out of it. “right. yes. lateness. tragic.”

he followed dustin inside, trying to shake whatever strange feeling had settled between his ribs. it didn’t make sense. you were just dustin’s sister. someone normal. someone who belonged in bright hallways and perfect friend groups and warm houses that smelled like cinnamon.

still, as he walked through the doors, he found his mind drifting back to the way you said his name. casual. kind. unbothered. like knowing him wasn’t strange or surprising.

he hated how much that affected him.

he also loved it.

and for the rest of the night, even while he narrated dramatic battles and threw dice across the table, something in the back of his mind kept circling back to you standing in the cold, smiling at him like he was someone worth meeting.

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the next week, just when eddie had finally forced himself to get his 60 second conversation with you out of his head, he saw you again.

it was lunchtime, the cafeteria buzzing with the usual noise, fluorescent lights flickering just enough to be annoying. eddie was at the hellfire table, half-lounging in his seat while dustin argued with mike about some rule they absolutely did not need to be arguing about.

eddie wasn’t listening. he was stirring the lukewarm mac and cheese on his tray, trying not to think about anything that wasn’t dice or music or how many more months he had left in this place.

then the room shifted.

or maybe he did.

you walked in with nancy wheeler, robin buckley, and a couple of the effortlessly cool kids who floated from table to table like they had all the time in the world. you were laughing at something nancy said, your hand brushing lightly against her arm, your whole face bright in a way he hadn’t noticed outside the cold parking lot.

today you were wearing a soft sweater tucked into jeans that fit you perfectly, boots that clicked against the linoleum floor, and your hair looked like you actually did something to it this morning instead of just rolling out of bed. your cheeks were warm from the heat inside, your makeup subtle but intentional, and there was a shine in your eyes when you smiled.

you looked put together. you looked happy. you looked like someone who belonged in warm rooms and soft places.

you looked perfect.

eddie tried to tear his gaze away, but it was useless. he watched you ease into the crowd like you knew exactly where to exist, like the world made room for you without question. every gesture you made was gentle, warm, sure of itself. you listened when people spoke, nodding softly, leaning in. you laughed with your whole mouth, not the tight, polite smile he saw on so many others.

it was painfully clear that you lived in a universe he did not.

sitting at that chipped hellfire table, surrounded by dice and doodles and crumbs from dustin’s granola bar, eddie felt something in him sink a little. not jealousy. not sadness. just… reality.

there was no version of life where someone like you ended up in orbit with someone like him. the gap between your worlds wasn’t just big. it was fact.

he told himself it didn’t matter. he barely knew you. you probably didn’t remember his name.

and then you looked at him.

not in a fleeting way. not in a polite, accidental way.

your eyes searched the room, landed on him, and softened.

eddie’s heart stuttered.

dustin noticed him go oddly still. “what are you staring at? do you see a ghost? is that why you look like that?”

eddie didn’t answer. he couldn’t. you were already moving, weaving around tables and backpacks, walking straight toward them.

mike frowned. “why is she coming over here?”

lucas shrugged. “maybe dustin forgot something at home again.”

dustin lit up. “hey! my sister’s here.”

eddie swallowed hard. he tried to sit normally, but suddenly he had no idea what his hands were supposed to be doing. his ring caught on the corner of his notebook as he shoved it aside, and he forced his gaze downward like maybe, if he didn’t look directly at you, he wouldn’t humiliate himself.

you stopped at the edge of the table, your smile as warm as it had been across the room.

“hey, guys,” you said, then shifted your gaze to eddie. “hi, eddie.”

eddie felt the word hi hit somewhere low in his stomach.

“oh. uh. hey.” he cleared his throat. “you’re… here.”

smooth. perfect. excellent delivery, he thought miserably.

you laughed under your breath, the sound soft and kind, not mocking. “just grabbing lunch. saw you over here.”

dustin elbowed him without looking. “say hi back. you look like you just got hit by a bus.”

eddie kicked him under the table.

you didn’t notice their bickering. your attention stayed on him, which was enough to scramble his entire internal wiring.

“how was your meeting last week?” you asked.

for a moment, eddie forgot what meeting meant. then the cardboard dragon head flashed in his memory and he snapped back.

“oh. hellfire? yeah. good. the usual. chaos and violence.”

your smile widened. “sounds about right.”

eddie nodded too fast.

you didn’t linger long. just long enough to say hi. long enough to look at him in a way he wasn’t used to. long enough to make the room feel warmer for reasons he refused to think about.

“i’ll see you around,” you said lightly.

and then you walked back to your group, effortlessly slipping into conversation with nancy again.

eddie watched you go, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

the distance between your table and his suddenly felt larger than the whole school.

mike leaned over the table. “dude. are you okay? you look weird.”

eddie dragged a hand through his hair and reached for the nearest ridiculous distraction. “mike, everything about me looks weird.”

dustin added, “yeah, that’s just how he is.”

but eddie wasn’t listening anymore.

you remembered him. you sought him out. you said his name like it meant something to you.

and that was the moment eddie munson realized he had a much bigger problem than a d&d campaign to run.

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the next few weeks of eddie's life seemed to be that of a dream. he didn't know how or why, but you and him became friends.

real friends. not the kind where you wave in the hallway and forget each other exist. the kind where you gravitate toward each other without meaning to.

it started small.

a simple “hey eddie” in the hallway. a smile when you saw him at his locker. a conversation started in the cafeteria that made him choke on his soda because you were actually talking to him.

then the small things became normal.

you showed up early to pick up dustin and ended up talking to eddie for fifteen straight minutes about music. you asked him what songs he was working on with the band. you complimented a drawing in his notebook.

after that, everything shifted.

he didn’t say it out loud, but he started timing his walks between classes so he might run into you. and somehow, you did.

almost every day.

you’d catch him leaning against a column in the hallway, pretending to be interested in whatever mike was rambling about. but the second he saw you approaching, eddie’s whole posture changed. he straightened. tried to look casual. failed.

“morning, eddie,” you’d say.

two words. simple. soft.

they held him together for the rest of the day.

after school became its own ritual.

if you were around when dustin finished hellfire, you stayed for a bit. sometimes you sat on the steps with eddie while dustin ran inside to get something. sometimes you talked through the open door of his van while he packed up his things.

the first time you leaned into the passenger window to ask him how his day was, eddie had to grip the steering wheel with both hands to stay grounded. you smelled like vanilla and laundry detergent. clean. warm. safe.

nothing in eddie’s life had ever felt safe.

he didn’t understand why you made him feel that way.

and then there were the conversations.

you talked to him like he was normal. not like the freak. not like the strange metalhead who lived in a trailer. not like the kid who failed senior year twice.

you asked him things. real things. what he wanted to do after school. why he liked d&d so much. what his songs were about.

and every time he answered, you listened.

eddie wasn’t used to that.

he wasn’t used to being looked at the way you looked at him. like he had value. like he mattered.

he knew he shouldn’t get attached. he reminded himself constantly that people like you didn’t end up with people like him.

but he couldn’t stop soaking you in.

your smile became his favorite sight. your laugh became a sound he listened for. your presence became something his body reacted to before his brain caught up.

and the worst part, the part that hollowed him out a little more each day, was that you were just being friendly.

nothing more.

eddie knew that. he felt it in every second he spent beside you. you weren’t flirting. you weren’t hinting at anything. you weren’t like that.

you were just kind.

and kindness, for eddie munson, was the most dangerous thing of all.

he fell in love with the little things first.

the way you tucked your feet under you when you sat on the steps. the way you talked with your hands. the way you laughed with your whole chest when he said something stupid. the way you didn’t hesitate to touch his arm when you were getting his attention.

one afternoon, you reached up to brush away a curl that kept falling into his face while he was trying to explain a campaign idea.

eddie forgot what a sentence was. his brain simply shut down.

you didn’t notice. of course you didn’t.

the obsession arrived quietly, disguised as friendship.

he found himself thinking about you during math class. he replayed your conversations when he was alone in his trailer. he carried the sound of your voice with him into every room he went into.

he thought about you during hellfire. i mean, how insane was that?

and every single day, the same thought echoed through him:

he didn’t stand a chance.

you were bright and soft and hopeful. you were the kind of person whose future stretched wide and open. you belonged in a big house with good lighting and holiday dinners and framed photos on mantelpieces.

eddie belonged nowhere.

so he kept himself in check. he kept his hands to himself. he never said anything that could be taken the wrong way.

because having you as a friend was better than not having you at all. and he would take whatever scraps of your time he could get.

he wasn’t stupid enough to imagine more.

but late at night, staring at the ceiling of his room, he let himself ache.

just a little.

he let himself imagine what it would feel like to belong to someone like you. to touch your hand and not pull away. to sit beside you without feeling like he needed to hide half of himself.

dreams were safer than reality.

dreams couldn’t reject him.

so eddie dreamed. and during the day, he smiled when you smiled, laughed when you called his name, and convinced himself that friendship was enough.

even when he knew it wasn’t.

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eddie had never put this much effort into getting dressed. he would deny it if anyone asked, but he stood in front of his mirror for a solid ten minutes before leaving the trailer.

a clean black sweater. dark jeans without holes. actual product in his hair.

he told himself it was because it was a holiday gathering.

it wasn’t. it was because you would be there.

the wheelers’ house glowed like it had been dipped in gold. warmth, lights, garland, the works. eddie stepped inside and immediately felt out of place - not in the sad, familiar way, but in a new, startlingly vulnerable one.

then he saw you.

and everything in him went quiet.

you were wearing a deep red sweater that fit you perfectly, soft and warm looking. the lights caught the shine in your hair. your lips had a soft shine to them. your face glowed in a way that wasn’t even fair.

eddie forgot how to breathe.

“eddie,” you said, walking toward him, eyes lighting up when they landed on him. “you look really nice.”

eddit blinked. “oh. uh… yeah. you too. you look…” he swallowed, “…yeah.”

you laughed softly. not at him. never at him. just warm, easy laughter.

dustin was across the room, watching. staring. squinting.

eddie didn’t notice.

as the night went on, eddie found himself drifting in and out of conversations, never quite grounded. not when you kept moving through the rooms like sunlight. every time you laughed, he glanced up instinctively. every time he heard your voice, he felt his heart do a flip.

and every single time, dustin saw him.

he watched the way eddie angled his body when you were near. he watched the way eddie’s eyes softened around the edges. he watched the way eddie stopped talking mid-sentence when you came close. he watched the way eddie tried, badly, to pretend he wasn’t watching you.

dustin’s mouth slowly fell open.

oh. ohhhhhhhh.

how did he not see it sooner?

Eddie Munson was in love with his sister.

Dustin stared at him, stunned, as if he’d discovered some rare, tragic creature in the wild.

Eddie didn’t notice. He was too busy pretending not to stare at you.

when the crowd thinned and the music softened, you found him near the staircase, hands tucked in his pockets.

“can i steal you for a sec?” you asked.

eddie nodded immediately. “yeah. anything. I mean. not anything. just- yes, you can.”

dustin, from the couch, slapped a hand over his face.

you led him to a quiet spot near the tree, warm light spilling over both of you.

“i got you something,” you said softly, like you were nervous.

eddie blinked rapidly. “you did? why?”

“because you’re my friend. and it’s christmas. i hear that people give gifts around this time of year,” you joke, lightening the mood a little.

he grins, and his shoulders relax a little. “right, i’ve heard that too.”

you reached behind the couch and pulled a guitar case into view.

eddie froze.

“open it,” you said.

his hands shook slightly as he clicked open the latches.

inside was one of the most beautiful acoustic guitars he had ever seen. honey colored wood. crisp steel strings. perfect.

he inhaled sharply.

“do you like it?” you asked.

eddie nodded, speechless. “i- wow. I love it. you didn't have to do this."

you stepped closer, heartwarming smile on you face, "sure, but I wanted to."

dustin, halfway across the room pretending not to stare, mouthed holy shit.

eddie cleared his throat once he could speak again. “i, uh… i got you something too.”

you looked genuinely surprised. “you did?”

he pulled a small wrapped object from his pocket. nothing compared to a guitar. nothing at all. he felt embarrassment flush his neck.

but he gave it to you anyway.

you opened the paper gently. inside was a hand-painted cassette tape, decorated with tiny stars and vines, the label reading: songs that made me think of you.

your breath caught. “eddie… this is amazing.”

he rubbed the back of his neck. “it’s really not. but… i wanted you to have something.”

you smiled at him. that soft, slow smile that always killed him a little.

you stepped in without hesitation and hugged him.

eddie froze, then sank into it, arms circling you carefully like you were porcelain. your cheek pressed against his shoulder. your hair brushed his collarbone. you held him tight.

and Dustin Henderson, across the room, felt his jaw drop even further.

because Eddie wasn’t just in love. he was utterly ruined.

you pulled back, hands lingering on his arms.

“merry christmas, eddie,” you murmured.

he swallowed. “merry christmas.”

you left to join Nancy again, cassette in your back pocket.

eddie stood there, staring after you with the softened eyes of a man who had no idea how he was supposed to survive himself.

Dustin approached slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“hey man,” he whispered, looking up at him.

eddie snapped out of his daze. “what?”

Dustin studied him for a long moment. too long.

then he whispered, half horrified, half sympathetic:

“you’re in love with her.”

eddie’s face went white.

“no i’m not,” he said immediately.

dustin blinked. “eddie. i’m not blind.”

eddie cleared his throat, ripping his gaze away from where you stood laughing with nancy.

“she’s your sister, man,” he muttered. “just drop it.”

but dustin didn’t.

because he finally saw it.

every lingering glance. every soft smile. every skipped breath.

and for the first time, dustin didn’t tease him.

he just whispered:

“you're done for."

eddie closed his eyes.

“yeah,” he breathed, almost too softly to hear, “i know.”

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eddie didn’t sleep that night.

he tried.

he lay on his back in the dark of his room, staring at the ceiling, hands folded on his chest, christmas lights still faintly glowing through the trailer window. he tried closing his eyes. he tried breathing slow. he even tried counting goddamn sheep.

none of it worked.

his mind kept circling back to you.

to the way you looked under the christmas tree lights. to the way you hugged him. to the way your voice softened when you said his name. to the cassette tape held tightly in your hand- a gift he’d been terrified to give. to the guitar sitting in the corner, glowing even in the dark like some impossible dream.

he rolled onto his side, exhaling sharply.

he shouldn’t feel like this. he had no right to. you weren’t his. you were never going to be his.

and still, you filled every corner of his mind.

eddie groaned and sat up, running a hand through his hair. sleep wasn’t coming. not tonight. not with the memory of your arms still lingering on his skin.

his eyes drifted toward the guitar case propped against his desk.

it felt like it was calling to him.

slowly, he climbed out of bed, crossed the room barefoot, and opened it. the acoustic guitar looked even more beautiful than it had at the wheelers’ house. warm wood, smooth neck, strings untouched.

you chose this for him.

you believed he’d make something with it.

that thought alone almost knocked him over.

eddie sat on the edge of his bed, pulled the guitar into his lap, and just held it for a moment. his fingers brushed the strings lightly, almost afraid to make sound.

then he reached for a pen and the battered pad of paper he kept under his bedside table.

he didn’t intend to write anything important. he never did. songs usually spilled out of him without warning, messy and frantic, fueled by adrenaline or rage or noise.

this one didn’t come like that.

this one came slow. heavy. honest.

eddie tapped the end of the pen against the page, staring down at the blank sheet, jaw tight.

he thought of you laughing from across the room. he thought of you leaning into him without hesitation. he thought of the way you looked at him like he wasn’t a disappointment or a freak or a cautionary tale.

his chest ached.

he wrote the first line before he could stop himself.

well, he’s a loose cannon…

eddie paused.

his throat felt thick.

he wasn’t writing a character. he wasn’t writing a metaphor. he was writing himself.

and once that truth settled, the rest came easier, like the pen moved on its own.

she’s a shoe-tied, blue sky, honeymoon vacation…

he scoffed softly, shaking his head, because of course that was you. bright. effortless. put together. everything he wasn’t and never could be.

he kept going.

he’s a fixer-upper… she’s a friday night…

lyrics spilled out in uneven lines, scratched out and rewritten, smudged where his hand dragged across the page. he worked through the night, guitar resting against his knee, picking out quiet melodies under his breath.

every contrast he wrote was a truth he didn’t want to face.

you were warmth. he was cold. you were gentle. he was rough around the edges. you were hopeful. he was trying not to drown. you were everything bright he never thought he’d get close to.

and he kept writing anyway.

hours passed like minutes. the sky outside turned from black to deep blue.

eddie sat hunched over his notebook, hair falling around his face, eyes tired but burning.

each line hurt. but each line was a truth he needed to face.

and somewhere between one lyric and the next, his hand stilled. he stared down at what he’d written, heart pounding hard enough to shake him.

because this wasn’t just a song.

this was him admitting something he didn’t want to admit.

this was him saying:

i love her. i love her so much it terrifies me. i love her, and she will never love me back. but god, i love her anyway.

eddie closed the notebook carefully, almost reverently, as if shutting it might quiet the ache inside him.

it didn’t.

he set the guitar aside and lay back on the bed, staring at the dim blue light slipping through the curtains.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· ·

eddie went MIA for the next two days. no school, no dealing, no anything that involved leaving his trailer of solitude. he couldn't face you. not yet.

he tried distracting himself with television, with rolling a few dice, with reorganizing a stack of tapes on his desk. but every single thing he touched reminded him of you.

your smile. your laugh. your hug in front of the christmas tree. your hands on the gift he’d made you. the soft glow on your skin as you said merry christmas, eddie.

he had written until his hand cramped. he had played until his fingertips stung. he had replayed every moment of the past few weeks until his heart felt bruised.

and he still couldn’t breathe right.

so when someone knocked, sharp and sudden, he jolted like he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

he opened the door and there you were.

hood up. cheeks pink from the cold. worry written across your face.

“hey stranger,” you said lightly, even though your eyes searched his like you were looking for injuries.

eddie stepped aside. “yeah. hey. come in.”

you walked into the trailer, shedding your coat, glancing around the cluttered space with a softness that made eddie’s throat ache.

“you okay?” you asked.

eddie nodded. then shook his head. then nodded again.

“yeah, i’m just… tired.”

you gave him a look that said you didn’t buy that for a second, but you didn’t press. you just sat on his couch and patted the cushion beside you.

“come sit.”

he did, heart hammering way too hard for something so simple.

you talked for a while about nothing. dustin. school. the wheelers’ terrible eggnog. while you spoke, eddie kept glancing at the notebook on the floor: the one filled with lyrics he never meant for you to see.

which, of course, meant you noticed.

“what’s that?” you asked, leaning forward before he could stop you.

eddie scrambled, literal panic in his chest, and grabbed the notebook so fast it made you blink.

“okay,” you said slowly, smiling, “that was dramatic.”

eddie hugged the notebook to his chest. “it’s private.”

“so is everything you hide under laundry piles.”

he swallowed. “it’s… not ready.”

“is it a song?”

eddie stared at the floor. “yeah.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “will you play it for me?”

“no.”

“why not?”

“because.”

“eddie…”

he looked up (mistake) because your expression was soft and earnest and just a little pleading. he could never deny you anything. not even this. not even the truth disguised as a melody.

he sighed, defeated. “fine. but you have to sit still. no faces. no comments.”

“i would never,” you lied sweetly.

eddie grabbed the acoustic guitar— your guitar—and sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over it like he could hide behind the wood.

his hands shook as he positioned his fingers. the notebook sat open beside him, pages full of the words he wished he’d never written.

he didn’t look at you.

he started to play.

softly at first, then with more confidence as the chords fell into place. his voice came next, low and careful, almost trembling.

and he sang the song you gave him the lyrics for, the one he’d poured his heart into without meaning to.

your heart began to pound as the words washed over you:

“well, he's a loose cannon, foolish man who needs some medication she's a shoe-tied, blue sky, honeymoon vacation he's a fixer-upper, skipping supper, hates an obligation she's a friday night he's a bad dream, nicotine, druggie complication she's a peace sign, tea time, drinker on occasion he's an east coast, jeans rolled, no communication she's a welcome sign…”

you froze.

every line was him. every line was you. every contrast was painfully, beautifully obvious.

eddie kept going, voice wavering at the edges:

“but i believe they're meant to be something, somehow, someday…”

your breath caught. the realization hit you.

he wasn’t just singing a song.

he was telling you a secret.

the secret.

the one he’d been burying under jokes and distance.

your eyes lifted to him.

eddie was staring at the notebook, refusing to meet your gaze, jaw clenched so tight it shook. his fingers trembled on the guitar strings. his breathing faltered only once, when your knee brushed his.

but he kept playing.

“he’s a ford truck, door shut, runs from conversation she’s an open ear, souvenir, reads the situation…”

you knew. you knew.

his posture. his shaking hands. the way his voice cracked right before the next line. the way he refused to look at you even once.

this wasn’t a song about two fictional opposites.

this was about you. and him. and everything between you he had never said.

tears stung your eyes without warning.

eddie reached the end, voice barely above a whisper:

“…something, somehow, someday.”

the last chord rang through the trailer, vibrating through the air until it faded into silence.

eddie lowered the guitar immediately, setting it aside like it burned him. he still didn’t look up. his curls fell forward, hiding half his face, but you could see the tension in every muscle.

his hands twisted together.

his knee bounced.

his breathing was uneven.

your voice came out small but certain.

“eddie… it’s about me.”

his head snapped up, eyes wide with something between panic and heartbreak.

“no,” he said too fast. “no, it’s… it’s just a song. i just wrote it when I was.. drunk, and high. it’s nothing. you’re reading into it.”

“eddie,” you repeated softly, “it’s about me.”

he froze.

the truth hung between you, electric and fragile.

you waited.

eddie swallowed hard, eyes flicking to every corner of the room except your face. “i shouldn’t have played it for you.”

“why not?”

“because,” he whispered, “you weren’t supposed to know.”

“know what?”

he pressed his lips together, chest rising and falling too quickly.

“that i… that i care about you more than i should,” he said, voice shaking. “that you’re the only thing i can think about. that i wake up and your face is already in my head. that when you hugged me at the party i felt like i was dying. that i… god, i’m so in love with you it makes me feel sick.”

the words tumbled out of him before he could stop them.

silence.

your breath caught.

eddie looked like he’d just handed you the knife to kill him with. he gave you no time to finish him off.

“i know you don’t feel that way,” he said, voice breaking. “i know i’m not… i’m not the kind of guy you want. i know i’m nothing compared to the people in your world. but i had to get it out somehow. and the song was the only way.”

you stared at him, stunned.

eddie exhaled, shaking.

“so, yeah,” he whispered. “it’s about you.”

the room was warm. the air was still. and your heart had never beaten harder.

silence filled the trailer. warm, heavy, almost buzzing. you replayed everything in your mind. every moment with him. every laugh. every touch. every look. every quiet shift that now made perfect sense.

eddie watched the silence stretch and misunderstood every second of it.

your shock. your breathlessness. your searching eyes.

he thought it was rejection.

he stood up quickly, pain slicing through his expression even though he tried to hide it. he nodded once, already backing away.

“it's okay,” he said, voice thin and breaking. “you can go. really. i should not have said any of that.”

you looked up, startled, and grabbed his wrist before he could take another step.

“eddie.”

he froze like you had pinned him to the floor with a spell.

you tugged gently, guiding him back down. he resisted for half a heartbeat before sitting beside you again, muscles locked tight, shoulders curled inward like he was waiting for the final blow.

your hand stayed on his wrist. warm. steady. not letting him pull away.

silence returned, but now it felt different. thicker. charged. full of something unspoken that neither of you knew how to hold.

eddie stared at the floor. “please do not look at me like that. like you feel bad for me. i cannot take that.”

you didn't answer.

instead, you moved.

you shifted closer, one slow inch at a time. then your knee touched his thigh. then your abdomen brushed his forearm. then you swung one leg over his lap and settled there lightly.

eddie went perfectly still.

your hands rested on his shoulders. his breath caught somewhere high in his chest and stayed there.

he whispered, barely audible, “you do not have to do this.”

you leaned in until your forehead nearly touched his. “i know.”

your fingers traced the curve of his jaw. he flinched at the intimacy, not out of fear but disbelief. no one had ever touched him like this. like he was wanted.

you looked at him for a long moment, scanning his face as if you were memorizing it. every freckle. every scar. every piece of him he wished he could hide.

you lifted his chin gently. “eddie,” you said, voice soft but certain. “look at me.”

his eyes met yours, scared and hopeful all at once.

you held his face in both hands. “i wish you had told me sooner. i care about you so much. more than you think.”

eddie blinked, stunned. “you… do?”

“yes.” your forehead brushed his, warm and grounding. “you're so good for me. you always have been. you're kind and steady and honest. you make me feel safe. you make me laugh. you are exactly the person i want to spend time with.”

his breath shuddered, disbelief flickering across his features. “i didn't think i could be that for you.”

“you are,” you whispered. “you have been from the beginning.”

his hands rose again, hesitant but drawn to you, resting at your waist like he was afraid you might fade if he held you too tightly.

you leaned closer, your nose grazing his. “you're perfect for me, eddie. you should know that.”

his eyes softened in a way you had never seen before, like something inside him finally settled.

you felt his heartbeat under your palms.

then, quietly, almost like he was afraid to break the moment, he said, “can i ask you something.”

you nodded, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “anything.”

he swallowed, voice trembling but clear. “can i kiss you?”

you smiled, slow and sure, your lips inches from his.

“i was hoping you would.”

eddie kissed you like he had been waiting his entire life for permission.

slow at first. careful. reverent. his lips moved against yours with aching gentleness, as if the world might collapse if he pushed too hard. his hands tightened on your waist, not to pull you in, but to anchor himself to the moment.

you kissed him back. fully. warmly. without hesitation.

eddie made a soft sound in the back of his throat, something broken and relieved and unbelievably tender, and the kiss deepened naturally. not rushed. not frantic. just two people finding each other in the quiet.

it was everything he had imagined and nothing like it at all. it was better.

when you finally pulled back, breaths mixing in the small space between you, eddie opened his eyes slowly, like he was afraid this was a dream he might break by moving too fast.

your hands cupped his cheeks. his curls framed your fingers. his lips were slightly pink from kissing you and he looked at you like you had rewritten his entire world.

“eddie,” you whispered again, softer than before.

his voice was hoarse. barely there. “yeah?”

you smiled. small. knowing.

“can you play me the song again?"

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·· ·

It’s loud. Too loud.

Hollywood types fill the room—directors, actors, agents, all talking too fast, laughing too hard. Tom is in his element, shaking hands, flashing that charming grin. You squeeze his arm. “Go socialize, movie star. I’m gonna grab a drink.” 

He hesitates for half a second before kissing your temple. “I won’t be long.”

You nod, already turning toward the bar.

But once you get there, you don’t leave.

One drink turns into two. Two turns into—who’s counting? The ice in your glass melts as you swirl it idly, your mind still elsewhere.

And then, you feel it.

A pair of eyes on you.

You look up, and there he is.

Drew Starkey.

Sitting across the room, leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the back of the booth. He’s watching you, a slow smirk playing on his lips, the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You should look away.

You don’t.

He tilts his head slightly, as if to say, What’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone?

And that’s when you realize it—this is the moment. A moment you experience all too much. The point of no return.

You can get up, find Tom, pretend you never locked eyes with Drew Starkey across a crowded room. You haven’t done anything wrong, yet. 

Or you can pick up your drink, take a sip, and see what happens next.

You don’t look away.

Neither does he.

It’s a game of chicken now, the kind you shouldn’t be playing when your boyfriend is just across the room, laughing it up with his costars. But Drew doesn’t seem to care about that little detail—not with the way his lips curl at the edges, amused, like he already knows exactly how this will play out. 

And then—he stands.

You exhale slowly, turning back to your drink like you don’t notice. Like you don’t feel the heat of his gaze cutting through the crowd as he moves toward you.

A beat. Then, a voice, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

“You looked lonely.”

You glance up. He’s already leaning against the bar, a lazy confidence in the way he takes up space. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of his collarbone, sleeves rolled up in a way that feels entirely calculated.

You arch a brow, playing along. “And you just couldn’t let that stand?”

Drew tilts his head slightly, eyes flickering over your face. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he orders a drink, “Old Fashioned, please,” before turning his full attention back to you.

“Let’s just say I’m a humanitarian.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Saint Drew Starkey, patron of lonely girls at bars.”

He smirks, tapping the rim of his glass before taking a slow sip. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

The conversation is easy, effortless, a kind of push-and-pull that makes something in your chest tighten. You’re intrigued—because of course you are. Because he’s intriguing.

And hot as hell.

You knew that before, in a vague, yeah-he’s-attractive kind of way. But now that he’s right in front of you, now that you can see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his blue eyes flicker under the dim bar lights—yeah, you get it.

He studies you like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing sitting at a bar alone at her boyfriend’s movie premiere?”

There it is.

He knows who you are. He knows who you’re here for. And he’s still standing way too close, still watching you like he wants something.

The smart thing to do would be to laugh, brush him off, go find Tom.

Instead, you tilt your head, tapping a nail against your glass. “Maybe I like a little space.”

Drew hums, like that answer doesn’t surprise him. Like he already knew it.

And then, he leans in—just enough for his voice to drop into something lower, more dangerous.

“Or maybe you’re just looking for an exit.”

Your breath catches. "Is that an observation?" You tilt your head to search his eyes, "or an invitation?"

Drew’s lips twitch like he wasn’t expecting you to match his energy so easily. He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you over the rim before setting the glass down with a quiet clink.

“Depends,” he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his glass. “Would you take it if it was?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. He’s good—too good. The kind of smooth that should make you wary. Key word being should.

Instead, you angle yourself toward him, elbow resting on the bar as you meet his gaze. “You always talk in circles, or is that just for me?”

Drew smirks, tipping his head slightly. “Maybe you make it more fun.”

His voice is easy, teasing, but there’s something beneath it. A challenge. A dare.

Your fingers tap against the bar. You should excuse yourself, find Tom, do anything but sit here, entertaining this.

But instead, you lean in just slightly, close enough that his scent—something sharp, something expensive—wraps around you.

“You think I’m here for fun?” you ask, lips barely curving.

Drew hums, eyes flickering to your mouth before dragging back up. “Here—meaning sitting at this bar with me?”

You nod once, unsure of his angle.

He pretends to think it over, tilting his glass in his hand. Then, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach tighten, he murmurs, “No. I think you’re here because you hate events where you have to pretend to be in love with your boyfriend.”

Your fingers tighten around your drink. The ice clinks against the glass.

Because he isn’t wrong.

And the fact that he sees it so clearly? That should bother you.

But you find yourself leaning in just a little closer. "And what makes you think I’m pretending?"

Drew smirks, slow and knowing. "Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t still be sitting here."

You stare at him, your brain and heart running on overdrive.

You know what should happen next. You should finish your drink, put on a smile, and go find Tom—stand next to him, wrap an arm around his waist, remind yourself that he’s good. That he’s kind, and sweet, and proud of you. That you’re supposed to be his.

But of course, you don’t.

“And if I left?” you ask, voice quiet, just for him. “Would you follow?”

His lips twitch, his amusement barely concealed. “That depends. Are you running?”

Your pulse jumps. You swallow, setting your glass down. 

Because yes. Of course you are. You always do.

Drew watches you carefully, fingers tapping against the bar. He could call your bluff. Could smirk and let you go back to your perfect little life. Could make it easy for you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, close enough for his breath to ghost against your cheek. “You want an exit?” he murmurs. “I’ll give you one.”

You don’t have time to second-guess.

Because suddenly, your feet are moving. Your heart is pounding.

You don’t check to see if Tom notices. You don’t check to see if anyone does. You just slip through the crowd, past glittering gowns and crisp suits and clinking glasses, and push through the doors into the cool night air.

A sleek black car is idling by the curb. The driver barely glances up before stepping out to open the door.

Drew nods at him, then looks at you. A silent question.

You take one last breath of hesitation. One last chance to stop this before it starts.

The second you slide into the car, a laugh bubbles up in your throat—light, breathless, entirely uncontrollable.

Drew gets in after you, shutting the door with a quiet click, and that’s it. You’re gone. No cameras, no flashing lights, no careful smiles. Just the two of you and the city slipping past in a blur.

You press a hand to your lips, still grinning, the adrenaline coursing hot through your veins. This is so bad. Reckless. Messy. But God, it feels good.

Drew watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leans back, stretching an arm along the seat. “You always run this fast?”

You shoot him a look, “Only when there’s something worth running to.” He's good, you've seen that throughout the night. But you know you're better.

His lips twitch, and instead of answering, he reaches forward—plucks a chilled bottle of champagne from the car’s minibar like it was meant for this exact moment. The foil crinkles, the cork pops, and you flinch before giggling again, head tilting back against the seat.

“Jesus,” you exhale, watching as he pours, the bubbles rising in the glass.

Drew smirks, passing one to you. “To running.”

You clink your glass against his, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “To the story of my life," you mumble.

The champagne is cold and sharp against your tongue, fizzing like the thrill still buzzing under your skin. You take another sip, letting your body sink into the moment, into the warmth, into the sheer wrongness of it all.

Drew watches you over the rim of his glass, gaze flickering to your lips before dragging back up. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to.

Because you know.

This is the part where you should hesitate. Where you should remember Tom, the careful life you just stepped out of, the lines you’re about to cross.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, setting your glass aside, hands bracing against the seat as you crawl onto his lap, fabric slipping high on your thighs.

Drew hums, low in his throat, hands finding your waist like it’s second nature. “You move fast.”

You smirk, fingers curling into the undone knot of his tie. “You just noticed?"

Then his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and God help you, you can't remember Tom's name.

The kiss is messy, rushed, all tongue and need, like you’re making up for lost time neither of you even knew you missed. You fist a hand in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

The car takes a sharp turn, and Drew pulls back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, eyes dark. His fingers ghost over your jaw, then trail down, slow, deliberate.

“This is the part," he licks his lips, eyes scanning over your face, "where you tell me if you want to go home, or to the hotel on the end of the street."

You could play coy. You could make him chase. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean in, lips brushing against his, and whisper, “Make sure it's a suite."

The grin that spreads across his face is pure sin. 

The next few minutes are a blur of heat and hands and whispered things you won’t remember in the morning. The car stops, a door opens, and Drew is pulling you out, his grip firm around your wrist.

You follow him through the back entrance, avoiding the glow of security cameras overhead. The way he moves—quick, confident, like he’s done this before—sends a thrill down your spine. Inside, the lobby is quiet, dimly lit. A night worker barely glances up as Drew approaches the desk, exchanging a few low words you can’t quite catch.

It’s the way it happens so smoothly, the way the worker nods without question, slipping him a key card like it’s routine, that has something twisting deep in your stomach.

You should probably wonder. Ask questions. But instead, it just turns you on more.

Drew glances back at you, lips twitching like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He slides the key into his pocket and reaches for your hand, his grip firm, leading you toward the elevators.

The moment the doors slide shut, his hands are on you again—palming at your waist, pressing your back against the cool metal, mouth hungry at the curve of your jaw.

The ride to the top floor is torturous. Every second feels stretched too thin, charged with heat. When the doors open, he doesn’t let go of you, walking backward down the hall like he can’t bear to break the contact.

The second the suite door shuts behind you, Drew’s on you again—his hands firm on your hips, his mouth already seeking yours like he’s been starved for it. His kisses are deep, urgent, but teasing too, like he enjoys dragging this out just to watch you fall apart.

Your fingers work quickly at the buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, reveling in the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He lets you undress him without protest, but his hands aren’t idle—his fingers skim under the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch, teasing.

As he tugs it over your head, he leans in, breath warm against your ear. “You always this impatient, or am I just special?”

You scoff, raking your nails down his chest. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

His low chuckle vibrates against your skin, but he obeys, kicking them off to be long forgotten. The two of you leave a careless trail of clothing across the hardwood floor, stumbling blindly toward the bedroom.

You pull back for a breath, chest rising and falling, but Drew doesn’t let you go far—his lips immediately attach to your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. A sharp sigh escapes you, your head tilting back to give him more access.

Your eyes flick around the room, momentarily distracted. "God, this place is nice," you murmur.

Drew hums against your skin, his lips still working their way lower. “Yeah? You thinking about interior design right now?”

You chuckle, fingers weaving into his hair as you tug lightly, forcing his gaze down to yours. "No, baby, only thinking of you," you tease, looking at him through your lashes.

A slow smirk spreads across his lips, dark and knowing, before his hands slide down to your thighs—gripping firm before lifting you with effortless strength. You barely have time to react before he all but throws you onto the mattress, the plush bedding sinking beneath your weight.

He towers over you, his eyes raking over your body like he’s committing every inch to memory. Then, he tilts his head, voice rough yet laced with amusement. 

"You know," he muses, finger tracing down your bare stomach, dancing around the fabric of your thong. "I don’t feel great about stealing Tom’s girl, especially on the night of his big premiere," he tsks. "He’s a great actor. Seems like a great guy."

You freeze for half a second, your brows lifting as your eyes snap to his. The smirk playing on his lips is lazy, arrogant—like he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to get under your skin.

Your fingers ghost over the waistband of his briefs, "Are you saying you want to stop? Hmm? 'Cause I'm sure he'd be happy to come take your place. I mean, you've already got me all hot and ready for hi-"

Drew lets out a sharp breath—almost a laugh, but darker. His mouth ghosts over your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point as he mutters, "Careful."

Heat pools low in your stomach, and you don’t bother fighting the grin tugging at your lips.

"Then shut up the fuck up about Tom."

He huffs out a low chuckle against your skin. "Who?" 

That’s enough talking, you both decide. 

His lips are slow, teasing, dragging across your skin in a way that has you gasping, hands grasping at him, nails digging into his back. He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every breathy moan he pulls from your lips.

And when he finally gives in, it’s fast and slow all at once—like he can’t get enough of you, but also wants to make this last. His touch is firm, controlled, but there’s a hunger beneath it, an urgency that makes heat coil low in your stomach. His hands roam your body, memorizing, mapping, claiming.

He’s good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you dizzy, that makes you forget your own name, let alone the one of the man you left behind tonight.

“God,” you breathe, fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves against you, burning skin on burning skin. He makes a noise in the back of his throat at the sound of your voice, like he’s reveling in the way you come undone beneath him. His name spills from your lips, a whisper, a plea, a curse all at once.

Drew’s mouth finds yours again, swallowing every sound, every broken breath. His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, like he knows this can’t last but wants to make it count anyway.

And you let him.

You let him pull you under, let him ruin you in the best possible way, let him set a fire to everything you thought you knew.

Because for the first time in a long time—you feel something.

And it’s intoxicating. 

Drew is asleep beside you, his arm hooked around your waist, his breathing slow and steady. The room is dark except for the city lights bleeding in through the window, painting streaks of gold across the sheets.

Your body is still buzzing, your mind still running in circles. You stare at the ceiling, your heart pounding with something that isn’t just adrenaline. It’s something deeper, something heavier. The weight of everything you just did, everything this means.

You should leave.

But as you shift slightly, testing the idea, Drew’s grip tightens in his sleep, his arm flexing just enough to pull you closer, as if even unconscious, he can sense you trying to go.

You freeze.

A sharp inhale. A pause.

Your eyes flick toward the hotel desk. A notepad and pen sit untouched beside the lamp, waiting.

You think about what you’d write.

I’m sorry. No. Too simple. Too empty.

This was a mistake. A lie.

Don’t follow me. You don’t even know if you mean it.

The words swirl in your mind, shifting, twisting, refusing to settle.

You press your lips together, staring at the blank page from across the room.

And you wonder if you’ll actually write anything at all.

---