potatothatcanwrite

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

⸻

The couch at Fez's place has a permanent indent where you always sit. Right side, corner cushion, close enough to the armrest that you can tuck your feet under you. You've been coming here for months now long enough that Ashtray doesn't look up when you walk in anymore, long enough that Fez keeps your favorite chips in the cabinet even though he doesn't eat them himself.

Tonight the living room is dim, just the blue glow of the tv playing some documentary Fez isn't really watching. He's on the other end of the couch, one arm stretched along the back, and there's maybe two feet of space between you. Might as well be miles.

"You good?" he asks, and his voice has that softness he only uses with you and Ash. Rough around the edges but careful, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Yeah." You pull your sleeves over your hands. "Long day."

He nods, doesn't push. That's Fez, he gives you space even when you don't want it. His beard is getting longer, you notice. There's a small scar near his temple you've never asked about, you know too much and not enough about him all at once.

The documentary goes on about ocean life, neither of you are watching. You can feel the weight of his attention even though he's looking at the screen, the way the air feels different when someone's aware of you. Your heart does this stupid thing where it speeds up just because he moved.

"Come here," he says quietly.

You look at him. His eyes are already on you, have been probably, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. Not quite vulnerable but close, like he's offering something he's not sure you'll take.

You uncurl your legs, start to shift closer. The couch cushion dips as you move, and suddenly you're near enough to smell his cologne that you've come to associate with safety. His arm is still stretched along the couch back, and you're hyperaware of how easy it would be to lean into him, to close that last bit of distance.

Fez's hand moves, just slightly, fingers almost brushing your shoulder. The touch is so light you might be imagining it, but your whole body responds like he's set something on fire. His eyes drop to your mouth for just a second, and you forget how to breathe.

"Fez—"

"Yo, we're out of—" Ashtray's voice cuts through the moment. He stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with those eyes of his. "My bad."

The spell breaks. Fez pulls back, runs a hand over his beard, and you're suddenly very interested in the documentary, something about coral reefs. Your face feels hot.

"What you need, Ash?" Fez's voice is steady, but you catch the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Nothing. Handle it tomorrow." Ashtray disappears back down the hall, and you hear his door close with a pointed click.

The space between you feels wider now. Fez clears his throat, shifts away just slightly, and that small movement hurts more than it should.

"Getting late," you say, even though it's barely ten. "Should probably head out."

"Yeah. Yeah, a'ight." He stands when you do, walks you to the door like always. His hand hovers near your lower back but doesn't quite touch. "Text me when you get home?"

"Always do."

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and there's so much unsaid in the space between you that you could drown in it.

In your car, you grip the steering wheel and stare at his front door. The porch light is on he always leaves it on until you drive away. Through the window, you can see his silhouette moving back toward the couch.

He doesn't actually want me, you think, and the thought sits heavy in your chest. If he did, he would've said something, done something. He had the chance.

You drive home with that thought on repeat, trying to convince yourself it doesn't matter. Trying to ignore the ghost of his touch still burning on your shoulder.

⸻

You don't go back for a couple of days.

It's not dramatic, you don't block his number or anything. You just...create space. When he texts asking if you're coming by, you say you're busy. When he asks if you're okay, you say you're fine. The lies taste bitter, but they're easier than the truth.

Leaving first hurts less, you tell yourself. Pull back before he does.

But on the fourth day, Ashtray texts you: fez is being weird. come over.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. But you've never been good at staying away from things that hurt you, so you go.

Fez opens the door, and the relief on his face is so naked it makes your chest ache. "Yo, where you been?"

"Around." You slip past him into the house, keeping distance between you. "Ash said you needed something?"

"I—nah, I just..." He closes the door, runs a hand over his head. "You been avoiding me?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, ma." His voice is gentle but firm. "You ain't been by in days. Won't hardly text me back. What's going on?"

You can't look at him. "Nothing. I've just been busy."

"Bullshit."

The word hangs in the air, Fez doesn't usually push, which means you've worried him. Guilt twists in your stomach.

"I'm fine, Fez. Really." You force a smile. "Where's Ash?"

He studies you for a long moment, and you can see him deciding whether to let it go. Finally, he sighs. "Store run. Should be back soon." He gestures toward the kitchen. "You hungry? Was about to make something."

You should say no, should make an excuse and leave. Instead, you follow him into the kitchen, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.

The kitchen is small, Fez moves around the space with easy familiarity, pulling out ingredients for sandwiches. You lean against the counter, trying to stay out of the way, but he keeps having to reach around you for things.

"Sorry," you murmur when he stretches past you for the bread. His arm brushes yours, and electricity shoots up your spine.

"You good." His voice is low, close to your ear. He doesn't move away immediately.

You should step aside and give him room. Instead, you stay frozen as he reaches across you for the mayo, his chest nearly pressed against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of him, smell that cologne that makes you dizzy.

"Fez." It comes out barely a whisper.

He pauses, hand still on the refrigerator door. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You're close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the exact shade of blue in his eyes. His gaze drops to your mouth again, and this time it lingers.

"Yeah?" His voice is rough.

Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can hear it. The air between you feels dangerous. His hand comes up, fingers almost touching your jaw, and you lean into it without thinking.

The front door slams. "Yo, they were out of the good chips!" Ashtray's voice carries from the living room.

Fez steps back like he's been burned. You turn away, gripping the counter edge, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

"In here, Ash," Fez calls, and his voice sounds strained.

Ashtray appears in the doorway, takes one look at both of you, and his expression goes flat. "For real?"

"What?" Fez is aggressively making sandwiches now, not looking at either of you.

"Nothing." But Ashtray's eyes narrow as he looks between you. "Absolutely nothing, apparently."

You can't do this. Can't stand here in this too small kitchen with Fez's almost touch still burning on your skin and Ashtray's knowing eyes seeing too much. Can't keep wanting something you can't have.

"I should go." You're already moving toward the door.

"Wait—" Fez starts, but you're not stopping.

"Thanks for...I'll text you later."

You're out the door before he can respond, and you don't look back. In your car, you grip the steering wheel with shaking hands.

Leaving first hurts less, you repeat to yourself. Leaving first hurts less.

It's a lie, but you're getting good at those.

⸻

Fez is staring at his phone when Ashtray walks into the living room. Has been for the past twenty minutes, reading and rereading your last text: sorry for leaving weird. talk soon.

"You gonna actually text her back, or just keep looking at it like a sad puppy?" Ashtray drops onto the couch next to him.

"I texted her back."

"Yeah, three hours ago. 'It's cool.' Real romantic, bro."

Fez shoots him a look. "The hell you know about romantic?"

"More than you, apparently." Ashtray grabs the remote, but doesn't turn on the tv. Instead, he sits there, radiating judgment. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or we gonna keep pretending?"

"Ain't nothing going on."

"Right. That why she keeps running out of here? That why you been moping around for days?" Ashtray's voice is flat, matter of fact. "Y'all are being stupid."

"Watch your mouth."

"I'm serious, Fez." And he is, Ashtray's expression has gone hard, the way it does when he's about to say something he thinks needs saying. "She comes over, y'all do this whole thing where you look at each other like you're dying, then she leaves and you get all depressed. It's exhausting."

Fez sets his phone down, rubs his eyes. "It ain't that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because!" The word comes out sharper than he intends. He takes a breath, softens his voice. "Because I can't...Ash, you know what our life is like. What we do. I can't drag her into that."

"She already in it. She's here all the time."

"That's different."

"How?"

Fez doesn't have a good answer for that. He stares at the blank tv screen, jaw tight. "I could get her hurt. People we deal with, the shit we're involved in...If something happened to her because of me—"

"So you're just gonna keep pushing her away? That's your plan?" Ashtray's voice is hard. "You think that don't hurt her?"

"Better than the alternative."

"Is it?" Ashtray leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Fez, look at me."

Reluctantly, Fez does. Ashtray's eyes are too knowing. Sometimes Fez forgets he's just a kid, and then moments like this happen and he remembers that Ash has seen too much, grown up too fast in this life they're living.

"You're already hurting her by doing nothing," Ashtray says quietly. "I see it every time she's here. The way she looks at you, then catches herself. The way she leaves before she wants to. She's protecting herself from you, bro. Because you won't be straight with her."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Fez wants to argue, but he can't. Because Ash is right. He's seen it too the way you pull back, the careful distance you've started keeping. He did that, his fear did that.

"What if I can't keep her safe?" His voice comes out rough.

"What if you can?" Ashtray counters. "You keep everyone safe. Me, the people who come through here, even the ones who don't deserve it. You think you can't do that for her?"

"That's different. Y'all are—"

"Family?" Ashtray raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. And what's she?"

Fez doesn't answer, can't. Because the truth is you've been family for a while now, and he's been too scared to admit it. Too scared to reach for what he wants because wanting things has always been dangerous in his life.

"I don't know how to do this," he admits finally. "Don't know how to be...that. For someone."

"You're already doing it, dumbass. You just won't admit it." Ashtray stands, heads toward his room. At the doorway, he pauses. "She's not gonna wait forever, Fez. Eventually, she's gonna stop coming back. And then you're really gonna be miserable."

He disappears down the hall, leaving Fez alone with his phone and his thoughts and the weight of everything unsaid.

Fez picks up his phone, looks at your text again. His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He types and deletes three different messages before giving up, setting the phone down.

But Ashtray's words echo in his head, You're already hurting her by doing nothing.

He's spent so long trying to protect you that he never considered he might be the thing you need protection from. Not because he'd hurt you intentionally, but because his fear is doing the job just fine.

Outside the sun is setting, the house feels too quiet. Fez thinks about the space on the couch where you always sit, the indent that's shaped like you. Thinks about your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, how you're the only person besides Ash who makes him feel like maybe he's not just the sum of his mistakes.

He picks up his phone again.

This time, he doesn't let himself overthink it. He just types: can we talk?

Your response comes faster than he expected: when?

Tomorrow? Come by whenever.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Finally: okay.

Fez stares at the word, heart pounding. He has no idea what he's going to say to you. No idea how to explain the mess in his head, the fear and want tangled up so tight he can't separate them.

But Ashtray's right, he has to try.

Because losing you slowly, watching you pull away inch by inch, is worse than any risk. And maybe you deserve to make your own choice about whether he's worth the danger.

⸻

You almost don't go in.

You sit in your car outside Fez's place for ten minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to talk yourself into driving away. Whatever he wants to talk about, you're not sure you can handle it. If he's going to tell you to stop coming around, to give him space, you think it might actually break something in you.

But you're here and you've never been good at protecting yourself from him.

The door opens before you can knock. Fez stands there, and he looks tired and worried. His eyes search your face like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey."

Neither of you move, then he steps back, gestures you inside. The house is quiet Ashtray must be out, or hiding in his room. Probably the latter, knowing him.

You follow Fez to the living room, but neither of you sit. The air feels heavy, with everything unspoken. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and you cross your arms, and the space between you might as well be an ocean.

"So," you say, when the silence gets too loud. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. I—" He stops, runs a hand over his beard. "Shit, I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Talking about..." He gestures vaguely between you. "This."

Your heart is pounding. "Fez, if you're trying to tell me to stop coming around, just say it. I can handle it."

"What? No." He looks genuinely shocked. "That ain't—why would you think that?"

"Because you keep pulling away!" The words burst out before you can stop them. "Every time we get close, you back off. Every time something almost happens, you shut down. I'm not stupid, Fez. I can take a hint."

"That ain't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" You're angry now, months of frustration bubbling over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you don't want me here."

"That's not true." His voice is firm, almost desperate. "That ain't true at all."

"Then what is it? Because I can't keep doing this. Can't keep coming here and wanting—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late.

"Wanting what?" He takes a step closer, and there's something intense in his eyes. "Say it."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. Say it."

"You!" The word rips out of you. "I keep wanting you, and you keep acting like I'm something you can't touch, and I don't understand why. If you don't feel the same way, fine. But stop—stop looking at me like that if you don't mean it."

The silence that follows is deafening. Fez stares at you, and you can see something crumbling in his expression, some wall he's been holding up finally giving way.

"You think I don't want you?" His voice is rough, raw. "You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

"I think about you all the damn time." The confession comes out like it's been pulled from somewhere deep. "Every day. Every night. You're in my head constantly, and it's driving me crazy because I can't—I don't know how to—"

He stops, jaw clenched, and you realize with a shock that his hands are shaking.

"Fez—"

"I'm scared, a'ight?" The words sound like they cost him something. "I'm scared of dragging you into my mess. The shit I'm involved in, the life I live—it ain't safe. And you're..." He looks at you, and his eyes are so full of emotion it makes your chest ache. "You're good. You're the best thing that's come into my life in years, and I can't stand the thought of something happening to you because of me."

"So you were just going to push me away?" Your voice is softer now. "That was your solution?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what? From you?" You take a step closer. "Fez, I know what your life is like. I've known from the beginning. I'm not some naive kid who doesn't understand what she's walking into."

"You don't get it—"

"No, you don't get it." Another step. You're close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "You don't get to make that choice for me. If I want to be here, if I want to be part of your life, that's my decision. Not yours."

"What if I can't keep you safe?" His voice breaks slightly. "What if something happens and I can't—"

"What if it doesn't?" You reach out, slowly, and place your hand on his chest. His heart is racing under your palm. "What if we're careful, and smart, and it's okay?"

He covers your hand with his, and his touch is gentle. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"You already are." The truth of it sits in your chest, solid and sure. "You've been what I need since the day we met. You're just too scared to see it."

"I'm terrified," he admits, and this is Fez at his most vulnerable no walls, no protection, just raw honesty. "Of fucking this up. Of losing you. Of not being enough."

"Fez." You step closer, until there's barely any space between you. "Look at me."

He does. His eyes are desperate, pleading, full of want and fear in equal measure.

"I'm here," you say quietly. "I'm standing right here, telling you I want this. Want you. The only way you lose me is if you keep pushing me away."

For a long minute, he just stares at you. Then, slowly, his hand comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and the touch is so tender it makes your eyes sting.

"I want you," he says, voice rough. "God, I want you so much it scares me."

"Then stop being scared." You lean into his touch. "Stop running. Just...be here. With me."

"I don't know if I can do this right."

"We'll figure it out." You cover his hand with yours. "Together."

Something in his expression shifts. The fear is still there, but underneath it is something else hope, possibility. He leans his forehead against yours, and you both just breathe for a moment, sharing space.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For pushing you away. For making you think I didn't want you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. For pulling back instead of talking to you."

"We're both pretty stupid, huh?"

You laugh, and it comes out watery. "Yeah. We really are."

His thumb traces your jaw, and you shiver. "Can I—" He stops, swallows hard. "Can I kiss you?"

Your heart stutters. "Yeah. Yes."

But he doesn't move right away. Just holds you there, forehead to forehead, like he's savoring this moment before everything changes. His breath is warm on your lips, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

"Fez," you whisper.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." But still he hesitates, and you realize he's shaking. This man who's seen and done things you can only imagine, who's always so steady and sure, is trembling at the thought of kissing you.

So you close the distance yourself.

⸻

The kiss is gentle, like you're both afraid of breaking each other.

Fez's lips are softer than you imagined, and he kisses you like you're made of glass careful, reverent, like he can't quite believe this is real. His hand cradles your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer but not too close. Still giving you space to pull away if you want.

You don't want to.

You sink into him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he makes this sound low and rough and desperate that sends heat flooding through you. The kiss deepens, but slowly. He's still holding back, still being careful, and you can feel the restraint in every touch.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Fez rests his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, and his hands are shaking where they hold you.

"Fuck," he breathes. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Yeah?"

"Since the first time you sat on that couch and laughed at one of Ash's terrible jokes. Since you stayed up with me when I was stressed about a deal. Since—" He opens his eyes, and they're so full of emotion it steals your breath. "Since always, feels like."

You kiss him again, softer this time, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You sure about this? About me?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He studies your face like he's looking for doubt, for hesitation. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, still racing, and you wrap your arms around him.

"Stay," he murmurs into your hair. "Tonight. Just stay."

"Okay."

You stand there in the middle of his living room, holding each other, and it feels like something has shifted. Like the world has rearranged itself into a new configuration, one where this is possible. Where you and Fez can be this.

Eventually, you migrate to the couch. He sits in his usual spot, and you curl into his side, head on his chest. His arm wraps around you, and it feels right in a way nothing else ever has.

"Ash is gonna be insufferable about this," Fez says after a while.

You laugh. "He's been trying to get us together for months."

"Yeah, kid's too smart for his own good." There's fondness in his voice. "He told me I was being stupid. That I was hurting you by doing nothing."

"He wasn't wrong."

"Nah, he wasn't." Fez's hand runs up and down your arm, the touch absent and soothing. "I'm gonna try, a'ight? To be better at this. At talking instead of shutting down."

"That's all I ask."

The tv is still off, the neighborhood is quiet. You can hear Fez's breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and everything feels suspended in this perfect moment.

"What are you thinking?" you ask softly.

"That I don't deserve this. You." His voice is quiet. "But I'm gonna try to anyway."

You shift to look up at him. "Fez, you deserve good things. You deserve to be happy."

"You make me happy." He says it simply, like it's a fact. "Happier than I've been in a long time."

"Good." You settle back against him. "Because you make me happy too."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. It's such a sweet thing that your eyes sting.

"I think about you all the time," he says again, like he needs you to understand. "When you're not here, I'm thinking about when you'll come back. When you are here, I'm trying not to stare at you like a creep. You're in my head constantly."

"I think about you too." You trace patterns on his chest. "More than I probably should."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think about your voice. The way you laugh. How you're so gentle with Ash even when you're pretending to be tough. How you make me feel safe."

He's quiet for a moment. "You are safe. With me. I'll make sure of it."

"I know."

And you do. Despite everything the danger, the uncertainty, the complicated reality of his life you've never felt safer than you do right now, wrapped in his arms.

The night stretches on. You talk about everything and nothing childhood memories, favorite foods, the documentary about ocean life you never actually watched. Fez tells you about his grandmother, and his voice goes soft with grief and love. You tell him about your family, your dreams, the things you've never said out loud to anyone.

At some point, you shift positions. You're lying down now, Fez on his back and you tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. His hand plays with your hair, gentle and rhythmic, and you're so comfortable you could fall asleep right here.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For not giving up on me."

You tilt your head to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, unguarded. "Thank you for letting me in."

He kisses you again, and this time there's less hesitation. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and the kiss is deeper, hungrier. You can feel the want in it, the months of restraint finally breaking down.

When you pull back, you're both breathing hard again. Fez's eyes are dark and there's a flush on his cheeks.

"We should probably slow down," he says, but his hand is still on your face, still touching you like he can't help himself.

"Probably," you agree, but you don't move away.

"I want to do this right. With you." His voice is rough. "Want to take my time. Make sure you know—" He stops, swallows hard. "Make sure you know how much you mean to me."

Your heart feels too big for your chest. "Fez—"

"I'm serious. You're not just—this ain't just physical for me. You get that, right?"

"I get it." You kiss him softly. "It's not just physical for me either."

"Good. Okay." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay."

You settle back against him, and his arms wrap around you again.

"Stay with me tonight," he says again. "Just sleep. I just want—I want you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise.

And as you drift off, warm and safe in his arms, you think that maybe Ashtray was right. Maybe you were both being stupid but you're not anymore.

Now you're just here, together and that's enough.

⸻

You wake up to early morning light filtering through the curtains and Fez's arm heavy across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of waking up next to him. His face is relaxed in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, and he looks the most peaceful.

You shift slightly and his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer even in sleep. The gesture makes your heart squeeze.

"You watching me sleep?" His voice is rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there's a smile playing at his lips.

"Maybe."

He opens his eyes, and they're soft, warm. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, you just look at each other. Then he leans in, kisses you slow and sweet. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek.

"Been wanting to wake up like this," he murmurs against your lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another kiss, deeper this time. "With you here. In my arms."

You shift closer, and suddenly you're very aware of the warmth of his body, the solid weight of him against you. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and the kiss turns heated.

"Fez," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." His voice is rough, strained. "Any time. Just tell me."

"I don't want you to stop."

He groans, low and desperate, and kisses you harder. His hand slides down your side, over your hip, and even through your clothes the touch burns. You arch into him, and he makes that sound again the one that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

"You're so—" He breaks off, kisses your jaw, your neck. "So beautiful. Drive me crazy."

Your hands find the hem of his shirt, slide underneath to touch warm skin. He shudders at the contact and you feel powerful knowing you affect him like this.

"Can I—" His hand hovers at the edge of your shirt. "Is this okay?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He takes his time, though. Pushes your shirt up slowly, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. When you don't stop him, he leans down, presses kisses to your stomach, your ribs. Each touch is soft, slow, like he's memorizing you.

"So soft," he murmurs. "So perfect."

You pull him back up to kiss him, and it's hungry now, desperate. Months of wanting finally breaking free. His weight settles over you, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer.

"Wait, wait." He pulls back, breathing hard. "We should—I want to make sure—"

"I'm sure." You cup his face, make him look at you. "I want this. Want you."

"Yeah, but—" He takes a shaky breath. "I want to do this right. Want to take care of you."

The words make your chest ache. Even now, even in the middle of this, he's thinking about you. Making sure you're okay.

"You are taking care of me," you say softly. "This is taking care of me."

He searches your face, and whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods. "Okay. But you tell me if anything's too much, yeah? If you want to slow down or stop or—"

You kiss him to shut him up, and he melts into it. His hands start moving again, sliding under your shirt, and this time when he pulls it off you let him. He stares at you for a long time and there's so much want in his eyes it makes you shiver.

"Beautiful," he says again. "So fucking beautiful."

He kisses you everywhere he can reach your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your boob. Each touch is careful, restrained, like he's holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting for control.

"Fez," you murmur. "You don't have to hold back."

"Yeah, I do." His voice is strained. "Want to make this good for you. Want to—" He breaks off with a groan as you arch against him. "Fuck, you're making this hard."

"Good."

He laughs, breathless, and kisses you again. His hands map your body like he's learning it, committing every curve to memory. When he touches you, really touches you, you gasp into his mouth.

"This okay?" he asks, even though your reaction makes it obvious.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"Not planning to."

He takes his time, drawing it out, watching your face to see what you like. Every time you make a sound, he does it again, learning you. It's overwhelming, the attention, the care he's putting into this.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs. "So perfect. Love watching you like this."

You pull at his shirt, and he helps you remove it. Finally, you can touch him properly run your hands over his chest, his shoulders, feel the strength in him. He shudders under your touch, and you realize he's just as affected as you are.

"Your turn," you say, and push him onto his back.

He goes willingly, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You kiss him, then start working your way down. He watches you with an intensity that makes you feel powerful, desired. When you touch him, he groans, head falling back.

"Fuck, baby. That's—yeah, just like that."

The endearment makes your heart skip. You've never heard him call anyone baby before.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again.

"Love it. Love—" He cuts off with another groan. "You're gonna kill me."

"Good way to go though, right?"

He laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Best way."

You continue exploring him, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hands fist in the sheets. He's vocal, telling you what he likes, praising you, and the words make you bolder.

"Come here," he says finally, pulling you back up. "Need to kiss you."

The kiss is deep, consuming. His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in the sensation of skin on skin, heat and want and something deeper. Something that feels like love, even if neither of you have said it yet.

"I want—" You break off, suddenly shy.

"What? Tell me what you want."

"You. All of you."

His eyes darken. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Okay. But we go slow, yeah? And you tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop."

"I will."

He takes his time preparing you, making sure you're ready, checking in constantly. The care he takes, the attention he pays to your comfort, makes you fall for him even more.

When he finally pushes inside, you both gasp. He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

"Okay?" His voice is strained.

"Yeah. More than okay."

He starts moving, slow and careful, watching your face. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, and you can see the effort it takes him to hold back.

"You feel so good," he groans. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he curses. "Baby, you can't—I'm trying to go slow here."

"Don't want slow." You roll your hips, and he groans. "Want you."

"You got me. You got all of me."

The rhythm builds, and he's still careful but less restrained now. His hands grip your hips, and he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. You're lost in it, in him, in the feeling of finally being this close.

"So beautiful," he murmurs. "So perfect. My girl. Mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through you. "Yours."

"Yeah. Mine." He kisses you hard. "And I'm yours. All yours."

When you come apart, he's right there with you, holding you through it, murmuring praise and endearments. After, he holds you close, pressing kisses to your face, your hair, anywhere he can reach.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"More than okay." You curl into him. "That was—"

"Yeah." He sounds awed. "It really was."

You lie there together, tangled up in each other, and everything feels right. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he says after a while.

"Mm?"

"I love you."

The words are quiet, almost hesitant, like he's not sure how you'll react. You pull back to look at him, and his eyes are vulnerable, open.

"I love you too," you say, and watch relief flood his face.

He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Good. That's—that's good."

You laugh at his awkwardness, and he smiles against your lips. "Shut up."

"Make me."

So he does, kissing you until you're both breathless again. And when you finally settle back into his arms, you think that this warmth, this safety, this love is worth every moment of fear and uncertainty it took to get here.

⸻

You wake up to voices in the hallway. Fez's arm is still around you, and you're wearing his shirt, and the morning light is brighter now. You must have fallen back asleep.

"—just saying, you could've texted me," Ashtray's voice carries through the door.

"I did text you," Fez responds, voice still rough with sleep.

"Yeah, at like 2 am. Real helpful."

You feel Fez sigh, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. "Ash, come on."

The door opens. You have just enough time to register that you should probably be embarrassed before Ashtray walks in, takes one look at you and Fez tangled together in bed, and stops.

For a minute, nobody says anything. You're frozen, Fez is tense, and Ashtray just stands there, expression unreadable.

"Finally."

The word is so flat, so deadpan, that you can't help it you laugh. Fez groans, covering his face with his free hand.

"Ash, man, can you not—"

"What? I'm happy for you." Ashtray's expression doesn't change. "Only took you like six months. Was starting to think I'd have to lock you in a room together."

"We're having a moment here," Fez says, but there's no real heat in it.

"Yeah, I can see that." Ashtray looks at you. "You good?"

The question is serious despite his tone. He's checking in, making sure you're okay, and the protectiveness of it makes your chest warm.

"I'm good, Ash. Really good."

He nods, satisfied. "Cool. Fez, we need to talk about the shipment later."

"Later, Ash. Jesus."

"Just saying." He heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and you're making breakfast. Both of you. I'm not doing it just because you finally got your shit together."

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and you and Fez just lie there in stunned silence.

"Did that really just happen?" you ask.

"Unfortunately." But Fez is smiling, and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. "Kid's got timing, I'll give him that."

"He's been waiting for this."

"Yeah, he has." Fez pulls you closer, kisses your forehead. "We all have."

You stay in bed a little longer, just holding each other, before finally getting up. Fez gives you a pair of his sweatpants to wear with his shirt, and they're way too big, but he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In the kitchen, Ashtray is already at the table, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you enter, and something in his expression softens.

"Pancakes?" you offer.

"Hell yeah."

You and Fez move around the kitchen together, and it's easy, natural. He stands behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You lean back into him, and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.

Ashtray watches you both with something that might be approval. "You know you're gonna have to be careful, right?" he says suddenly. "People find out about her, they might try to use that."

The words are serious, a reminder of the reality you're walking into. Fez tenses behind you.

"I know," he says quietly. "We'll be careful."

"Good." Ashtray goes back to his phone. "Because I like her. Would suck if something happened."

"Nothing's gonna happen," Fez says firmly. "I'll make sure of it."

You turn in his arms, cup his face. "We'll make sure of it. Together."

He kisses you, soft and quick, mindful of Ashtray's presence. "Together."

Breakfast is comfortable, easy. Ashtray tells a story about something that happened at school, and Fez listens with that particular attention he gives the people he loves. You sit there, eating pancakes in Fez's clothes and think about how this is your life now. This kitchen, these people, this love.

"What are you smiling about?" Fez asks, nudging your shoulder.

"Nothing. Just happy."

"Yeah?" His own smile is soft, private. "Me too."

Ashtray makes a gagging sound. "Y'all are gonna be disgusting, aren't you?"

"Probably," you admit.

"Great. Just what I needed." But he's smiling, just a little. "Worth it though, I guess. Fez has been less of a grumpy asshole lately."

"Watch it," Fez warns, but there's no heat in it.

The morning stretches on. Eventually, Ashtray disappears to his room, giving you and Fez space. You end up back on the couch, in your usual spots, except now you're tucked against his side, his arm around you.

"This okay?" he asks. "Having you here like this? Not too fast?"

"It's perfect." You tilt your head to look at him. "This is exactly where I want to be."

"Good." He kisses your temple. "Because I'm not letting you go now. You're stuck with me."

"I can live with that."

Outside, the neighborhood is waking up. Inside, everything is warm and safe and right. Fez's hand runs up and down your arm and you can hear Ashtray's music playing faintly from his room

"Hey," Fez says softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being patient with me. For not giving up."

You shift to kiss him, slow and sweet. "Thank you for letting me in."

"Always," he promises. "From now on, it's always."

And as you settle back against him, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you believe him. This is just the beginning there will be challenges, dangers, moments of fear. But you'll face them together. Because that's what love is. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to stay anyway. To build something soft and safe in the middle of chaos and to find home in another person.

And you've found yours.

In a house that smells like pancakes and safety, with a boy who loves fiercely and carefully in equal measure, and a kid who's too wise for his years but still knows how to hope.

This is your family now and you're not going anywhere.

⸻

MASTERLIST

The bill counter on the table slows as the bills flipped through come to a stop, Fezco takes the stack and fixes it neatly against the surface.

Wrapping a band around the cash, he looks up as you appear from the hallway, your bag being pulled over your shoulder. You and Ashtray, the boy is mumbling something to you, looking miserable. Or as miserable as he can look with the disgusted, upturned nose he's giving you as you give him a big smooch on the cheek.

"Hey!" Ashtray swatted you away. "That ain't right, man! We got peoples comin'!" He made a face at you, Fezco chuckled a bit to himself, this was the first time Ashtray hadn't gone tomato red after a kiss from Ma. He was getting used to it, Fez realized with a laugh.

Luckily, you weren't wearing any lipstick this time, but that didn't mean he didn't try to wipe any potential mama's boy imprints you always seemed to leave on his face.

"I know, I know," you could only smile in your humor, before audibly chuckling. Running your thumb along the area, just for safe measure for him, before cupping his cheek. "I'll see you later, ok?"

His chin upturned with confirmation. "Mmm," Ashtray stayed there, eyes flickering up to yours as he went quiet for your goodbye. "I'll keep him outta trouble."

"Says the trouble," you snickered, to which his lips shifted with glee at, he's the business partner for a reason after all. "You always do, I know you got him," you pinched his chin lovingly, before straightening, bag in hand. "Just be safe, babe. Ok?"

Ashtray nods, sharply, face finally burning red. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He then half-heartedly shoves you towards the hall, "Now, get outta here, man. We got work to do."

"Alright, alright," you put your hands up, taking a few skipping steps down the hall towards the living room. "I love you!"

Ashtray grumbles, embarrassingly. "Just get out of here!" he disappears back into the hallway, jumping a bit too boyishly back into his bedroom.

Fezco could laugh, but he held it back, he didn't need the boy more embarrassed then he pretended to be during most of your motherly habits.

You chuckled to yourself as you spun around from the hallway, eyes finally landing on your boyfriend, Fezco. Your smile never dampening, only growing bashful as you slowly glide around the couch, tracing your fingers along the fabric.

Fezco clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

Shit.

He didn't want you to leave.

I mean, well, he did. You had to leave, no question.

Mouse was nothing to play with. And Fezco made it perfectly clear he did not trust any of his dealers when it came to being around you. Least of all Mouse.

Its always been out of the question to get you involved in any of this, if he could help it.

He was literally inviting danger to his doorstep, if he could pride himself on anything it was that he'd distanced you from most of it, you couldn't put name to face, you hardly knew the shit he sold. Not that you didn't recreationally partake from time to time, but that was usually with him.

You grew up with smokers, so sharing a stick together used to be the closest thing you had ever came to a type of high.

Fezco wasn't necessarily proud he introduced you to drugs, it wasn't even related to how you met, or why you stayed. Why you stayed... Something that confused him to this day, god, you could be anywhere, be with anyone, BE anyone.

But, you were here. Lighting up the house with love, painting a picture of a family he had to think was impossible until you came into his life.

God, he was absolutely obsessed with the addiction he'd found in you. Easily a pinnacle high.

And so, there was no debate, you can't stay here tonight.

Fezco swallows, thickly.

He glances in your direction, as he tries to get his thoughts together. You're already looking at him, waltzing up casually, as he stands from his chair as you get closer, don't look at me like that, he wanted to say.

You didn't know how easy he gets lost in your presence, time just slipped away. Or maybe you did, maybe you thought the world would slow for the both of you in moments like this, when leaving his side felt like an impossibility.

Sliding your bag off from your shoulder, you let it settle next to your cardigan at the table leg. "Did he have to come today?" you knew the answer, your voice soft but frustrated.

"Yeah, ma. Ain't nothin' I can control right now," Fezco answers quietly, watching as you slide your hand across the table delicately, tracing the grain. "It'd just be us tonight. If I could."

"Business is business," You slide the ring of your keys into your palm, humming your understanding. You glance back from your keys that you slide behind you, back up to him. "Update me, ok? Don't forget." Safety check-ins after deals like this were always your number one rule, no exceptions.

He assures you, "I know, baby," stepping close to run his hands over your arms, his palms are warm and his thumbs dig in with a gentle pressure.. "I ain't forgettin', I gotchu."

"And eat something," you added. "There's leftovers from earlier. You never eat right on days like this."

Fezco chuckled. "You keepin' notes or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'." you teased back.

BZZZZ...BZZZZ...

His phone goes off , you don't turn recognizing the harsh alarm as the one he'd set to give you enough time to rush out before his exchange went down tonight.

They both release a breath, before he turns back at the replicated sound. Straightening to face you again, "Hey," he breathes at your pout.

Fezco lifts his phone, turning off the alarm. "You text me when you're home, ight?" he leans down to take your bag off the floor, his other hand now rested on you hip, held it right. Pinching the skin, tenderly, "Hear me?"

"Mm hmm." You inch into him, brows that pinch when you're about to lean in.

"Ok?" he repeated, he noticed.

"OK."

You had his face in your hands then, kissing him, hard. Breathlessly.

Pulling back to look at him, "And you'll call me when it's over." A reminder, instead of a question, you made clear of that. Pretty eyes that bore into his, easily stealing what little attention he'd given to anything else but you.

You kissed him again, he's pressing his lips to yours just as your pulling away. "Not a second after, ok?" You instructed, sternly. Though the worried crease in your brows made your intentions clear and left no room for debate.

He nodded, thoughtlessly, that was all he could manage. Mouth open and leaning down for another taste even as you blabber out another word. "I will, I will."

Not when you're pulling him down by the collar like this.

Again, your eyes dart to his lips, and unable to help yourselves, he's diving in for another when his alarm goes off again, the two of you pausing and then staring.

Alright, they've got ten minutes to get you out of here. Fuuuck...

Fezco grabs your keys off the floor, fits your cardigan between the holes of your bag and snatches your sneakers up for you to step into as you both rush towards the hallway to the door.

"Text me as soon as you're in, alright?," Fezco jogs after you, as you pepper kisses while backtracking to the gated door. "Come on, ma," he complains, half-heartedly, as you kiss him full on the cheek longer.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, before kissing him again. "Ok, I love you," he opens the door as you step into your shoes. Ashtray presses the release from the security room and the gate clicks open. It's raining, it hits the metal loudly, your car was just in front so there was no need for an umbrella.

Still, enough to get drenched as soon as you step out.

He's pushing open the doors for you, the two of you just stepping out when Rue rushes over. "The fu--Rue?"

The girl's a bit out of breath, curly hair sticking to her face from the rain.

"(Y/n) Baby cake!" she fired hand guns spouting the dumb nickname, before taking both of your hands to spin around and stumble her way into the house.

Pulling you back inside for a hug, she's completely soaked, easily clinging your shirt. "That was fast, came to see me? Or are you leaving already?" Rue gasped. "No, no, I haven't seen you in forever, come back. Distract Fez while I raid, alright? Cool."

"What, no--"

The curly haired girl excitedly runs off then, makes her way into the hallway, "Hold on! Rue!" Fezco doesn't have time to grab her when she's already strutting onto the carpet and around the corner, looking for the usual.

"How'd you guys know I was outside? Shit, I didn't even ring yet," she laughed, impressed. "Oh, that a hickey?" she snickered, pointing nowhere in particular at you, already trapezing through the house.

"Rue! What're you--" you close the doors, the security click sounding, just as Fezco''s rushing after the girl. "oh my, fuck--"

"Nah, Rue, you can't be here right now," Fezco shouts after her. "I need you out!"

Rue scoffed. "Oh, come on, I've seen porno's crazier than what you two get up to. Just act like I'm not even here."

Bursting into the living room, you follow after Rue as she throws off her sweater, looking to get comfortable. "Jesus, Rue," you pick it up off the couch as you follow behind Fezco.

Ashtray's head peeks out from the security room, brows raised in surprise as Rue trudges through the hall, he speaks aloud. "The fuck is she doin' here?" and then he sees you, yelling after you. "What the fuck are you still doin' here?!"

"I was leaving!" you sighed as you rushed past him. "And don't cuss at me!"

Ashtray rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair, checking the outer camera feed.

"Look, I just need a couple OCs and some socks," Rue plopped down on a bed in the back rooms, pulling off her soaked socks and started opening drawers.

Fezco cornered her in his room, frustrating eating at him. Glancing at the time on his phone. "Yo, for real Rue, you gotta go! I can't help you right now, come back in a few hours, I gotchu. But right now, you need to get up outta here."

You came up next to him, holding her jacket. Throwing it back at her as she pulled on some new socks, "Hey!"

"He's not joking around, Rue," you reiterated. "People are coming. And it'd be better if neither of us were here. You need to come with me."

Rue glanced between the two of you. "This is the weirdest intervention ever," she kicked off her jacket as she pulled on her socks. "Look, Fez, I'm drenched, and I'm out of drugs so...don't be dicks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Oh god," shaking out your hands, you may just have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.

Fezco cursed, tensing up. "That ain't the fucking problem Rue!" they had less than five minutes, he was sure. " I need you to get up out my house right now before theses motherfuckers come through, for real!"

"Look, look, look, all I need are some OCs and a couple of Xanies, that's all," Rue explained.

You hummed, irritated. "Sure," you stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. "At my house. Let's go."

Rue's face pinched in confusion. "The only pill I've ever seen in your bathroom is a Tylenol."

"Uh huh," cause that's is all you had at home. "Well you're a terrible influence."

"Me?!" Rue laughed, appalled. Before glancing back at Fezco, who gave her glare at her clear insinuation. "Wait, wait, my jacket!"

You pulled her back with you, knowing she caught sight of a pill bottle as they passed by the security room. Shrugging off your cardigan, you tossed it over her head, "Here."

She puts it on, but isn't satisfied. "I know you don't got Xanies..."

"And you not hearing me when I say you ain't stayin', Rue," Fezco reminds.

Rue grinds herself to a halt, thinking hard, before she yanks herself through your grip, running around to the couch, flipping onto the cushion. "Prove you got 'em at home, go!" she points.

"Rue! I'm tryin'na tell ya, I ain't got shit right now," Fezco fought the urge to snatch the girl and throw her out. "I got whatever you need , but later. Get out."

"Rue!" your fists ball up, mostly out of your own anxiety. "Please, please, just get out of the damn house. There's some fucking weed to hold you over in the car!"

But Rue, the addict she was, Rue just glared. Staring directly at Fezco, "I know you got something, Fez." He was hiding it from her, he had to be, so why should she leave?

"Jesus Christ..." you ran a hand down your face. "Just come with me. Stay with me at mine, and then in a few hours, we're back here for you to do whatever," coming up to Rue as she braces herself on the backend of the couch. "I'm dead serious, I don't want you here when they get here, ok?"

Rue's brows furrowed at the softened delivery of your last sentence, now you have her attention. Her mouth opening but only a confused, "uhhh..." follows before she's glancing at Fezco, who's staring at the time on his phone. "You said who's coming again?"

Just as Rue's beginning to pull herself off the couch. Fezco opens his mouth to say something, "Rue--" while you're already pulling her to the doorway, and then the phone rings.

Stopping both women in their tracks.

Fezco stares down at the screen, the caller ID, and then sighs.

Making eye contact with you as your shoulders drop, realizing you were out of time, his lips press together guiltily.

His eyes flicker to Rue. "I could fucking kill you right now," he says, walking to the dinner table. He takes the walkie talkie, "Yo, Ash, they're here."

"Crap," the boy responds before the radio cuts silent.

Fezco gathers the money off the table, puts down the radio, walks over to the couch and fishes out the handle to a gun. That he checks for a loaded magazine before shifting the safety.

Rue swallows hard on the couch.

You breath out, running a hand down your hair. "Rue," you start. "Come."

You're already walking down the hallway. Rue swiftly follows, side stepping an angry Fezco.

"Ma," Fezco calls.

"She's not staying out here."

"If they find her..."

"They won't!" you argued. Giving your bag to Rue, pulling your cardigan hoodie over her hair. "They won't, right?" you stop and ask Rue.

Rue swallows, before nodding fast. "I can be quiet. I mean, when it counts, I can be quiet."

Pulling her into the farthest opposing room, you release her to move a few things around in the darkest corner of the room. Which happens to be with Grandma Marie, still sleeping peacefully as she always has in the hospital bed. "Sorry, OG," you whisper, before guiding Rue over.

"Touch nothing, say nothing, keep fucking still," you instruct Rue, pulling her into the corner, as far away from Grandma Marie as possible but in the busier corner of the room where she'd be much harder to spot if anyone were to glance in.

Rue wordlessly fixed herself into place, taking your bag and holding it tight in the corner as you moved a box in front of her to obscure her at least a bit. "Do. Not. Move."

You stepped away as you heard the front door slam shut and Ashtray whispering harshly behind you, "You gotta get over there!" before rushing out the room.

"(Y/n)..." Rue spoke finally as you began to pull the door closed, palms sweating, face flushed with anxiety.

You turned back to her.

"I..." she tried.

"Just don't move. It's ok," you assured her.

Rue watched as the hallway lighting vanished from the room, chest heavy as she recalled the terrified expression on your face as you pulled the door shut.

---

"So, this your bitch, huh?"

Your eyes flickered upwards from beside Fezco, tenses up at the question. You must've zoned out.

"Huh?" you didn't mean to say anything, but it made the man laugh.

Mouse.

As you make eye contact, his smile curls slow, a flash of gold in his teeth and the lighting makes his faded facial tattoos look more intense.

"Nah man, this ma girl, ma wife," Fezco gritted out, but he tried to keep his animosity to a minimum. "Ain't no bitch here."

Mouse snickered, before shrugging as if he could respect that. He drops to one knee to get eye level with you, staring like he's got nowhere else to be. With his palm extended for you to take, "Mmm,' he starts off, getting a good look at your face. "Well, hello there, wifey."

"Um, hi," your mouth dry.

He chuckled, clearly he found you interesting. "Got caught in the rain, huh?"

"I--" you didn't have to look down to feel your wet shirt sticking to you. Enough for the lace of your bra to show through. Fuck me, Rue. "I did."

"Course you did, mamas," Your eyes flicker anywhere but the eyes that haven't stopped trailing you since he'd walked in, extending your hand to shake. He takes it, instead pulling your knuckles up for a kiss, he keeps eye contact every second. "My name is Mouse," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

You couldn't seem to find the words, he wasn't waiting for any, he turned his attention to a tight-lipped Fezco, beside you.

"Hmm," Mouse says, before he's pulling you off the couch with a jerk to the hand.

You follow with a surprised sound, pulled right out of Fezco's range just as he reaches out. "Wait--"

"Hey!" Fezco's already standing, hands shaking. "That ain't cool, man! What you think you doin', Mouse?"

"Relax, man," Mouse spins you around, enjoying the view, and sits you down on the opposing couch, facing Fezco. "I ain't know what ya'll got planned sittin' close like that, just precaution. This," he pinches your chin briefly. "Makes the room more...spread out."

Mouse smirks toward Fezco, who's eyes constantly flicker from you to him. "Sit down already. Let's get down to business," he demands. To which Fezco, not wanting the man to be here any longer than he needed, sits carefully. "Alright. Custer toss me that bag!"

The dealer walks around the couch, away from you, and you finally take a breath. Fisting the cushions beneath, you push yourself back onto the couch, eyes flickering up to Fezco, who leans forward at your attention, hands fidgeting and holding tight. You alright?

Your palm spread out wide over your bare thighs, you couldn't believe you wore a fucking skirt today. I'm fine.

But to Fezco, it looks like you were about to be sick.

Mouse took some plastic out the bag Custer provides him. "Alright, check it," he holds out a few things. "I got 100 OP-OC 80s, 500 Xanny bars, 500 20s of Addy," he listed off as the pill bottle clacked and the pills rattled with every push onto the table. "I'm low on Vikes, so if you wanna cop out some Vikes. You better cop 'em today, cause I got 50 left--" he just kept listing and you glanced off to the side, behind you was Custer. From across the room, Ashtray stood at a doorway, you were glad he was far out of interest to the two men.

Ashtray sees the gun in Custer's pocket, eyes pointedly looking to Fezco, communicating that instantly. He watches his brother's jaw flex at the info, before pressing his hand against the crack of the cushion where his pistol laid.

The boy then looks over to you, the woman's that had become his mom in the years they've known you, he hated that you were still here, god, he could kill Rue.

"Custer, what's the math on that?" Mouse finishes up.

"Uh, 25, 15, 1,100, 35, 77 and 25," he counts off. "7,750."

Fezco takes out the paper bag he's prepared. "Here."

He tosses the bag of money up and at Mouse, who tosses it right to Custer after feeling out the stacks.

Mouse steps around from the table. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?"

"Nah man, I'm cool off that shit," Fezco rejects. "Too many ODs and I don't want the heat."

Mouse didn't like that much, but he didn't show it. Not as he came around the couch, staring down at you, already peering up at him, "What about you, wifey, huh? Ever tried Fentanyl?" he comes to sit beside you.

"No," you said, your voice much too small.

"She's good, bruh." Fezco didn't like his shift in attention.

But, Mouse pays Fezco no mind, doesn't even look at him as he leans in closer to you. You look away, he's much too close. "Got hub talkin' for you, huh?" his arm comes around the couch bend and fists his fingers into your hair.

That's a question, he needs an answer. You remind yourself, you try to just look at your boyfriend, though seeing his rage and clearly being just as uncomfortable as you were, if not more, didn't help.

"He just, knows more about this stuff..." you say. Mouse's fingers trail your shoulders, near your neck. "...than I do."

"Not more than me, though," Mouse interjects, before shifting over. "Don't look at him. Look at me. You think he knows more than me?"

You're sure it's not wise to say yes, not as he presses you to make eye contact, he stares you down, hard. You shake your head, reluctantly, throat closing.

"That's right. Ain't nobody knows more than me about the game, wifey," Mouse gloats, rubbing your shoulder. "So, you don't got nothing to worry about, do you?"

You didn't answer, and his hand comes up, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

He pulls your hair over your shoulder, behind your ear. "You ever try it?" Fentanyl.

Mouse's calloused thumb drags over your check, his hand briefly cupping around your lips to see your pout. You're sure he's just trying to piss off Fezco, who's digging into the arm chair, trying to keep calm.

"Mm mm," you try to shake your head.

"Yo, for real, bruh," Fezco speaks up, voice lifting in his turmoil. "I don't want her fuckin' with that shit. At all, man. She ain't with that."

Mouse leans close, looking to pique your interest. "You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he questions. "You like that feeling? I know you like that feeling..."

"Sure," You glanced at him. "Doesn't everybody..."

Oh, shit. Was that the wrong this to say?

Mouse immediately grins, bursting out a short laugh, looking over at Fezco, then Custer.

"Mmm, That's a good answer. I like that," he glances over toward Fezco, smirking in his humour. "I like your girl, man. This a good bitch," He then leans down, snatching up the bookbag, "So, you're gonna love this," Mouse fishes through a few of the plastic wraps.

Mouse flipped open a knife then, startling you, unraveling a bag to take out a white packet. He pokes the metal into the bag, ripping it open, a bit of the liquid catches on the knife at the very tip.

He raises the knife in front of you, the sight of it makes your skin grow cold.

"I'm fine, really." Your press your lips closed. "I've never..."

"What?" Mouse chuckled at your flushed face, the color that had left it. "Never what? Come on, take a lick. What, you don't trust me?"

"Come on, bruh," Fezco seethes to the side. "She said she's good."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mouse cursed him, glaring his way. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you!" He then turns to you, whispering close to you ear, knife so close it could cut you instead. "Tell hubby over there, nobody talkin' to him right now."

Your eyes lock on Fezco's right across from you, you hadn't even realized you were shaking. He looks so guilty, eyes much too expressive to be hidden from Mouse's sight, you wonder if he just doesn't like Fezco or if he just likes playing with his dealers.

Or if he just really likes torturing you.

"Come on," Mouse continues. "Tell him to 'Shut the fuck up'."

You don't, eyes flickering down to the knife he'd raised toward your chin, that had begun to graze your bottom lip.

"Don't be scared, mamas," Mouse suddenly snatches the back of your neck, making you jump. "It ain't gonna bit you."

"Bruh, stop touchin' her like that!" Fezco tries not to get too loud, there's a shakiness to his voice that maybe Mouse doesn't notice, but you do. "She don't mess with that shit."

"Yeah," he can tell. The man palms your thigh, maybe to test Fezco further. "Yeah, she don't. So, why not get the experience? Try it." He raises the knife further, this time between your closed lips. "Open, come on, good girl, open up. Try it."

You wanted to cry from the pounding in your nerves, heart beating fast enough to give anyone a heart attack.

Taking a final look at Fezco, who's put a hand up to his head, he runs it down his face, shaking his head, but he knows you don't really have that chocie.

Fuck, you should've just left.

Your lips close around the drop.

Mouse grins, proudly. "There."

The knife sliding from between your lips, you release a shaky breath, that feels more like the beginning of a sob. God, do you feel pathetic.

You inhale, trying to remember to breathe, as you lock your hands between your legs.

And now, he waits. Staring closely. Fezco can't look as you shrink away from Mouse's knife that he still holds at his lap.

You look so scared, and he can't help the sick feeling in his stomach, his throat tightening as he watched the drug you'd never even thought of take effect. He tried to find the words that you needed, he leaned forward as your eyes began to dilate, "I ain't goin' nowhere," he assures you, steadily. "Right here, whole time. You're just gonna ride it out, a'ight?"

You feel yourself nod, but for a second the ground seems to close and you keep yourself steady. Just ride it out...

They don't have to wait long when your hands ball up into your thighs, you lean forward a bit. Releasing a breath, Mouse chuckles. "Yeah, that shit works quick."

You're not sure if you like it...

But, nevertheless, the high catches you pretty instantly.

Blinking once, twice, before its harder to open your eyes. You lift your hand to your face as you feel heavy all of a sudden, your arm never lifts, instead you're following it down to the couch cushion.

Fezco watches as your head lolls, eyes fluttering, breath turned shallow, your body folding into the couch. Hair obscuring your face, your arm sinks to the carpet off the couch, you let out a gasp of a sound before completely slumping into your high.

This is your fault, Fezco says to himself. Your fault.

God, he's never felt more like shit.

But, with you, there’s become a floating calm, heavy and numbing, the world slipping a step farther away with every second.

There's a hand tracing circles on your skin, sending intense signals through your brain, but you just blink slowly, eyes locked on Fezco. Who hasn't looked away since.

One.

Twooo.

Five.

Eight...

Is that right?

Mouse's fingers run down your thigh, his nails biting into you gentle, possessive, pinching your skin as he leans over, his fingers snapping the lining of your panties back to your hip with a laugh. "You like the way that feels?" he asks, looking at Fezco.

"I dunno..." you drawl.

Mouse pulls your legs over his, shifting closer to you. "What's that mean?" he questions. "Don't you want some patches, girl?"

You hardly had an idea of what he was on about. "I don't..th'k I should.."

Mouse wasn't satisfied. "I think you should take a few patches," he surveyed the curve of your ass on the sofa, your skirt having pulled up. "Don't you agree with me?"

"Ok..." you breathed out.

He gave Fezco a humored look, flipping out three patches. "It's gonna cost you $300," he fits them under the band of your underwear. "Come on, pay up, wifey."

"I'm..." you say. He wants money? "I have half..."

Fezco closed his eyes briefly at Mouse's baiting. He kept his eye on the rise and fall of your chest, panic wasn't even close to the feeling he had stirring in his gut.

Mouse's hand climbs up, crawling up her skirt that hadn't done its job tonight. "How you gon' pay the other half, hm?"

"Mouse, man--" Fezco gritted out, violently. Forced to watch as he tapped the blunt of his knife against your ankle at his tone.

"I don't do a lot of...pills," you mewl, letting out a startled noise before sinking into the couch again. "I shouldn't have..." your words get lost in the mist.

"Yeah, well I got a strict no return policy, so get that outta ya head, wifey," Mouse cackled, slapping a palm onto your heated skin. You make no reaction.

And so, he's had more than enough. "Yo, I'm payin' for it man," Fezco held up the cash.

"Thought you were too good for Fentanyl," Mouse scoffed. "What is it? Everybody's changing their motherfuckin' minds on me?"

Custer laughed. "Yeah." He then glanced over at the boy in the doorway, Ashtray wasn't lookin' at him anymore, his eyes on you, slumped on the couch.

"If she can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way to pay me," Mouse said, nose upturned at the young man that clearly thought he was better than him. "Straight up."

Fezco should've shot Mouse in the face with what he was insinuating on doing to you, on the shit he's pulled tonight. But he knew best than to do that with you right in his grip and a knife still in his opposite hand.

"Just let me pay for it, man. She my wife," Fezco takes his hand from the couch, standing. "I got the money right here."

Handing over $300 to Mouse, eyes locked on you as you're quick to knock out now.

"Dang, that's that real marriage shit, huh," Mouse counted, while you moaned at the mention. "But, price just went up. It's $600 now."

Fezco gritted his teeth, but forked over the extra $300. He didn't trust himself to say anything else as he walks to the opposite side of the couch, closest to your head.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Mouse smirked finally. Taking a last look at you, hands sliding off your thigh, he stands to fix his jacket. "Later, little wifey."

You exhale, heavily. No words leave you for him.

Not until Fezco comes into view. "Fez..." you mewl.

He goes down to his knee in front of you, your eyes had already begun slipping closed, recognizing him briefly as you moaned. "Oh, ma, hey. I'm right here," Fezco whispered, moving your hair out of your face as you breathe slowly against the cushion. "You're ok, I gotchu."

He lifts your hand from the floor holding it tight and letting it settle on the couch by your face.

"I like my bitches lightweight too," Mouse says to Fezco, while lighting a cig between his fingers, before him and Custer make their way out of the house.

Fezco is quick to action as the door slams to a close, fishing the packets off your underwear as Ashtray comes over. A hammer in hand, and an anger he hadn't acted on yet, Fezco's too lost in the moment to see how it's still violently building in his eyes.

"Get the Narcan, just in case, and get rid of these." He hands his brother the packets and points down the hallway.

Ashtray follows his instructions, putting the hammer down on the way.

Fezco turns and returns to your side, a blanket in hand. He pulls it over you, up to your shoulders, you're already feeling feverish though.

He doesn't shift you too much, there's nothing to heave out, or a needle to pull from your skin, there's nothing he can do besides keeping you as comfortable as possible.

All he can do is wait...and watch.

He swallows down the tight pit in his stomach that builds up in his throat, reddening eyes that burn as he settles your head on his lap as you've begun to slip into your slumber.

"I'm sorry..." you drawl, sleepily. "I took it. I didn't..."

The fuck were you apologizing for, he wanted to cry. He stroked your hair, pulling it back and away from you face, holding his palm to the top of your head. "No, ma, it's on me, it's on me," Fezco leaned down to place his lips on your cheek. "It's ok, you're ok. Just rest, ok?"

You're already out.

And with that, Fezco leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes and smearing any evidence of his heartache.

Soon, Ashtray comes to sit on the opposing couch, when he feels a bit composed, Fezco finally looks to his brother.

But, they say nothing, both just sit here, where they both wait together.

A few moments later, Rue comes out of the opposing room.

He had nearly forgotten.

The girl hesitantly enters the hallway, looking into the opposing room before she catches site of Ashtray already staring her down from the living room. She pauses mid stride for a moment at that. "So, your dudes cleared out then, huh?" she awkwardly stepped into the living room.

Fezco hasn't turned to her yet. So, when she's looking around she spots the bags of pills, the drugs unopened, fresh prescriptions, the real, good stuff. "Holy shit..." she breathes out. "What the hell! That's a crazy haul, your guy is the best, oh my shit--"

"Rue!" Fezco lets out an absolutely seething hiss toward her, he doesn't yell or scream, he sneers. Trying his hardest to keep his volume at a minimum, the effort makes him shiver.

Rue's not sure she's ever seen Fezco actually angry. Pissed, yeah. Irritated, definitely, she just tends to have that effect. But, Fezco just wasn't a person she had known to have a real temper, in the way he was glowering at her, she was wrong.

Her voice likes to run away from her despite knowing she should shut up. "What? I was just saying--" she then noticed someone missing. "Did (Y/n) leave already?"

She came closer. Then, seeing you on Fezco's lap, completely out. Beads of sweat already beginning to collect on your forehead.

"Is...everything alright?"

"Ash."

Ashtray lifted himself off the couch, eyes on Rue. He pulls a small bag from his pocket, 4 or 5 pills, the usual. And it's selfish, but she was hoping for more, she doesn't dare say that though.

"Shit, thanks, but..." she dragged. "Um, is she ok?"

"Get out, Rue."

The girl wanted to argue, she also wanted to get the fuck out of here and drown her guilt in the little tablets that put those feelings right to sleep. "I mean, can't I just wait till she--"

"RUE!"

Fezco fumes, enough for a vein to pop. Then he flinches, looking down to make sure he hadn't disturbed you before sighing harshly.

Her hands go up. "Fine, fine! Fuck!" Rue turns quick, making her way down the hall and out the front door. "Fine."

Ashtray locks up behind her, wordlessly. The slam is enough of a tell to his own irritation with her.

Rue clears her throat, walking off the porch and down the walkway, slowly. Her eyes instantly finding your car, she stares at it for sometime, before opening the bag Ashtray had shoved into her hand a moment ago.

She takes a pill, sticking it on her tongue to swallow.

As she snatches up her bike, she waits for the guilt to pass like it always would with every high.

---

An hour or two later, as Ash is beginning to fall asleep on the couch. Fezco decides to move you to the bed, his arms slipping up your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you to the bedroom.

He keeps you turned on your side, his hand braced on your shoulder blade to anchor you there as he blinks back exhaustion. Ashtray crawls onto the end of the bed, deciding to fall asleep there, Fezco tossing a pillow his way.

Ashtray is fast to fall asleep, it was late after all.

Fezco tiptoes around sleep, but he can't.

He has to feel every breath, every shift, every sound, what ifs are infinite right now and he wasn't taking any chances.

He holds you to his chest as you snore quietly, his focus stays locked on the pulse beneath his thumb, on the slow rhythm of your lungs. Every few minutes, placing his lips on your bare shoulder, he whispers small, steady nonsense in case you were listening to him. "You're ok. Stay here. Stay with me."

"You're ok," he mutters against your skin as he blinks slow, the clock glows at 3:40 a.m. when he begins to close his eyes from exhaustion. "I'm here..."

It's 4:12 a.m. when he wakes up to your body tensing up next to him.

"Hey," he rubs your shoulder as you stir to life.

A small, strained sound catches in your throat, a hand clutching at your stomach. Disoriented, you try to lift yourself off the bed, limbs uncooperative, you just slump back to the bed. Fezco quickly leaves the bed, coming around to help you up.

You seemed surprised to see him, hands balled into his sweater as he lifts you. "Fez..."

"I gotchu, ma," he lifts you off the bed. Guiding you forward, he's already sure you'd prefer your first stop being the bathroom. You stumble your way with his help, your weight sagging into him, the ground just won't stop moving!

You drop to your knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling against the porcelain. The first heave hits you hard and sudden, your whole frame shaking with it, enough to make tears sprout. Fez kneels behind you immediately, one hand holding your hair back, the other spread between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely louder than breath. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’re okay. Just let it out.”

You cough up what you can, choke, tears spilling without you meaning to. The sick feeling wracks through you in waves, leaving you gasping between them. Fez stays exactly where he is, his hand warm against your back, holding you tight with every shudder.

As the worst of it passes, Fezco stands for a towel, wiping off your face after wetting it. "M' sorry, I woke you," you apologized as you pressed your head into his chest.

He keeps one arm around your shoulders as you sag into him, exhausted, shaking, breathing uneven but real and steady against his chest.

"Don't apologize for anything," he holds you tight on the bathroom floor. "Please."

You sink into him inch by inch, the last of your tension finally giving up. His chin rests against your hair. When your body jerks again with a small wave of nausea, he tightens his hold as you try to settle your stomach. "I'm ok," you hiccup.

He strokes your cheek, leaning down to embrace you and shield you as he should have tonight.

Soon, you both make your way back to bed, both sitting upright, you've leaned into his chest, trying your best to rest.

Lying there like this now, tangled and still, both wrung out in different ways. Ashtray at your feet, exhausted himself. The day sits heavy between them, what almost happened, what did happen...

Maybe he really was the bad influence...

And as if you could hear his thoughts, you turn in his arms. "Stay w'me tomorrow.." you huff out. "Don't leave me..." and you say so in a way he could never betray.

He was the bad influence that could never go away.

And he wasn't proud of that...

He kissed your temple, tenderly. "Never."

For now, you're safe and warm and breathing, and he’s here, as if he would ever go anywhere else.

Your breathing evens out as you let yourself rest. His finally does too, but he takes in every moment.