For fox sake

and yeah, he’d been lying if he said he didn’t check you out every time you wore that ridiculous cheerleading outfit they pretended was a uniform. the top stretched tightly across your chest, the pleated skirt barely covering your ass — it was laughable, and steve wondered if you knew how much of a cocktease you were being.

so, that night after the team’s big win, when everyone’s celebrating at a closed party at the hockey house, he approaches you. he’s clean and freshly showered and he’s tired, but he needs this — he hasn’t fucked in months and the pressure of keeping up with practices and games and studies is really getting to him, and he’s convinced you’re the only one who can help him.

you raise an eyebrow when steve walks over to you, all wide brown eyes and flushed cheeks from drinking too much beer, and tap your finger against your solo cup.

“to what do I owe the pleasure, harrington?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

“I was wondering,” he says, placing his hand against the wall, to the side of where you’re standing, “if you’d wanna come upstairs with me. talk a little? somewhere a bit more private?”

you laugh at that, but it’s not the flirtatious kind girls normally respond with, and steve’s confused where he went wrong.

“that’s your big line? you just want me to go up to your room with you?”

steve shrugs. “yeah, I guess.”

“right,” you murmur, taking a drink from your cup, “yeah, I’m not fucking you, harrington. try your luck somewhere else.”

you give him a flat smile, pat him on the shoulder, and slither out from his grasp to go get another drink.

The moment he hears your footsteps, he lets out the sort of theatrical groan that suggests he's been waiting for an audience. "I'm melting."

You pause in the doorway, two ice lollies balanced carefully in your hands, and look at him for a long moment. "You are not."

"I am actively dying."

"No, you're warm."

"I've crossed the line from warm."

"Oh?"

"I'm becoming soup."

You laugh despite yourself, crossing the room to hand him one of the ice lollies. "You've said you're dying at least six times this evening."

"I've died six times."

"You know that's not really how dying works."

"I'm pioneering new medical research."

He accepts the ice lolly without making the slightest effort to sit up, peeling the wrapper open with all the enthusiasm of somebody who's been stranded in the desert. After one bite, he sighs so dramatically that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing again.

"I'll eat this after the funeral."

"Whose funeral?"

"Mine."

You shake your head fondly, climbing onto the bed beside him with your own ice lolly. "I'll make a note."

"What'll you put on the headstone?"

You pretend to think about it. "'He complained about the weather until the very end.'"

Joe gasps in mock offence. "I'd haunt you."

"You'd be too hot."

That finally breaks him. He laughs, the sound bright enough to fill the little bedroom despite the relentless hum of the fans, and for a moment the heat doesn't seem quite so unbearable.

Then, without any warning whatsoever, Joe sits bolt upright. The movement is so sudden you almost drop your ice lolly.

"I have an idea."

You narrow your eyes immediately. "...That look worries me."

"No, trust me." The grin spreading across his face does absolutely nothing to reassure you.

"Joe."

"It's a good one."

"Last time you said that, we ended up trying to make homemade pizza at two in the morning."

"And?"

"You set the smoke alarm off."

"We made memories."

"You nearly got us evicted."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Technicality."

You watch him for another moment, taking in the familiar glint in his eyes - the one that almost always precedes a decision that is either surprisingly brilliant or catastrophically stupid, with very little middle ground.

Against your better judgement, you sigh. "...Go on."

His smile somehow grows even wider. "I know somewhere cooler."

You already know you're going to regret asking. "Where?"

Instead of answering, he hops off the bed with an enthusiasm entirely at odds with the man who'd declared himself deceased less than two minutes earlier, already heading towards the linen cupboard.

You remain exactly where you are, watching him disappear into the hallway before muttering to yourself with complete certainty, "I have made a terrible mistake."

Before you can ask any more questions, Joe has already disappeared into the hallway.

You remain sitting on the bed, listening to cupboards opening and closing somewhere out of sight, followed by the unmistakable scrape of the linen cupboard door and a muffled, "Aha!" that does very little to reassure you.

A few moments later he reappears carrying two pillows tucked beneath one arm.

You blink. "...Joe."

"What?"

He walks straight past you without slowing down, dropping them unceremoniously into the middle of the bedroom floor before immediately disappearing again.

You frown after him. "What are you doing?"

His answer floats back from somewhere near the hallway. "You'll see."

Somehow, that is even less reassuring.

This time he returns carrying a blanket. Not the lightweight throw from the sofa. The big one. The ridiculously soft fleece blanket that only ever comes out in the middle of winter. He folds it over one shoulder with complete confidence before heading back towards the cupboard once more.

"Joe."

"What?"

"Why do you need that?"

"You'll understand."

"I don't think I will."

"You will."

Before you have time to argue, he's back for a third trip, emerging triumphantly with another blanket tucked under one arm and what appears to be every decorative cushion you own balanced precariously against his chest.

You stare at the steadily growing pile in the middle of the floor. Then back at him.

"...Joe."

"What?"

"What exactly are you doing?"

He looks at you as though the answer couldn't possibly be more obvious. "We're sleeping upstairs."

You wait. "...Joe."

"The roof."

You blink. "The roof?"

"The roof."

"You mean..."

He points enthusiastically towards the ceiling. "The roof."

Silence. You study his face carefully, searching for even the smallest indication that he's joking. There isn't one.

"You've absolutely lost your mind."

"I have not."

"You want us to sleep..."

He nods encouragingly.

"...On the roof."

"Mhm."

"Of our apartment building."

"Exactly."

You fold your arms.

"It's cooler up there."

"According to who?"

Joe gestures upwards with complete conviction. "The laws of science."

You stare at him. "...That's not how science works."

"It definitely is."

"No."

"It is."

"You can't just say 'science' every time you have a bad idea."

"I can if science agrees with me."

"And does science agree with you?"

He pauses thoughtfully. "I choose to believe it does."

You can't help laughing. It escapes before you can stop it, shaking your head as Joe beams triumphantly, clearly interpreting your laughter as the first sign of victory.

"I knew you'd come around."

"I haven't."

"You laughed."

"At you."

"I'll take it."

The thing about Joe is that, every so often, he'll suggest something so utterly ridiculous that your immediate instinct is to refuse on principle.

The problem is that those ideas also have an alarming habit of becoming some of your favourite memories.

The impromptu midnight swim in Lake Michigan after he'd insisted the water would be "surprisingly warm." (It wasn't.) The afternoon he'd talked you into renting kayaks despite neither of you having the faintest idea what you were doing, resulting in Joe somehow getting stuck in a patch of reeds while insisting he was "exploring." The two a.m. drive to Wisconsin because he'd discovered a diner online that apparently served "life-changing" cherry pie, only for the two of you to arrive twenty minutes after it had closed and end up eating vending machine crisps at a petrol station instead.

Against all available evidence, he'd somehow earned your trust.

Or perhaps he'd simply worn down your common sense.

Either way, ten minutes later you're both climbing the narrow metal fire escape at the back of the building.

Joe insisted on carrying almost every blanket in the flat despite your repeated protests that nobody needed quite that many. The pile in his arms has grown so comically large that you can barely see his face anymore, only the occasional glimpse of curls appearing above the top blanket whenever he glances back to make sure you're still behind him.

Meanwhile, you've been assigned what Joe proudly described as the "important supplies."

Translated, that means one canvas tote bag containing a packet of crisps, two bottles of water, a bag of sweets you'd forgotten were in the cupboard, the portable radio from the kitchen windowsill, and, after a moment of entirely unnecessary deliberation, the remaining ice lollies wrapped carefully in a tea towel in what both of you know is a hopeless attempt to stop them melting.

Halfway up the stairs, you look at the bag swinging gently from your shoulder. "...You packed snacks?"

Without turning around, Joe answers matter-of-factly. "We're having a sleepover."

"We live together."

"I know."

"So it's not really a sleepover."

"It absolutely is."

You smile to yourself, following him up the final flight as warm summer air drifts lazily through the gaps in the metal staircase.

Somewhere below, the city carries on exactly as it always has - cars rolling steadily through the streets, laughter spilling from open restaurant doors, the distant rattle of the L train echoing between brick buildings - but with every step upwards, it somehow all begins to sound just a little further away.

Joe reaches the top first. He pushes open the heavy rooftop door with his shoulder before turning back towards you, a grin already spreading across his face.

"Told you."

"You haven't told me anything yet."

"No." He holds the door open with an exaggerated flourish. "But I think I'm about to."

By the time the blankets have been spread across the flat stretch of rooftop and the little portable radio has found a home beside the chimney stack, you're both quietly convinced that Joe's ridiculous idea might actually have been one of his better ones.

He'd never admit how relieved he is.

The air feels different up here. Not cold - not even close - but lighter somehow, stirred occasionally by a breeze that never quite seems to find its way down to street level. It brushes lazily across your skin, carrying with it the faint smell of warm brick, somebody barbecuing several blocks away, and the unmistakable scent of summer hanging over the city.

Chicago stretches out around you in every direction, rooftops giving way to office buildings, church spires and apartment blocks, thousands of tiny windows glowing amber against the deep blue of the evening. The last traces of sunset have long since disappeared, replaced instead by that strange orange haze that always seems to hover above cities after dark, bright enough that only a handful of stubborn stars manage to break through.

Joe flops dramatically onto the blankets with a satisfied sigh. "Told you."

You lower yourself beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you before looking slowly around. "...I'll give you this."

He grins without looking away from the skyline. "I know."

"It is cooler."

"I know."

"And the view's..." You trail off, unable to find a word that feels quite big enough.

Joe turns his head just enough to look at you instead. "I know."

You laugh quietly. "God, you're annoying."

"I've been right three times tonight."

"Twice."

"We'll call it two and a half."

The radio crackles softly beside you, eventually settling on Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, the sound drifting quietly into the warm night air. Somewhere across the rooftops, somebody else is playing music too - something muffled and indistinct enough that you can't quite make out the words, only the steady pulse of bass echoing gently between the buildings.

Far below, the city continues without either of you.

A train rattles somewhere in the distance, its familiar rhythm carrying across the rooftops before slowly fading into the night. A dog barks from somewhere a few streets over, answered almost immediately by another. Laughter spills from an open balcony before dissolving into the steady hum of traffic, while a police siren briefly cuts through everything else before disappearing just as quickly as it arrived. An air conditioning unit buzzes tirelessly from the building opposite, and every now and then a warm gust of wind carries snippets of conversations from people walking home below.

The city never really sleeps. It just gets quieter.

For a while, neither of you says very much. There doesn't seem to be any need.

Joe lies on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily across his stomach, while you absent-mindedly trace invisible patterns into the blanket beneath your fingertips. Every so often one of you points something out - a plane blinking steadily overhead, somebody setting off what must be a single leftover firework from the Fourth of July, a pigeon that appears to have chosen the neighbouring chimney as its home for the night - but mostly, you're simply happy to exist beside one another.

Conversation arrives the way it always seems to after midnight. Without structure. Without purpose.

You talk about your favourite summers growing up, discovering halfway through that both of you had spent entire school holidays convinced sprinklers were as good as swimming pools. Joe tells you about the first concert he'd ever gone to with his parents, becoming so distracted by the lights that he couldn't remember a single song afterwards, while you admit you'd once cried because your mum wouldn't let you dye your fringe bright blue at fourteen.

"You would've looked terrible," Joe says with complete sincerity.

"I would've looked iconic."

"You would've looked emo."

"I was fourteen."

"Exactly."

You nudge his shoulder with your own. "I liked you better when you were pretending to be nice."

"I was never pretending."

"Oh?"

"I've always been this charming."

You make a doubtful noise. "Questionable."

He grins. "You still fell in love with me."

"I don't remember agreeing to that."

"You literally live with me."

"That's circumstantial evidence."

"I'll take it."

The conversation wanders on. Favourite films. Teachers you still think about for no particular reason. The strange phase Joe went through at sixteen, where he'd become convinced necklaces automatically made him look mysterious.

"They didn't," you say.

"I know that now."

"What made you think they did?"

"I watched one indie movie."

"One?"

"Maybe two."

You shake your head affectionately.

"I thought I was cool."

"You were wearing a Hawaiian shirt."

Joe groans. "...Yeah."

"And a necklace."

"...Yeah."

"You introduced yourself by walking into a door."

He covers his face with one hand. "I was nervous."

"I know."

"I saw you and immediately forgot how walls worked."

That makes you laugh properly. The sound disappears into the night above you, carrying somewhere out over the rooftops before fading into the endless background music of the city.

Eventually, the conversation slows again. Not because either of you runs out of things to say. Simply because you've long since reached the point where silence feels just as comfortable.

You shift a little closer until your shoulder rests lightly against Joe's, and after a moment he reaches beneath the blanket to find your hand, intertwining your fingers without looking, the movement so familiar it barely seems to require thought anymore.

Neither of you says another word.

Above you, the clouds drift slowly across the glowing sky.

Below, Chicago continues humming softly to itself.

Somewhere between the two, wrapped beneath far too many blankets on a rooftop that almost certainly wasn't intended for sleepovers, the world feels wonderfully, impossibly small.

Neither of you has the faintest idea how much time passes.

Conversation continues in the lazy, meandering way it has been, drifting from one topic to the next with no particular destination in mind before dissolving into another long, comfortable silence. Somewhere along the way, the packet of crisps disappears, followed shortly afterwards by the sweets, while the radio quietly loses signal altogether until nothing remains but a soft hiss beneath the sounds of the city.

At some point, Joe must close his eyes. Not to sleep. Just... because it feels nice.

The warm breeze continues drifting across the rooftop, lifting the edges of the blanket every now and then before letting it settle again, while somewhere below a taxi horn echoes faintly through the streets. The buildings opposite have gradually grown darker over the past few hours, windows blinking out one by one as people finally give in to sleep, though the city itself never seems to stop moving entirely. Another train rattles somewhere in the distance. A helicopter crosses slowly overhead. Somebody laughs on a balcony several floors below before a sliding door closes and the sound disappears.

It all blends together into one constant, familiar rhythm.

Eventually, Joe lifts his wrist just enough to glance at his watch.

His eyebrows rise. "...It's three."

You don't even bother opening your eyes. "No, it isn't."

"It literally is."

"No."

He angles his watch towards you. You crack one eye open, squinting at the glowing numbers for a moment before letting your head fall back onto the blanket again.

"Oh."

Joe laughs quietly. "Told you."

"I thought it was... maybe one."

"It was."

"What happened?"

He looks around the rooftop as though hoping somebody else might have an explanation. "I think we got distracted."

"By what?"

He gestures vaguely towards absolutely everything. "This."

You smile to yourself.

Neither of you says anything for another minute or two.

The air has cooled just enough now that the blanket actually feels necessary, and without really thinking about it, you shuffle a little closer until your shoulder brushes against his. Joe notices immediately, lifting one side of the blanket to tuck it more securely around both of you before resting his arm loosely across your shoulders.

You tilt your head, letting it settle comfortably against him.

For a while, all either of you does is watch the clouds drift lazily across the orange glow hanging over the skyline.

Eventually, you murmur, almost reluctantly, "Should we go inside?"

Joe doesn't answer straight away.

He looks out across the rooftops stretching into the distance, then up at the hazy summer sky, before finally turning to look at you, your cheek resting against his shoulder, your hair catching gently in the breeze.

"...Nah."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"You don't think we'll regret sleeping up here?"

He smiles. "I think I'll regret leaving."

You can't really argue with that.

"I kinda like it here."

"So do I." The words settle softly between you before fading into another silence.

Joe presses the gentlest kiss against the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a second before he rests his cheek lightly against your hair. Neither of you feels any particular need to move after that. The rooftop has become its own little world somewhere above the noise of the city, and for the first time all day neither of you has anywhere else you're supposed to be.

The conversation never really starts again.

Every now and then one of you points out something small - a shooting star that might just as easily have been a plane, a cat picking its careful route across the neighbouring rooftop, the lights in one distant apartment suddenly flickering off - but mostly, you simply exist together beneath the slowly brightening night sky.

Sometime later, you become vaguely aware that Joe's breathing has changed. Slower. Steadier.

You smile to yourself without opening your eyes.

"You falling asleep?" you murmur.

A long pause. "...No." Another pause. "...Maybe."

You laugh quietly, the sound barely louder than the breeze itself. "Liar."

"M'just resting my eyes."

"You've been resting them for five minutes."

"I know."

"You snored."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

He makes a sleepy little noise that sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a defence before giving up entirely, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around your shoulders instead.

You close your own eyes a few moments later.

Neither of you consciously decides to go to sleep.

It simply happens the way so many good summer nights seem to end - not with any great conclusion, but with conversation fading gently into comfortable silence, silence into drowsiness, and drowsiness into sleep, while the city keeps humming patiently beneath you, carrying on exactly as it always has.

You wake slowly.

Not because of an alarm or the sound of traffic, but because the warmth that had settled over the rooftop throughout the night has shifted into something softer. The air still carries a welcome coolness, though the first rays of morning sunlight are beginning to creep steadily across the neighbouring rooftops, catching on rows of chimney pots and satellite dishes before spilling across the blankets beneath you.

For a few disorientating seconds, you have absolutely no idea where you are.

Then you open your eyes properly.

Above you, the sky has traded its deep midnight blue for pale gold, streaked with soft ribbons of pink that seem almost too delicate to belong above a city. Chicago looks completely different in the early morning light. The towers downtown glow amber where the sun catches the glass, while the streets below are only just beginning to stir back into life.

It's beautiful.

You smile before you even realise why.

Joe.

He's somehow managed to migrate almost entirely on top of you during the night, one arm wrapped securely around your waist as though even asleep he'd been determined to make sure you couldn't wander off without him. His hair has become an absolute disaster, curls sticking up in every conceivable direction, and one corner of the blanket has somehow ended up tangled around his shoulder like a makeshift cape.

You study him for a moment. Then another.

He's properly asleep. Not pretending. Not resting his eyes. Really asleep. His mouth has fallen open ever so slightly, and if you're being completely honest, he's drooling a little.

A laugh escapes before you can stop it.

Very carefully, so as not to wake him, you brush a few unruly curls back from his forehead, your fingers disappearing gently through the soft waves.

Joe makes a sleepy little noise in response. His nose wrinkles. One eye opens approximately halfway.

"...Morning," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You smile down at him. "Morning."

He blinks slowly at the sky above you before looking around with the sort of vague confusion that only seems to exist in the first few seconds after waking. "...We slept on a roof."

"We did."

Another thoughtful pause. "...Huh."

You laugh quietly. "I think that's a normal reaction."

"Mhm."

He closes his eyes again almost immediately.

"We should probably go downstairs."

"Mhm."

Neither of you makes the slightest attempt to move.

The city continues waking around you instead.

Somewhere nearby, a café rolls its shutters open with a metallic clatter. A delivery lorry reverses somewhere below, its warning beep echoing faintly between the buildings before disappearing beneath the growing hum of morning traffic. Cyclists begin weaving through the streets, commuters clutch coffee cups on their way towards train stations, and somewhere close by, a flock of pigeons lands noisily on the rooftop opposite.

One of them eyes the two of you suspiciously. Joe opens one eye just long enough to notice.

"...We're being judged."

"By a pigeon."

"They're very opinionated."

"I can tell."

Another few peaceful minutes drift by. The sunlight inches steadily across the rooftop until it finally reaches the edge of your blanket, warming your bare feet.

Eventually, Joe lets out a contented sigh without opening his eyes. "You know..."

"What?"

"I think this might be my favourite place we've ever slept."

You glance around at the slightly uneven rooftop, the blankets bunched awkwardly beneath you, the chimney stack a little too close for comfort, and the steadily growing audience of pigeons watching from a respectable distance.

"Even with the pigeons?"

He appears to consider the question very seriously. "...Especially the pigeons."

You shake your head fondly before leaning down to press a soft kiss against his forehead. "I don't think that's something most people would say."

"I'm not most people."

"No." You smile. "You're definitely not."

He grins, finally opening both eyes properly, though he still makes no effort whatsoever to untangle himself from you.

Below, the city is properly awake now.

Coffee shops fill with early customers. Traffic gathers at junctions. The first hints of another hot summer day begin settling over the rooftops, promising that the apartment will almost certainly become unbearably warm again by lunchtime.

Soon, you'll have to climb back down the fire escape. You'll unpack the blankets. Finish the washing. Water the plants properly this time.

Life will quietly resume exactly where it left off.

But not yet.

For one perfect summer night, suspended somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, you'd traded your bedroom for a rooftop and discovered that the coolest place in the whole city had never really been about the breeze or the skyline.

It had simply been wherever the two of you happened to be together.

dividers: saradika-graphics

a/n: posting before going on vacation in case i won't be able to get good internet connection there lmao. i dedicate this one to my tinder-obsessed friend and all the atrocious guys she's met there! still, ily very much

You never really thought it would get to this point, but here you were—the moment came.

Through years, no matter how many of your relationships failed, and how much your friends encouraged you to "just get on the internet", you still weren't convinced.

Going into the online dating world felt scary. You were around to hear many tales about how tiring it was, how trial and error it felt—merely searching for someone...normal. You never really considered any good outcomes, nor any advantages.

Meeting people and connecting with them in real life has always been easier to you. You felt like you had more control—your previous partners always happened to be "a friend of a friend", or you met them in a "hey, you would totally click with my cousin!" type of way. Having these connections felt more secure.

Maybe it was close-minded of you, to keep everything in a circle like that, but you were fine with it. It was comfortable, knowing their background, for the most part at least.

Your relationships ended in many different ways, and made you feel a lot of bad things. Insecure as fuck? Like you were a burden and not enough? Check and check, but none of them ever made you feel unsafe or scared for your life.

Sure, there's no guarantee that one of them wouldn't turn out to be a serial killer, but it felt better to meet people from a...somehow trusted source (note for future reference, dating your best friend's relative does not always end well).

So, to you, online dating was risky, somewhat vulnerable (because you had to admit to yourself that finding love, out in the real world like you preferred, just wasn't in the cards for you), and tiring as hell.

Because when you actually got on the app? Oh god.

Some conversations felt like losing brain cells, some were straight up disgusting, and some didn't even happen! Seriously, why bother swiping right if you're just going to leave the message on read? Don't get my hopes up, please.

Until that one evening.

You were sitting on your couch, sipping red wine just right after deleting another chat that included an unsolicited dick pic. You lost count of how many of those you went through by now.

And then you saw him.

You swiped right almost immediately. He was really fucking handsome, with cute little moles scattered across his face, impressively styled brown hair, and wearing this beige sweater that looked so insanely soft.

Steve, 2 miles away from you.

Damn, that was actually really close for the entirety of New York (and maybe even more than that, because the preferred radius you put in was...well, pretty desperate).

You found yourself smiling at the content of his profile—the way he described how he cherished his friends, how family, not necessarily by blood, was an important part of his life, and how he dreamed of a bunch of kids and a happy home.

Yeah, seemed to have his priorities clear, with a stable job as a manager of a big company too. Impressive, you had to admit.

There had to be something off about him though, right? He was perfect on paper, but you survived enough encounters to know that "perfect on paper" can turn out to be the only good thing to say about someone.

But, to your surprise, "it's a match!" appeared in bolt letters before you.

And to more of your surprise, he texted you almost immediately.

Steve: didn't think i'd find someone as gorgeous as you on this app.

You just stared at the message, reading it over and over. God, you were such a loser, folding over some cheesy line already, the image of his pretty face still fresh in your mind.

Steve: soo...hi, nice to meet you! i'm steve, 27 and ready to finally meet someone for life. what about you?

You liked that, the straightforwardness. Already stating his expectations, like he didn't want to waste anyone's time. That one was new (well, unless you count the message "snapchat?" in your inbox as stating expectations).

You: hello, nice to meet you :) well, other than that my name isn't steve, everything else seems to check out just the same

It was a little dumb, maybe not your best, but you felt like he was a person who appreciates the lighter side of things.

Steve: thank goodness, because i was dreading having to say goodbye so soon.

Steve: although your name not being steve is a bit of a turn off for me :/

You giggled at the way he followed your dumb joke, quickly forming a response.

Fuck, he was charming as hell, and it already worked for you.

It worked so well in fact, that from that point in time, the two of you texted almost non stop.

He was at work—he still texted. He was at home—he texted. He was hanging out with friends—still tried to text.

And you? The fucking same.

You woke up—you texted him. You were going to bed—you texted him. You were eating dinner—you still texted him.

Steve becoming a part of your daily routine felt natural. There was no big awkwardness, no droughts in conversations, no icks and red flags oozing from him.

He was really funny, and you found yourself laughing at your phone more times than you'd like to admit. His storytelling was on point, keeping things interesting and entertaining as hell.

Steve: and this dumbass had the nerve to say "it's literally your cat".

Steve: dude, you picked it up from the street five minutes ago.

Steve: like, he actually showed up at my doorstep and tried to convince me that it's mine.

You smiled as he walked you through yet another silly story of his life—he seemed to have a lot of those at this point.

You: and what did you do?

Steve: ...

Steve: ...i became a cat owner...

God, he was so precious.

Two whole weeks of this, and then he asked if he could call you. No big deal, you were a grown adult...but damn if you didn't stress just a little.

Texting was easy—not giving away your whole reactions (like every time when he called you beautiful and you ran a lap around your couch), time to respond, to think and not say something stupid.

But oh, how glad you were when you agreed and finally heard him say "hello, gorgeous". That voice, that tone, almost melting you through the screen.

Your nerves subsided almost instantly. Talking with him was easy, he was a great listener and a great conversationalist (you were still impressed, even though you already got familiar with that side of him).

The call lasted four whole hours. You cooked your dinner while having him on speaker, and he even took care of some paperwork while still managing to get the conversation going.

"You sure you don't want me to hang up? I really don't want to bother you while you work." you said then, anxiously picking at the hem of your shirt.

It's not like you wanted to stop talking, of course not, but the thought of being an inconvenience to him was weirdly heavy on your chest.

"You won't bother me, promise." he answered, his voice soft and comforting. "I want to keep talking, okay?"

You sighed, your shoulders easing slightly at his tone. "But what if I distract you and you make a mistake or something? Wouldn't you be mad?"

The faint rustling of papers coming from his side stopped, a moment of silence settling on the line.

Then, he spoke slowly, with an obvious confused pang to his voice. "Why would I get mad at you? I'd be the one making the mistake."

"I just–" you started, but couldn't come up with any explanation, his reassurance surprisingly effective. "I don't know."

"So, tell me about that room renovation you mentioned" he swiftly changed the subject, the tension in your shoulders completely gone as you answered.

"I'm thinking of repainting my walls, some light shade of green, but I haven't decided yet."

"You need help picking?" he offered, the clicking of his laptop keyboard soft in the background. His ability to multitask was seriously impressive.

"Oh, that'd be great, thanks."

"My pleasure." he said, his voice revealing a slight smile. "What else did you have in mind?"

So you talked about all the ideas you had, and he listened just as intently as always. It was easy, it was fun, it felt good to just be there with him.

And when it was time to say goodbye...God, you had to stop yourself from practically whimpering at his words.

"Goodnight, gorgeous. Hopefully we'll see each other soon." he said then, his breath slightly out of place. "I can't wait to– Fuck, I'm just dying to meet you."

The way he said it, his voice... And you were sure he wanted to say much more than that.

Steve didn't treat you like a dating app match. No, not anymore. It was way past that already.

You wanted him to want you—unwrap and completely discover all the layers, mind and body.

He could turn you on so easily. Damn, even when he was telling you about his day at work and all the responsible things he did...

You really were getting old, because, seriously? That turned you on?

But it did, and despite yourself, that night you ended up tangled in your sheets, fingers going in and out of your wet entrance as the name "Steve" danced on your lips over and over, and over again.

The next day, you woke up to two new messages.

Steve: would you like to go on a date with me?

Steve: a real one.

Your movements stilled upon seeing his texts. Did he really want to? Was this really happening?

Your fingers hovered over the screen, deciding which response would be the most appropriate. The letters appeared and disappeared just as quickly, your head spinning from excitement, undecided what to write back.

Finally, when you stopped dissecting every little thought and doubt in your mind, you just typed out four simple words.

You: yeah, i'd love to

how we feeling chat?

interactions appreciated:)

Despite the torrid weather, your apartment made up for it. It was a real diamond in a coal mine. You’d spent so long finding the perfect place in the perfect location, and this place ticked all your boxes. Bay windows, hardwood floors, gorgeous archways and even a cute little balcony. 

But as perfect as it was, it did come with some quirks. The building was very old, meaning during your downpours, you’d made more calls to your landlord than you had in the last four months you’d been living here. Your windows would shake and rattle from the wind, rain would slip through any crack possible. 

There was one other thing for the plus column, though. Your extremely handsome, mysteriously intriguing neighbour. 

You’d only caught sight of him once, if you could call it that. You were leaving late at night to go and meet a friend, and he was entering his apartment right next to yours. He was tall and broad, a mop of curly brown hair tussled on the top of his head with a beautiful array of freckles kissing his neck and his arms. He’d had his headphones on, so didn’t even hear you exit as he fumbled his key in the door. But from the half a second that you saw him, God, he was gorgeous. 

A part of you felt like you’d already met him, or known him for years, even though you didn’t even know what his name was. 

He kept a very particular routine. During the week, his alarm would sound off at the same time every morning. Like clockwork, two minutes later his shower would turn on and you’d hear the hum of him singing through the thinned wall. 

The smell of coffee and burnt toast would hit your nose, shortly before his door would slam behind him and you’d hear the scurry of his feet down the stairs. He’d return home at the same time every day, four thirty. His footing would be slower now, more relaxed as his keys jingled in his hand as he let himself in. 

Then you’d hear his feet plodding across the floorboards, turning on his stereo at a respectful volume but you’d still feel the vibrations of it humming through the walls and the floor, hitting you from the sofa. At around seven, you’d get hit by the smell of whatever he was cooking that night. And on scent alone, you could assume he was a pretty damn good chef. 

On the weekends, you’d hear the same familiar voices of his friends bubbling through. Laughter and chatter spilling into the night, music humming as you heard the cracking open of cans. You’d never seen or met any of them, either. But you could probably pick them out from their voice at a line-up if they ever committed a crime. 

He was respectful to his neighbours, though. His music was never too loud and you’d always hear his sharp shushing when his friend’s laugh would rattle the frame on your wall. Sometimes, you felt like you were invading this mysterious man’s privacy. Listening to his daily routine, his singing in the shower, you even overheard one time when he’d brought home a girl. 

They’d staggered into his place in the early hours, the sound of her giggles and his low voice pulling you awake from your nap on the couch. You laid there for a minute before feeling a pang of guilt bubble in your chest, grabbing your blanket from beside you and padding through your apartment to your bedroom. 

But you were quick to learn – your bedroom backed right onto his. They’d beaten you to it, when you’d settled into bed you could already hear the sighing and whining from next door. And when his headboard started to knock into your wall, you scrambled to grab your headphones from beside you so you could drown them out. 

It wasn’t your fault that you heard everything he was doing, it wasn’t your fault that the walls were so thin and you could probably recite back to him his favourite song on his most played album. And it’s not like you just sat there and listened, it had been months of familiarity and routine that you’d come to learn. You just wished you had the courage to say hi to him. 

On this particular dreary, bleak Saturday, you’d been out in town to meet a friend for coffee and picked up groceries on your way home to make spaghetti for dinner. The bus groaned beneath you as it pulled up to the bus stop a few blocks away from your house, and you huffed to yourself as you pulled your hood up over your hair and secured the two brown bags beneath your arms before getting off the bus. 

The rain hit you instantly, soaking your coat and your jeans as it dampened the paper bags you were desperately trying to keep intact. You practically ran down the sidewalk, cursing to yourself under your breath as you felt the bags turning soggy in your hands. 

Of course, when you were only a few metres from the front door, one of the bags practically disintegrated under your arm. 

“Fuck.” You whined out loud, trying to lean down to catch it. Shaking your head as the hood slipped back around your neck, soaking your hair and your face instantly as you dropped to your knees in an attempt to gather your fallen groceries. 

You were too busy trying to shield the other bag from the rain with your body as your hands scrambled around beneath you to hear someone jog up behind you, dropping to their knees beside you to gather the ingredients in his arms. 

“Those bags are so shit, always falling apart.” The stranger huffed from behind you. 

Your head spun on your shoulders, your eyelashes heavy from the rain so you had to blink a few times to realise it was your neighbour on his knees helping you. You cleared your throat gently, flashing him a small smile as he stood up whilst holding your tinned tomatoes and other items to his chest. 

“Yeah, the rain doesn’t help either.” You chirped as you looked up at him, shoving a tub of ice cream in the bag that was still intact and finally rising from your feet. You held your spare arm out to him, silently attempting to retrieve your belongings. 

He shook his head gently, the corner of his lips curling upward as he tightened his arm around your groceries to shove his spare hand in the pocket of his jeans to fish out his key. “Don’t worry about it, I got it. What floor are you on?”

You swallowed thickly as he slipped past you, your other arm tightening around the soggy bag as you held it to your chest. “Fourth floor, I’m 4C.”

“4C?” A small laugh croaked from his throat, pushing open the door and standing in front of it to let you pass into the warmth of your shared building. “No shit, we’re neighbours. I’m 4B.” 

“Oh, what a coincidence.” You managed as your shoes squeaked with water beneath you as you began trudging up the stairs. Your mouth ran dry at the realisation that your mysterious neighbour was here now, carrying up your groceries for you. Your gorgeous neighbour that you’ve thought about every day since you saw his ear that one time a few months ago. 

The two of you climbed the stairs, shaking off the rain as you reached the fourth floor. You snaked your spare hand into your pocket to grab your own key, opening the door to place the bag in the doorway before relieving the man from your groceries. 

“Thank you for the help, 4B.” You smiled up at him as he carefully administered the goods into your grip, tilting his head down at you as you took a step backward toward your apartment. 

“No need to thank me,” He spoke as he twirled his key around his index finger. The two of you stood there for a moment, gazing up at him over your punnet of grapes before he turned to his front door. “Don’t be a stranger. If you need anything, you know where I am.”

A warmth crept to your cheeks as you nodded a thank you up to him. He opened his door, offering his hand up in a wave as he slinked in as you did the same. Just as you stepped through, he was quick to clear his throat and retreat back out, his head poking around to find yours. 

“Also, you don’t have to call me 4B. I’m Steve, my name’s Steve.” He laughed sort of awkwardly, his smile so bright across his lips it caused his eyes to crinkle slightly. 

“Steve,” You returned his small laugh as you told him your own name. “I’ll see you around, Steve.” 

He nodded in contentment, parting his lips slightly like he was about to say something else, but they were quick to fall shut again. He flashed you a small wave before disappearing next door and back into his apartment. 

Steve. Hm.

You were quick to push off your soaked shoes and shrug off your wet jacket. You placed the armful of groceries on your counter, and returned to retrieve the soggy bag from the doorway and began putting the rest of them away. The familiar hum of Tainted Minds crept through the wall, your smile brightening across your lips as you threw the empty bag into the trash. 

The rain was still prevalent outside, pattering mindlessly against your windows as you lit the many candles you had laid out throughout your space. You peeled your wet shirt off of your body as you made your way to the bathroom, eager to rinse off the rain water and embarrassment of dropping the groceries in front of Steve. 

Warm water hitting your skin felt glorious in comparison to the cold rain from outside. You let it submerge you, washing away the day. After you finished showering and dried off, you changed into comfier clothes and dried your hair off, twisting it into a clip. 

Your cozy socks carried you back to your kitchen as you pushed up the sleeves of your sweatshirt ready to start cooking your spaghetti. Before your hand grabbed the ingredients you needed, it landed on your favourite bottle of rose. 

You poured yourself a generous glass of the sweet wine. It was a Saturday night, and you deserved it. As you leant against the door to your balcony and watched the rain drench your patio furniture, your mind wandered to what type of wine Steve liked. Did he like wine? Was he a beer guy? Or whiskey–

Pulling you out of your thoughts, a loud crash alarmed you from the living room. You placed your glass down on the counter, quickly rounding out of the kitchen to investigate. 

You were met with your window, definitely not where your window should be. The bottom pane had fallen out, the old frame merely hanging by a threat as the curtain began flying throughout the room. A state of panic washed over you, quick to rush over to attempt to put it back in its place. 

But it was no use. The wind coming in from outside along with the rain was no match for your complete lack of window fitting skills. You glanced around you, searching for anything you could find to assist you, but you came to no such luck. 

You leant the loose pane that was somehow still intact against the wall, bringing your hands up to your face in frustration. Your landlord was definitely not going to answer your call at this time on a Saturday night, and you didn’t exactly have the funds in your pocket to call a professional out right now. 

The sound of Fleetwood Mac vibrating through from the apartment next door lit a bulb above your head. Surely Steve might have an idea on a temporary fix, at least until morning. And he did say if you needed anything, and this was anything. 

Maybe it was the half of your glass of wine or your intrigue in your neighbour that plucked up the confidence, but before you knew it you were already out of your apartment and standing in front of his door. 

You hesitated. Reading 4B on the wooden pane, resting your knuckle against it just to feel the pulse from his stereo inside. You then thought about your broken window, and suddenly your knuckle was rattling against the door. 

The music came to a stop instantly, and you took a small step backward as you heard footsteps coming toward you. The door was pulled open quickly, to reveal Steve stood before you. He’d changed and showered too, the ends of his curls slightly damp, he was no longer in his wet jeans but now a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt that hugged him in just the right manner. 

“Hey, everything okay?” He asked gently, his smile that he offered was bright and welcoming but the way his eyebrows laced together offered an inkling of concern. Maybe you looked a bit more frantic than you thought. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your Saturday night, you’re probably busy,” You huffed, lifting your hand to push some hair out of your face as you took in a short breath before continuing. “I was about to start making dinner, and I heard this really loud crash and my window has literally – fallen in. And I can’t fix it, and God, you know as well as I do that Mr. Daniels won’t do anything now, but I can’t sleep knowing that–”

“Hey, hey,” Steve shook his head gently, his large hands coming up to hold your arms. His grip engulfed you, his thumbs softly rubbing against the material of your sweater as he stepped out of his apartment, reaching a hand backward to pull his door closed. “Don’t worry, I can take a look. I’m sure it just needs.. rearranging, or something.”

You nodded gently at his words, letting yourself relish under his touch for a moment before shuffling from his grip. You walked the two of you the short distance to your own place, pushing the door open and holding it for him as he followed. 

“Shit,” He mumbled under his breath at your discarded window pane, glancing back over at you before continuing. “Let me go grab a few tools, I’ll be back.” 

You watched him dart back to his own apartment, and you could even hear him worrying about in there. A loud sigh left your lips as you trudged back into your kitchen, grabbing the glass of wine you’d abandoned and taking another long, deserved sip. 

He returned moments later with a toolbox, and headed straight for the window. You leant in the archway between the two rooms, watching him from around the rim of your glass as his hair flapped through the wind. His hands got to work, you could hear the scratch and twist of his tools as he repaired your window. 

What felt like hours later, he finally had slotted it back into place. He got up from his knees, turning to you with a proud smile across his face. “I’d still call Daniels on Monday, but I think this’ll last you the weekend.”

“Oh, God. Thank you so much, Steve, seriously.” You sighed with relief, a small chuckle passing your lips as you crossed the living room to admire his handiwork. You didn’t know exactly what to expect, the window was back where it should be so it seemed fine to you. 

“I’m glad I could help.” His voice was soft from above, and when you tilted your head to look up at him he was already beaming at you with a warm smile that you could swear you’d dreamt of before, but today was the first time you’d ever seen it. 

You swallowed thickly before speaking, “I was about to make dinner before the– situation. I just opened a bottle of wine, if you want a glass? Least I could do, to repay you.” 

Steve’s eyes glanced to your glass and then back up to your own, nodding gently down at you as he leant down to place the tool in his hand back in its place. “Yeah, I could go for some wine.” 

“Alright then.” You hummed, motioning over to the couch for him to sit on before you retreated back into the kitchen. You grabbed another glass and the bottle, the condensation slippery on your hand as you balanced the neck between your fingers. 

When you rounded back to your living room, Steve was perched on the edge of the couch. You watched him look over the space around him, taking in all of the touches that you’d added through the last few months to make your house a home. 

You broke him from his thoughts when he felt your weight drop beside him, placing your glass on the table before filling up his glass. “So, how long have you lived here then, Steve?”

“Uh, I’ve lived in the building for around eight months now. But the city, nearing two years,” His eyebrows raised gently as he sat there with his knees spread, elbows resting on them as he watched you pour out his glass. He whispered a thanks as he took the glass from you, slowly leaning back into the couch as he looked over at you. “What about you?”

You watched the liquid fall into your own glass, looking back over at him as you placed the bottle back onto the table. “I’ve been here for four months now, it took a long time to find this place. It’s great when it’s not falling apart.” The two of you laughed gently, you hitched one of your legs up onto the cushions and scooted backward, making yourself comfortable. 

“Damn, four months and we’ve only just crossed paths today? Kinda unfortunate.” A small huff passed from his nose, echoing from the glass as he brought the rim up to his lips to take a sip. 

The two of you sat and spoke for what could’ve been hours. You learned that he was from Indiana, a small town called Hawkins where he became a teacher and moved out here to accept a job teaching at another school, which explained his 4:30 return home during the week. 

You learnt about his friends, who you felt like you already knew from all the times you’d heard them through the wall. You even ventured back into the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine, and then another. 

With each trip back from the kitchen, you subconsciously settled an inch closer, to which Steve would return when he’d pop to the bathroom. Or he’d get up to reach over to the coffee table, grabbing a book that you’d left there to read the blurb. And this time when he sat back down, his thigh was grazing your knee. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You spoke, leaning your head against the back of the sofa as you pulled your empty glass closer to your chest. 

Steve nodded gently, inching his shoulders backward to gauge a better look at you. His eyes trailed across your face, and when they landed on the plump of your lip, you watched the corner of his mouth upturn slightly. “Go for it.” 

A small laugh huffed through your nose, bringing a hand up to cover your face before dropping it back against your knee. You were definitely slightly tipsy, otherwise you’d never be admitting this. “These walls are so thin. Like, paper thin. I kinda feel like I already know you.” 

Steve’s expression faltered for a moment, before a spluttered out a short laugh. His head rolled back as he lowered his glass to rest on his thigh, before tilting his own head to look down at you. “Yeah, I feel like I already know you, too.” 

His voice was hoarse and deep as it left his lips, hitting you deep in your gut. Your own demeanor paused, your lips parting in confusion as you looked up at him. His expression worked with your own as realisation dawned on you – if you could hear everything Steve did, then he could hear everything you did.

A loud gasp left your lips as your hand covered your mouth, the two of you bursting into laughter at the prospect of the two of you spending the last four months together but completely apart. 

“Wait, so what did you hear?” He spoke through his laughter, adjusting his body to face yours as his elbow rested on the back of the sofa, leaning his temple against his palm. 

“Uh, well I know that you’re a morning shower person. You’re somehow always late out of the door, every morning,” The buzz of the wine that you shared is bubbling under your skin now as you pour out everything you’ve gathered about your neighbour. “You’re always singing in the shower, always have the stereo on, always, either you like burnt toast or you don’t know how to use your toaster. You–”

“Alright, alright,” He gently chuckled, his tongue running across his lower lip as he shook his head softly, you watched as he tried to fight the smile from growing across his lips. “You have your own quirks, too.”

Your eyebrows furrowed despite yourself, your lips parting before you straightened your posture slightly. “Like what?”

“Well, you always miss your alarm, hear it about five times before you turn it off completely. You also sing in the shower, very loudly. When you sit out on your balcony on a Sunday morning and sit there whistling to yourself for hours. One of my favourites is when you come home drunk and can’t find your keys, it takes you like five minutes to remember that you hide a spare set under your mat.” Steve beamed proudly over at you.

“Anything else?” You teased, a small smirk toying at the corner of your lips. 

Steve shuffled in his seat gently, his eyes darting to your smirk as one mirrored against his own lips before looking back up at you. “I like hearing you talk to yourself when you’re making dinner, or when you’re watching one of your movies too loud.” 

“They’re not too loud.” A small snort left your nose as you shook your head, eyebrows gently furrowed as you thought back to the few times you’d have to turn up your movie over the sound of his stereo.

His voice dropped gently, his fingers rubbing against his chin as he spoke. “But, I think my favourite part is when it’s late. In the middle of the night, and I know you can’t sleep because I hear you trudging around. But then you settle, and I hear those pretty sounds you make when you touch yourself.”

“Steve–” Your breath hitched as your eyes widened gently, heat rushing to your cheeks as you watched him lean ever so slightly closer. Your eyes fell to the swell of his lips, they were so plump and looked so damn soft.

“God, they’re angelic. I swear, I can hear through the walls just how wet you are when you play with yourself.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat as Steve’s hand reached out from holding his head up to brush against your cheek, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t realise you could hear that.” Your voice left your lips gently, your eyes dragging down his face as you watched him inch closer. 

“I wait for it every night. Sometimes twice, if I’m lucky,” His teeth gently sank into his lower lip as he pushed his fingers through your hair, his nails gently tracing against the skin on the back of your neck. “Feel like showing me, honey?”

Before you could stop and think about what you were doing, your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His lips crashed against your own, his spare hand grabbing your glass from your lap and placing it behind him before it found your waist. 

He was quick to lift from his seat to crowd over you, his grip tightening at your waist as he laid you back on the cushion of your sofa. Your hand pulled from his shirt to unclip your hair, tossing the contraption to the floor before pushing your fingers through the curls on the back of his head. 

Your lips moved together perfectly, like this was exactly where you were meant to be. Your knees parted for him to slip his body between them, hovering over you as his hand slipped beneath your sweater to hold onto your waist. 

As his grip tightened on you, your arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer. His tongue parted your lips, dipping past them to explore your mouth. A sigh escaped your throat, falling straight into his own mouth to which he returned with a soft grunt. 

“I’ve thought about this, you know,” His voice croaked hoarsely against you, pulling himself back to look down at you as his arm that was resting beside your head to hold himself up adjusted slightly to run his fingertips across the skin on your cheek. “I saw you, once. You were leaving when I was coming home. And God, all I could think about was how beautiful you were.” 

Your skin burned under his touch as his hand dragged back and forth against your waist, your teeth sank into your lower lip gently as your eyes took in everything you’d been missing for the last four months up close. 

The crinkles by his eyes when he smiled, the two freckles that sat on his cheek, the way his eyes sparkled under your gaze. Your chest tightened as you took in a sharp breath, exhaling a short breath before speaking. “I saw you once too. Just your ear, but it's a nice ear.” 

He let out a breathy laugh from above you, leaning down to peck a kiss against your lips before they pressed to your cheek, then the curve of your jaw. His hot breath against your skin made your knees beneath him weak, your leg hooking around his own. 

“It’s a shame it took a window breaking for you to come knocking on my door then, huh?” He mumbled against your neck as your head tilted aside to give him more access. A small laugh left your lips, your fingers pushing through his hair to hold the back of his neck. 

You nodded gently, a soft sigh leaving your lips as your back arched from the sofa, pushing your front up into his. “Never thought I’d be thankful for a broken window.” 

Steve huffed a laugh against your skin, pulling himself away from above you to sit back on his knees between your legs. His large palms found your knees, rubbing them gently as your legs rested over his hips. 

You watched as his eyes trailed across your body, taking in the way you laid out for him with your hair spread across the cushion of the couch. His hands slipped from your knees and down your legs, up your hips until they slipped under your sweater to hold your waist, the fabric pooling at his wrists. 

“You’re so beautiful. Do you even know how beautiful you are?” His voice hummed gently as his hands inched up your sides until they reached just beneath your breasts. 

Your cheeks warmed under his touch, and his words. Your own hands coming up to cover his own, squeezing them gently before assisting him in pulling your sweater over your head. After he’d tossed it aside and you came to light, Steve was hovering back over you and tilting your chin up with his index finger to capture your lips against his again. 

A choked moan sounded against your lips from Steve as you pressed yourself against him, you realised that you didn’t put a bra on after your shower, and your hardening nipples were rutting into Steve’s chest through his thin t-shirt. 

“Every part of you is so beautiful, my God,” He hummed as he trailed his lips to suck gently at the skin beneath your ear. He left warm, wet kisses along your collarbone as his hand slipped from your waist up to your breast. “So fucking beautiful.”

His palm closed over your breast, kneading it in his hand as his lips trailed down your chest, between your tits before his wet lips closed around your peaked nipple. His tongue toyed with the hardening peak, flicking it beneath the tip of his tongue as his fingers worked the other, using his thumb and index finger to rub it between them. 

“God, Steve.” You purred gently, your fingers curling through his hair to hold him against you as your hips rolled upward into him, desperate to feel him where you needed him the most. 

He dragged his mouth across your chest to your other nipple, taking it in his mouth as he slipped his hand to your waist and slid it down your body. It found the back of your thigh, squeezing the flesh there before murmuring into you. “Fuck, you sound so good, baby, moaning for me.”

The slurps of his mouth lapping at your chest and the pleasured whines passing your lips drowned out the rain hitting the windows from outside. Steve’s hand slipped beneath you to wrap his fingers around the band of your trousers. 

You lifted your hips for him as he tugged them down with one hand, using your own that wasn’t tangled through his hair to assist him. You manoeuvred your hips accordingly, twisting your legs beneath him to let him pull them off you. 

Steve pulled his lips off you, pressing a gentle kiss against the nub that glistened from his mouth. He lifted himself up slightly, your own hands pulling at the collar of his shirt and tugging it from his back. A breathy laugh pulled from his lips at your eagerness, a soft sigh escaping you as it dropped beside him. 

Hair graced generously across his chest, trailing down in a line that travelled deep into his sweatpants. Your eyes followed each mole and freckle that sat across his chest and his stomach, your smile upturning at the small pudge over his bottoms. 

He settled back on his knees between your legs again, a small smirk tugging at his lips as his hands found your knees. He pulled them apart slowly, his eyes trailing from yours and down your body until they landed between your legs. 

“Fuck,” A tight groan escaped him as his large palms ran up and down your skin. His hands splayed at your inner thigh as they inched closer to your pussy, he inched a hand closer to rub his thumb down your slit slowly. “Look at you, soaked right through.”

A shaky sigh left your lips as he pressed into you, his thumb parting your lips beneath the thin fabric that clung to you. Your eyes darted from watching his hands between your legs to look up at his eyes, your pussy tightening around nothing as you watched the look on his face as he toyed with you. 

He slowly pressed his palm against you, slipping it over your mound to wrap his fingers around the band of your panties. He swallowed thickly as he began to pull them down, his smirk widening as you eagerly lifted your hips for him to remove the fabric. 

When you finally laid bare for him, he took another moment to relish in looking you over before pressing his hands in the cushions beside you and lowering himself to your lips. They were quick to capture yours, sighing against your mouth as your palms ran across his bare chest. 

“Need you, now.” He whispered against you, shifting his weight to his knees as his hands slipped beneath your ass. Your arms snaked around his neck, holding yourself against him as his hand drifted to your lower back to pull the two of you upward. 

You held on to him, your tongue licking and twirling against his own as he pulled you up against him and manoeuvred himself up. Your legs snaked around his waist as he stood, his hand groping at the globe of your ass as he walked you toward your bedroom. The good thing about being neighbours, you assume his apartment was laid out exactly like your own as he knew where your room was. 

He pushed the door open with his foot, crossing the room with fever until his knees hit the frame of your bed. You gasped softly into his mouth as he laid you down on your bed, his hands slipping to your waist as he pulled his lips from you and peppered them across your skin as he made his way down. 

The warmth of his mouth dragging across your chest and down between your breasts made you shiver, the plush of his lips against your stomach inching closer and closer to where you needed him was almost too much. 

He settled at the end of the bed, your legs spread for him with ease as his lips made their way to your mound. His nose nestled against the hair that laid against you, slick with arousal as he made his way down. 

“S–Steve,” You choked as his hands wrapped around the backs of your thighs, holding you open for him as his tongue slipped past his lips to your clit. He circled it with the tip a few times, his touch gentle as his eyes met yours. 

His lips wrapped around the swollen nub, his eyes fluttering shut as he sucked gently. One of his hands released your thighs, shifting to assist his mouth as his middle and ring finger pushed through your folds. Gathering your arousal on his fingers as he spread you open, dipping his tongue through them to get a better taste of you. 

You felt him moan against you as his middle finger pressed against your entrance, pushing in slowly as his tongue explored every inch of you. Delving through your labia as his finger sank deeper inside of you. 

“Y’taste so good, fuck,” You felt him moan against you, his mouth returning to your clit as your fingers found his hair again. You tugged on it gently, your hips rutting upward to chase his finger as he slipped it out of you. “Missing me already, huh?”

He pulled his lips back slightly to glance up at you, a small smirk tugging at your lip as you met his gaze over the heave of your breasts. You nodded softly, your pussy clenching around nothing as you nudged his head back toward you. “Please, baby.”

“Mm, good girl,” He hummed as he leant forward to press a tender kiss to your swollen clit. His smirk grew as you whimpered under his touch, pressing another, then another until your hips were rocking into his face. “Seeing as you asked so nicely.”

He sank two of his fingers into you, a loud cry escaping you as your head rolled back into the mattress. His long, thick digits curled perfectly inside of you as your hips rocked into his hand. Your hand guided him to you again, a content hum leaving him as his lips reunited with your cunt. 

His tongue worked in tandem with his fingers, his tongue working your clit as he fucked you. With each thrust in, his fingers hit deep, pressing on that perfect spot inside of you. 

“Such a tight little cunt, sucking me in,” He panted as he pulled his lips back to watch your pussy suck him back in, groaning at the sounds you were making for him. “You gonna come for me, baby? Come all over me?” 

You nodded quickly, the familiar feeling coiling in your stomach as Steve kept his pace, but fucked you deeper. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, his eyes blinking up at you to watch you come undone around him. 

“Oh– Oh my god, Fuck–” You whined as your thighs trembled around him, your fingers tugging on his hair for good measure as you felt your orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come, Steve– fuck.”

“Come for me, baby. Such a good girl. Wanna taste you.” He babbled against your clit, savouring your high as you finally let go. He felt you gush around him, releasing over his fingers as his name left your lips as a loud moan. 

Your hand pulled him by his hair, pulling his mouth off your clit as your hips rutted up into his fingers, still working you through it. He pulled himself back an inch to watch your come dribble from out of you, soaking his fingers and your sheets below you. 

His fingers slowed down after a moment, slowly pulling them out of you and you let out a short huff at the loss of him. His touch was gentle as he pushed his wet fingers through your folds, spreading your arousal with that familiar smirk against his lips. 

“Steve–” You huffed gently as you lifted your head to watch him, and as his eyes found yours he brought his soaked fingers up to his lips. Snaking his tongue around them to collect every last drop, the sight alone was enough to probably finish you off again. 

They pulled from his lips with a pop, and his other hand pulled from your thigh to press into the mattress on either side of you. Pulling himself up your body, he captured your upper lip between his own. You moaned against him at the taste of yourself on his lips, your shaky hands coming up to cup either side of his face to ground yourself. 

He was hesitant in pulling away, pressing a few more pecks against your lips before he settled on his side next to you. He rested his head on his hand as his elbow rested beside you, his other hand was gentle as it rubbed against your stomach slowly. 

“You okay?” His voice was soft, gentle which was a complete stark difference to the way he’d been only minutes prior. Your eyes wandered across his face, and despite your orgasm you’d literally just had, you felt your stomach coiling at the sight of him. His hair roused, his chin and lips shining with your come. 

You nodded gently, huffing a small laugh as you rolled your body onto the side to face him. His hand slipped from your stomach to your back as you rolled, desperate to be holding you in any way that he could. 

“Good.” He spoke, almost with triumph, before leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your lips. His hand slipped up your spine slowly, pulling you closer to him as your hand pressed against his chest. 

You were the one to deepen the kiss, your tongue jutting out to drag across his lips. Eager to taste yourself against him as your hand slipped up through the hair that laid across his chest to his shoulder. 

His hand found your ass, kneading it between his fingers as he sighed into your mouth. Letting you take control, your tongue dancing against his as you slowly pushed on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back and taking you with him. 

Your knees slipped to either side of him, both of his hands finding refuge on your ass as your hand slipped to his jaw. Holding him in place as the two of you licked into each other’s mouths desperately, needing to be connected in some way. 

Steve’s hips began twitching gently, and you gasped against him at the feeling of his hardened cock rubbing against your core. Your hand slipped to his chest, and you pushed yourself off of him for composure, your voice shaky as you spoke. 

“Take your fucking pants off. I need you, now.” Your breath was hot against his mouth, you watched his lips part at your admission. He didn’t nod, he didn’t argue, but his hands left your ass and dropped to his hips, pushing his sweatpants down with his boxers as quick as he could. 

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at his enthusiasm, biting down on your lip gently as you brushed your lips against his, pecking him once more for good measure before pulling back to sit up completely. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He panted gently as his hands found your hips as you shuffled backward slowly, dragging your hands down his chest and his stomach until your eyes dropped to his heavy cock laying flat against him. 

A small gasp escaped you at the sight of it. Your palm dragged across it slowly, your eyes darting up to Steve as he moaned your name at your touch. His cock was thick and heavy, it made your hand look small as it wrapped around the base of him. The tip was flushed red, dribbling precum down until it hit your hand. 

Your wrist jerked him a few times, hand twisting around the silky skin before you lifted your hips up slowly. You worked blindly, a string of moans passing your swollen lips as his fat tip notched against your clit. 

Steve reached down, taking over so you could steady yourself above him. His eyes didn’t know where to look, whether to watch as he dragged his cock through your folds slowly, watching his cock gather your arousal on it, or watch you with your head rolled back as your hips worked with his movements. Watching as you used him like a toy, letting him glide through you perfectly. 

“How badly do you want it, baby?” He croaked, his hand squeezing your hip as your head slowly rolled back around to look down at him. “Tell me how bad you want my cock.”

Your cunt fluttered at his words, leaning yourself backwards and resting your hands on his thighs. You heard his breath hitched as he watched you, completely spread out for his viewing pleasure as your puffy lips worked his length. 

“So bad, baby. Please– please fuck me, I need you.” Your voice was shaky as it escaped you, tucking your chin into your chest to look down at him. His expression was smug as he watched you, offering a small nod before his other hand found your hip. 

His hands were steady on you, his grip tight on you as he guided your hips until his tip notched at your entrance. The two of you shared a gasp at the feeling, his fat tip pressing at your tight hole was enough for your fingernails to dig deep into the skin on his thighs. 

Your name left his lips with need, his eyebrows furrowing together as he lifted his hips slightly to inch more of himself inside of you. The stretch of his cock opening you made your head spin, and Steve was gentle as he slowly rocked his hips to get you used to his size. 

But you couldn’t wait much more. You lifted yourself forward, your hands resting on his chest as you began to sink yourself further on his cock, matching his thrusts as your head dropped in pleasure. 

One of his hands left your hips to brush the hair from your face, pushing it over your shoulder and pushing his hands through your hair to hold the back of your head as he spoke breathlessly. “Wanna see you, baby.” 

All you could do was nod. Your mind was hazed, all thoughts completely escaping you as you finally seated against him. The entirety of his cock inside you was almost too much, his thumb rubbed at your hip for measure as you lowered your lips to brush against his. 

As soon as your mouth found his, you began to move your hips. The two of you groaned against each other at the feeling, his hand pulling from your hair to grace your hip again as he assisted your movements. 

“Fuck– So fucking tight, baby, you’re so perfect. So beautiful, feel so good.” He spoke against you as he began to thrust his own hips in time with yours, and you worked together perfectly. 

Each time he bottomed out inside of you, he was hitting spots inside of you that you didn’t even know could be reached. The sounds of your skin slapping and Steve’s cock bullying into your cunt was mesmerising, your hand slipped from his chest to hold the side of his neck as you moaned against him. 

His hands slipped from your hips to your ass, his grip stern on you as your body fell flat against his own. “Such a good girl,” He blathered against your lips, “Perfect little cunt, baby. Taking me so well. So tight, you don’t wanna let me go, huh?”

You shook your head against him, your moans becoming incoherent as his cock pummelled into you. You could feel your second orgasm approaching already, with Steve’s hips meeting your own perfectly, hitting deep inside of you with each thrust. 

“I’m close, baby, I’m so close.” You whined against him, pulling your lips back slightly as you began to find it hard to concentrate, so focused on Steve and the feeling of him stretched inside of you. “I–I’m on the pill, Steve.”

You heard him groan at your admission as his hand drifted from your hip, his palm flattening against your mound as his thumb found your clit with ease. His touch on your swollen nub was enough for your forehead to drop against his shoulder, your body weakening as your orgasm inched closer and closer. 

“Mm, head up, baby,” He mumbled as his touch against your clit slipped, the mixture of your arousal and his spit that he’d spread all over your cunt making it a challenge for him – but he locked in. “Need to see that pretty face when you come all over my cock.” 

You lifted your head, your hand slipping to the curve of his shoulder to hold yourself up as you looked down into his eyes. His beautiful, sparkling eyes that were looking up at you with a look you’d never seen before. 

As your lips parted to moan his name, your orgasm hit you like a truck. Steve’s thumb working overtime to bring you over the edge as your walls fluttered around his cock. Your hand held his face steady for you to look down at, needing something to grip onto as you came. 

Steve was close to follow. His hips held you steady on him, seated on his cock as you felt it twitch inside of you, the warmth of his come filling you up made you moan his name again, your lips falling to his cheek and dragging across to his lips. 

He thrust into you shallowly a few more times, signing off on your pleasure before he slowly lifted you off of him. Despite you being completely fucked out, you still sighed against him at the loss of him inside of you. 

Your body melted against him, the sound of both of your heavy breaths filling up your bedroom as your head nestled against his chest. His palm splayed at your back, gently rubbing against your skin as he tilted his head down to press his lips to your sweaty forehead. 

“God, Steve.” You managed, a small laugh escaping you as you slowly rolled yourself off of him. You stayed close, tucking yourself into his side as your hand rubbed against his chest slowly. 

“Can I get you anything? Some water?” His voice was gentle, his hand lifting to push the hair out of your face as he looked down at you. You shook your head softly, lifting your head to rest your chin on the back of your hand to look up at him. 

His eyes bore into yours, the specks of them sparkling as a smile grew across his lips. His hand dropped to your jaw, his thumb softly trailing across your chin. “You’re so beautiful.” 

You tutted gently, your eyes playfully rolling despite your head tilting into his touch. You didn’t miss the fact that you’d just had the best sex of your life with your neighbour who you’d only met a mere few hours ago, but somehow it felt like you’d known him forever. Like you were meant to be laying here in his arms. 

The rehearsal space always smelled faintly of sawdust, old coffee, and warm guitar amps.

It wasn’t much to look at. The paint along the concrete walls had chipped years ago, one of the fluorescent lights buzzed loudly enough that everyone had long since stopped noticing it, and no matter how often anyone swept, another layer of dust always seemed to settle over the cables coiled neatly against the wall.

By the time you pushed open the heavy metal door, music was already spilling into the hallway.

Not a song.

Pieces of one.

A guitar phrase repeated three times before changing on the fourth. A bass line wandered beneath it before disappearing altogether. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a steady rhythm echoed from the drum kit.

The kind of noise that only made sense to the people making it.

Javi was crouched beside a tangled extension cord when you stepped inside.

He looked up immediately.

“There she is.”

He pointed triumphantly toward Joe.

“I told you.”

Joe glanced up from the guitar resting across his knee.

“…Was this a conversation?” You ask.

“It was.” saysJavi.

“It wasn’t,” Joe said.

“It absolutely was. You asked if she’d come.”

“And?”

“And I said I didn’t know.” Javi folded his arms “Which is quitter talk.”

Joe smiled, shaking his head.

“I don’t think that’s what quitting means.”

“It means you lacked vision.”

“I lacked certainty.”

“Same thing.”

“It is definitely not the same thing.”

Javi looked at you.

“See?”

“I don’t know what I’m seeing.”

“Support.”

Joe rubbed a hand over his face.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“I know.”

Javi grinned.

“That’s what makes this friendship so rewarding.”

A laugh escaped you as you stepped farther into the room.

Without looking away from the drums, Wes reached beside him, picked up a spare drumstick, and flicked it across the room.

You caught it cleanly.

Only then did he glance over.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

You spun the drumstick once between your fingers.

“Show off.”

“You caught it.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“You almost don’t lots of things.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be encouraging.”

“It wasn’t.”

Javi pointed dramatically toward Wes.

“See? This is why I do the emotional support around here.”

“You?” Wes asked. “The emotional support?”

“Exactly.”

Joe looked between them.

“I thought we all agreed Javi wasn’t allowed to diagnose his own personality.”

“I can if I’m right.”

“You usually aren’t.”

“I choose to hear confidence.”

Laughter rippled through the room, familiar and easy.

The kind that came from hearing the same jokes a hundred different ways.

You wandered toward the old couch tucked against the wall, dropping onto the worn cushion with a sigh.

The drumstick rolled lazily between your fingers while your free hand found a rhythm against your knee before you even realized you were doing it.

“You practicing without me?”

You looked up.

Wes was watching your hands.

A smile spread across your face.

“I didn’t even know I was doing that.”

“I did.”

He rested his forearms across his knees.

“You’re rushing it.”

You stared at him.

“I’m sitting on a couch.”

“You are.”

“And somehow I’m still doing it wrong?”

“You asked me to teach you.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to couch critiques.”

Javi bent over laughing.

Wes shrugged.

“If you practice it wrong long enough, you’ll play it wrong.”

Joe looked up from adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar. “Wes are you sure that’s how couches work?”

“No,” Wes agreed. “But that’s how muscle memory works.”

You pointed your drumstick accusingly between the two of them.

“One of you is encouraging.”

Joe lifted a shoulder.

“I didn’t say which one.” You laughed, pushing yourself off the couch and walking toward the drum kit.

Instead of tossing the drumstick back, you placed it into Wes’s waiting hand.

“I have been practicing.”

The teasing softened immediately.

“I know.”

You tipped your head.

“How?”

“You don’t drop them anymore.”

You blinked.

“That’s your professional assessment?”

“It’s an important milestone.”

Javi clapped once.

“She’s drumstick trained.”

Joe chuckled.

You nudged Wes’s shoulder with your own.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Wes handed both sticks back to you.

“Show me.”

“I knew there was a catch.”

“I promise I won’t yell.”

“You literally critiqued me from a couch.”

“I was right.”

You settled onto the drum stool, adjusting it almost without thinking.

One foot shifted.

The snare came a little closer.

You rolled your shoulders back.

Across the room, Joe looked up from his guitar.

He smiled to himself.

Small enough that no one noticed.

Except Javi.

Javi caught it.

Joe pretended to be very interested in tightening one of the tuning pegs.

Javi hid a grin behind his water bottle.

You didn’t notice either of them.

Your focus stayed on the sticks in your hands.

Wes noticed the stool first.

Then your grip.

Then the way your shoulders settled naturally.

“You remembered.”

You looked up.

“What?”

“The setup.”

“Oh.”

You glanced down.

“I guess I did.”

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I didn’t.”

A hint of pride crossed his face.

“Good.”

You started the exercise.

Slowly.

Right hand.

Left.

Right.

Left.

The rhythm stumbled once.

You caught it.

Kept going.

No one said anything.

Not Wes.

Not Javi.

Not even Joe.

The room filled with the soft, steady tap of wood against the practice pad.

When you finished, you looked up expectantly.

Wes didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached forward, gently nudging your right hand a fraction of an inch.

“Relax.”

You frowned.

“I am relaxed.”

“No.”

“You think I look tense?”

“I know you are.”

He smiled faintly.

“You grip tighter whenever you’re concentrating.”

You looked down.

“I do?”

“You’ve done it every lesson.”

You loosened your fingers.

Tried again.

The stick bounced back naturally this time.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“There it is.”

Before Wes could say another word, another voice drifted across the room.

“I knew you’d get it.”

You turned.

Joe was smiling at you from across the rehearsal space, guitar resting forgotten against his leg.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

"Thanks."

For just a second, neither of you looked away.

Javi clapped his hands once.

"Well."

He looked between the two of you.

"That was unexpectedly wholesome."

A laugh escaped you.

"Oh, be quiet."

"I mean it," he said. "Look at you. You're getting good."

You glanced at Wes.

"I had a pretty good teacher."

Wes ducked his head just enough to hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You've done the work."

He took the sticks from your hands and rested them across the snare.

"That's the hard part."

You stepped away from the kit, making your way back toward the couch while everyone from the band settled into their usual places.

For a moment, everything felt comfortably familiar.

Joe looked around the room, making sure they were ready.

Then he smiled.

"From the top."

Joe counted them in.

The room filled with music.

You'd heard this song enough now to know where each instrument belonged.

Joe carried the melody with an easy confidence that never crowded the others. Javi filled the spaces between the notes, effortlessly beneath the guitar, while Wes anchored everything with a rhythm so steady it made the room feel as though it was breathing.

You found yourself tapping your foot before you even realized you were doing it.

Halfway through the chorus, Joe lifted a hand.

The music stopped.

"The turnaround."

Javi nodded.

"I know."

"It's dragging."

"I know."

Joe smiled.

"Again."

They started over without another word.

You'd noticed that about them.

There was never any frustration when something wasn't working.

Just repetition.

The same few measures over and over until they found whatever it was they were looking for.

On the fourth pass, something clicked.

You could hear it before you saw it.

Joe let the final chord ring out, looking first at Wes.

Then Javi.

A grin spread across his face.

"There it is."

Javi pointed across the room.

"I knew we'd bully it into submission."

"It wasn't bullying," Wes replied.

"It was aggressive encouragement."

Joe laughed.

"I'll allow that."

The room settled into the easy satisfaction that always seemed to follow when something finally came together.

Javi reached for his water bottle.

Wes leaned back on the drum stool, twirling a stick between his fingers.

Joe bent to unplug his pedal.

His phone buzzed.

He barely glanced at it.

"Huh."

You looked over.

"Everything okay?"

He frowned at the screen.

"...Maybe."

Javi tipped his head back dramatically.

"'Maybe' is a terrible answer."

Joe stood, already reaching for his phone.

"I've gotta take this."

No one thought much of it.

He stepped into the hallway, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.

For a few moments, the room fell into its own rhythm again.

Javi wandered over to the couch, dropping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh.

"I vote we call it there."

Wes raised an eyebrow.

"We've been here an hour."

"Exactly."

You smiled, shaking your head.

"You really don't like practicing."

"I love practicing."

He paused.

"I just love finishing practice more."

A laugh escaped you.

Across the room, Wes began absentmindedly reorganizing the sticks resting on the snare.

The silence settled comfortably.

Then the rehearsal room door flew open.

Joe stood in the doorway.

His cheeks were flushed.

His phone was still in his hand.

He looked...stunned.

For a heartbeat, nobody spoke.

Javi sat up first.

"Dude?"

Joe blinked.

Then let out a disbelieving laugh.

"...I got it."

Silence.

Wes was the first to understand.

"The show?"

Joe nodded once.

"The show."

You stared at him.

"What show?"

Joe looked at you, almost sheepish now.

"I...uh..."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I auditioned for a Broadway run a couple months ago."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You auditioned for Broadway?"

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Why not?"

He gave a small shrug.

"I didn't know if anything would come of it."

Javi was already on his feet.

"You idiot."

Joe laughed.

"I was hoping for literally any other opening response."

Javi ignored him completely, wrapping him in a hug that nearly knocked the guitar off his shoulder.

"I'm so proud of you."

Joe laughed into his shoulder.

"Thanks."

When Javi finally let him go, Wes crossed the room and pulled him into a hug of his own.

"I told you you'd get it."

Joe smiled.

"You did."

"You owe me twenty bucks."

Joe blinked.

"...What?"

"I bet Javi you'd book it."

Javi threw up both hands.

"In my defense, I didn't think you'd actually go to the audition."

"I almost didn't."

"I know."

The room dissolved into laughter again.

You waited until everyone stepped back.

Then you walked over.

Joe's smile softened the moment he saw you.

"Congratulations."

You wrapped your arms around him.

"I'm really happy for you."

For just a second...

he held you a little tighter than he had anyone else.

"...Thanks."

His voice was quieter this time.

More sincere.

When you stepped back, he was still smiling at you.

Like he was about to say something else.

His phone buzzed.

The sound cut through the room.

Joe looked down instinctively.

The screen lit up with another call.

His smile faltered.

"...Sorry."

He glanced between all of you.

"I just—"

Javi waved him off.

"Go."

"You sure?"

"We're not going anywhere."

Joe nodded gratefully.

"I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the hallway again.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence settled over the room.

Not awkward.

Just...

different.

You found yourself staring at the closed door for a moment longer than you meant to.

Beside you, Javi was already grinning down at his phone.

"He's gonna lose his mind when he sees all this."

"What?" you asked.

Javi turned the screen toward you.

The official cast announcement was already online.

Joe's name sat there among the rest of the company.

Freshly posted.

Real.

You smiled despite yourself.

"He did it."

"He did."

Neither of you noticed Wes looking toward the hallway.

Or the faint crease that settled between his brows before he quietly looked away.

The next twenty minutes disappeared in a blur.

At first, it was another phone call.

Then another.

A text from his family.

An email from production.

Someone asking about rehearsals.

Another congratulatory call.

Every time Joe stepped back into the room, he barely made it three sentences before his phone buzzed again.

Each time, the apology came a little faster.

"Sorry."

"I'll just be a second."

"Hang on."

"I'll be right back."

Nobody minded.

Not really.

Javi spent most of it scrolling through articles on his phone, proudly announcing every mention of Joe's name as if he'd written them himself.

Wes had wandered back behind the drum kit, absentmindedly tightening hardware that didn't seem to need tightening.

You found yourself watching Joe.

Not because he was ignoring you.

Because he wasn't.

Every time he walked back into the room, his eyes found yours almost immediately.

Every single time.

And every single time...

His phone pulled him away again.

Eventually, Joe returned with a tired laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.

"I swear I'm almost done."

"You don't have to apologize," Javi said.

"I know."

"You've said 'sorry' like..." He glanced around the room. "Eight times?"

Joe frowned.

"I have?"

"At least."

"I didn't even notice."

Javi's grin softened. "No," Javi said gently. "It is okay."

He stepped over, giving Joe's shoulder a quick squeeze.

"You're excited. Everyone else is excited. Let us be excited with you."

Something in Joe's expression shifted.

Just for a moment.

Like he wanted to believe that.

"...Yeah."

He smiled.

"You're right."

His phone vibrated again.

He stared at it.

Didn't pick it up.

Instead, he turned it face down on the nearest amp.

The room fell quiet.

"See? That's better." A small laugh escaped Joe. "I just don't want to look at it for five minutes."

His gaze drifted around the room.

Then finally...

To you.

"I've missed enough already."

Your heart squeezed.

"No, you haven't." you say.

His smile was grateful, but uncertain.

"I kind of have."

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then Javi clapped his hands together once.

"Alright."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I think this calls for tacos."

Joe laughed.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know."

Javi grabbed his keys from the table.

"I'm doing it anyway."

"You just want tacos."

"I absolutely do."

He pointed at Joe.

"But today I have an excellent excuse."

A smile tugged at the corner of Joe's mouth.

"You really don't have to buy everyone dinner."

"It's not dinner."

Javi shrugged.

"It's a celebration."

The room warmed again.

Not with loud laughter this time.

Just quiet smiles.

Wes reached for one of the amp cases.

"I'll help get everything loaded."

"I'll grab the cables," Joe offered automatically.

Javi looked at him.

"You just got cast on Broadway."

Joe blinked.

"...Yeah?"

"You are carrying exactly nothing today."

Joe rolled his eyes, the smile never quite leaving his face.

"I'm still capable."

"I know."

Javi slung an arm over his shoulder, steering him toward the door.

"But for the next ten minutes, you're just allowed to be excited."

For just a second, Joe looked almost caught off guard.

Like no one had given him permission to simply enjoy it.

"...Thanks."

Javi squeezed his shoulder once.

"I'll pull the car around."

The two of them disappeared into the hallway.

Wes hoisted one of the amp cases with practiced ease before glancing over at you.

"I'll get this one."

"I've got the rest," you said, crouching beside the pedalboard.

He nodded once before following Javi out the door.

The rehearsal space grew unexpectedly quiet.

You reached for one end of an instrument cable, carefully coiling it the way Joe had shown you a few weeks earlier.

You'd almost finished when another hand caught the other end.

You looked up.

Joe smiled.

For the first time since he'd gotten the call...

His phone wasn't ringing.

Neither of you spoke.

Not right away.

The only sound in the room was the quiet scrape of the cable sliding through your hands.

Joe looked down at it for a moment before finally saying,

"I wanted to tell you before everyone else."

You looked up.

"What?"

"About Broadway."

His eyes met yours.

"I wanted you to hear it from me."

A small crease formed between your brows.

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at the cable still looped between your hands, his thumb absently tracing the rubber coating.

"I was going to tell you that I auditioned.. you know before I got this call."

He let out a quiet laugh.

"I just... I didn't want to say anything unless it was real."

You watched him for a moment.

"You thought you wouldn't get it?"

"I thought there was a good chance I wouldn't."

He shrugged, almost embarrassed.

"And if I didn't..." He smiled faintly. "I didn't really want to be the guy telling everyone he auditioned for Broadway."

"You would've told me eventually."

"I would've."

His eyes lifted to yours.

"But I wanted the first conversation to be because I got it."

Your smile came easily.

"I like that better."

"So do I."

Silence settled between you.

Comfortable.

Outside, you could hear the muffled sound of Javi calling something to Wes, followed by the scrape of an amp case across the concrete floor.

You looked back at Joe.

"I'm really proud of you."

The words were quiet, but they carried more weight than you expected.

"I've watched how hard you've worked for this."

A smile spread across his face, softer than the one he'd worn when he'd walked through the rehearsal room door.

"Thanks."

"I mean it." You took a small step closer. "I think I'm just..."

You searched for the right word.

"...processing."

Joe nodded.

"I am too."

He glanced toward the amp where he'd left his phone.

It was still face down.

Still blessedly silent.

"I don't think today hit me until I walked back into this room."

"What do you mean?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I've been trying to figure that out for the last twenty minutes."

You waited.

"I should just be excited."

"You are."

"I am."

He nodded once.

"But everything suddenly feels..."

He looked around the rehearsal space.

"...bigger."

Your heart tightened.

"Yeah."

"It does."

He let out a slow breath.

"You remember what Wes told you?"

You did.

Every word.

You nodded.

Joe gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"He wasn't wrong."

You started to answer.

"Joe—"

"Just..."

He looked down for a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Let me get this out before I lose my nerve."

You nodded.

He took another step toward you.

"So much has changed in the last hour."

He gestured vaguely around the room.

"Broadway. Touring. Rehearsals."

His hand dropped back to his side.

"I don't even know what my schedule looks like yet."

He laughed quietly.

"I probably won't for a while." He pauses.

"But I keep thinking about today."

You frowned.

"What about it?"

"I spent half the afternoon apologizing."

You opened your mouth.

He shook his head gently.

"I know nobody cared."

His smile was small.

"That's almost worse."

He looked down at your joined hands.

"Every time I walked back into the room..."

He swallowed.

"...I was already thinking about when I'd have to leave again."

The confession hung between you.

Raw.

Honest.

"I don't want to become someone you're always waiting for."

Your chest tightened.

"Joe..."

He looked at you with a vulnerability you'd never seen before.

"I've wanted this—"

His eyes flickered between yours.

"Us."

"For so long."

"So have I."

"I know."

His voice was barely above a whisper.

"And that's exactly why this scares me."

Without thinking, you reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek.

He leaned into your touch before he could stop himself.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he closed the distance between you.

Your heart hammered.

His eyes searched yours one last time.

You leaned in.

He met you halfway.

The space between your lips disappeared until there was almost nothing left.

One more breath.

One more inch.

Then...

He stopped.

You opened your eyes.

He was still there.

Still holding your hand.

Still close enough that you could feel his breath.

"I don't want to kiss you like this."

The words were so quiet you almost missed them.

Your brows drew together.

"Like what?"

He looked at you for a long moment before giving a helpless little gesture between the two of you.

"...With me already wondering when I'm going to disappoint you."

Your heart broke.

"You won't."

"I don't know that."

His voice cracked just enough for you to hear it.

"I don't know what this is going to look like."

He glanced toward the phone lying across the amp.

"I don't know how many nights I'm going to miss."

"How many dinners I'll have to cancel."

"How many times work is going to interrupt..."

His eyes found yours again.

"...this."

He laughed once through his nose.

No humor.

Just disbelief.

"This is supposed to be the happiest day of my career."

A beat passed.

"And all I can think about..."

He swallowed hard.

"...is whether I'm already making this harder for us."

You cupped his face with both hands.

He closed his eyes for the briefest second.

"You don't get to decide what's too hard for me."

When he looked at you again, there was so much hope in his expression it almost hurt.

His forehead rested gently against yours.

"I really want to believe that."

"You can."

Before he could answer, his phone vibrated against the amp.

Once.

Then again.

Neither of you moved.

Joe let out the smallest laugh.

Almost defeated.

Almost amused.

He looked toward the phone.

Then back at you.

"...See?"

You smiled, your thumb brushing gently across his cheek.

"I see someone who's trying."

His eyes closed for just a second.

When they opened again, they were softer.

He leaned forward just enough to press a lingering kiss against your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

You knew he wasn't talking about the phone.

He hesitated one last moment before finally reaching for it.

"I'll be right back."

His eyes lingered on yours for another heartbeat before he slipped out into the hallway, the heavy rehearsal room door clicking softly shut behind him.

The silence he left behind somehow felt louder than every ringing phone that had come before.

Five minutes pass and the rehearsal room door creaked open again.

You looked up, expecting Joe.

Instead, Wes stepped inside, balancing one of the smaller amp cases against his hip.

He stopped when he saw you still standing where Joe had left you.

"You okay?"

You looked toward the hallway before answering.

"Yeah."

He smiled knowingly.

"...Liar."

A quiet laugh escaped you.

"I've had a weird five minutes."

"I figured."

He set the amp case beside the wall and leaned against it, giving you space.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Joe's voice drifted faintly through the wall.

You smiled to yourself.

"He deserves this."

Wes nodded.

"He really does."

"I just..."

You looked down at your hands.

"I hate that he's already convinced he's failing."

A slow breath left Wes.

"Yeah."

"He does that."

You looked toward the hallway again.

"I don't want him to think he has to choose."

"He won't."

The answer came without hesitation.

"He'll try to carry everything."

You smiled sadly.

"That sounds exhausting."

A corner of Wes's mouth lifted.

"It is."

Silence settled between you again.

You hadn't realized your eyes were filling until you blinked.

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

The hug caught him off guard.

Only for a heartbeat.

Then his arms came around you.

Steady.

Comforting.

He didn't say anything.

He simply let you stand there.

When you finally pulled away, you laughed quietly, embarrassed.

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"I don't know."

"You don't have to apologize."

You looked toward the hallway again.

"I just..."

Your voice caught.

Wes followed your gaze.

He nodded once.

“Listen…”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never lived a life like his.”

A small smile crossed his face.

“So maybe I’m the wrong person to be saying this.”

He looked down for a moment before continuing.

“But…”

He hesitated.

“If I did…”

His eyes found yours.

“…and you…”

The words caught.

A faint, almost self-conscious smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he shook his head once.

“…if you were waiting for me at the end of all of it…”

His gaze never left yours.

“I’d do everything I could to make it work.”

The room fell quiet.

You stared at him.

Something in your expression softened.

Not changed.

Just…

shifted.

Like, for the first time, you were seeing something you hadn’t noticed before.

Something flickered across Wes’s face.

Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

“Wes…”

He looked away first.

Bending to pick up the amp case, he let out a quiet breath.

“I should probably save Javi from trying to lift everything himself.”

That earned the smallest laugh from you.

As he reached the door, he paused, his hand resting on the handle.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Then he slipped into the hallway, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

You stood there for another moment, listening to the muffled sound of Javi laughing, Joe still talking somewhere beyond the wall, and the familiar chaos of the people who had slowly become your home.

Only then did you reach for the last coil of cable and follow them out.

🌙 the potion circle:

@keerygirlie98

@reiikei12

@stoneyggirl2

@torntaltos

@alwaysreenie

@izzycstairs

@mutual-future-repeat

@eller41

@oohlillie

@idontevenknowannymoree

@shirtyoualwaysborrowed

@aleksusu

@xceafh

@drlangdonapologist

@buckyscoolgf

@kurtsw7rld96

@scoopsahoydjo

@kiwiiscar

@insecuritieeseatmealive

@everythingsfineanddandysblog

It was true. The break room smelled horrendous. The freezers and the sale floor were cold to protect the product, but back here was a stuffy, sticky coffin of recycled air.

One of the mall's maintenance guys was supposed to fix it this morning but he hadn't been back yet. And to be honest, he looked a little sketch. No tools, very short sentences, and a vaguely Russian accent. 

"It's your turn, Buckley," Steve grumbled without moving.

"Nuh-uh. I did it yesterday. You two can duke it out but it's not gonna be me."

The swinging door to the shop floor shut behind her and she was gone.

Great.

You didn't even need to look at him to know he had that stupid, lazy grin on his face.

"You two can duke it out," he mimicked in a higher pitch, still slumped in the chair, clearly having no intention of moving.

"Look, there's two bags already, we can each just take one. For once this summer, I don't have the energy to argue with you. I'm sweating from way too many places I'd rather not be, I think my deodorant gave up hours ago, and my drink is already mostly water."

With a dramatic sigh, you pushed yourself up from the chair, the red vinyl sticking to the back of your thighs with an embarrassing noise. Steve watched, an unreadable expression on his face, as you went to the corner by the door where the offending bags sat.

"What?" you echoed his earlier tone. "I can't help it if the shorts don't come in a bigger size."

You yanked one of the black plastic bags from the pile, and Steve finally stood up. The shorts they had you wear were ridiculous on your frame, a size too small, digging into your hips and thighs. Usually you didn't care, but today, with the heat melting everything in the mall to a sticky pulp, you felt like you were suffocating.

"Trust me, I'm not looking," Steve said. But he was.

He grabbed the other bag, his arm brushing yours. The contact lasted less than a second, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the oppressive heat. You blamed it on static, on the friction of the plastic bags, anything other than some pretty boy in a sailor suit. He was the antithesis of everything you were supposed to like.

You made it to the employee entrance at the back of the mall, near the loading docks. The heavy metal door groaned open, and a blast of real, unconditioned air hit you.

The groan Steve let out was dramatic, even for this heat. "It's worse out here."

You couldn't argue. The air smelled of hot asphalt and distant trash. The sun beat down on the concrete as you trudged toward the giant green dumpster, the plastic bag scraping against the pavement.

"Let's just get this over with," you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

Steve tossed his bag in with a lazy heave. It landed with a sickeningly wet thud. You did the same. As you turned to go back inside, you tripped over a deep crack in the pavement.

"Fuck!" you grunted out, turning to take a look at your knee, which was now stinging and bleeding. You ripped your knee away from the searing concrete and inspected the damage.

A deep scrape, a little bloody but more dirt and grime than anything else. You huffed out a frustrated breath, your already frayed patience wearing even thinner. You lay back on the hot pavement, one knee propped up, and awaited the sweet release of heat induced death. 

"Looks like someone hasn't gotten her sea legs." Steve stood over you, blocking the sun in his eyes with his hand, the other settled on his hip. "Oh, shit, that actually looks bad..." 

"Brilliant observation, Captain." you snapped, the pain making you sharper than usual.

He crouched down, the shorts stretched tight across his thighs. This uniform was truly ridiculous, but the way it fit him was… infuriating. Being near eye level with his crotch was not helping matters. 

"You're bleeding," he said, his voice softer now. He reached out as if to touch your knee, then thought better of it, letting his hand hover for a moment before dropping it.

"Again with the astute observations. You missed your calling, Harrington. Should've been a detective."

"C'mon." he rolled his eyes again, extending a hand to help you up. "Let's get you back to the break room. We've got a first aid kit in the stockroom. I'm pretty sure I saw it when I was looking for places to hide the day they made us film that embarrassing commercial."

You ignored his hand and pushed yourself up, your palm stinging on the hot pavement. He gave you a raised eyebrow and you sighed before reluctantly taking his help. His grip was firm and warmer than you expected. You tried to pull away as soon as you were standing, but he held on for a beat too long, steering you toward the door.

The break room was still a sauna, but at least it wasn't the blazing sun. He sat you down in the same chair you'd vacated earlier and rummaged through a cabinet, finally emerging with a white plastic box with a red cross on it.

"Alright, tough guy," he said, kneeling in front of you. "Let's clean this up."

"I can do it myself." You protested, but he was already wordlessly cleaning the wound. 

He was really good at this, you thought. Much more than you expected someone like him to be. 

"What, did you patch people up after you and your jock friends threw them against lockers or something?"

It was an unnecessary jab, but you needed to say something to break the otherwise tender moment. 

He looked up at you with an almost hurt expression as he ripped the gauze packet open with his teeth. The motion was quick and efficient.

"Yeah, that was me," he said, not looking at you, focusing on cleaning the scrape with an antiseptic wipe. "King Steve. Got the T-shirt and everything."

He sounded so bitter, like the name tasted wrong coming from his lips.

"Sorry," you mumbled, feeling a pang of something you didn't want to name. "That was..."

"Forget it," he cut you off, but his touch gentled even more. "People are allowed to think I'm an asshole. I was an asshole."

You stayed quiet as watched him gently pressed the fabric to the cleaned wound, noticing how such big hands could be so precise. How someone who you knew could be a clumsy, arrogant moron could now have a look of intense focus.

He's quiet for a long moment, before glancing up at you again. "Had my ass kicked more than a few times. You learn a few things. Like how to clean a scrape."

There was something more there, something in the way he said it that you couldn't quite place. He wasn't talking about a simple schoolyard scuffle. But you didn't have the energy to press.

"Well if they didn't build this mall so fast maybe all the pavement wouldn't be cracking..." you muttered, both embarrassed by your fall and desperate to move on from an impending heavier topic.

He lets out a short, amused breath of air and he's taping a fresh piece of gauze over your knee. He's so close you can smell him, a clean scent of soap and a tinge of sweat. It's a musky, surprisingly comforting smell that has no right to be this intoxicating.

"All done, think you'll survive."

He pats your good knee and sits back on his heels, surveying his work before looking up at you, as if asking with his eyes if there's anything else you may need.

It was a cruel joke seeing him like that, practically on his knees in front of you. His hair was sunkissed, brushed slightly more away from his forehead. His eyes were unfairly puppy dog-ish and you swore he had to actively put balm on his lips with how pouty and shiny they always looked. 

Steve was pretty, and you hated it. You hated how easy he was to look at.

"Guess I'll have to." You push the chair back and stand. "Thanks, I guess. For the medical attention and not, you know, leaving me to die out there."

"Yeah, well, Buckley would have my head if I came back without you." He stands too, his height suddenly imposing in the small space. "Can't have you bleeding out on my watch. Bad for business."

He walked over to grab his hat and did a little trick where he flipped it onto his head. You tried to look unimpressed, but a ghost of a smile tugged at your lips.

"C'mon, Harrington, don't flatter yourself. My death would probably improve sales."

His laugh was real this time. "I disagree. We'd have far less preteen boys trying to order extra scoops just to get you to lean over the counter."

You paused, your hand on the panel of the swinging door. That was… new. A warmth that had nothing to do with the weather spread through your chest. You risked a glance back at him.

He looked as if he was surprised at himself, too. He was leaning against the table again, trying to regain that careless facade, but something had shifted. You saw it in the slight tension in his shoulders, in the way he couldn't quite meet your eye for a second.

"The shirt." he gestured, clearing his throat. "It's, y'know, tight."

Any hint of flirtatious energy inside you evaporated at that. You were suddenly acutely aware of the way the company mandated top stretched across your stomach and chest. The casual, almost clinical observation stung more than any deliberate insult could have.

Steve could practically feel an icy chill when you wordlessly pushed through the door and it had nothing to do with the AC from the sales floor. 

"Shit..." he muttered to himself, relaxing against the table with a deep sigh, running a hand down his face. He knew that look. He had said the wrong thing. Again.

The rest of your shift was a special kind of hell. The soft serve machine seemed determined to only dispense melted soup, the toppings station was a sticky mess that no amount of wiping could fix, and the endless loop of corporate-approved pop hits drilled directly into your skull. Every interaction felt like a performance. Your smile for the customers was a brittle mask, your sarcastic remarks to Robin were forced and thin.

"Are you good?" she asked when it was close to closing and the Friday rush had died down. 

"Yeah. Fine."

Your words were short as you marked your clipboard for the nightly inventory. 

"Okay... well you're practically putting your pen through the paper there..." She gestured with her scoop, "and you haven't made a single joke about the mall cop that looks like Tom Selleck if he was raised by wolves."

You glanced at the man leaning against one of the columns outside the store, sporting a truly glorious yet questionable mustache. You shrugged and went back to your clipboard.

You could feel her looking at you before letting out a dramatic sigh and going back to her duties.

Steve didn't try to talk to you. He worked with a quiet efficiency, wiping counters, restocking syrups, avoiding your line of sight.

Eventually Robin shut the gate and you counted the money in the till. 

"You missed a twenty." 

It comes from over your shoulder, not in a malicious way, but a simple statement of fact. The fact that it was his voice though, that made you clench your jaw. 

"No I didn't." Your reply was clipped.

"Yeah, you did. It's stuck to the back of the tray." He reached over you, not quite touching you, but close enough that the scent of him - that faint musk- washed over you again.

His thumb brushed the bill loose from its hiding place. He set it on top of the stack without another word and turned to wipe down a spotless display case.

The silent ride home with Robin was just as bad. Your hands gripped the wheels a little too hard. 

"He's not that bad." Robin finally said from your passenger seat. 

"Who? Tom Selleck wolf-cop? No, I think he's probably a pillar of the community." The sarcasm was so thick it was nearly solid. You knew exactly who she meant.

"No, Steve."

You sighed, letting your shoulders slump as you pulled into her driveway.

"I mean, he's a total dingus, sure, but he's not malicious, you know?" She was unbuckling her seatbelt, gathering her bag. "He's just… post-prime Steve Harrington. He's still figuring out the new manual."

"It's weird of you to defend him." 

"It's weird of you to get your panties in a twist over a stupid sailor boy." She shot back with a grin, hopping out and leaning back in through the open window. "Look, all I'm saying is... don't take whatever dumb shit he says to heart. He's probably just scared of your... you-ness."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway," she said with a yawn. "I have the morning shift tomorrow so I need sleep."

"Wait... you're not closing on a Saturday?"

"Nope. You're on your own with Captain Hair Care." She wiggled her fingers in a wave. "Don't let him get under your skin."

She was gone before you could formulate a decent comeback, a skip in her step as she trotted toward her front door. You watched until she was inside, the porch light flicking on. Alone with the quiet hum of your car's engine, you leaned your forehead against the steering wheel.

Robin's words bounced around your head. Scared of what? Your tendency to swear like a sailor? Your less-than-perfect figure in a ridiculous uniform? Your ability to form complete sentences without the word 'like'? The thought of the former King of Hawkins High being intimidated by you was so absurd it was almost funny.

But it was the last thing she said that stuck. Don't let him get under your skin.

Too late. He was already there, a low-grade fever you couldn't sweat out, even in this miserable heat. The image of him kneeling in front of you, his focused expression, the gentle pressure of his fingers on your knee... It played on a loop behind your eyelids.

Right next to all the annoying shit. Forgetting to restock the cherries. Leaving sticky rings on the counter. The way he tried to charm every mom who came to the counter. And that comment. The clinical, almost detached observation about your shirt being tight.

He was under your skin alright, like a parasite.

Saturday afternoon arrived with the subtlety of a jackhammer. The heat was worse. It shimmered off the asphalt in visible waves, ready to fry an egg or melt your skin off.

You walked into Scoops Ahoy at 1:59 PM, a minute before your shift. The blast of frigid air of the mall was a welcome shock. When you clocked in, Steve was already behind the counter, wiping down the surface that was already immaculate.

"It's been surprisingly dead for a Saturday," he said without looking up, breaking the silence. He sounded tired. "Guess everyone's at the pool."

"Smart people are at the pool," you mumbled, tying on your own ridiculous apron. The uniform felt like a punishment, the fabric scratching at your already overheated skin.

Robin popped out from the back, changed in some normal summer clothes. 

"Lemme guess," you sigh. "The pool." 

"Right you are my fellow corporate slave! Some of the band kids are getting together, and I cannot miss an opportunity to make fun of Brad Johnson's new haircut." she beamed. "You two have fun. Don't burn the place down."

She gave you a pointed look, then one at Steve, before she disappeared out the front with a jaunty little wave.

"I would give anything to have the morning shift right now," you grumbled to no one in particular.

"You and me both," Steve sighed, finally looking up at you. "I could be at the pool right now, seeing how the summer is treating the female population of Hawkins."

A familiar irritation sparked in your chest.

Of course.

That's where he'd be. Scoping out chicks in bikinis. The thought made your stomach clench for a reason you refused to examine.

Instead, you grabbed a rag and started wiping down the already clean topping bar.

"I already did that..." he started. 

"Don't you have a pool of your own?" your voice came out judgey and sharp, but you didn't look at him. 

"Uh, yeah... I do. But it's no fun by yourself." He gestured vaguely with the rag.

"I'm sure you have a rolodex of numbers you could call."

There. The perfect jab. Annoying, bordering on cruel, and it would hopefully shut him up for a few hours.

"Right," a bitter, short little laugh escaped him. "Look, could you just... not do that?"

"Do what?"

"That thing you do. Where you act like you know everything about me."

Your hands stilled on the counter.

"I don't. I'm just making conversation based on the public record."

"Look, I know what my 'public record' is, alright?" His voice wasn't angry, just... weary. "You've made it pretty clear you think I'm some shallow, womanizing douchebag. But maybe..."

He trailed off, tossing the rag into the sink behind the counter with a wet slap.

"You know what? Never mind."

The silence that followed was thick as the hot fudge congealed in the drip tray.

A few hours went by and the after dinner rush finally slowed.

You managed to have a civil, albeit short, conversation about the best Muppet. You argued for Animal, obviously. He was a Kermit man through and through. It was the most you'd talked to him without the conversation taking a sharp, veiled turn.

As the night progressed, just a few hours left of your shift left, you both found yourselves people watching in between customers. 

"Oh shit, that's Stacey Carmichael," Steve said, a little too loud, a spark of that old King Steve charm suddenly igniting. He instinctively ran a hand through his hair. It was a reflex. "She, uh, she used to be a cheerleader." 

You rolled your eyes as you watched the tall, gorgeous blonde talking with a group of other equally gorgeous girls in the food court. 

"Yeah, I'm aware. She was in my class." 

"Oh shit... yeah you were a couple years ahead, right?" he looked at you with genuine curiosity, which somehow was more annoying.

"A gap year and then the failed college stint," you said, quoting the air with your fingers. "I was supposed to be a sophomore this year."

"So what happened? If you don't mind me asking..."

"Another gap year." was all you offered. You didn't want to get into the messy details of your spectacular failure. Of the crippling anxiety and the pressure of it all. How you'd locked yourself in your dorm room for three days before finally calling your parents in tears to come get you.

He seemed to understand this was a door you didn't want to open. He nodded, his eyes drifting back to Stacey, who was now laughing at something her friend said, a bright sound that carried across the food court.

"She turned me down for prom, you know," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "Her prom. My sophomore year. I was so sure I had it in the bag. I'd just gotten my car."

"And already going for senior girls, huh?" you couldn't help but poke, a genuine, small smile gracing your lips. "A real legacy player."

He flushed, a deep pink creeping up his neck. "Shut up. She was... mature. For her age." He winced at how that sounded.

"Code for: she had boobs and long legs. Still does." you summarized, taking a sip of the soda you'd poured yourself a while ago.

"Yeah, well," he leaned against the counter, mirroring your posture. "She's still pretty."

"So go talk to her." The words were out before you could stop them. "You're a changed man now and all." 

He looked at you like you'd just suggested he go wrestle a bear. "No way. Not now. Not... not here."

"Why not? She'd probably still swoon for the old Harrington charm."

"I'm in a sailor suit," he deadpanned, gesturing down at himself with a look of utter revulsion. "The magic's kind of gone when you're asking for their order of banana splits instead of asking them to dance."

You had to stifle a laugh.

"Girls aren't that complicated. If she's still shallow like she was in school, she already peaked anyway." 

"You really think that?" He looked at you, and for a moment, the usual smirk was gone, replaced by a genuine, searching expression. "That people just... peak?"

"I think some people do," you said quietly, your gaze drifting to Stacey's group again. "She once asked me in English class if my hair was a 'political statement'. So, yeah. I think her peak was probably getting crowned queen of the winter formal."

The corner of Steve's mouth twitched.

"You had that pink streak in the front, right? That was cool."

Your eyes snapped back to his. Cool?

Coming from him, that felt like a betrayal of the natural order.

"Principal Higgins would disagree. He called it a 'deliberate act of insubordination' and threatened to suspend me if I didn't wash it out."

"He was a dick," Steve said with surprising vehemence. "He gave me detention once for a week when Mrs. Click caught me and Tommy H. trying to see how many pencils we could fit in the ceiling tiles."

You made a disgusted look at the mention of Tommy Hagan. That was a name you could have happily gone the rest of your life without hearing again.

"You were a child of privilege, Steve," you said, your tone light but sharp, trying to steer the conversation back to safer, more familiar territory.

He picked up a stray cherry that had rolled onto the counter and popped it into his mouth. The way his lips closed around the small red fruit was distractingly... something. "I think I was a bored little shit with too much time on my hands. There's a difference."

Seriously, why were his lips so—

"And now you're a bored little shit in a sailor suit," you shot back, grabbing the cherry stem from his fingers and throwing it in the trash. Your fingers brushed his lips only just slightly. A current ran up your arm that you blamed on the static from the stupid poly-blend uniform.

You turned back to see Stacey and her friends heading to the ice cream parlor. 

"And, sailor, here's your cue."

You leaned against the back counter, a gesture that forced Steve to take the lead and serve them. He straightened up immediately, that lazy, charming smile sliding into place like a well-worn mask. He was good at it, you had to give him that.

"Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, ladies. What's your pleasure?"

Stacey giggled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Steve Harrington? I haven't seen you in ages. You work here?"

"Just for the summer," he said with a casual shrug that was anything but. "Living the dream. So, what can I get for you? On the house, for old times' sake."

Her friends tittered. You rolled your eyes so hard you were worried they'd get stuck.

You busied yourself with wiping down yet another spot on the counter that was already perfectly clean, trying to ignore the easy way he worked them.

You heard that sickeningly sweet voice say your name and you looked up at Stacey. Her perfect pink lip curled a little as she looked at you. "You're still doing... this?" She gestured vaguely, an all-encompassing wave that clearly meant your entire existence— your curvy frame in the too-tight uniform, the dark eyeliner that was slightly smudged at the end of the day, your complete lack of interest in her conversation.

A hot prickle of shame and anger started at the back of your neck. Until you looked up at her and noticed a familiar tell you'd only seen from a few girls in your college. 

It was less judgmental curiosity and more... interest.

You held her gaze and gave her a slow, deliberate smile before leaning over the counter. You knew exactly what this did to the uniform top.

"Yep. But now I have a deep and abiding passion for corporate-mandated polyester and the art of the perfect swirl," you said, your voice dripping with mock sincerity, giving her exactly the right amount of sarcasm and confidence.

To your left, you heard the soft clink of a metal scoop hitting a ceramic bowl.

Steve had stopped.

Stacey's perfectly composed mask wavered for a second, a flicker of... something in her eyes.

"Oh. Well. Good for you," she said, her smile becoming more genuine.

Steve, bless him, was clueless. He made an attempt to steer Stacy's attention back to him. As if he was doing you a favor. Getting you away from her taunting. 

"Alright ladies..." he started, trying to regain control of the situation, but he didn't understand.

You already had it.

Stacey's friends lost interest and started ordering their sundaes.

While Steve was occupied, Stacey leaned a little closer to you, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Hey, so, me and some friends are having a little get together tomorrow night. A bonfire, out at Lovers Lake. You should come."

‘Little get together’ was code for summer rager. You knew the type. Keystone lights and weed stolen from older brothers.

She was watching you, waiting. Not mocking. Expectant. And in that moment, the pieces clicked into place without any apprehension. Her initial judgment wasn't about you being beneath her. It was about her trying to figure out if you were like her.

A packed party meant no one was looking too much at any two people slipping off into the woods. A bonfire at Lovers Lake was prime real estate for secret encounters.

Steve's head popped up from behind you, a look of pure confusion on his face. He was completely lost.

"A party?" he asked, trying to smoothly join the conversation he wasn't a part of. He turned to Stacey. "Cool. Who's all going?"

Stacey didn't even look at him. Her gaze was fixed on you.

"We're not really advertising," she said, her tone dismissing him so completely it was almost masterful. "But... you're both welcome to join. Just some of us who are home for the summer. Hanging out."

The offer was still aimed at you. Steve was an afterthought, a necessary addition to extend the invitation to the other half of the current Scoops Ahoy duo.

He didn't seem to realize that Stacey Carmichael, the girl who had turned him down for prom, the girl who represented the peak of the very social hierarchy he used to rule, had just completely shut him out to talk to you.

"We'll think about it," you said, your voice casual, as if you got invited to ragers by reformed mean girls every day of the week. You gave her another slow smile, this one with a little more teeth.

"Cool. Hope to see you there," she said, finally turning to collect her sundae from a flustered-looking Steve. "Thanks, Stevie. It's... cute. The uniform."

The name 'Stevie' was the final twist of the knife. She sauntered away with her friends, their laughter echoing back from the polished linoleum.

You let the silence hang in the air for a solid ten seconds after they were gone.

"I think that went well," he said, crossing his arms and nodding his head. "She did a little volley there by mentioning the party to you and then looped me right back in. Classic misdirection. She's interested."

You stared at him. He was genuinely analyzing this like it was a sports play.

"Steve," you said, your voice dangerously quiet. 

"Yeah?"

"She wasn't interested in you."

"What are you talking about? She was totally flirting. I think she wants me to go to that party tomorrow." The hope in his voice was pathetic. "She even called me Stevie. That's pretty straightforward."

"That's not what was happening." You leaned forward, lowering your voice even though you were completely alone in the ice cream shop. "She wasn't interested in you."

The gears in his head were turning visibly.

"Okay...?" He drew out the word. "So... she was just being nice?"

"Let me spell it out for you, Captain. Her invitation wasn't for you. It was for me."

He blinked. The full, glorious impact of your statement seemed to short-circuit his brain.

"So she wants to be friends after bullying you in high school? Yeah, right."

"I didn't say she wanted to be friends." You met his bewildered gaze head-on, your own expression a mixture of pity and amusement.

And then, you saw it. A flicker of something in his eyes. A lightbulb, dim and far away, but it was on.

"Oh," he breathed out. He leaned against the counter, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. "Oh. Wow."

He looked from you, to where Stacey's group had disappeared, and back to you again, as if trying to solve a complex equation.

His gaze settled on your face, not your body, not your clothes, just your eyes. He was looking at you differently.

Not as a coworker, not as a friend of Robin's, not as the girl who made sarcastic comments. He was looking at you as a person with a secret, a life beyond this stupid counter.

"So she's...?" he trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

You just gave a simple nod.

"Holy shit," he whispered, a slow grin spreading across his face. It wasn't the cocky, practiced smile he used for customers. "Okay, now the prom thing makes so much more sense."

You couldn't help it. An honest-to-god laugh escaped you, echoing slightly in the empty shop.

"So that's what you get out of all this? An explanation for your bruised teenage ego?"

"What did you want me to say?"

It wasn't rude or judgemental like a small part of you had suspected he may be. He was confused and you had thrown a lot at him all at once.

"I was prepared for you to be an asshole, honestly."

"I can be," he said, shrugging on a surprising wave of vulnerability. "But, you know, not about... that." He gestured vaguely between you and the direction Stacey and her friends had left. "It's not... I don't see why it's a big deal."

Your laugh was a little softer this time. "You're the last person I expected to have that reaction."

His smile was a little softer now, something unreadable in his eyes as he cleared his throat a little. He busied himself with grabbing the clipboard and starting the closing inventory checklist before he spoke again. 

"So are you, uh, also..." he didn't look at you as he spoke, focusing hard on counting the boxes of cones like they held the secrets of the universe. "...like Stacey?"

"Gay?" you finished for him, the word feeling foreign and loud in the quiet shop. "No. Not... exclusively."

You watched the back of his neck turn pink as he nodded, processing the new information.

"Okay," he said to the inventory sheet. "Okay. That's... fine."

"Wow, Harrington," you deadpanned. "Don't get too excited. You might pull something."

He finally turned to look at you, and the smile was back, but it was different. It was real. "Sorry. My brain is just... rebooting. You know, Steve, circa '83, probably would have had some deeply stupid and offensive thing to say right about now."

"Yeah, well," you leaned against the counter, trying to act casual, but your heart was hammering against your ribs. "He's not here right now. Just the sailor."

"Good," he said, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. "The sailor is much better company."

The last hour of your shift passed in a strange, comfortable silence. It wasn't tense or awkward, just...

Unnerving? 

You kept catching him watching you. Not staring, not leering, just... watching. When you'd catch his eye, he'd look away quickly, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and pretend to be intensely fascinated by the nutritional information on a can of whipped cream.

"I'm not interested in Stacey." You finally say, much more casually than you feel, as you count the till. 

Steve looked up from where he was sweeping the floor, leaning on the broom. "I figured."

"Did you?" Your tone was laced with skepticism.

He shrugged, pushing a stray sprinkle into a dustpan. "Yeah. I mean, you called her 'shallow'. You don't seem like the kind of girl to go for people you think are shallow."

He paused, then added, "Even if they do have incredible legs."

A small, unexpected laugh bubbled out of you. "Okay, fair point. Her legs are pretty great."

He grinned, a genuine, easy thing that made your stomach do a little flip. "See? We agree on something."

"Miracles do happen," you said, bagging the cash. "I just genuinely can't believe you didn't pick up on what was happening. I thought you were supposed to be the expert on girls."

"Former expert," he corrected, a wry twist to his lips. "My certification expired. Turns out, knowing how to get a handjob in the back of your car at a party doesn't exactly make you an authority on the female mind. Or... you know. Any mind but your own, really."

You made a disgusted noise. "Charming."

"I'm just being honest," he said, resting the broom against the wall and leaning against the counter opposite you. "It was all a game. And I was good at the game. But that's all it was. It was all... surface."

The words hung in the air between you, until he added the most vulnerable part. "You know, until Nancy."

You stopped counting the cash. This was the most he'd ever said about Nancy Wheeler outside of a few offhand comments you'd overheard, and it felt significant. Nancy Wheeler, the quiet, smart, headstrong girl who had brought Steve Harrington to his knees in a way that no cheerleader or social climber ever could.

"Surface?" you prompted gently.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at a worn spot on the linoleum. "She... she wasn't... She cared about things. Like, real things. The newspaper, and... college, her family and friends, and the future. And she saw right through the bullshit. Through me. It was... terrifying. And also maybe the best thing that ever happened to me."

The sincerity in his voice was disarming. He wasn't performing. He was just... talking. To you.

"And I'm guessing it didn't end so well," you said, finishing up the till and sliding the tray into its slot.

His smile was sad, a ghost of the easy charm he usually wore. "I, uh, didn't handle some things well. After her best friend went missing... I didn't... I wasn't there for her the way I should have been. I was still playing the game. And then... Jonathan Byers happened."

You knew Jonathan Byers. The quiet, intense photographer with the difficult home life. Another one of Hawkins High's outliers.

"Let me guess," you said, leaning on the counter, mirroring his posture. "They're together now?"

"I'm not angry," he said, and to your immense surprise, he sounded like he meant it. "I was, for a while. I was an asshole about it. But... they make sense. They actually, like, talk to each other. He gets her in a way I never figured out how to."

The only sounds were the low hum of the freezers and the distant muzak trickling from the mall's main speakers. You watched him, this boy you had so neatly categorized and dismissed, and saw the edges of the caricature start to fray.

"You're not so bad, Harrington. For a washed-up jock."

He looked up, a flicker of that old, lazy grin returning. "Coming from you, that's practically a marriage proposal."

"In your dreams," you scoffed, but the retort lacked its usual bite.

"You're right, my legs aren't nearly as good as Stacey's," he let out a dramatic sigh. 

You couldn't help the way your eyes glanced downward to see what he was talking about. The uniform shorts, while stupid, did little to hide how strong his legs were. How much they must've been toned from years of sports. How they hugged his thighs just right. How they hugged his--

"You're staring."

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. "I was not."

"Were too," he sing-songed, that stupid, completely gorgeous grin spreading across his face. "Don't worry, I get it. The uniform is a lot to handle."

"I was admiring the craftsmanship of how the seam is coming undone on your left thigh," you shot back, your face feeling hotter than the summer pavement outside. "Shoddy workmanship. I should report it to corporate."

He looked down, genuinely inspecting the seam in question. "Oh, hey, you're right. The thread's all popped." He fingered the loose string. "Huh. Probably from when I had to haul that new container of sprinkles out of the back. Nearly gave myself a hernia."

You internally were grateful for his complete obliviousness to your real line of sight and rolled your eyes. "Yeah, a real hero. The sprinkles would have been lost without you."

He shrugged, unbothered. "A hero's work is never done."

The weekend went by without much issue. You didn't go to the party. Something about getting high with a bunch of vapid teens you went to high school with, while trying to pretend you weren't having a mid-college crisis, felt about as appealing as licking the floor of the ice cream shop.

Instead, you’d stayed home, listened to records on repeat, and tried to write a short story that was going nowhere.

Tuesday night was when you always closed with Steve.

It was dead. A Tuesday night in Hawkins in mid-June was the definition of purgatory.

You both did your closing duties with practiced ease, a silent, efficient rhythm that you'd fallen into. He'd sweep, you'd wipe.

"So, like... the other night..." Steve started as he swept, his tone betraying the fact that it had been weighing on his mind. 

Him speaking had broken the zoning out you were currently doing. 

"What about it?" you asked, feigning disinterest as you scrubbed at a stubborn spot of dried fudge on the counter.

"Did you, uh..." He paused, leaning on the broom. "Did you and Stacey...?"

"If you're asking if we had some secret girl on girl rendezvous at Lovers Lake, the answer is no," you said, not looking at him. "I didn't go to the party."

He let out a small breath, and you couldn't decipher if it was relief or disappointment.

"Oh. Okay."

"It's not like porn, you know," you said, glancing over your shoulder at him. "The concept isn't a free-for-all for any man's viewing pleasure."

He bristled, his brow furrowing. "That's not what I was asking. I was... curious."

"What, wondering if we would go back home and wear silky pajamas and hit each other with pillows?" The sarcasm was a familiar armor, and you pulled it tight around yourself.

He almost looked angry now. He slammed the dustpan down on the counter a little too hard. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Assume the worst of me. Every single time. I ask a simple question and you turn it into me being some kind of... of..." He struggled for the word.

"Scumbag?" you offered helpfully. "Caveman? Horndog?"

"I was going to say moron," he shot back, his voice low and surprisingly hurt. "But I'm not that guy. And it's... it's getting really fucking tiring trying to prove it to you."

You were silenced for once, before you let out a deep sigh and put the rag down for a minute. 

"Look," you started. "College was... hard for me. On like, so many levels. I guess I thought the one way it would be easier is that I didn't have to hide certain parts of myself like I did here. And then I quickly realized that there were new reasons it was hard being... like me."

You couldn't bring yourself to put a label on it. You hadn't quite figured out what one worked and that was okay. 

"But anyway, one of the biggest hurdles, and maybe the most surprisingly common reaction I got from both men and women was to... treat it like it was for them. That it was a performance."

"Okay," he said, leaning against the counter, listening.

"You know, I’d meet a girl at a party and we'd chat and flirt and once it got to anything more than that, anything physical, she was usually just trying to catch the eyes of some pervy frat guys." You let out a self depreciating sigh, a little embarrassed to be telling him all this.

"And then if I tried to start something with a guy, they acted like it was a free pass for a threesome. It wasn't genuine interest in me, you know, just in what I could offer them. What my... existence could do for their sexual fantasy."

Steve watched you, his eyes soft and serious. There was no smirk, no hint of judgment.

"So when you get that look in your eye-like you're trying to work out some kind of complicated puzzle that would probably earn you a prize if you solve it, it's... hard not to assume. So I'm sorry. That I was an asshole. It's an ingrained defense mechanism."

The confession left a raw, buzzing silence in its wake. You had laid a piece of yourself bare on the grimy linoleum floor, a piece that you'd been holding on to since you decided to take a gap year, and it was in front of him of all people.

"Okay," he finally said, his voice quiet. "Okay, I get that. I'm sorry that happened to you. That's... shitty. People are shitty."

He looked down at the floor, kicking at stray sprinkles before looking back at you.

"For what it's worth, I'm not asking for a show." he said, a little sadly. "I don't... I wasn't picturing that."

He paused. "I just... I was just trying to figure it out. Figure you out."

You looked at him, your heart giving another one of those little, painful flips.

He cleared his throat and picked up the dustpan. "The good thing is, I'm a very slow study. So you'll have plenty of warning before I solve any of your complicated puzzles."

You watched as he fell back into the rhythm of sweeping. You noticed the way the muscles in his back moved under the thin fabric of that ridiculous shirt. How the shorts rode up just a bit as he bent over. How the back of his neck, where his hair started to curl with sweat, was surprisingly vulnerable-looking.

You were humanizing this man. You were seeing him as Steve. A guy who worked a shit job, who had a complicated past, who seemed genuinely, achingly lonely sometimes. A guy who, for some reason, was putting in the effort to be decent to you, even when you were a complete bitch to him.

"Why do you want to figure me out?" You asked, busying yourself with meaningless cleanup to hide the softness in your own voice.

He finished with the dustpan, straightened up, and leaned against the broom handle again. He looked out over the deserted food court, at the mall security guard making his slow, predictable rounds.

"I don't know," he said after a moment. His gaze was distant, fixed on the flashing lights of the arcade. "I guess I've realized there's more to people than I thought. A lot more. And I feel like I spent years… just not seeing any of it."

He turned to look at you, and the sincerity in his eyes was so disarming it almost felt like a weapon.

"You're interesting. And you don't like me. I'm trying to figure out what I did. And... maybe if I do, I can stop doing it."

The honesty of it was a punch to the gut. He wasn't trying to charm you, wasn't trying to get anything from you. He was just a guy trying to understand why he kept failing.

"I—" you started, but no words came out.

He saved you by pushing off the counter and grabbing the clipboard for the closing checklist. "Alright, what's next on the shutdown protocol?"

He was letting you off the hook, changing the subject, giving you space. And you were ridiculously grateful for it. But you also didn't want to take it.

"You didn't do anything, Steve," you said, the words quiet but firm.

He paused, pen hovering over the checklist. "Come on. Every time I talk to you, I feel like I'm putting my foot in my mouth."

"That's not your fault," you clarified. "I don't dislike you. I dislike the idea of you. The version of you that lived in my head. The guy who had it all. The guy who never had to try."

You gestured vaguely around you. "The guy who was probably going to get a sports scholarship and have a summer fling and never think about the people who had to clean up after him."

Steve finally looked at you, really looked at you, a small, frown line appearing between his brows.

"Little fun fact? I am trying. All the damn time," he admitted. "And the summer fling? Not exactly panning out. And the sports scholarship..." He scoffed, a short, bitter sound. "Let's just say my dad and Coach had a little talk about my 'priorities' last year and I didn't listen. I don't think college is in my future."

You felt a strange pang of something in your chest. It almost felt like guilt. You had built this whole narrative in your head about him, this perfect, easy life, and here he was, chipping away at it with every quiet, honest word.

"Oh," you said, brilliantly.

"Yeah, 'oh'," he mimicked, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He set the clipboard down, moving to the back to start emptying the sanitary bins. "The universe has a funny way of kicking you in the teeth. Turns out I'm not as special as I thought I was."

"But!" He turned to you and pointed, before pushing the door open with his back. "I'm kind of okay with that now."

You watched the door swing shut behind him, waiting a beat before following.

"Well, I guess I'm sorry for underestimating-"

You're suddenly chest to chest with him in the back room. He'd forgotten the trash bag. He'd turned right around and you walked straight into him.

"-you." you finished, your breath catching in your throat.

One of his hands was braced on your waist, grabbing to steady you. You could feel the warmth of his palms seeping through your uniform. You could smell him again, that clean, soapy, slightly sweaty scent that was becoming infuriatingly familiar.

"Whoa, easy there," he said, but his voice was lower than usual. He didn't move away, the softest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your eyes, almost of their own accord, flicked down to his lips. They were slightly parted. And in that split second, you wanted to know what they tasted like.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

You pushed gently against his chest. "Personal space, Harrington."

He blinked, the spell broken. He let go of your arm and took a half-step back, running a hand through his hair in that nervous way he had.

"Right. Sorry." He looked anywhere but at you. "My fault. Should've worn a bell..."

It had been four days since the almost-kiss. It's all you could think about, but neither of you spoke about it.

The silence that settled between you now was different. Before, it was laced with tension and disdain. Now, it was charged with something else.

Luckily, the busy Saturday night crowd had left you both too busy to think about anything but orders and cash. You moved around each other in the small space with a new, careful choreography, your hands brushing, your shoulders passing close, each touch a tiny jolt.

A mother with three screaming kids finally left, leaving a sticky trail of melted strawberry ice cream across your clean counter.

Robin was at the register, her head in her hands.

"I swear to God, if one more kid asks for gummy worms on their chocolate ice cream, I'm going to scream."

"It's a culinary revolution, Buckley. Don't stifle their creativity," you said, scrubbing at the sticky spot with maybe a little more force than necessary.

"It's gross." Steve chimed in, wiping down the scoop well.

You both looked at each other at the same moment before quickly looking away.

Robin's head shot up, eyes narrowed. "You two have been weird all week. Weirder than usual. What's going on?"

"Nothing," you both said in perfect, damning unison.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, a look of dawning, horrified comprehension on her face. "You had sex."

Steve dropped his scoop. It clattered into the metal well with an almost ear-piercing clang.

"No!" he yelped, his face turning a shade of red you'd only previously seen on a sunburned tourist.

"No!" you echoed, your voice slightly higher than you intended. "What the hell Buckley!"

You both looked at each other again, this was the last person you wanted to be in this interrogation with.

Robin stood up straight, planting her hands on her hips. She looked back and forth between your panicked faces with a gleeful expression. 

"Relax, you two. I'm messing with you," she said, waving a dismissive hand, although her eyes still held a speculative glint.

Robin was too good at her job, her specialty being pattern recognition. She had you two pinned, at least enough to know something had shifted in whatever weird, antagonistic ecosystem you and Steve inhabited.

Steve picked up the scoop, wiping it on the side of his apron. "Hilarious. In no world would that ever, in a million years, happen."

The words were a slap in the face, even if they were said in a panicked attempt to deflect Robin's teasing. You felt a hot surge of anger, but you didn't even have the energy to fight him on it. You just bit the inside of your cheek, focusing intently on scrubbing the last of the sticky pink sludge from the counter.

"Yeah, Steve only goes for girls of a certain pedigree, isn't that right?" The words came out sharper, more acidic than you intended, but you were hurt. "He has standards to maintain."

Robin looked between you two again, her grin faltering as she sensed the shift from playful banter to something real.

Steve winced, physically recoiling from your words as if you'd slapped him. He looked at you, his expression a mess of regret and pleading, but your back was to him.

"Alright, I think I've overstimulated the weird little... whatever you two have going on here," Robin said, grabbing her bag from under the counter. "I'm taking my break before I have to witness an extinction-level event."

She gave you both one last, inscrutable look before disappearing through the swinging door, leaving you and Steve alone in a silence that was so loud it hurt.

You kept scrubbing at the counter, the rough texture of the sponge a welcome, painful distraction. Your shoulders were tight, a knot of anger and humiliation lodging itself right between your shoulder blades.

"You know that's not what I meant," he finally said, his voice quiet, rough.

"Wasn't it?" you shot back, not turning around.

A customer came to the counter just then— a worn out looking dad with two kids hanging off his legs— and you had to switch on your customer service face. It felt like a mask that was cracking. You took their order with a brittle cheerfulness that you knew Steve could see right through. 

He took over making the sundaes while you worked the register, a silent, tense dance. His hands were clumsy, fumbling with the hot fudge pump. He was off-balance.

When the family left with their ice cream, the silence descended again, heavier this time.

The line picked up again and the two of you were too busy to even look at each other. He made the ice cream, you rang it up. There was no room for error or emotion. It was the most efficient you two had ever been.

Robin had the mid shift, so you and Steve closed yet again. For the last hour, the only sounds were sloshing of the mop bucket and the click clacks of the calculator.

The cleaning was almost done. You'd wiped down every surface, emptied the sanitizing buckets, and were now in the backroom hunched over the final inventory sheet. The numbers swam in front of your eyes.

You couldn't wait for your day off tomorrow. Maybe you'd hit up the pool or see if a new album had dropped at the record store. Anything to get out of this polyester prison and away from the suffocating silence.

"I'm not going to apologize for saying something dumb to Robin to get her to back off," he finally said, his back to you as he restacked the crates we had been counting. "Because I didn't mean it. I think you know I didn't."

"Why do you think I care if you meant it or not?" you said, not looking up from the clipboard. "It doesn't matter to me who you do or do not want to sleep with."

"Because I hurt your feelings," he stated, simply, matter-of-factly. He wasn't asking. He knew.

Your head snapped up. "You have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"No," he said, turning to face you. "I just feel like every time I get close to saying something right, I trip over my own feet and say something monumentally stupid instead."

He took a step closer, the backroom suddenly feeling much, much smaller.

"Look, I'm not sorry for trying to get Robin off our backs," he said, his voice low. "but I am sorry for how I did it. That's all. End of story."

He stood there, waiting. He wasn't pleading or demanding. He was just... present. He was holding himself accountable, and it was maybe the most attractive thing you'd ever seen him do.

You slammed the clipboard down on a crate before turning around, the noise echoing in the small room. "Why do you even care?"

"Because!" he burst out, his frustration finally boiling over. He ran both hands through his hair, messing it up. "Because for some insane reason I can't figure out, I like being around you! And I'd rather do that without you looking at me like you want to set me on fire!"

The confession held more weight than you realized, your breath hitching slightly at his earnestness.

You stared at him, truly and completely speechless for the second time that week. This whole conversation had careened wildly off the rails you'd laid.

You didn't know what to say. So you just watched him pace in the cramped space. He was like a caged lion, all restless energy and barely contained frustration.

"I've had my life fall apart, okay?" he said, stopping to face you. "My girlfriend left me for a guy who's probably a better person than I am, my dad looks at me like I'm a monumental disappointment, and my crowning achievement is a hairdo that gets compliments from either freshman girls or lonely housewives."

You didn't mean to laugh, but a small hysterical sound escaped your lips. It wasn't mocking; it was just the pathetic honesty of it.

"And then you show up," he continued, taking a step closer, a wild, desperate light in his eyes. "You're smart, and you're funny, and you're... you just don't give a shit about any of the stuff I spent my whole life trying to be good at. You see right through it, and it's infuriating. And it's... good. It feels real. For the first time in a long time, something feels real."

He was so close now. The space between you was humming with a new tension. 

"So, yes. I care. Not because I see you as some novelty or a challenge or whatever fucked up things you think guys like me think. I care because you're the most interesting person I've talked to in months. And because I said something stupid that made you look at me the way you looked at Stacey Carmichael and I can't stand it."

You couldn't move. You could barely breathe. Every carefully constructed wall you'd built around yourself was crumbling, brick by brick, at the blatant sincerity pouring out of him.

"Do you always give romantic movie speeches or is it a special occasion?" The words came out quiet, stripped of their usual bite.

He didn't even smile. "I'm not trying to be romantic. I'm trying to be honest."

Oof. You should say something. You should deflect. But he spoke again before you could. 

"Not that... I mean, not that you're unattractive because you're very much..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you. He was so close you could feel the warmth coming off him, see the way his throat worked as he swallowed. "You know."

"Squished into this uniform?" you offer with a laugh that has zero humor to it.

"What? No!" he frowned. "You look… good."

Now it was your turn to blush, a heat creeping up your neck that you prayed he couldn't see.

"Yeah, well, you'd look good in anything," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "That's your whole... thing."

You didn't want to admit it before, but you knew. Even in this stupid uniform he was handsome, but there was something else there. 

Steve's smile was lopsided and soft.

"So you forgive me? For being an idiot in front of Robin?"

"I'll consider it."

He took another step closer, and this time you didn't back away. The fabric of your uniforms nearly brushed. You were close enough now that you had to tilt your head back to look at him.

"What, are you gonna kiss me or something? To seal the deal?"

It was meant to be a joke, a final test. A way to push him away and see if he'd flinch. You expected him to laugh, to roll his eyes, to step back into the familiar safety of sarcastic banter.

He didn't.

He just looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and the lighthearted air in the room vanished. Your bravado evaporated.

His gaze dropped to your lips, and then back to your eyes.

"I might," he said, his voice a low murmur. "If you wanted me to."

Your breath hitched. This was a bad idea. A terrible, no-good, very-bad idea.

"Do you want to?" you whispered back, the words barely audible.

He answered by closing the final inch of space between you.

His lips were softer than you imagined. It was a careful, searching kiss, nothing like the confident, performative smooches you'd witnessed him bestow on girls in school hallways.

You responded in kind, a soft sigh escaping you. Your hand, as if of its own accord, came up to rest on the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair there. That seemed to be the permission he was looking for.

The kiss deepened. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. He tasted like mint toothpaste and a faint, lingering sweetness from the strawberry flavoring he'd been ‘testing’ earlier.

Your free hand found its way to the front of his ridiculous shirt, your fist clenching in the fabric. He was solid, warm, real. Not the caricature you'd built in your head.

He angled his head, the kiss becoming more insistent, more desperate, his free hand steadying on your waist. He pulled you flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt his body against yours.

The rational part of your brain, the part that was still screaming about what a monumentally bad idea this was, went completely silent. All that was left was the feeling of him. The smell of him.

You were tentative as your hands trailed down his torso, palms flat against his toned pecs to the softness of his stomach and back up to his strong shoulders. You wanted to feel him.

"Hey," he murmured against your lips, a slight smile in his voice.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his shirt. His hair was a mess from your hands, his lips were swollen and wet, and his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with want.

"Hi," you breathed back.

"This is," he started, then seemed to change his mind, leaning in to kiss you again, a soft, brief press of lips. "This is not a good place for this."

"No," you agreed, your brain slowly coming back online. "Not really."

He looked past you, towards the door that led out to the shop floor. "We need to go before that weird mall cop comes by."

You were suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings. The scent of dry goods, the hum of the freezers. You could still faintly smell the disinfectant and the sickly-sweet cherry flavoring.

"I'll go lock the gate and we can leave through the back." He kissed you again quickly and practically jogged out of the room, not giving you a chance to respond.

You took a minute to try and calm your racing heart before grabbing your bag. You could hear the heavy clank of the metal gate from the front of the shop.

You met him by the back door, the silence between you now charged with a different kind of electricity. You followed him out into the oppressive heat of the Hawkins night.

The air was wet, clinging to your skin. The parking lot was a sea of asphalt, shimmering under the orange glow of the mall lamps. The cicadas were screaming their summer song from the trees beyond the lot.

"Which one's yours?" he asked. 

"The blue shitbox over there." You pointed to your car.

"Classy." He grinned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously short shorts. "Mine's the Beamer."

"I know."

He walked with you to your beat-up car, the silence stretching out between you. You could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your lips.

"So," he said, stopping next to your door, his proximity making it hard to think. "Now what?"

You looked up at him, at the hopeful, uncertain look in his eyes. "Aren't you the expert in this stuff? Master of the..." you trailed off, not knowing what to call this.

"Post-shift makeout session in a stuffy back room?" he supplied, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, kind of a new one for me, too."

He wasn't trying to play a part, not with you.

You leaned back against the warm metal of your car door. "Do you work tomorrow?" 

"You don't have my schedule memorized yet?" he asked, a flicker of the old Steve in his tone. You decided you liked this version better. "I'm off. So are you, according to the board."

"Right."

"So," he said again, rocking back on his heels. "Do you wan--" 

"I don't do hook ups." The words tumbled out of your mouth, blunt and defensive. It was your last line of defense, a final test to see what he'd do with the rejection. “Not… any more. Since, you know.”

He stopped rocking, his smile fading. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable in the lot’s lights.

"Okay..." he said, his voice quiet as he drew out the word. "I wasn't asking for one."

You winced internally. You hadn't meant for it to come out so harshly.

"I just mean, I don't..." you struggled to explain yourself, the heat from the asphalt and the heat from your blush making it hard to breathe. "I'm not that girl."

"I know," he said simply. "I wouldn't be standing here if I thought you were."

The certainty in his voice was disarming. He stepped closer again, crowding you against the car door.

"Is that what you thought this was?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine despite the humid air. "That I'd kiss you in the back room and then expect to... what? Come home with me and...?" He didn't finish, just let the question hang in the heavy air.

You almost hated that you wanted to be more than a forgotten hook up.

The idea that the one guy you've been trying not to want for weeks, might see you as just another notch on a bedpost, was a rejection that would sting more than anything else.

"I mean... I wouldn't want to get fired," you deflected. "Hypothetically, workplace fraternization would be very frowned upon by our corporate overlords at Scoops Ahoy."

God, that was weak. He knew it, too.

A lazy grin spread across his face. "If I did bring you home with me, hypothetically, it wouldn't be a hook-up."

And that, that right there, was what made you feel lightheaded. The casual certainty in his voice. He wasn't just trying to get you into bed. He was trying to get you.

"I mean... I'd be lying if I said I'm not thinking about it, or that I'd be against something happening..." he admitted, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "But I'm also thinking about seeing you tomorrow. And the day after. And maybe taking you somewhere that doesn't require a sailor hat."

You felt a smile tugging at your own lips, unguarded. "Oh yeah? Like where? The food court?"

"Even better," he said, leaning in, his lips ghosting over yours. "The movie theater."

You couldn't help it. You laughed. "Wooing me with all the high-class hotspots, Harrington."

"I aim to please," he whispered, and then he kissed you again. "I can also do restaurants, if you're feeling particularly adventurous. Maybe even that fancy Italian place out by the highway if I save up my tips for a month."

You were smiling against his mouth. "A whole month of Scoops for a plate of spaghetti? You drive a hard bargain."

"I like you." He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Simple. Direct. A fact.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "That's all this is. It's not a game. It's not a hook-up. I just... really like you."

You held his gaze, feeling the warmth fill your body. 

"Do you like diner food?" you whisper. 

"Is that a serious question? Of course, I like diner food." The hopeful, ridiculously bright look that came back onto his face was worth more than you thought it would be.

It gave you the confidence to be bold. 

"I could... follow you home. And maybe in the morning you could take me to the diner for pancakes."

He blinked. "Seriously?"

"I'm not into hook-ups, Steve." The words were a little shaky, but you were sure of them. "But I'm not a nun, either."

He blinked again, trying to process. "So... you're coming home with me?"

"I'm following you home," you corrected, your own lips curving into a smile. "My car is my escape route. Don't make me use it."

"I won't," he promised, his voice dropping into that low register that made you want to melt into a puddle on the asphalt. "I won't."

He leaned in for one last kiss in the parking lot, a sweet press of lips that tasted like promise.

Following his BMW through the darkened streets of Hawkins in your hammydown car was one of the more surreal experiences of your life. The juxtaposition was almost funny. His clean, expensive car cutting through the night, you rattling along behind it, engine groaning in protest.

You'd driven by his house plenty of times. Large, sprawling, and dark. The kind of house that was meant for a family that was whole and happy, but instead there was an emptiness to it that you could feel from the driveway, a silence that had nothing to do with the late hour.

You hadn't asked if his parents were home, you already knew the answer. It was common knowledge that the Harringtons were never really around. You'd assumed he loved it. An endless party house. But seeing the stark reality of it, not even a single light on at the entrance, the cavernous windows all dark, you felt a different kind of understanding. A strange wave of pity and protectiveness washed over you. He was all alone in that big, echoing house.

He parked in one of the garages.

(Seriously, why were there so many?)

You had to park yours in the drive, a small, rebellious speck of automotive failure in the middle of all that success.

Steve must have gone in through the garage, because he was opening the front door as you got out of your car. You didn't miss the way he was still a little nervous about this whole thing. The confidence he had in the mall parking lot had retreated behind a wall of shyness that you had yet to see.

You walked up to where he was waiting at those red double doors.

"It's huge," you managed, feeling small.

"Yeah, well. My mom likes to entertain," he said, the words flat and devoid of any real emotion. He wasn't bragging; he was just stating a fact of a life that didn't feel like his.

He led you inside and locked the front doors as you toed off your shoes. The stairs were right by the entry way, carpet over wooden slats, the hall into the living space on the other side.

He turned a small lamp on by the wall before turning to you, hands on his hips and looking at the floor, trying to break the silence.

"Alright," he said, finally looking at you. "This is it. Casa del Harrington. Don't touch anything."

You could hear the smile in his tone.

"Wow, what a tour. So many highlights," you played along, your own lips tugging into a grin.

"I'm saving the best for last," he said, grabbing your hand. His was warm and a little sweaty, and your fingers linked together like they'd been doing it for years. He led you upstairs.

The hallway was long, half balcony, half doors to other rooms. One floor was bigger than your whole family home.

He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. "And this," he announced with a flourish, "is my room. The grand finale."

It wasn't what you expected. It was... plaid. Like, beige and black plaid walls and matching curtains.

"I swear I have a personality," he said, noticing your amused expression. "My mom's interior decorator did not get the memo."

"It's very... masculine," you managed, looking around the random items. A bowling pin on the desk, a poster of a car, a poster of a bikini clad woman he clearly flinched at when you saw. 

The king-sized bed, the sheets on top slightly rumpled from this morning, seemed to take up half the room.

It felt... intimate. Not in a threatening way, but in a way that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him no one else was supposed to. The messy pile of clothes on a chair, the photo on his dresser of him and a younger boy with curls and a goofy smile, a half-empty bottle of cologne.

"I'm gonna..." he cleared his throat. "Go change from this... stupid uniform." He gestured down at himself before turning to the door.

"Don't!" The protest slipped out before you could stop it.

Shit.

"Uh... I mean..."

He turned back slowly, his eyes wide, surprised. "Don't what? You afraid to be alone in here?"

"No, it's not that," you said, feeling your cheeks flush. You bit your lip, trying to find the words that wouldn't make you sound like a complete lunatic.

"I mean, don't... not because I don't want you to," you stammered, your gaze dropping to his chest. "It's just... I've been looking at that stupid uniform all summer. And I have this stupid image in my head of you in it and I..."

You trailed off, mortified. What were you even saying?

A slow grin spread across his face, a flicker of the cocky Steve Harrington you knew, but it was tempered by something softer.

"Oh," he said, the understanding dawning in his eyes. He took a step back into the room, closing the door behind him. "So... this is a thing for you, then?"

"It's not a thing," you denied, but your voice was weak and embarrassed. "It just... fits...well?"

That was also a bad choice of words.

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole, but then he started walking towards you with a slow, deliberate pace.

"Fits well?" he asked, his tone low and teasing. He stopped directly in front of you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze was heavy, searching your face. "You think so?"

You couldn't speak. You just nodded, your eyes locked on his.

"Is it the shorts?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Or does the dumb little scarf thing get you going?"

"Steve," you whispered, a pathetic attempt at shutting him down.

But instead of backing off, he took a hold of your waistband, tugging you flush against him. His hands were confident but not rough.

"Because, you know…" he continued, leaning down so his lips were right next to your ear. "I was thinking the shorts are a little short. Show a little too much thigh."

You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady, rapid beat of his heart under your palm.

"I take all my nice words back, you are actually evil."

He chuckled, the sound a deep, warm vibration against you. "Only a little bit."

One of his large hands found the red tie of your own uniform and played with it a little, not quite touching your chest, but his eyes were there.

"You're one to talk, you know..." he confessed. He traced the collar of the blue and white striped top. "Gotta say, I'm more than a little curious to see what's underneath. Not really leaving much to my imagination here, sailor." He says pulling at it a little to see your neck line.

"You're the one who said it was tight on me last week," you reminded him, your own hands slowly, nervously sliding up to wrap around the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the soft hairs there. "Wasn't really a confidence booster..."

"Is that why you were quiet the rest of the day? You thought it was, what, an insult?" He was genuinely confused. "It wasn't. I was trying not to stare, god, I was trying so hard not to stare."

Your fingers stilled in his hair. "Really?"

"Yeah," he breathed, leaning in again. His lips brushed your jaw, a fleeting, warm touch. "I spent the rest of the shift trying to think up ways to get you fired, just so I didn't have to look at you in this stupid uniform anymore."

The laugh that escaped you was half-shock, half-desire. "That's the most romantic and simultaneously psychopathic thing anyone has ever said to me."

He nipped at your earlobe, and a full-body shudder wracked its way through you. "God, when I was patching up your knee? And you kept flinching and your shorts were riding up your thigh and I could feel you shaking... you have no idea what I was thinking."

"I have a pretty good idea," you gasped as his lips trailed down the column of your throat. His hand was still on the ridiculous scarf-thing, one thumb stroking the skin just above your collarbone.

"No, you don't," he murmured against your skin. "But I'll show you. If you let me."

You didn't answer with words. You answered by tilting your head back, giving him better access, and by pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He took the invitation, his kisses becoming open-mouthed and hungry against your throat.

His hands finally moved to the hem of your uniform top, warm fingers brushing against the sliver of exposed skin on your stomach. You sucked in a sharp breath. His touch was a brand.

"Is this okay?" he breathed against your skin, pausing.

You answered by grabbing the hem of your own shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor.

Your eyes were searching his face, trying to gauge his reaction, half-expecting a flicker of disappointment or the detached calculation you'd imagined from the old Steve. Instead, you were met with clear want.

"Wow," he breathed, his gaze sweeping over you. He looked dazed. "Wow."

"Stop," you said, but it was a weak protest.

"No, I mean it," he said, his hands coming up to rest on your waist, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there. "Those are... wow."

He was looking at your breasts like he'd just discovered a new continent, but it was the reverence in his expression that did it for you.

"They're boobs, Steve," you said, your voice shaky with a nervous laugh.

"They’re great boobs," he countered, leaning in to kiss you again. This kiss was different. Deeper, more possessive. One of his hands slid up your back, his fingers tracing the clasp of your bra.

It was a simple, utilitarian, beige thing. Nothing lacy or special. You suddenly felt a pang of self-consciousness.

"This is the least sexy bra in the history of the world," you murmured against his lips.

"I'm not really looking at the bra," he said, a smile in his voice. He deftly unhooked it with one hand and you felt the straps fall loose.

He pulled back just enough to slide the bra down your arms and let it join your shirt on the floor. The cool air of the room on your bare skin made you shiver.

"Jesus," he breathed, his eyes wide, devouring the sight of you. He looked like a kid in a candy store who'd just been told he could have whatever he wanted.

He didn't say anything else. He just looked, his gaze hot and heavy, and it was somehow more intimate than if he'd touched you. You'd never had anyone look at you like that. Like you were a masterpiece.

Then he was kissing you again, and this time his hands were on you, warm and sure. They weren't tentative or clumsy. He knew what he was doing.

One hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple, and a jolt went through you so intense you gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, as he rolled the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger.

You pulled his shirt up, your hands flattening against the warm, bare skin of his back. You could feel the muscles there, tense and solid. He helped you pull the stupid uniform shirt over his head, and then it was your turn to look.

His chest was smooth and defined, a patch of chest hair trailing down to a soft tummy that you wanted to lick. 

"Got a little soft from all the ice cream," he said, a self-deprecating note in his voice.

"I like it," you said, and you meant it. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. His breath hitched. "You're hairier than I thought though."

He let out a surprised laugh, a real, genuine burst of sound that rumbled through you.

"You been thinking about my hair distribution a lot?" he teased, his hands settling on your hips.

"You'd be surprised," you murmured, kissing your way up to his collarbone.

"Let me get my hands on you before I explode" he whispered, and he was tugging you towards the bed. He sat down on the edge, pulling you to straddle him. His hands roamed over your back, your hips, your ass, appreciating your shape.

Your breasts were pressed against his chest, the coarse hair a delicious friction. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back. You kissed him, a slow, deep kiss that you felt all the way down to your toes.

"God, you feel good," he breathed against your lips, his hands squeezing your ass.

He was hard, you could feel it through the layers of fabric between you, a rigid, insistent pressure against you.

"Steve," you whispered, rocking against him. The friction was maddening.

"Tell me what you want," he said, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark and serious.

You took a shaky breath. You weren't used to this. Guys usually just took what they wanted, assuming they knew.

"Touch me," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "Everywhere."

He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "My pleasure."

He guided you onto the bed, your back sinking into the plush comforter. He followed you down, settling over you, propping himself up on his elbows so he wasn't crushing you.

He started slow. His lips traced a path from your jaw down to the hollow of your throat. His hands mapped your body, savoring every curve.

"I can't believe this is happening," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"Me neither," you admitted, your hands stroking through his hair as he kissed a path across your collarbones.

When he finally took one of your nipples into his mouth, you arched off the bed with a choked gasp. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive peak, his other hand coming up to toy with its twin.

"Look at these... God," he said, pulling away with a wet pop. His thumb and forefinger rolling the sensitive nub, pulling a little making your hips buck. "Fucking perfect."

The compliments, the reverence, it was overwhelming. It was too much, but also exactly what you needed. He wasn't treating you like a conquest. He was worshiping you. You were the only thing in this cavernous, lonely house that mattered.

He shifted, moving down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your hips.

"Can I show you what I was thinking about when I patched you up?" he asked, his gaze flicking up to meet yours from his position above your shorts. His fingers were hooked into the waistband, teasing the elastic.

You nodded, unable to speak, your throat tight with anticipation.

He grinned, that wicked, knowing grin, and slowly, torturously, peeled your shorts down your legs. He tossed them aside, leaving you in nothing but your plain cotton underwear.

He settled between your thighs, pushing them apart. His gaze was heavy, and you felt a fresh wave of self-consciousness wash over you. You started to close your legs, to hide, but he held you in place, his hands firm on your thighs.

"No," he said, his voice a command. "Don't you dare hide from me."

He leaned down, and you felt his breath, hot and damp, through the thin cotton of your panties. Your hips bucked, a silent plea.

"God, you're already so wet for me," he murmured, his thumb pressing against your clit through the fabric.

You whined, a high, desperate sound you didn't recognize as your own. Your hands fisted in the comforter.

He took pity on you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down.

"Look at you," he breathed, spreading you open with his thumbs. "Pretty. So fucking pretty."

He didn't wait. He leaned in and licked a flat, broad stripe up your center.

The world tilted on its axis. Your back arched, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat as you fought to keep your eyes open. He looked up at you from between your legs as he did it again, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of you. His perfect nose nudged against your clit. He groaned, a low, rumbling sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and the vibration of it shot through you like lightning.

"Steve... oh, god..."

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a rough whisper against your sensitive skin. He settled in, alternating between broad, lazy strokes of his tongue and focused, precise circles around your clit. His hands held your thighs apart, his grip firm and grounding. He wasn't trying to impress you with some frantic, porno-worthy performance. He was trying to make you feel good. He was paying attention.

He watched you, his eyes dark and intense, cataloging every reaction, every twitch, every gasp. When your hips started to cant up, meeting the rhythm of his tongue, he knew he'd found it. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked.

"Fuck!" you cried out, your hands flying from the bedspread to tangle in his hair, holding him to you. "Don't stop. Please, god, don't stop."

He didn't. He doubled down, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves in a relentless, perfect rhythm. He slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them in a 'come here' motion that made you see stars.

"Steve," you whimpered, his name a prayer on your lips. "I'm... I'm..."

He knew. He could feel it. The fluttering of your walls around his fingers, the way your thighs were starting to tremble uncontrollably. He was good at this. He'd learned a thing or two, a quiet voice in the back of your mind supplied, before the thought was obliterated by the coiling tension in your stomach.

And then you were falling. The world shattered into a million pieces. Your back bowed off the bed and a long moan was torn from your throat as the orgasm hit. He didn't stop, didn't let up, working you through it until you were a boneless, panting mess beneath him.

He finally lifted his head, his face glistening, a satisfied grin on his lips. He crawled up your body, pressing a kiss to your lips. You could taste yourself on him, the intimate flavor making your head spin.

"Your thighs are shaking," he whispered, the words a warm puff of air against your cheek. His hand came up to stroke your hair tenderly.

"Blame the sailor uniform," you managed, your voice hoarse. Your brain felt like it had been scooped out and replaced with cotton candy.

"And let it take all the credit? No chance. That was all me, baby."

Baby.

"You're insufferable," you whispered, but you were smiling, pulling him down for another kiss. You could feel him, still hard against your hip through the fabric of those ridiculous shorts.

"You don't seem like you're suffering too much." He rocked his hips against you, a deliberate, delicious friction that made you gasp.

"Conceited, too," you retorted, your hands coming down to cup his ass, pulling him tighter against you. The muscles were firm and perfect in your palms.

The move must have surprised him a little because he flinched away. Not in a bad way, he looked confused by the feeling of your hands there.

Truthfully, you hadn't been with a guy in a while, and your reflexes were a little rusty on the male body.

"Uh...sorry..." You whispered as you moved your hands back to the bed.

He just shook his head. "No, no. You just surprised me is all." The look on his face was a mixture of confusion and awe. "I... uh..." He was stammering again, which was weird.

"I'm not used to girls... well, touching my ass," he admitted with a little laugh. "Usually it's just been about what I can do for them."

You hadn't even thought about it. You'd been more interested in the feeling of him.

His smile was gone, replaced by that serious, searching look again. He was watching you, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You've definitely had girls touch you before, Steve." You whisper, hands impatient back on his lower back. 

"Yeah... yeah. Just not like this." He leaned down, kissing your shoulder. "Not where it's about... me."

He had no right to look so vulnerable. Not with the reputation he had around Hawkins. Not with everything you'd heard. But as he hovered above you, all you saw was a boy who was used to being wanted for what he could provide, not for who he was.

"Also it's... been a while for me." he admitted, his lips against your neck again like it would help hide the confession. 

The idea that you were the one to make him this nervous, this unsure, was the most intoxicating thing you had ever experienced.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex under your touch. You wanted to memorize the slope of his shoulders, the ridge of his spine, the dip at the base of his back.

"I like it, for the record." He says after a moment of your hands playing with the waistband of those shorts, lost in the feeling of your hands on him. "I like how handsy you get when you're turned on."

You smile and your hands move back to his ass to push him more firmly against your core, you let out your own moan against his lips. He was still so frustratingly clothed.

"It's your turn," you breathed, your hands tugging at the fabric. "Lose the shorts."

He kisses you quickly before pulling back to take them off. There was a significant wet patch on the front from where he'd been pressed against you. You watch his eyes trail down to it. 

"Oops..." you whisper with a smirk.

He just shakes his head with a chuckle before he finally, finally slides them and his boxers down in one go, kicking them to the floor.

And then he was naked. All of him. And your brain had to recalculate.

You'd heard the rumors, of course. Locker rooms were a breeding ground for exaggerated gossip. But seeing him in the flesh... seeing the hard, thick length of him, curving up towards his stomach... the rumors hadn't been exaggerated. They'd been an understatement.

He followed the path of your eyes, and you watched a flicker of something- pride, maybe, or just deep-seated insecurity- cross his face.

"You're staring," he said, a nervous edge to his teasing tone.

"I can't imagine a person who wouldn't."

You reached for him, your curiosity overriding any lingering shyness. He was deliciously heavy in your hand, the skin velvety soft. He let out the prettiest moan as you gave a slow, tentative stroke, your thumb smearing the bead of moisture at the tip. His hips stuttered forward, an involuntary movement.

"Jesus," he breathed, his head falling back. His hands braced on the mattress on either side of your head, caging you in. "Okay. Yeah. That's... okay."

He looked wrecked already. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted. It was a heady kind of power.

Your other hand slid up the back of his thigh, over the firm curve of his ass. You gave a little squeeze and he swore again, his hips bucking into your fist.

"Tell me what you want, Steve," you murmured, your voice low and sure.

He looked down at you, his eyes dark, a muscle working in his jaw. He's never been asked that. Not like this.

"Jesus Christ," he said again, as if that were the only coherent thought he could form. "I want... everything."

"Be more specific," you pressed, your thumb swirling over the head of him.

"I want to be inside you," he ground out. "I need to be inside you."

"Good," you whispered, pulling him down for a kiss. "Get a condom."

He blinked, then nodded, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes at the loss of your touch. He rolled off you, rummaging in the drawer of his bedside table. He came back with a little foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth.

You watched him roll it on, your own body revving with anticipation. He hovered over you again, one hand braced on the bed, the other lining himself up with your entrance.

"Just... go slow..." you say with a steadying breath. "I'm eager, yeah, but like I said, it's been a minute for me too. And you're... not exactly... small."

He looked genuinely relieved that you'd acknowledged it. "Yeah. I know. It's... it's a lot sometimes, for people. I'll be careful, I swear."

The vulnerability was back, but this time it wasn't about your reaction. It was about the act itself. He was scared of hurting you.

He pressed forward, and you felt the stretch, the welcome pressure of him entering you. It was a slow, deliberate push, and you felt him inch by inch. You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming up to grip his biceps.

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "You okay?"

"Just...really love touching you," you gasped out in lieu of a real answer. And it was the truth. Your hands were on him, feeling the toned muscle and the warm skin and the slight tremor in his arms as he held himself still. "You can keep going."

He kissed you, a slow, sweet kiss, almost overwhelming feeling of him filling you. He started to move again, shallow rocking that gradually built into a deeper rhythm.

"God," he breathed against your lips, burying his face in your neck. "You feel... you feel incredible."

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, silently begging for more. The feeling of your plush, soft thighs around his hips made Steve lose all train of thought. He was breathing into your neck and making these small helpless sounds, like he couldn't believe this was really happening.

He set a pace that was both leisurely and deep, rolling his hips in a way that made you see stars. One of those strong arms made its way under you when you arched into him, pressing your chest to his. The movement shifted you, and he slid deeper, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out.

"Right there?" he asked, a smug satisfaction in his tone. He rolled his hips again, deliberately, grinding against that spot.

"Steve..." you whimpered, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice a low growl against your ear. His lips moved along the shell of your ear, nipping gently. He was chasing the praise you gave him, hungry for it.

"Steve," you repeated, louder this time, your hands tangling in his hair.

"You feel incredible, fuck you're so soft everywhere" He panted.

He was losing control, the careful rhythm faltering as his hips began to snap harder, more erratically. Your hands slid down his back, your nails trailing just enough before grabbing onto his ass to keep him deep inside you. You didn't want this to end, but you were already climbing again, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.

"I'm..." you started, but you couldn't finish. The words caught in your throat as he shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. "Holy fuck..."

The new angle was putting his cock impossibly deep, hitting that spot with every thrust. His name became a mantra on your lips, a prayer to the only god you currently believed in.

"I know, baby, I know," he panted, his face buried in your neck. "Doing so good f'me... taking it so good."

The praise was your undoing. Your world went white. You clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you breathless and shaking. A cry tore from your throat, needy and real.

The feeling of your walls closing in around him, the sound of you crying his name, it was too much. He drove into you once, twice more, a whimper tearing from your own lips at the overstimulation. Then he stilled, burying himself deep as he came with a long, shuddering groan against your neck.

For a moment, you both just lay there, a tangle of arms and legs and heavy breathing in the oppressive heat of the room. 

Slowly, he lowered your leg back down to the bed, but not before kissing the inside of your knee like a silent 'thank you'. He brushed a sweat-damp piece of hair from your forehead, a gesture so soft and tender it made your heart clench. He was still breathing heavily, each pull almost leading in so a loft laugh.

"Usually I can last longer than that." he's quiet, confessing something you didn't even ask for. "You just..."

He didn't finish.

You just what?

You wanted to ask, but the words wouldn't come. You were too spent, too content. He carefully pulled out of you, and you both winced at the sensation. He dealt with the condom, tossing it in the small trashcan by the desk with perfect aim.

You expected him to roll over, to put some space between you. That's what the other guys had done. A moment of awkward silence, then the shuffle of sheets and a mumbled 'I'll be right back'. But he didn't. He shifted, pulling you into his arms until your head was resting on his chest, right over his heart. The beat was still fast against your ear.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. One of his legs tangled with yours, a possessive but gentle weight.

"Your chest hair is sweaty." you mumble against him, but your teasing tone gave away that you didn't actually mind. In fact, you kind of liked it.

"I'm aware," he laughed. "You did this to me."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" You laughed with him, your fingers tracing abstract patterns on the soft skin of his stomach.

"Entirely," he confirmed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

The comfortable silence that settled over you was warm.

"So," he started, his voice quiet in the dim room. "Diner pancakes in the morning. You still on for that?"

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. His hair, which you now realized was grown out a bit more than usual and slightly sunkissed, was fanned out on the pillow, a complete mess. His eyes were soft in the low light, a perfectly warm mix of green and brown.

"You're so beautiful." The words slipped out.

A faint blush crept up his neck, coloring his cheeks. He turned his head for a moment, a boyish gesture that was so at odds with the confident way he'd been looking at you earlier.

"Was that weird?" You asked, suddenly self-conscious. You hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"No," he said, turning back to you, his gaze catching yours. "Just... not what I'm used to hearing."

He reached up, his thumb stroking your cheek. "The girls I'm used to... they'd call me hot, or tell me they liked my car. They wouldn't say that. Don't really think I'd like it from them anyway."

"Maybe you've been talking to the wrong girls," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

"I'm starting to realize that, yeah," he agreed, his hand sliding around to the nape of your neck, pulling you down for a slow, gentle kiss. 

You shifted, settling more fully against him, your leg draped over his. Your body was pleasantly sore, a lingering reminder of the way he'd touched you, the way he'd moved inside you.

You were both slick with a cooling layer of sweat in the humid, still air of the bedroom. The window unit was rattling away, doing a valiant but ultimately futile battle against the heatwave and your combined body heat. The sheets were twisted around your legs.

"Your parents aren't, like, gonna come home, are they?" you asked, a flicker of anxiety cutting through the post-coital bliss.

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. "No. My dad's in Chicago until August. My mom's on some retreat on the east coast. Supposed to 'celebrate the woman within' or some phony shit." He paused, tracing the line of your spine. "I think the only thing within her is a tanned tennis instructor named Todd."

"Ouch," you murmured, kissing his collarbone.

"It would be, if my dad didn't spend so many late nights at the office with just his secretary," he said, the words devoid of any real emotion. It was just a fact of life. "This house has been a revolving door for their issues for years. But I'm used to being alone here."

He squeezed your shoulder. "So, no. We're not going to get interrupted."

You felt the weight of that admission, the casual mention of a loneliness so profound it had become normal. It explained a lot about him, the desperate need for attention, the endless parties. He was just trying to fill the silence.

"We could... spend more time together tomorrow. After pancakes," you offered, your own nerves fluttering. "If you wanted."

He went very still. You could feel the change in his breathing, the way he held it.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice a little rough. "You'd want to?"

"Do... you want to? I don't want to get in the way of you, like, hanging out with your friends or..."

"At this point my friends are a group of preteen nerds I was forced to babysit," he said, a small smile in his voice. "I think I'd rather hang out with you."

"Preteen nerds?"

"It's a long, very weird story," he said. "Involved a lot of digging and a very big bat."

"A bat? What, were you playing baseball?"

He huffed a quiet laugh against your hair. "Something like that. If you keep seeing me, maybe I'll tell you all about it one day."

"Are we seeing each other? Is that what this is?" You tried to keep your tone light, but your heart gave a little lurch at the prospect of putting a name to this thing between you.

"I'd like to," he said, so quiet you almost missed it. "If you would."

"I would," you whispered back, the answer easy and true.

He rolled onto his side, shifting so he was facing you, propping his head up on his hand. The little bedside lamp cast a warm, golden glow over him, highlighting the soft curve of his lips, the earnestness in his eyes.

"Good," he said, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. "So, pancakes in the morning? Then maybe we could go to the lake? It's supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. We could go for a swim."

"Trying to see me in a swim suit?"

"Is it working?" he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Maybe."

"Should I try to convince you?"

"You're welcome to try…" you challenge.

A slow, predatory grin spread across Steve's face. He leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his and giving it a gentle, suggestive nip. "I think," he murmured against your lips, "I can be very convincing..."

'ahoy, ladies!' [steve taglist]

Friday evenings in the Big House always carried a particular kind of momentum. Tonight, the excitement had an obvious cause. The Dickinson funfair only rolled into town once a year, and somehow it had become one of those unofficial Heaton traditions. The kids had been counting down to it for days. Nicky had asked every morning whether today was finally the day.

The living room was its usual level of chaos. Tucker and Walker were ready to leave for once, occupying opposite ends of the sofa in jeans and hoodies. Maggie stood near the front door with one hand tucked beneath her elbow, quietly finishing a phone call while occasionally glancing around the room to check who was still missing.

By the door, Nicky sat concentrating on tying his trainers. His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he carefully pulled the laces tight. You crouched beside him, resting comfortably on your heels.

"Do you think there will be bumper cars?" Nicky asked.

"Maybe, bud." You smiled, watching his fingers work clumsily through another knot. "You trying to show off your driving skills?"

"I want Tucker to drive me; he does big bumps."

"Yeah, must admit I am glad he doesn't have a license yet." You laughed.

Gator listened to the conversation with the faintest smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. One hand rested loosely in his pocket while the other absent-mindedly rubbed the back of your neck.

Judging by the thunder of bare feet echoing across the floor, Rhodes wasn't remotely interested in finding his shoes. He burst into the living room at full speed wearing everything except the one thing he'd actually been sent upstairs to fetch.

He tore through the room, narrowly avoiding the side table before changing direction for no obvious reason whatsoever. At precisely that moment Ford appeared at the top of the stairs with Josie balanced comfortably on his hip. His eyes landed on Rhodes.

"Rho," he called. "Shoes, please! Or you don't get to come."

Rhodes stopped so abruptly he almost slid across the hardwood floor. Then, without a word, he spun on his heel, sprinted straight back towards Ford and launched himself dramatically onto the floor at his feet. Both legs shot into the air, and he wiggled his feet at Ford expectantly. Ford simply closed his eyes for a second, the long-suffering sigh escaping him carrying years of accumulated fatherhood.

"Hold her for me, Gator." He shifted Josie carefully into Gator's waiting arms. "Need to get him while he's still."

Gator accepted Josie with the automatic reflex of somebody trying to help but actually holding her was another matter. Babies remained something of a mystery to him.

He shifted her experimentally against his chest, trying to remember how you'd done it. One arm beneath her diaper-clad butt. Other hand spread carefully across her back. Not too tight. Not too loose. Every time he thought he'd figured it out she wriggled into some entirely new position that made him wonder if babies came with instructions everyone else had somehow received except him.

She tipped her head back, looking up at him with impossibly bright blue eyes before breaking into a grin so wide it almost swallowed her whole face.

God, she looked so much like Madison. Not just a little bit. She was her. Same eyes. Same little nose. Same smile that started in the corners of her mouth before taking over the rest of her face.

If God existed, and Gator wasn't entirely convinced He did, then making Josie look this much like her mama felt like some kind of cruel joke. Like leaving Ford a permanent reminder of everything he'd lost. A tiny little ghost that reached for him with Madison's face.

Josie squealed. Before Gator had time to react, both of her little hands landed on either side of his face, then she enthusiastically launched herself forwards. Her forehead collided squarely with his nose. He instinctively pulled her back, readjusting his grip before she could attempt another assault.

"Ok, y’little demon," he said, trying not to laugh despite the sting blooming across his face. "Maybe less of the headbuttin', yeah?"

"Uh-oh."

There wasn't an ounce of apology in it. If anything, she sounded delighted with herself. Then, she slapped both tiny palms enthusiastically against his cheeks.

"Uh-oh!"

Gator looked at her for a long second before slowly turning towards you, extending Josie slightly farther away from his own face as though the extra few inches might somehow protect him from whatever she'd decided this game was.

"Baby," he called with complete sincerity, "how do I stop her slappin' me?"

You turned towards Gator just as Josie reached for him again, both of her little hands landed squarely on his cheeks.

"Uh-oh!"

The word came with enough enthusiasm that you couldn't help laughing. Stepping closer, you slipped your hands beneath her arms and gently adjusted the way Gator was holding her. Instead of facing him, you turned her around, so she sat with her back against his chest, one of his forearms supporting her underneath while his other hand rested securely across her middle.

From the console table behind the sofa, you picked up one of Josie's toys and placed it into her waiting hands. She looked down at it for all of a second, then she opened her fingers and let the toy drop to the hardwood floor.

"Uh-oh!"

You paused, your eyes flicked from the toy to Josie before lifting towards Ford, who was still crouched in front of Rhodes, concentrating on tying the last of his shoelaces.

"Ford, when did she learn uh-oh?"

"Oh yeah, that one gets boring real quick,” he glanced up as he tightened the knot. “I spent a good half hour picking up toys that she had thrown out of her crib last night while she just yelled 'uh-oh' at me like it was the best game ever."

Smiling, you reached over and smoothed the wisps of blonde hair away from her forehead.

"Ignore your daddy, clever girl. He's just grumpy because he's old."

"I'm not old!"

Ford stood, brushing his hands against his jeans before giving you a playful shove with his shoulder as he crossed the room. He took Josie back from Gator, settling her comfortably on his hip as the front door opened.

You looked up to see Brooks step inside with Logan close behind him. Noah followed a pace after them, quietly closing the door behind himself. For a moment, nobody said anything.

It had been a couple of weeks since Maggie had walked him into the bathroom at the Cabin and locked the door behind him. He looked different now. There was still a washed-out pallor to his skin, and the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of nights that were probably still coming in short stretches rather than full sleeps. But he was standing.

He'd shaved. His hair had been washed. Most noticeably of all, he was still. His hands weren't trembling.

You became aware of the room watching him. Measuring the difference. The silence only lasted a heartbeat, but it was long enough that you worried Noah might notice it too. Thankfully, Nicky was unaware of the lingering looks and subtlety had never really been his strength.

"Noah!"

He was off the sofa before anyone could stop him, racing across the living room and throwing himself at Noah with enough force to almost knock him backwards.

"You're better! I didn't know you were coming. Can I sit next to you in the car?"

Noah's surprise lasted barely a second before he smiled. He rested a hand against Nicky's back as the little boy clung tightly around his waist.

"Uh, yeah, sure bud."

Just like that, the moment dissolved. By the front door, Maggie slipped her phone into her pocket.

"Ford, if you take Brooks, Noah and the littles. I'll take the rest. We don't need to be arriving in a full armada; parking is going to be a nightmare as is." She said reaching into the bowl on the console table and tossed Ford the keys to the Suburban.

By the time both cars reached Dickinson, the parking situation was every bit as hopeless as Maggie had predicted. Half the town seemed to have had exactly the same idea.

Ford eventually squeezed the Suburban into a space that could generously be described as a parking spot, while Maggie settled in a row a little further over. You found Gator's hand as you all started towards the entrance. Ahead of you, Nicky had attached himself firmly to Noah's side. Noah didn't seem to mind in the slightest. If anything, there was something quietly grateful in the way he glanced down at the little boy every so often, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Rhodes, meanwhile, had been deposited onto Brooks' shoulders almost the moment he'd climbed out of the truck. It had long since become the family's preferred method of transporting him through crowds, it dramatically reduced the likelihood of Rhodes vanishing into the nearest source of excitement. Considering the alternative was probably a leash, it seemed the kinder option.

Ford had Josie balanced easily against one hip, her attention already darting from one flashing ride to the next. Beside you, Walker and Logan had fallen into conversation about something you only half caught, while Maggie walked ahead with one hand looped comfortably through Tucker's arm, listening to him with the sort of quiet attention that always made each grandchild feel like they had her entirely to themselves.

The fair opened up in front of you in a riot of colour, music and flashing lights. Every year it looked exactly the same, and every year it somehow felt exciting all over again. Rides towered overhead, while rows of game stalls promised oversized stuffed animals. The smell of fried dough, popcorn and candy drifted through the air, mixing with the steady soundtrack of laughter and machinery.

Families wandered between the attractions carrying enormous plush toys tucked beneath their arms and clouds of pink cotton candy balanced on paper sticks. Off to one side, a small rodeo arena had already drawn a crowd, cheers rising above the rest of the noise every few minutes as another rider entered the ring.

Within minutes the family had scattered. Not far enough that anyone lost sight of each other, but everybody drifted towards whatever had first caught their eye.

Across the way, Tucker and Walker had discovered the coconut shy and were currently trying to sabotage Logan’s throws. You were still watching them push each other when Gator slipped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you comfortably into his side.

"Want me t'win you a bear?"

"You wanna show off that arm, Mr All-State?" You teased.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as he steered you towards one of the bottle stalls. The carnival worker took his money and passed over three baseballs, gesturing towards the neatly stacked pyramid of glass bottles.

"You know these are rigged, right?" You said, leaning into his side.

"Nah," Gator said, weighing the first ball in his hand. "Y'jus' gotta hit hard enough."

You folded your arms with a smug smile as he threw. The ball struck the top bottle with a crack loud enough to make you jump. Glass exploded into a hundred glittering pieces, scattering across the back of the stall. For a second everyone simply stared, even the carnival worker looked at Gator in open disbelief.

Gator turned towards you with a small wink, heat crept into your cheeks.

"Show off." You muttered.

The second throw looked just as confident. It skimmed across the top of the pyramid instead, clipping only the highest bottle before disappearing harmlessly into the back netting.

"Ah-ha! Not so cocky now!"

He glanced at you, smiling to himself, before giving you a playful slap on the backside as he reached for the final ball.

"Y'want the bear or not, Baby? C'mon, kiss f'luck?"

Rolling your eyes, you leaned up anyway, pressing a quick kiss against his lips. He bounced the ball once in his palm before he threw and this time it hit dead centre. The whole pyramid collapsed in a spectacular cascade of crashing glass, bottles tumbling in every direction until nothing remained standing.

You couldn't help yourself; a little clap escaped you, followed by an equally enthusiastic cheer. The carnival worker blinked twice before gesturing towards the wall of prizes.

"Pick a prize," he grumbled.

Gator's arm found your shoulders again.

"What one d'ya want, baby?"

You looked over the rows of oversized bears, cartoon dogs and brightly coloured dragons hanging overhead before something tucked away at the back caught your eye. Almost hidden behind the shelving sat a small plush alligator. You pointed towards it with a grin.

"That one."

"He knocked 'em all down, you can have a big one," the worker said, following your finger.

"Nope, I want that one please."

With a slightly puzzled expression, he reached behind the display, retrieved the little alligator and handed it across. You accepted it with a smile.

"Really?" Gator laughed.

"Mh-hm, a little gator."

You tucked the little plush beneath your arm. He shook his head fondly before leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. Together, you wandered back towards the rest of the family, where Brooks was standing at one of the confectionary stalls buying enough cotton candy and popcorn to feed what looked like half the fair. You'd barely managed to prise Rhodes' bag of popcorn open before someone called your name.

"Ohmygod, hi!"

You looked up just in time to see Hannah weaving through the crowds, Megan close behind her. Megan’s brother, Josh was with them too, though he peeled away almost immediately after spotting Tucker and Walker.

Hannah, on the other hand, made a beeline straight for you. She threw her arms around you without hesitation, nearly knocking the popcorn bag back out of your hands. She pulled back only long enough for Megan to step in. Megan's hug was softer, briefer, but no less genuine.

"You cool if we hang with you guys?" Megan asked.

"Yeah of course." You glanced over towards the rest of the family, who were already beginning to drift towards the next ride. "We're heading to the carousel, Hannah, if you wanna get the kids to meet us there?"

Hannah smiled and shook her head.

"It's ok, just me tonight. Mom's bringing everyone tomorrow night. I just came with Megan."

That was unusual. Normally, going anywhere with Hannah meant going somewhere with at least half a dozen children in tow. She had one biological brother, Ryan, who played football with Tucker, Walker and Josh, but it never really stopped there. Her parents had fostered children for as long as you'd known them, meaning Hannah was almost permanently surrounded by younger siblings. Every fair, parade or town event usually involved her trying to keep track of what felt like a small army.

Megan nodded towards Josh.

"Yeah and it's just me and Josh. Dad's working."

Ahead of you, the rest of the Heatons were already gathering outside the carousel. Josie squealed, reaching excitedly towards the painted horses while Ford laughed and carried her aboard. Brooks lifted Rhodes onto one of the larger horses, the stuffed monkey still hanging proudly around his neck, while Maggie claimed one of the stationary benches beside Nicky. By the time the music started, and the carousel eased into motion, almost the entire family was scattered amongst the painted animals.

The carousel deposited everyone back onto solid ground with varying levels of enthusiasm. Josie protested loudly when Ford lifted her off her horse, apparently convinced one ride wasn't nearly enough, while Rhodes immediately became distracted by something else flashing further down the midway. The group drifted on at its usual leisurely pace, stopping whenever something caught somebody's eye.

It was Nicky who slowed first this time. You noticed him lingering beside a small face-painting stall, watching another little boy climb down from the chair with bright blue superhero paint stretched across his cheeks. His feet had stopped moving even though the rest of you hadn't.

"Nicky, do you want your face painted?" You asked.

His eyes dropped to the ground, and he gave the smallest shake of his head. You knew that answer, it wasn't really no, it was I don't want to be the only one. Your gaze drifted instinctively towards Rhodes, already halfway through considering whether he could be persuaded to sit still for five minutes before dismissing the idea entirely. There wasn't a hope in the world.

Before you could volunteer yourself, Hannah was already moving. She skipped ahead, slipping her hand into Nicky's as though the idea had only just occurred to her.

"I'm gonna have mine painted, so we could totally have it done together. I want fairy wings or maybe mermaid scales, how about you?"

Nicky glanced up at her, his fingers tightened around hers.

"Maybe... a tiger."

Hannah's face lit up. "That is such a good choice! I love tigers."

"We watched a show about tigers," Nicky said, finding a little more confidence with every word. "And it said they can jump really high."

"No way!"

"They can jump like..." He held one hand up above his head. "Really, really high."

As they wandered towards the painters together, Hannah continued asking him questions with genuine fascination, treating everything he said as though it was the most interesting conversation she'd had all day.

She'd always been brilliant with children.  Partly because she'd grown up surrounded by them. But that wasn't the whole reason. There was something about Hannah that never quite grew up, not in an immature way. More that she'd somehow managed to keep hold of the bright, whimsical parts of childhood that everyone else slowly misplaced along the way. She moved through the world with the easy enthusiasm of somebody who still found it exciting. She made most of her own clothes, and tonight she wore green gingham overalls with flared bottoms trimmed in lace, little heart patches stitched onto the back pockets and embroidered flowers climbing over the front.

You watched Hannah and Nicky settle side by side into the painters' chairs, already deep in conversation about tigers, and couldn't help smiling to yourself. Within a few minutes, Nicky had forgotten any shyness.

While the painters worked, the rest of you migrated to one of the nearby tables. Gator sat beside you, one arm draped comfortably along the back of your chair, your little stuffed alligator resting on the table between you.

A few moments later Noah and Megan wandered over together. They were already halfway through a conversation, continuing it so naturally that neither seemed to notice you'd become part of it.

"...feel less like I'm gonna throw up every two seconds, that's been nice."

"Yeah? Well you look better, doesn't he?"

Megan smiled looking between you and Gator.

"Look even better when we feed y'somethin', reckon Rhodes weighs more than you." Gator teased.

Noah laughed, the sound still quieter than it used to be but coming far more easily than it had a week ago.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Actually, think Logan went for food."

He glanced over his shoulder just as Logan appeared weaving through the crowd with a paper tray tucked beneath one arm and a bag of fries in his hand.

"They had cheesy fries," Logan said as he reached the table, "but thought that was probably a bit much."

"Yeah," Noah replied with a smile. "Not sure my stomach can take dairy right now, thanks though."

There wasn't another chair. Before Logan could decide whether to stand, you pushed yours back.

"Here."

"You sure?"

You nodded and, before he could argue, settled yourself sideways onto Gator's lap instead. His arm slipped comfortably around your waist. Logan took the chair, which left him sitting beside Megan, he looked into the paper bag in his hands before holding it towards her.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were here, would have got you some."

"Well as long as you share, I won't hold it against you." Megan smiled, reaching in for a fry.

You caught yourself watching them for a moment. Logan said something you didn't quite catch, Megan laughed, and he smiled back almost absent-mindedly before stealing another fry himself. It looked comfortable.

Nicky and Hannah walked back towards you hand in hand, Hannah sporting shimmering green fairy wings across one cheek while a bright orange tiger now stretched proudly across Nicky's face. He couldn't stop smiling.

You wandered from stall to stall with the family, stopping whenever someone wanted to play another game or look at another ride. Every so often your attention drifted back towards Logan and Megan. Somehow they'd ended up walking beside one another again, talking easily as the crowd carried everyone along.

You found the rest of the family gathered beneath the Ferris wheel. They had come to a complete standstill as Rhodes had declared he couldn't possibly get in the queue until he'd finished his burger.  You were all stood waiting when a familiar voice cut across the noise of the fair.

"What's up, bitches?!"

You turned to see Brooke; she strode towards you like she'd arrived at an entirely different event. She wore tiny denim shorts, a cropped top and enough confidence to fill the whole State of North Dakota. In one hand she carried a silver hip flask, which she immediately held out towards the group. One by one, everyone declined.

Brooke pulled an exaggerated face. "Boring."

"It's not really that kind of night, Brooke," Megan said.

"For you, maybe."

Brooke shrugged before taking another swig herself. That was Brooke, everything with her seemed to exist at maximum volume. Every idea was a good idea until it wasn't. Every night out became an adventure or a disaster, sometimes both. She had a habit of pulling everyone else into whatever chaos she'd created before anybody realised what was happening.

Before anyone could comment, Hannah suddenly looked over your shoulder.

"Paige!"

You followed her gaze. Paige was making her way through the crowd with a man you didn't recognise. She wasn't just walking beside him; she was hanging comfortably from his arm. He looked older than the rest of you by at least ten years. Everything about him seemed carefully put together. Crisp shirt, expensive watch, polished boots. The sort of man who looked as though he'd stepped out of a dealership advert.

Paige's smile faltered slightly when she realised she'd been spotted. For a second she almost looked as though she'd considered pretending she hadn't heard. But reluctantly she steered the man over.

"Hi guys," she said. "Um... this is Beau."

"Nice to meet you all."

The introductions were polite enough. Even so, something shifted. You couldn't quite explain it, only that the easy conversation you'd all been having seemed to disappear, somewhere in the middle the comfortable rhythm you'd all settled into simply... vanished. Without really thinking about it, you leaned a little closer into Gator. His arm settled around your shoulders almost instinctively.

Brooke stepped across to Paige, already holding out the flask again.

"Oh, um..." Paige hesitated.

Before she could decide, Beau reached for the flask.

"What we drinking?"

"Whiskey," Brooke said with a smirk.

"My kind of girl," Beau grinned.

He took a long swig before handing it back towards Paige, this time she accepted it. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Nicky edging a little closer to Hannah, his fingers were still wrapped around hers.

"We're about to ride the Ferris wheel, if you guys..." Hannah started.

Brooke groaned dramatically before she could finish and Beau smiled.

"There's a stand near the carousel that's serving shots, we could head over there." He glanced at Paige. "I could introduce you to a few of my pals."

Brooke pointed at him as though he'd just solved world hunger.

"YESS! My man, lead the way Beau!"

The three of them turned and disappeared back into the crowd without another word, you watched them go. Beside you, Megan looked faintly offended.

"Well, bye then?"

"Let them go,” you said. “I really can't be bothered with Brooke's messiness tonight anyway."

The atmosphere seemed to lift almost instantly after they'd disappeared. Hannah gave Nicky's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Are you gonna ride with me? I'm kinda scared of heights, so you better be brave."

Nicky nodded enthusiastically. Gator's arm slipped more firmly around your shoulders before he pressed a kiss against the side of your head.

"M'not scared of heights but think you should hold my hand anyway."

You laughed, nudging him lightly in the ribs.

Across from you, Logan glanced towards Megan.

"You wanna..?"

"Sure." She smiled. "But if you shake the seat Logan Heaton, I will push you out of it."

The Ferris wheel climbed steadily above the fair until the noise below softened into something distant and indistinct. From up here, Dickinson seemed impossibly vast. The last of the evening sun still hung low over the horizon, washing everything in warm gold while the fair glittered beneath you in little pockets of coloured light. Beyond it stretched open fields in every direction beneath a cloudless sky.

You leaned comfortably into Gator's side, his arm resting loosely across your shoulders. He pressed a kiss into the top of your head.

"You havin' a good time?"

"Mh-hm, yeah." Your eyes drifted across the fair below. "Noah looks good."

"He's lookin' better." Gator followed your gaze. "Logan too."

You looked back across the wheel, spotting them a few gondolas behind.

"Yeah, he seems to be getting on with Megan."

A quiet chuckle escaped him. As he shifted, the little stuffed alligator slipped towards the edge of the seat. He caught it just before it disappeared over the side, tucking it safely beneath his leg.

"Don't lose mini-gator."

"Couldn't've jus' picked a bear, huh?"

"Not sure if you're aware,” you smiled up at him, “but I'm like, a teensy bit obsessed with you."

Gator took a slow breath. You were teasing, he knew that. But the thing was, you meant it too. It had only been a few weeks. A few impossibly long, impossibly hectic weeks that somehow felt both like no time at all and a lifetime. Since then, the two of you had rarely spent a day apart. In any other situation, that would've sent him running in the opposite direction in fear.

He'd never had a girlfriend. His life before you had been made up of one-night stands, the occasional casual hook-up and women whose last names he often never learnt. He'd never imagined himself spending Friday nights at a travelling fair with an entire family. Never pictured himself sitting on Ferris wheels or carrying stuffed toys.

None of it should have fit him and yet, it fit so naturally it frightened him. He liked the ordinary moments more than anything else. Helping make coffee in the morning. Sitting on the porch late into the evening. Listening to Maggie and Ford argue over nothing. Watching you laugh with the kids. Every tiny piece of domestic life you'd quietly invited him into had become something he found himself wanting more of.

It was terrifying; wanting something meant there was something to lose. He'd spent most of his life never being completely sure of anything. But he'd never been more certain about you. He lowered his head, pressing another gentle kiss into your hair, taking a second to breathe in the familiar scent of your shampoo before speaking.

"Ain't ever had someone be happy jus' cause I'm around."

You lifted your head then. The setting sun caught your eyes, making them seem brighter somehow, and for a second he forgot entirely what he'd been thinking about. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop noticing little things like that.

"Think I could get used to it."

Your smile spread slowly across your face. He thought, not for the first time, that it might genuinely be one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"Well you better, because I'm not letting you go."

You leaned in before he could answer. The kiss was soft, lingering just long enough for him to catch the sweetness of cotton candy still left on your lips from where the two of you'd shared some with Nicky earlier. It was over far too quickly. You pulled back wearing that familiar, cheeky little smile that always made him want to kiss you all over again.

"I ain't goin' anywhere."

・❥・

Sunday lunch at the Big House had slipped back into its familiar rhythm. By now, everyone had fallen into the same seats they always seemed to occupy without ever discussing it. Platters of roast meat, vegetables and Maggie's impossibly good roast potatoes covered the centre of the table, passed back and forth between conversations that overlapped so naturally they almost became background noise. It felt comfortably full again. Noah's chair wasn't empty anymore. It struck you how much easier the room felt because of it.

This was the first Sunday he'd made it back to the table since everything had happened. Recovery still sat visibly on him. He looked healthier than he had a fortnight ago, but there was a tiredness that hadn't quite left his face yet. His appetite hadn't returned either. Nicky had decided that wasn't acceptable. Having claimed the seat beside Noah before anyone else had the chance, he had quietly appointed himself chief caretaker.

"Vegetables are kinda gross," he informed Noah very seriously while adding another spoonful of carrots to his plate, "but they are good for you, so you won't get sick again."

Noah looked down at the steadily growing pile of food before glancing at Nicky.

"Uh, yeah, thanks bud."

You noticed he barely touched most of it. Instead he picked quietly around the edges of his plate, managing a little here and there. Nobody commented. Nobody encouraged him to eat more. The conversation simply carried on around him, and that felt kinder than drawing attention to it.

"Can we go to the fair again today?" Rhodes asked.

"It's not there anymore, bud, they only stay for a few nights. We'll go next year though." Ford replied.

"Next year you might be tall enough for the dipper," Tucker added.

Rhodes' eyes widened hopefully.

"Thanks for that, Tucker," Ford glared across the table.

Tucker only grinned. Brooks leaned across the table reaching for a dish.

"What was your favourite ride, Rho?" he asked.

"Ummmmmmm..." Rhodes considered the question with enormous concentration. "Bumper cars! Or the spinny one."

"How about you, Nicky?" Ford asked.

The attention shifted, Nicky shrank a little in his chair as everyone looked his way.

"Uh..." He glanced down at his plate. "I-I liked having my face painted."

Ford smiled.

"Yeah? You looked great bud! I liked your face paint too," he reached across the table, rubbing his thumb lightly across Nicky's cheek where the faintest smear of orange still clung stubbornly to his skin. "Like it even more if it washed off properly."

"Did you put your photo on the fridge?" Maggie looked up from carving another slice of beef.

Nicky nodded enthusiastically.

"What photo?" Ford asked.

"Hannah and me took photos in a special box," Nicky explained.

"A photo booth?"

"Yeah." Nicky smiled. "We made funny faces. I like Hannah."

"She likes you too, bud.” You smiled. “She said you were very brave for her on the Ferris wheel."

"Hannah doesn't like heights, so I held her hand." Nicky positively beamed.

"Good job, kiddo." Ford nodded approvingly. "Hannah's a nice girl, was good of them to join us. Who was the other girl? Josh's sister, right?"

Before either Tucker or Walker could answer, Logan spoke up.

"Megan."

You looked across the table; he didn't meet your eye. Instead, he concentrated very hard on cutting another piece of roast beef, as though the answer hadn't come a little too quickly. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. You turned towards Gator, arching one eyebrow. He caught the look immediately. A small smile appeared on his face before he gave the slightest shake of his head, choosing very wisely not to involve himself while he continued eating.

"Yeah," you said, looking back towards Ford. "Megan."

"Their dad still in finance?"

"I dunno, Ford. I'm not friends with their dad?" You frowned.

"So you don't know what he does?” Ford laughed. “You telling me your friends don't know what I do?"

"Slightly different when your name is printed on half the buildings in the County and at least 1 in every 3 trucks on the road."

Ford laughed again, pointing his fork at you.

"Such a wiseass."

"Language," Maggie said without looking up.

Ford looked across the table at you with the exaggerated expression of a man unfairly blamed for somebody else's actions. You only smirked back.

The children spilled out onto the grass almost as soon as lunch was finished, the adults following more gradually. Chairs scraped across the patio, conversations picked up exactly where they'd left off inside, and Maggie naturally found herself at the head of the outdoor table, presiding over the family with the quiet authority she carried so effortlessly, her attention fully on the yard.

Josie had abandoned Ford in favour of chasing after her older brothers, toddling across the grass with determined little legs that hadn't quite figured out how to keep up with the rest of her yet. Maggie smiled to herself.

"I have a very scary feeling that girl is going to be another Rhodes."

Ford let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Don't say that, Ma. One Rhodes is more than enough."

"Gonna have your work cut out for you, Baby." Brooks leaned back in his chair with an amused grin. "Maybe you can get her answering Ford's emails."

It was meant entirely as a joke, but you caught the brief look Ford sent your way. It carried the faintest hint of guilt, as though he still worried he'd asked too much of you.

"I'd have more chance teaching her than I would teaching Ford," you joked.

That earned a laugh from around the table, Ford included. When the laughter settled, he looked back out towards the children.

"Actually," he said, almost thoughtfully, "I'm thinking I'm gonna step back a bit at work."

The table stilled. Ford had never been good at doing things halfway. It wasn't even the business itself that consumed him so much as the responsibility of it. Every project had to pass beneath his eyes before it was signed off. Every delay became his problem to solve. Every mistake, whether he'd caused it or not, landed on his shoulders. Delegating seemed almost physically painful for him. If something mattered, he'd rather do it himself. Hearing him suggest stepping back felt almost as surprising as hearing him suggest selling the company altogether.

"I just don't wanna miss them all growing up," he said, watching Josie stumble after Rhodes across the grass. "And I've got Burt to project manage. I can work from home, only going into site when I need to. I also don't want to have to pay Baby any more money than I already do, I don't think I could afford her childcare fees."

"Definitely not." You smiled. "You can barely afford me as it is."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Maggie looked across at him warmly.

"Well, I think that's a great idea."

"Yeah?"

"Of course." She folded her hands around her mug. "We are in a very fortunate position; it would be silly not to take advantage of that. What's the point in having beautiful children if you can't enjoy them."

"Aww, Ma." Brooks grinned. "You getting soft on us?"

"Oh I definitely wasn't talking about you, Brooks."

Logan and Noah laughed.  Brooks pressed a hand dramatically against his chest in mock offence. Maggie reached across the table, giving Noah's knee an affectionate pat before winking at you.

"But the rest of my kids, beautiful little angels."

The conversation drifted naturally onwards. Somehow, as it almost always did when the Heaton men were involved, it circled back to football. You lasted about thirty seconds before getting bored and pulling your phone from your pocket.

The No Boys Allowed group chat was already busy.

Hannah had uploaded half a dozen photos from the fair. There were pictures of the Ferris wheel lit against the sunset, Brooke making an exaggerated face at the camera before she'd disappeared, and several of Nicky proudly showing off his tiger face paint. One in particular made you smile. Hannah was crouched beside him in front of the face-painting stall, both of them grinning with fresh paint across their cheeks. You saved it to your camera roll before reacting to a few of the others.

Then Brooke started uploading her photos. They may as well have been from a different event entirely. Blurry selfies, tequila shots, Paige laughing with Beau, somebody you'd never met hanging over Brooke's shoulder. Loud. Messy. The sort of pictures taken towards the end of a night rather than the beginning. You scrolled through them without reacting as a new message appeared.

Paige: we had very different nights. lol.

Megan: u both disappeared? thought we were gonna chill together?

Brooke: what? with u and the whole school bus?

Paige: lol

Megan: kinda the point of a FAMILY funfair? u 2 just embarrassed urself

Brooke: some of us wanted actual fun

Brooke: i wasn't gonna walkaround with my face painted like a fucking idiot

Your thumb stopped moving. The words sat there on the screen for a second before they properly sank in. Brooke could be tactless, impulsive, loud. But she wasn’t usually cruel. Especially not to Hannah. Hannah hadn't even said anything. Before you could really think about it, your thumbs were already moving.

You: Hannah was making Nickys night. u were doing tequila shots at a family fair. lets not pretend shes the embarrassing one.

The message sent, almost immediately you wished you hadn't engaged at all. You backed out of the group before another reply could appear and opened a private chat with Hannah instead.

You: Hey, ignore Brooke. shes being a bitch. ur facepaint was cute! Nicky hasnt stopped talking about u, he has ur photobooth strip pinned to the fridge!

Satisfied, you locked your phone and laid it face down on the table. When you looked up again, the conversation had somehow progressed from football to the structural integrity of travelling fairground rides, with Brooks confidently insisting that none of them met modern safety standards while Ford argued they were inspected far more often than people realised. It was exactly the sort of debate Sunday afternoons at the Heaton ranch always seemed to produce, and you slipped back into it as though you'd never left.

Later that evening, you and Gator migrated to your bedroom. Fresh from your shower, you wandered around the room in an oversized T-shirt and shorts, rubbing lotion into your arms before moving on to towel-dry your hair.

Across the room, Gator was stretched comfortably against the headboard, bare-chested in nothing but a pair of loose shorts. He'd showered first and had apparently decided moving again was entirely optional. His eyes followed you lazily as you drifted between the dresser, the bathroom door and the bed, never really staying in one place for long.

"Did you see Logan when he mention Megan at the table?" You asked.

Gator watched you wander around the room as you talked, still towelling your hair as though the thought had only just occurred to you. A smile settled on his face, he’d wondered when you were going to bring it up, but feigned ignorance.

"What d'you mean?"

You looked over at him with an expression that suggested he couldn't possibly be serious.

"Logan? Megan? He got all... shy." You paused, trying to find the right word. "Which is weird because Logan is..."

"Not fussy?" Gator offered.

A laugh escaped you.

"Well, I was gonna say 'a fuckboy' but sure, let's go with what you said."

That made him laugh too. You weren't wrong. Gator had watched Logan pick girls up since they were teenagers. There had been plenty over the years and he'd never once seen him lose his nerve around any of them. If anything, confidence had always come too easily to Logan.

You reached for the bottle of moisturiser on the dresser, rubbing it into your arms before glancing back over at him.

"Soooo, what do you think about maybe, inviting them both out for the evening. Like a double date?"

The suggestion caught him by surprise. He laughed, it was only for a second, but it was long enough. You looked away, suddenly shy.

"No? Maybe I misread it, stupid idea."

The smile disappeared from his face.

"No, Baby, not a bad idea." He shook his head gently. "Sorry. Jus' somethin' Logan said t'me when he found out... 'bout us."

Your brush stopped halfway through your hair; you looked back at him in the mirror.

"What did he say?"

"He said no double dates." Gator smiled to himself. "I told 'im he didn't have no one to bring to a double date anyway."

You laughed quietly.

"But if I invite Megan...?"

Gator pushed himself off the bed. You watched him in the mirror as he crossed the room, stopping behind you before slipping both arms comfortably around your waist. Your back settled naturally against his chest.

"If y'wanna play matchmaker, go for it." His chin rested lightly against the top of your head. "But y'better warn Megan."

A smile spread across your face, you caught his eye and gave him a playful wink.

"If anyone can handle Logan, it's Megan. Trust me."

・❥・

You sat curled up in the passenger seat with your legs tucked beneath you while Maggie drove, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. Noah sat behind you in the back seat, you glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.  He was picking absent-mindedly at the cuff of his sweatshirt; his eyes fixed somewhere out of the window without really looking at anything.

It was his first meeting. The rehabilitation centre in Gladstone had been one of the Grace Foundation's projects for years, long before Noah had ever needed it. They ran inpatient and outpatient programmes alongside daily NA and AA meetings. Maggie had organised everything.

She pulled neatly into a parking space before switching off the engine and rested a hand briefly on your knee.

"Stay put, won't be long." Then she turned in her seat to face Noah. "You ready, kid?"

He let out a slow breath and shrugged.

"Guess so."

You watched the two of them climb out together. Maggie stayed beside him as they crossed the car park and disappeared through the front doors. It wasn't long before Maggie returned alone.

"He looks better, right?"

"Yeah, he does." You smiled back. "He go in okay?"

"A little nervous but Holly is a brilliant counsellor, and she runs a great group. Now, I was thinking, how do you feel about a little house call?"

"Who are we going to see?"

"Lana Miller." Maggie indicated out of the car park. "I want to check how she's doing and I need to ask her about something. Thought we could go together."

"Sounds good." You smiled.

You hadn't seen Lana since the accident at Brook’s drill site that took her husband, Pete. Everything afterwards had happened through Maggie. Even while Noah had been withdrawing at the Cabin, Maggie had never stopped. She'd sent groceries over every few days, was regularly calling to check on her.

The farmhouse came into view a few miles later, sitting quietly back from the county road. It was modest but well cared for. White clapboard siding, pale blue shutters and little window boxes beneath each front window where the last of the summer flowers were beginning to wilt. It looked like the sort of place someone had once taken great pride in making feel like home.

Maggie pulled onto the gravel drive and the two of you walked to the front porch together. She knocked once, nothing. After a few moments she knocked again and this time you heard it. The unmistakable cry of a baby carried through the front door, followed almost immediately by the soft sound of a woman trying to soothe him. Instead, the crying only grew louder, until finally the lock clicked and the door eased open.

Lana stood on the other side with Finn balanced against her shoulder, he was crying hard enough that his whole little face had turned red. Lana looked as though she'd been trying to settle him for hours. Her ponytail had all but given up, loose strands escaping in every direction, and there were milky stains across the front of her T-shirt. The tiredness around her eyes was impossible to miss. Even so, when she saw Maggie, she smiled.

"Hey, Maggie. I'm sorry, he's been fussing all morning."

"Never apologise," Maggie said gently. "Finn's just exercising those lungs, aren't you little man?"

She brushed a finger softly across the baby's cheek. Lana stepped back to let you both inside. The kitchen told the story before Lana said another word.

Dishes covered one side of the counter, stacked in uneven piles beside baby bottles in various stages of being dealt with. A couple had been washed and left to dry, but most still sat half-filled with old formula. Something smelled faintly sour. You couldn't tell whether it was the tied-off trash bag waiting by the back door or the forgotten bottle sitting in the sink. Then Lana turned slightly, a streak of dried spit-up ran down the back of her T-shirt.

She led you through into the living room, though it wasn't much different. Laundry lay in small piles across the floor, impossible to tell whether it was waiting to be washed or folded. The coffee table had disappeared beneath paperwork, unopened envelopes and a laptop left half-open as though she'd been interrupted in the middle of something days ago and never made it back. The television murmured quietly in the corner to nobody in particular. Above it all hung a framed photograph of Lana and Pete on their wedding day, it was the only thing in the room that looked straight.

Lana caught your eye and gave an apologetic smile, still pacing gently with Finn against her shoulder. His cries had settled into unhappy little whimpers, though he continued to squirm restlessly in her arms.

"I'm sorry it's such a mess, there's just been so much to do and Finn... he's really fussy and I haven't had a chance to-"

"When's the last time you took a shower, hon?"

Maggie didn't interrupt her harshly. If anything, her voice was so gentle it seemed to undo something Lana had been desperately holding together. The young woman's face crumple, a sob escaped before she could stop it and she covered her mouth with one hand, embarrassed by it.

"I'm sorry... I-I haven't... he just won't sleep and so I don't sleep and--"

Without saying another word, Maggie set her handbag down on the faded floral sofa. She stepped forwards and carefully lifted Finn from Lana's arms before turning and placing him into yours. You settled him instinctively against your chest, one hand supporting his little head as you began to rock him gently. Maggie rested an arm around Lana's shoulders.

"You're gonna go upstairs. You're gonna take a nice, long, hot shower and then you're gonna lie in your bed and get some rest. Finn is safe, Baby is amazing with little ones."

Lana shook her head weakly.

"I should--"

"Go on," Maggie said, leaving no room for argument. "Shower, rest. I don't want to see you back down here until you've done both those things."

For a moment it looked as though Lana might protest again but exhaustion won. She nodded once, wiped at her face and slowly made her way upstairs. You waited until you heard the bedroom door close before looking across at Maggie.

"Glad we made a house call."

"Mhm," Maggie hummed in agreement as she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. "Right, I'll start in the kitchen."

You looked down at Finn, whose cries had already begun to quiet into sleepy little sniffles against your shoulder.

"Okay," you said softly. "I'm gonna feed him and see if I can get him down."

Maggie disappeared back into the kitchen while you found a clean bottle amongst the ones she'd already washed, measured out formula and carried it through to the living room. There weren't many places left to sit, but the armchair was clear enough. Settling into it, you rested Finn comfortably in the crook of your arm.

By the time the bottle was empty, and you'd gently burped him against your shoulder, his eyelids were already beginning to droop. You lowered him carefully into the bassinet beside the sofa, giving it the gentlest push with your foot until the slow rocking settled him fully to sleep.

Only then did you turn your attention to the rest of the room. One quick sniff confirmed your suspicion; the laundry pile on the left was clean but unfolded, while the one on the right definitely needed another trip through the machine. You folded each clean item neatly, building a tidy stack on the sofa cushion before checking on Finn again. He hadn't stirred.

Gathering the dirty washing into your arms, you carried it through to the kitchen. The difference in there was noticeable. The sink was empty. Every dish had been washed, dried and put away, while several clean bottles stood lined up neatly on the countertop ready for the next feed. Maggie looked up as you walked in.

"Are you gonna be ok for a bit on your own? I'm going to run into town and pick her up some groceries."

"I'll be fine." You glanced towards the living room. "Finn's sleeping anyway."

She nodded, squeezed your shoulder as she passed and headed for the front door. You started a load of washing, found a broom tucked away in the hall cupboard and worked your way steadily through the downstairs. Sweeping floors. Straightening cushions. Sorting paperwork into neat piles.

Somewhere along the way, you smiled to yourself. Maggie couldn't walk past somebody who was struggling without asking what they needed. Somewhere along the way, you'd started doing the same. Maybe kindness was contagious or maybe Maggie was right and you were much more like her than you first thought.

Maggie returned an hour later with several grocery bags balanced across both arms. The two of you unpacked everything together before she set about cooking, filling the little farmhouse with the smell of onions, garlic and something slow simmering on the stove.

Hours slipped by quietly. When Lana finally came downstairs, the house barely resembled the one you'd walked into that morning. The floors were clear. The washing was folded. Fresh groceries filled the cupboards and refrigerator. The sour smell had disappeared beneath the warmth of home-cooked food. Finn, freshly fed and rested, lay contentedly in Maggie's arms making soft little cooing noises instead of crying.

Lana stopped in the kitchen doorway. She looked clean. Her damp hair had been brushed back neatly, she'd changed into fresh clothes and, after what was clearly several uninterrupted hours of sleep, some of the exhaustion had lifted from her face.

"You two didn't have to do all this,” her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you so much."

"Nonsense," Maggie said, smiling as she gently bounced Finn against her shoulder. "Anything we can do to help."

"Lunch is ready too,” you said. “Take a seat, I'll bring it over."

While Maggie and Lana settled at the little dining table, you plated up lunch and carried it across to them. By the time you sat down, the atmosphere inside the farmhouse had softened completely. Finn had finished another bottle and was dozing peacefully in his bassinet beside the table while the three of you sat down together. It wasn't anything elaborate, just a simple home-cooked meal, but judging by the way Lana ate, you weren't sure she'd had one in days.

"Thank you so much for this."

"You're welcome, hon." Maggie smiled warmly. "Sorry I haven't been by in a few weeks. Noah's been really sick."

Lana's expression immediately filled with concern.

"Oh no, is he okay now?"

Maggie glanced across the table at you before answering.

"He's getting better, yeah."

Conversation drifted easily after that, mostly about Finn. Once everyone had finished eating, you gathered the plates together and carried them through to the sink, washing them while Maggie and Lana continued talking behind you. When you returned to the table, Maggie was leaning forwards slightly.

"I had something I wanted to ask you about, Lana."

"Okay, sure."

"I wondered if you had spoken to anyone. After Pete passed. Did anyone contact you, about the house?"

"How do you mean?" Lana frowned.

"Property companies? Developers? Anyone who sparked an interest?"

She thought for a moment before her face brightened with recognition.

"Actually, yes. There was this company, I can't remember the name now. They called asking about loan opportunities for widows." She smiled gratefully. "But, of course, you had taken care of all that, thank you again for that."

"Least we could do." Maggie nodded. "So, you didn't talk to them?"

"No, sorry. I got the call and I told them over the phone that I wasn't in need of a loan and had no interest in selling the property and to take me off their call list."

"Ok." Maggie considered that for a second. "And they never called back?"

"Haven't yet, no."

"If they do, could you pass on the number to me?"

"Sure, why, is something wrong?" Lana's brow furrowed.

"No, nothing's wrong." Maggie smiled reassuringly. "Just want to know a little more about them, see if it's something I should be looking into."

"They did say they did specific loans for widows, so maybe for the Grace Foundation. If they call back I will send the details over," Lana smiled.

"Thank you, hon."

Maggie stood, giving Lana's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"Now, I will be back in a couple of days but if you need anything, and I mean it, anything. You call me, okay?"

Lana nodded. As she started to stand, Maggie gently stopped her.

"Don't get up sweets, we can show ourselves out." She leaned over the bassinet, smiling as she brushed a finger lightly across Finn's cheek. "Goodbye beautiful boy."

The gravel crunched beneath the tyres as Maggie steered back onto the county road. You watched the farmhouse disappear into the rear-view mirror before looking across at Maggie.

"What was that about?" You asked.

"Bug found something about this loan company. He couldn't find much though, just that they seem to be targeting widows, single parents, that sort of thing. I thought it was worth asking, but without a name, Bug doesn't have much to go on."

"Is it worth asking around at the Outreach Centre, or the Hawthorn? See if any residents have been approached?" You asked.

Maggie glanced across at you, a smile spread slowly across her face.

"See? I told you, you're a lot more like me than you think." She reached across and gave your knee a gentle pat. "Good idea, baby."

The sigh wasn’t directed at your boyfriend, no. The very moment you’d walked through the door, Steve had met your gaze and not been able to stop looking at you, that stupid grin on his face that always made your knees weak Actually the sigh was meant for the girl who was currently leaning over the counter, chatting your boyfriend’s ear off and seemingly ignoring the fact that he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. This didn’t stop her from casually placing a hand on Steve’s arm as she told him a joke, laughing loudly. Steve smiled out of politeness but he carefully shrugged out of her touch. This girl could not take a hint.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nancy roll her eyes. “Seriously, she’s here again? Isn’t this like the third time this week?”

Krissy Matthews. She had been the girl that Steve dated before you, the two of them having broken up a few months beforehand when Steve had caught her kissing another guy at a party. It had taken a little while for him to get over it, but as soon as he’d met you Steve had never looked back. Which was more than could be said for Krissy. It seemed as of late that she had realised what a great guy she’d let go of. What a shame that guy was already taken.

You strolled over casually, not feeling the least bit intimidated by her. The relationship you had with Steve was rock solid, you knew he only had eyes for you, which was proved by the way his whole demeanour lit up when you reached him, turning towards you and completely shutting Krissy down.

“Hey, baby.” You smiled at him, leaning over the counter to kiss him. When you pulled away he was full on beaming, gazing at you like a lovesick puppy. Krissy didn’t even exist to him anymore.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He replied. “Hey, Nance.” He nodded over your shoulder to your best friend. She smiled in response before heading off to browse the tapes. “What are you doing here, I thought you guys were going out for coffee?”

“We were just passing by and I wanted to stop in and see you.” You told him. “Thought you might be getting a little bored.”

It was then that Krissy cleared her throat loudly, making her presence known to you. Slowly you turned to face her, giving her your best saccharine smile. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You apologised to her. “I didn’t realise Steve was with a customer.”

“Actually-“ she began.

“You look kind of familiar. Have I seen you in here before?” You were riling her up, she knew that you knew exactly who she was. Krissy had been lingering in her for the last few weeks like a bad perfume, desperately trying to get some facetime with Steve. The idea that it hadn’t fazed you at all made her scowl in disappointment.

“I was actually in the middle of a conversation with Steve.” She told you. “I was telling him about a film I watched last week.” She turned back to your boyfriend. “So, what did you think about my offer?”

“Oh, what offer was this?” You asked, playing along with her.

Steve’s eyes were twinkling as he caught on to what you were doing. “Krissy was inviting me over to watch a movie with her tomorrow night.”

“She was?” You turned back to her, amusement written on your face. “What a damn shame, Steve and I already have plans tomorrow night.”

Krissy glowered at you. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Steve.”

You turned back to Steve, awaiting his response. A smile crept across your face when you saw he was already looking at you, no doubt already envisioning how the next evening would play out. Most nights spent together ended up with both of your clothes off, tangled up in the sheets. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you thought about it, and he knew damn well the effect he had on you as his fingers intertwined with yours over the counter.

“Sorry Krissy, I’m busy tomorrow night. I’m busy every night, actually. I’m really not interested in whatever you’re doing here.”

The devious smile on her face dropped instantly, and she immediately tried to recover it. “That’s OK. I’ll give you time to reconsider.” She reached over and put her hand on Steve’s arm, causing him to startle a little. “Wouldn’t want to see you settle, Steve.”

You didn’t let her words affect you, but they sure affected Steve. His jaw clenched at her words and he gently brushed her hand off. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

She finally conceded, stepping away from the counter. “OK. I’ll see you around, handsome.”

That was the last straw. You physically had to hold yourself back from launching across and throttling her as she turned her back to you, walking out of the store. The only thing that broke through the red haze was the hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently to bring you back down to earth. “Honey, are you alright?”

You turned back to Steve, seeing his face etched with concern. You were his moon and stars, and nothing else ever came close. He hated the fact that this ghost from his past had come back to haunt both of you, there was absolutely not a chance of anything happening with him and Krissy. When she’d broken his heart, he’s taken it pretty hard and hadn’t othered with anyone else for months. But when he met you, it was a reminder that there were still people who loved every part of him, not just the jokey façade he often wore or the things he could do for people. You loved every piece of him. Krissy never had.

That was why you were it for him.

“I’m sorry, baby. I tried shutting down that conversation so many times, she said she was just here to rent a video.”

“It’s OK, Steve.” You smiled at him. “I’m not mad at you. I just wish she would get the hint.”

“You’re telling me? The prettiest girl in all of Hawkins just walked in and I had to stand there talking to Krissy.”

A smirk crept across your face. “The prettiest girl, huh?”

“God damn gorgeous.” Steve told you, leaning in to kiss you again. You were tempted to lose yourself in it, but then Nancy reappeared next to you, coughing loudly. You smiled at her.

“What is her problem?” She asked the both of you. “Doesn’t she know you guys are dating now?”

“Apparently she can’t get the message.” You replied, glancing to the door that Krissy had just disappeared out of. “The fucking nerve after everything she did.”

“I don’t want to talk about Krissy anymore.” Steve interjected. “If I never have to see her again, that’s fine with me. Besides, I’d rather talk about this party next week, is it still on?”

“Damn right.” You nodded. “Me and Nancy are throwing it at her house. Everyone’s coming. I just need to figure out what to wear.”

“You should wear that cute skirt you just bought.” Nancy told you, smirking at Steve. “Wait until you see her in, you’ll lose your mind.”

You could tell Steve was already picturing you in it by the way he gulped slightly, Shaking your head, you rana hand up his arm. “Alright, I think we’ll leave you to it. But I’ll see you tonight at your place?”

“Absolutely, can’t wait.” Steve had that lovesick grin on his face again as you gave him another quick kiss before heading out the door. Anyone within a three-mile radius could see how down bad he was for you, no one else ever stood a chance as long as you were around. He was already counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

It was just a shame some people couldn’t take a hint.

***

“Steve.” You breathed softly, head falling against the couch cushions as he kissed your neck gently. The TV was still on but the two of you had long forgotten the movie you had been watching. This was how most nights went down when you came to see Steve, neither of you could keep your hands to yourself.

His tongue laved over the sensitive spots of your skin as he groaned lightly. “Taste so good, baby. Can’t wait to taste all of you.”

His words sent shivers down your spine as he reached under the t-shirt you were wearing, one of his that you’d stolen. The second he’d opened the front door to you and seen you wearing it, he was totally done for. You could tell from the way his pupils blew out that he wouldn’t be able to resist you for too long. And you’d been right. He moved to unclasp your bra, ready to take all of your clothes off.

And then the phone rang.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” He said in annoyance. The one thing Steve hated was to be interrupted when he was with you, he valued your time together more than anything. “Who the fuck is calling right now?”

“It’s OK, you can answer.” You told him with a smile. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

With a mutter of indignation, he climbed up off the couch and made his way over to the phone, which was still shrieking on the wall. He quickly answered it. “Hello?”

You observed his facial expressions as he listened to the response, trying to make sure nothing was wrong. It was unusual for anyone to call round here so late, you hoped nothing had happened with one of the kids. But then he sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Why do you still have my number?”

You could only hear a faint chattering on the other end, but whoever it was Steve clearly didn’t want to talk to them. It wasn’t until he name-dropped that you felt your blood run cold. “Krissy, you need to stop.”

“What the fuck?!” You exclaimed loudly, Steve shook his head at you, sharing in your anger.

“We broke up ages ago, because you cheated on me. It’s over, alright. I’m happy now and you need to leave me alone.” He told her before hastily slamming the phone back on the wall, cutting her off. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily as he stared at the phone like it had personally offended him.

You slowly got up and made your way over to him, hugging him from behind. He instantly relaxed into your touch, melting against you. “Are you OK, baby?”

“I didn’t even know she still had my number.” He told you. “Why won’t she just leave us alone?”

“I know, honey. I hate it as well.” You told him. “But hopefully now she’ll get the message.”

“I don’t get it, it’s like she enjoys trying to hurt me or something.” He turned around so he was facing you, arms circling around you. “I’m sorry, baby. I can’t believe I let her ruin our date night.”

“Hey, she didn’t ruin anything.” You carded your hands into his hair and his eyes drifted shut as he leaned into his touch, all the tension leaving his body. “I’m still here. Now, can we pick up where we left off?”

Steve pulled you into a hungry kiss, attention completely fixed on you now. “You’re the only one for me, you know that right?” He mumbled against your lips.

“I know, honey. You’re it for me, too.”

You just wished Krissy knew it too.

***

The night on the party finally rolled around, and you found yourself climbing out the car at the Wheeler’s house, decked out in the outfit you’d picked out with Nancy. You couldn’t lie, you did look hot. A lacy pink shirt and skirt was just the right length that you knew it would drive Steve crazy when he saw you. It was a showstopper for sure, and you were pretty sure nothing could dampen your mood right now.

There were already crowds of people there when you walked in through the front door, eyes searching for your friends. You’d told Steve to meet you here, knowing full well if you’d driven together there was no way he would have been able to keep his hands off you. It didn’t take long for you to spot the familiar head of curls that belonged to your best friend, standing next to Robin and Jonathan. When she spotted you, you waved over to her and she hastily made her way over to you. As soon as she reached you, you could tell by her expression that something was off.

“What’s wrong?” You asked her.

“We have a problem.” She told you, before glancing over to the kitchen. You followed her gaze, and your stomach dropped when you saw that your boyfriend had been cornered by the one girl you had not wanted to see tonight.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” You exclaimed loudly.

“I don’t even know who invited her.” Nancy said. “I didn’t even know she was here until Steve went to get a drink, and she just appeared. I was going to step in but then you got there.”