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"Oh my god!" You were at your wits' end. "You guys talk about girls all the time. How is what Allie and I doing any different?"

Dean scoffed, looking to the guys for backup. None was given. "The difference is that that guy isn't worth your time."

"And the girls that only sleep with you because of your so-called 'stardom' are?"

"Whoa." Tucker winced. "Low blow."

"I'm just looking out for you."

"Mhm." You roll your eyes. "Look out for me from a distance from now on."

"You don't mean that." Dean almost sounded scared, as if that threat had actually affected him.

Garrett smirked. His best friend was a lovestruck idiot.

"Yes, I do." You grabbed your purse, stalking towards the door. "Garrett, Hannah, nice to see you."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Hannah was always the voice of reason. "You know how he gets. He's just trying to rile you up."

"I don't want to be anywhere near him." You shot a dangerous look over your shoulder. "You can't try and chase away any man that's interested in me. At that rate, I'll be single forever."

"Fine by me." Dean could not care less. "I'd prefer that."

(In the midst of all of this, Tucker had made everyone popcorn to eat while they watched. They were all huddled together on the couch like something out of a movie poster.)

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your arms are crossed, your hip jutting ever so slightly. Dean's gaze dared to drift down, reminding himself to stay strong.

"Oh shit," Beau whispered. "It's happening."

"Nah." Logan shook his head. "He's gonna back out. Guarantee it."

"You know what that means."

"I don't actually." You walked over, pushing a finger into his disgustingly firm chest. God, he smelled great. "You always do this, you know? You get so close to saying it, and then you back out."

"Saying what, exactly?" In the midst of it all, you’d found yourselves standing a few inches apart. (Hannah and Garrett have now joined the audience, all of whom are holding their breaths in anticipation).

"You know what." You spat out. "Until you figure it out, don't talk to me, don't call me, and don't send me stupid TikTok's at three am." You spun on your heel, stalking towards the door.

"C'mon, baby." He yells after you. "You know you love me."

"What?" A shrill shriek leaves your lips. "I-" You look like you're about to explode. "How dare you- I do not- I never said-"

"Oh. My. God." Allie giggles. "They have to admit it soon. They just have to."

"This week is definitely going to be eventful." Hannah agrees. "With the hockey game, her cabaret, plus karaoke night at Malone's-"

"Anyone want to bet on it?" Garrett whispers.

Beau passed him five dollars. "Put me down for her cabaret."

"You love me!" Dean races after you as you dart out of the door. "Just say it!"

"You say it first!" You yell back.

They really should have recorded this.

taglist:

The TikTok in question is three photos: one of you and Beau looking horribly in love, one of Beau's summer house in Cape Cod, and one more of Beau, asleep in your bed wearing your pajama pants. (He claimed yours were comfier.)

The first photo read, "This is me and my boyfriend Beau. We've been together for three years."

The second said, "His family owns the most perfect TSITP summer house on Cape Cod"

The third went, "and that's my why."

"This trend-" He glared. "Is horrible."

"I don't know. I'd say it's pretty funny."

"I knew it." He pretends to wipe away tears. "I knew you were using me for my money."

You nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry this is how you had to find out. I felt like it was obvious."

"You fooled me," Beau responds. "Is there any way to convince you to love me for me?"

You stood up, phone still on the couch as your hands slid up his chest. "I can think of a way."

"Yeah?" His voice cracked, and you couldn't help but smirk. "What do you have in mind?"

You shrug, kissing his cheek before walking towards the kitchen. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

You'd gotten to the fridge before his hands were on you, spinning you around in his arms. "Oh-" His lips collided against yours, pinning you against the fridge. You sighed, pulling him closer. "Beau-"

"I love you." He spoke against your lips. "You cruel, cruel woman."

"Cruel?" You gasped as he kissed down your neck. "Try hilarious."

"So, are you convinced?" His voice sent chills down your spine.

"Very." You replied. "Very convinced."

"I don't know." He hummed. "I don't get that vibe from you."

"That vibe?" You scoff, pulling back. "What sort of vibe am I giving?"

"I'm not sure." He hooked his arms underneath your legs, carrying you to the bedroom. "Guess we'll find out together."

...

SPECIAL ADD ON - thanks to the anonymous person who gave me all the inspo for this <33

"Look at this." Beside you lies Beau, who is propped up against his pillow, watching highlights of some football player you don't know. "They're hilarious."

"Who, exactly?" He sets down his phone, giving you his full attention. "What did Dean say?"

"It's not Dean." You giggle. "It's the people in my comment section."

"Of that TikTok?" Beau's interest is officially piqued. "What are they saying?"

"Look for yourself." You hand him your phone, watching over his shoulder as he scrolls down. You smirk; the one he's looking at right now is your favorite.

"I am literally that little rat."

"Is that a rat?" Beau squints. "It looks like a human."

"Whatever." You stick your tongue out. "It's a rat-human hybrid."

"Oh wow." Beau's eyes widen. "This one is- something."

"I think it's hilarious." You giggle. "That little crying cat is my favorite reaction photo."

You look over and laugh at his face. It's no longer in shock. He looks the cockiest and proudest of himself he's ever been. "Don't get too confident now."

"Too late." Beau smirked. "Should I apply for Sexiest Man Alive now?" He puts a finger on his chin, like he's genuinely thinking about it. "I think so."

"Shut up." You glare, trying to pull your phone out of his hand. "I've created a monster."

"One more!" He cries, holding it out of your reach.

You squint, like you're wrestling him for your phone. "Fine. One more."

"Okay, okay." He looks back at your screen, giggling. "It's right below the other one."

"What is it?" You look over his shoulder once more, cackling. "Oh my god, I love it. I love it so much!"

"That was my original boyfriend, you know." Beau looks over, scoffing at the dazed look on your face. "What a dreamboat."

"You have a perfectly good dreamboat right here." He raises a brow.

You shrug, taking your phone out of his grip. "You'll do."

"Hey!" He gasps, holding a hand to his heart. "Take it back."

"I won't." You shake your head. "You can't make me."

"Oh yeah?" He's taken that as a challenge. In a moment, he's all over you, attacking you with kisses. It's horrible. "Take it back!"

"Mercy, please!" You screech, giggling as he continues. "I-"

"Yeah?" He's still going.

You can't breathe from all the laughter. "You're a dreamboat, you're a dreamboat!"

taglist: @msliz @cosmosnkaz @maybanksgff @alwaysclassyeagle

"Oh my god!" You were at your wits' end. "You guys talk about girls all the time. How is what Allie and I doing any different?"

Dean scoffed, looking to the guys for backup. None was given. "The difference is that that guy isn't worth your time."

"And the girls that only sleep with you because of your so-called 'stardom' are?"

"Whoa." Tucker winced. "Low blow."

"I'm just looking out for you."

"Mhm." You roll your eyes. "Look out for me from a distance from now on."

"You don't mean that." Dean almost sounded scared, as if that threat had actually affected him.

Garrett smirked. His best friend was a lovestruck idiot.

"Yes, I do." You grabbed your purse, stalking towards the door. "Garrett, Hannah, nice to see you."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Hannah was always the voice of reason. "You know how he gets. He's just trying to rile you up."

"I don't want to be anywhere near him." You shot a dangerous look over your shoulder. "You can't try and chase away any man that's interested in me. At that rate, I'll be single forever."

"Fine by me." Dean could not care less. "I'd prefer that."

(In the midst of all of this, Tucker had made everyone popcorn to eat while they watched. They were all huddled together on the couch like something out of a movie poster.)

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your arms are crossed, your hip jutting ever so slightly. Dean's gaze dared to drift down, reminding himself to stay strong.

"Oh shit," Beau whispered. "It's happening."

"Nah." Logan shook his head. "He's gonna back out. Guarantee it."

"You know what that means."

"I don't actually." You walked over, pushing a finger into his disgustingly firm chest. God, he smelled great. "You always do this, you know? You get so close to saying it, and then you back out."

"Saying what, exactly?" In the midst of it all, you’d found yourselves standing a few inches apart. (Hannah and Garrett have now joined the audience, all of whom are holding their breaths in anticipation).

"You know what." You spat out. "Until you figure it out, don't talk to me, don't call me, and don't send me stupid TikTok's at three am." You spun on your heel, stalking towards the door.

"C'mon, baby." He yells after you. "You know you love me."

"What?" A shrill shriek leaves your lips. "I-" You look like you're about to explode. "How dare you- I do not- I never said-"

"Oh. My. God." Allie giggles. "They have to admit it soon. They just have to."

"This week is definitely going to be eventful." Hannah agrees. "With the hockey game, her cabaret, plus karaoke night at Malone's-"

"Anyone want to bet on it?" Garrett whispers.

Beau passed him five dollars. "Put me down for her cabaret."

"You love me!" Dean races after you as you dart out of the door. "Just say it!"

"You say it first!" You yell back.

They really should have recorded this.

taglist:

Class, work, library, gym, dorm. That had been your life since starting at Briar.

Maintaining the scholarship you’d worked so hard for was your only goal.

There was no time for parties, no time for sports, no time for boyfriends.

“You’re gonna burnout” Your friend Tina said “You can’t keep going like this.

“Of course I can, I’ve been doing it the whole year” You shrugged.

“But it’s my birthday” Tina pouted “Come on, come out with us tonight, just one night” 

You considered it, the paper you were working on was almost done and not due for another 4 days, you had the day off of work and Tina’s pleading eyes were pretty convincing “Fine” You finally sighed “But only for a little bit”

“Yes!” The blonde hugged you tight “Malone’s at 8, it’s karaoke night” 

Malone’s at night was a completely different place from what you were used to, sometimes you ran in here during your lunch break or in between lessons if there was enough time to grab some food to go but you’d never been here at night when the place converted into a bar.

“You’re here!” Tina somehow spots you as soon as you walk through the doors “Girl the entire hockey team is here” 

“And some of the football team too” Maggie, your other friend points out passing you a shot glass “The quarterback this season? HOT, he’s a freshman too which means maybe I’ll have a chance” She wiggles her eyebrows.

You freeze, the new football quarterback, Beau Maxwell, your ex boyfriend.

Your high school boyfriend who broke up with you only a few days after your first anniversary. His reasoning? College.

He was planning on focusing on his football career and he didn’t want to stand in between you and your education because he knew how hard you’d worked for your scholarship.

You wanted to argue, tell him that the only reason you’d been killing yourself with so much school work had been because of your shared plans to make it to Briar together. Because your parents didn’t have the money his did to put you through a private college comfortably, but they did have enough money for you to go to community college and you had the grades to make it in without slaving yourself over your studies. 

In fact, that had been your first choice, you didn’t mind staying home and going to community college, but Beau had put the idea of Briar U together in your head back when you were just friends and your decision had been final when you finally started dating.

But you didn’t argue, you accepted the breakup and tried to move on, you were already well on your way to start at Briar so you pushed through, spent the whole fall semester with your head in your books ignoring all the noise about football season.

And it worked, it was now almost summer, the end of your freshman year, and you hadn’t had a single interaction with him. You weren’t even sure if he knew you were in the same campus as him.

The drinks flowed nicely, you joined Tina and Maggie at their booth where more friends were sitting, you did a few shots and nursed a drink for a few hours, you were having fun and thankfully the place was crowded enough that you hadn’t seen Beau all night. 

“You have to sing with me!” Tina was begging you, she was a bit more tipsy than you by now “And you too” she pointed at Maggie “Oh my god, we’re doing Mamma Mia!” 

You didn’t even get a chance to protest before she was at the bar signing you up. “Guess we’re Donna and the Dynamos tonight” Maggie shrugged sipping on her beer.

A little later your names were announced and as much as you tried complaining to your friends wouldn’t let you stay in your seat. Tina and Maggie were already on the stage by the time you begrudgingly made your way over. 

“Woo” Allie shouted your name from the booth “Let’s go!” This is what you get for being friends with the theater kids.

Beau stopped mid sentence at the sound of your name, there was no way it was actually you, other people have the same name as you right? 

He knew you were at Briar, he’d seen you around campus a few times, busy and focused as always. He had stopped himself from reaching out more than once, he had broken up with you after all.

But then he looked at the stage and there you were, beautiful as ever, and looking more free than you have in a while.

Super Trouper by ABBA started playing and you and your friends took your places as if you were in Mamma Mia and Beau swears the atmosphere changed completely as if he was in one of the romance movies him and Joana watch every time they’re together.

And then your eyes found his and time warped all around you. A few seconds felt like long minutes and nothing at all at the same time. You missed your next line but thankfully your friends kept going like nothing had happened.

When the song finished you all but ran back to your booth and got your jacket to leave “Okay, that’s it for me guys, love you, bye” You rushed out.

“Nooo, we’re having so much fun, don’t go!” Tina whined.

“I know but it’s late and I work early tomorrow” You excuse yourself.

“Okay well, be safe, text us when you get home” Allie nods.

You turn around to leave but instead find yourself blocked by someone. 

Beau.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Seeing you up in that stage made him realize just how much he had messed up by letting you go.

You’d almost forgotten how your name sounded from his lips. Almost. Your body though, apparently didn’t get the memo that you’re no longer together because it completely relaxed before your brain reminded it that it was not supposed to react that way.

Behind you, your friends were shocked by the fact that the new hotshot quarterback was standing in front of you calling your name, not to mention the fact that he looked like he was a moment away from falling on his knees for you.

“Beau” You said.

“Shit” He cursed “Can we talk?” 

“I was just leaving” You told him hoping that was enough for him to let you leave. 

“I’ll walk you” He said “I’d offer to drive you but I’ve had a few drinks” 

“You really don’t have to” You insisted.

“Or we can get a taxi?” You knew the tone he was using, it was the same one he used that one time he forgot you had a date because they were on a two game losing streak and practices were running late back in high school, it was the ‘I’m genuinely sorry please let me make it up to you somehow’ tone.

“I don’t wanna take you away from the party” You told him looking back at a group of girls where he was standing before, they looked impatient for him to go back. 

“Please?” You sighed giving him a small nod, as always, you can’t resist against him.

The walk back to your dorm was quiet for a while. Like he was trying to figure out how to start the conversation. 

It wasn’t until you entered your street that he spoke “I’m sorry” You didn’t look at him, just kept your eyes to the front “Like genuinely, I’m really sorry. For breaking up with you like that, for giving you shit reasons, for not fighting more for us” 

“Then why’d you do it?” 

“Because I’m stupid” You reached your dorm “Because I saw what college did to my brother’s relationship, and Joanna kept talking about how much fun she was having being single and how glad she was to not be tied to someone” 

“And also because everyone around kept talking about how busy I was going to get with practice and games and classes, and I didn’t want to keep you waiting or make you feel like you were second to football all the time” He continued “And for a while I tried to convince myself that I’d done the right thing but really I feel empty all the time. And alone, all those parties filled with people? They don’t matter because as much as I try to let them distract me I always end up staring at the door waiting for you to walk in” 

“Beau-“ You tried to speak but he stopped you.

“I love you. I know I never said it back when we were together but I need you to know that I love you and every day for the past year I’ve spent wishing I could go back in time and not let all the noise get in my head” 

Now, you knew your friends would never approve of this, well, at least Allie wouldn’t. But hearing Beau say those three words is enough for you to give in.

“Beau?” He finally let you speak, big eyes stared into your “I’m gonna really need your actions to speak for your words if we’re going to try this again” 

“Yes” He nodded immediately “Yes, yes baby. Anything” 

“Okay” 

“Okay?”

“Okay” 

“So can I kiss you now?” You laughed and nodded, in an instant his lips were on yours “Fuck baby you have no idea how much I’ve missed you” 

“Why don’t you show me?” He all but growled “You know, that thing about your actions?”

Your eyes roll back down.

“Mhm.”

"And it was such a good question.”

You turn a page. "Really?”

“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”

You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."

It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.

It had not.

Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—

…

Wait.

Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?

Fucking great.

“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”

Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?

With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby.  But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.

He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…

Oh.

That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.

Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”

It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.

“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"

“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.

But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”

Lips parting, you blink.

…why is he so observant?!

For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.

You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”

His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”

Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.

Oh.

Way too observant.

Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.

His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”

Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”

You blink.

Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.

Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.

After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?

Last month, you still answered her phone calls.

Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.

Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

“Oh—uh, hi mom!”

Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.

“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”

“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.

Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”

“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…

Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.

"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"

"—have you booked your flight yet?"

Your mouth flattened.

Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.

“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”

“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”

A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.

Every week is a crazy week?

Yeah. No shit.

Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.

You’re the one people relied on.

Just… never the one people chose.

“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”

“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”

…

Keep forgetting?

She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?

How convenient that she forgot that.

The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”

"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”

Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.

No thanks.

“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”

“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”

Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.

Shit.

“I-I—I didn’t say—"

“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”

“—Mom, I—"

“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”

Love?!

Who has time for that?

And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!

“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”

And she was off.

Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.

“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”

Click!

And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.

‘We’ve been so worried.’

…

If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?

Funny how that works.

Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.

“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”

Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.

The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.

But…

None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?

“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”

“Huh?”

Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.

“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”

“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”

For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.

But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"

“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”

And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.

"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"

“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”

Why does he sound… bitter?

No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.

You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"

He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"

Your lips purse.

What does he care? He’s not your mother.

“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”

“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”

You frown.

What the fuck are you supposed to say!?

Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.

Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”

“But I—”

“Drop it.”

He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.

“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”

The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.

God.

Of all the places to hit.

“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.

He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"

“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”

Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.

His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.

Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”

“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”

Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.

“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"

“Oh, finally.”

Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.

Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"

You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.

Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.

Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.

You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.

It doesn’t.

And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.

Un-fucking-believable.

He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.

…

He could fire Kento.

Should he fire Kento?

As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.

'Grow up, Satoru.'

'Apply yourself, Satoru.'

'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'

Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.

Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!

He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.

The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.

It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.

“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”

There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”

His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”

The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”

"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”

“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”

…

Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?

Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.

“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”

"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"

"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."

He’s been her intern for that long.

That’s the question, right?

"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”

He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.

“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”

Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.

"…sorry. Who is thi—"

“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"

Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:

📞 Mom

Oh.

Oh, shit.

This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—

"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"

"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”

"Stop. I-I really think—"

“—Satoru, what are you doing?’

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.

Oh, fuck.

“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.

He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.

“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"

"Mom."

"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"

"I'm at work. Gotta go."

"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"

Click!

The phone sits in your hand like evidence.

And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.

“Sooo… funny story…”

“—what did you do?!”

Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.

Great. Fucking great.

You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.

But cry?

Never.

And this had his fingerprints all over it.

"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"

"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"

Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.

God. How fucking humiliating.

"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."

“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”

Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.

God. Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it.

Think.

Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.

But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.

…what look will she give you when you show up alone?

"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"

Single.

The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.

And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.

"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"

You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”

"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.

"Huh… okay."

Okay what?

You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."

No biggie?

Your mouth dropped.

That wasn’t even an option, was it?

…is he crazy?

“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."

You stared at him. Genuinely stared.

Oh. He wasn’t kidding.

Yup. He’s crazy.

"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."

“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"

He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.

"…that is not the point."

“Mm… feels a little like the point."

He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."

He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.

…

His family’s in Japan too?

You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.

But…

"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."

Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.

"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."

"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"

Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.

“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”

He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?

Shit…

That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.

a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂‍↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Is this something top secret?” 

He shook his head. “I feel like it’s a relatively well known fact.” 

“Well then.” You laughed. “Please enlighten the class.” 

“You’re beautiful.” You were right, he was confident. You choked on your drink, and Allie gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth. “That’s the something.” 

You cough, placing a hand on your chest to calm yourself down. “You’re pretty forward.” 

“Believe it or not,” He leaned forward like this was something he wanted only you to know. “I’ve been working up the courage to tell you all night.” 

You raised a brow. “I seriously doubt that.” 

“Would I lie to you?” 

“I don’t know.” Your stomach flipped as you looked at him, really looked at him. He had dimples, a scar under his left eyebrow, and the faintest freckles you’d ever seen. So faint, that they were almost invisible. “We just met. I don’t even know your name.” 

“Let’s fix that.” He whispered in your ear. “I’m Dean.” He was trying to kill you. You gulped, whispering your name in return. He leaned back, eyes full of something dangerous that you didn’t really want to address right now. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”  

“Do you always flirt this much with strangers?” 

“I do. But I wouldn’t call us strangers.” 

Allie was now gawking. “Holy shit, he’s got game.” 

Dean smirked, Allie’s comment going straight to his head. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes I do.” 

You never got that drink. Not that you were complaining. As soon as you entered the kitchen, Dean lifted you onto the counter and slammed his lips against yours. 

Somehow, in all the chaos, he’d led you to his bedroom. “God, you’re perfect.” 

“You’re a flatterer.” Your voice sounded breathless. (It was.) “Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?” 

“No.” He could honestly say that he wasn’t lying. Something about you made him deeply nervous. It must be the total sense of contentment you made him feel. For someone who needs to be constantly distracted, being so enamored to the point of stillness makes him almost uncomfortable. He decides he’s thinking way too much for a casual hookup, and deepens the kiss. “You’re different.” 

“Oh?” God, your voice is addicting, and your touch even more so. Your hands are wrapped around his neck, your fingers tugging ever so slightly at the hairs laying on the nape of his neck. “How so?” 

He shrugs, even though he knows exactly how so. Much too soon to say shit like that, he reminds himself. “I’ll find out soon enough.” His hands play with the hem of your shirt, and your at ease nature disappears. You immediately tense up, and he pulls back, eyes worriedly scanning your face. “Is everything okay, babydoll?” 

“I-” You sit up, and he can’t help but follow you. “I don’t do this.” 

“This?” 

“I don’t do casual sex.” You say it like it’s embarrassing. 

“Respect.” He replies like he doesn’t care.

“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” 

“Don’t apologize for that.” Could he get any more perfect? “Seriously, I’m fine with what we’re doing right now.” 

“Are you sure?” You look so guilty it pains him.

“Hey.” His hand holds your cheek, and his heart squeezes when you actually lean into his touch. “I’m not gonna pressure you into anything you don’t want to do.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No need to thank me.” He smiles, pulling his hand away.

“Your mother must be proud of you.” Your eyes widen. Why the hell did you just say that? “That sounded weird. I just mean-” 

“I’d like to say that she is.” He smirked. “Her and my father. They did the best they could.”

You smiled. “Do you have any siblings?” 

“Two. One older brother and one younger sister.” 

“That’s awesome.” You leaned against his pillows. His smirk softened to something you couldn’t quite place. He laid beside you, tilting his head so that his eyes stayed locked with yours. “I have a little sister too.” 

“How old is she?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Mine’s eighteen.” 

“Has she started looking at colleges?” 

And that’s how the two of you stayed until you fell asleep. Talking about anything and everything. Family, school, special interests, sports. From the outside eye, it seemed like you’d known each other for years, the way the conversation flowed. When your eyes began to droop, Dean laughed, grabbing his biggest throw blanket to cover you. “Here.” 

“Thank you.” You hummed, burrowing yourself into his bed. 

He could get used to this, he thought. 

You were dangerous, was his next before his own eyes drooped.

This was an interesting position to be in. To be honest, you didn’t hate it.

Somewhere between when you fell asleep and now, you and Dean had curled around each other like two codependent puppies. His right arm was wrapped around your waist, and his left was just above your head.

You were facing his chest, with your left leg swung over his waist. 

You’d been awake for thirty minutes, trying not to wake him up as you theorized how to get out of this the easiest. You thought he was asleep. You swore he was. He hadn’t moved in ages.

That’s why you jumped when he spoke, his voice all deep and crackly. “You sleep like a koala.”

“I’m sorry.” You winced as you began to pull away. 

“Wait a second-“ He urged, tightening his grip around your waist, prohibiting you from moving. In fact, he pulled you closer to his chest than you’d been before. “I didn’t say I hated it.”

“I had fun last night.” You murmured into his chest. “You’re sweet.” He laughed, and your head darted up, glaring. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just-” He really found this funny. “No girl has ever described me as ‘sweet’ before.”

“Glad I’m the first the-” A phone dinged. Then dinged again. Then dinged four more times. “I think that’s mine.” 

“Oh?” He raised a brow. “Is someone missing you?” 

“Are you implying something with that little comment?” You raised a brow back. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a whole roster of men begging to date you.” 

“Thank you?” You laughed. “But it’s not a man. It’s definitely Allie.” You grabbed your phone, now determined to prove him wrong. “See?” You shoved the screen in his face. “Allie.” 

“I stand corrected.” His eyes fell to your lips for a moment. 

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, and then you placed a hand on his chest. “I should go. She- she needs me.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, his eyes falling to your lips once more. “If you want.” 

“Thanks for-” You stood up, suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed about everything you’d done. “Everything.” 

“I had fun.” He said it so earnestly that you almost considered jumping back into bed and abandoning Allie. Almost.

“Me too.” You smiled, nodding. “See you.” 

“See you.” 

Fall 2025, Briar Hockey House

“You’re gonna love them.” Hannah’s arm is hooked through yours and Allie’s as Garrett leads the way into the house. “They’re sweet, honestly. Like hyper puppies.” 

“Aren’t puppies already hyper?” You whisper.

“They’re harmless.” Garrett defends, holding the door open. “Seriously. It’ll be fun.”

“I feel like my mom and dad are bringing me to the hospital to meet my siblings.” Allie laughed.

You laughed along with her, observing the inside of the house. “That’s an oddly specific situation, Allie-Cat.”

“Guys!” Garrett called out. “Come meet the girls!” 

What happens next could only be described as a hurricane of chaos. Two boys race down the stairs. They’re both tall and handsome. Muscular, too. You reason with yourself that they are in fact professional athletes, so that makes sense. 

“Hi.” He sticks his hand out, a charming smile donning his face. “I’m Tucker.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

The other boy had a sort of grungy charm about him. “I’m John. John Logan.” 

“Ah.” You smiled. “Garrett talks about you all the time.”

“Does he?” Logan smirks. “Awww, G. You love me.” 

“Shut up.” Garrett glares, shoving Logan away when he tries to hug him. “Hey! Di Laurentis!” 

“Coming!” The last to be revealed yells. “One second.” 

“He was in the shower.” Logan remarks. “Another long one.” 

“Oh my god.” Hannah groans. “He has a problem.” 

“I’m sorry that I care about hygiene.” The third boy says as he descends the stairs. Your jaw immediately drops as the most chiseled abs you’ve ever seen in your life are shoved in your face. Your eyes drag up this man’s frame, and that’s when it happens. That’s when your heart drops, and his eyes glow with something dangerous. 

“YOU?” It’s a question, but you practically screech it. “What are you doing here?” 

“I live here.” Dean is obviously having too much fun with this. “The real question is, what are you doing here?” 

“Wait a minute.” Tucker interrupts. “Are we missing something?” 

Allie nods. “Yeah. What’s going on? Do you two know each other?” (For context, sweet, dear, Allie blacked out that night, and does not remember anything.) 

“I-” You cross your arms, glaring at Dean. Why? You don’t really know, it just seemed like the go-to reaction in your arsenal. “Knowing someone is subjective.” 

“Wait-” Hannah looks what could only be described as gleeful. “Did you two-” 

“No!” You yell. “No we did not.” 

“Why so defensive, babydoll?” Dean’s towel is hanging dangerously low, and you can’t help it that your eyes gravitate towards him. It’s almost natural. He’s still as handsome as you remember him, and it’s hard not to jump into his arms and pull his lips to yours.

“Care to share with the class how you two know each other then?” Garrett pushes.

“Not particularly.” You grumble.

“Oh boy.” Logan mumbled. “This is going to be fun.”  

Present Day (Spring 2026, Malone’s Karaoke Night)

Dean has flirted with four girls in the span of thirty minutes. Not that you’re keeping track.

“If it makes you feel any better-” Logan is trying his best to comfort you, but to no avail. “He’s off his game. Normally he flirts with two times the-” 

“It does not make me feel better.” You grumble. “Not at all.” 

“Alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “This is a lost cause. I’m gonna go get a drink.” 

You’ve been holding your fork like a weapon for all thirty of those minutes. Tucker laughs. “If you grip that fork any harder, you’ll bend it in half.” 

“Tucker!” You snap. “What are you trying to say right now?” 

“I-” He looks positively shocked, and to be fair, so do you. “Sorry?” 

Hannah whispers. “That was uncalled for, babe. He’s just trying to lighten the mood.”

Garrett says nothing, scared that he will be next in your murderous rampage. 

“I’m-” You set the fork down, shaking your head like you’ve just been freed from a spell. “Tucker, I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch for no reason.” 

“Well-” Beau mumbles. “I wouldn’t say no reason-” 

You elbow the quarterback. “I’m really sorry.” You reach out, squeezing Tucker’s hand. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I feel betrayed honestly. Hurt too, if I’m allowed to say so.” He’s really milking it. 

You laugh. “Why don’t I buy you a drink to make up for it?” 

“It would be a nice start.” He pretends to wipe away a fake tear as you slide out of the booth. “I’ll take a Dirty Shirley.” 

“Oh my god.” Garrett’s face is red. “That’s what you’re choosing?” 

“I’m sorry that your taste buds are evolved enough to enjoy a drink such as the one I have chosen.”

“Dirty Shirley.” You nod. “Got it. Be right back.” 

You walk up to the bar, smiling at Allie sweetly. “Hello dear friend of mine.” 

“What would you like, sweet cheeks?” That nickname unfortunately stuck.

“Two Dirty Shirley’s please.” 

“That’ll be twenty dollars.” Allie sets the tap-to-pay ipad in front of you. “I’ll be right back.” 

You pulled your card out, before someone else’s card pressed against the screen. Your jaw went slack as you looked up, fully expecting to see Dean’s face. 

“Hi.” 

A smile grew on your lips. It wasn’t Dean, but Zach, the man that Dean was trying to drive away. What perfect timing. “You really didn’t have to do that.” 

He shrugged. “Gotta show you I’m still interested.” 

“Yeah?” You began to twirl your hair. Holy cliche.

“Yeah.” He nodded, moving closer to you. “I miss you.” 

“Aw.” You giggle. “That’s sweet.” 

“I was thinking of asking you out to dinner.” 

“Oh?” You grin, blood rushing to your cheeks.

“So?” His leg bounced rather aggressively, but you didn’t mind. It was sweet, how nervous he was. “Dinner this week?” 

“I don’t know.” Dean. You squeeze your eyes shut as your hands squeeze into fists. “I don’t really swing that way. Thanks for asking though.” 

You whip around. “Dean, respectfully, fuck off. I don’t butt into your conversations, so don’t butt into mine.” 

“Here are your Dirty Shirley’s.” Allie whispers. “Sorry for interrupting.” 

“Thank you, Allie.” You grab them, ignoring Dean’s obnoxious face. “And to answer your question, Zach, dinner sounds great.” 

“Awesome.” Zach grins. “I’ll text you.” 

“Perfect.” Your smile is tight as you elbow past Dean to get back to the booth.

“C’mon baby.” You can only imagine how ridiculous it looks that the 6’2” boy is following after you like a puppy dog. 

“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, passing Tucker his drink. “Your Dirty Shirley, sir.” 

“Thank you ma’am.” 

Beau slides out of the booth so you can get back in. He looks up at his best friend with suspicion in his eyes. “What did you do, Dean?”

“All I did was interrupt a conversation.”

“He was asking me out, you asshole.” You feel red hot rage race through your veins. “I watched you flirt with about ten girls and didn’t say anything.” 

“So you were watching me?” 

“Kinda hard not to.” You mutter under your breath.

“It wasn’t ten girls.” Dean tries to defend himself, but he somehow makes it worse. “And that was different.” 

“Why?” You raised a brow. “Because you didn’t ask any of them out?” 

“No.” He leaned against the booth, the fabric of his sleeve stretching as he crossed his arms. You fought your inner demons, reminding yourself that he was pissing you off right now, and you would be betraying yourself by lusting after him. “Because they weren’t you.” 

“Dean.” You let a deep breath out. “You are officially the world’s biggest hypocrite. What you have just said doesn’t even make any logical sense.”

“What-” 

“You have this horrible habit of making my heart flip. And then in the same moment, you refuse to admit that we have something. You refuse to say anything that’s actually meaningful. And I-” Tears begin to form, and you force them back. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I think it’s time to get some air.” Tucker whispers. “I’m just gonna-” 

“No need.” You stop him. “I am leaving. Here.” You slide Dirty Shirley over to him. “It’s all yours.” 

“Thanks.” Tucker immediately puts his straw into the glass.

“Beau.” You whisper. “I’m sorry, can you possibly-” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, no worries.” He stands up, holding your hand as you get out. “Do you need a ride home?” 

“I-” Your eyes naturally drifted to Dean’s for a moment. They always did. “I think I’ll walk.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Tucker was right.” You smile softly. “It’s time to get some air.” 

“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Dean whispers. 

“And you shouldn’t make me feel like this, so.” You shrug. “Guess we’re both at a loss. Have fun with all your admirers.” 

Dean waited until you left Malone’s to follow after you. He never actually approached you, always staying ten paces behind, just to be sure that you stay safe. And when you walked into your apartment building, he stood by the corner streetlight, staring into your window like a lovestruck fool. 

You don’t know how Allie had convinced you to go to the hockey game, but here you were. Normally, you were the one who had to beg her: you went all out. You put face paint on, the whole nine yards. A couple months ago, Dean had given you his jersey. 

Today, you were not going all out.

You did have to thank Allie though, because this game was insanely entertaining, much better than endless episodes of The Office on repeat. 

It was like the entire team was perfectly in sync. Garrett was controlling the ice and guiding the team with the precision of a seasoned pro, Logan was keeping it locked down in the defense department, and Tucker had scored two out of the three team’s goals. 

And Dean, oh Dean. You could tell something was bothering him, because never before had he played so aggressively in his life. Or at least, at any game you’d ever seen. He’d already been put in the penalty box twice for minor penalties, one more, and he would be out of the game for five minutes. 

There he went. 

“What is up with him?” You whispered. Allie and Hannah stared at you like it was obvious. You raised a brow. “What?” 

“You are what’s up with him. He’s pissed at himself for being an idiot, and he’s pissed that you’re going on that date with Zachary.” 

“Zach, but yeah.” You nodded. “Maybe he should have behaved rationally for once. Maybe he should have said something meaningful instead of making the whole situation a joke.” 

“Maybe.” Hannah smiled. “It doesn’t hurt to talk, though.” 

“We haven’t talked in three days.”

“Just check in, make sure he’s doing well.” Allie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“No time like the present to fix this.” Hannah turned back towards the game, and you stuck your tongue out at her. You hated how right she was, how right both of them were.

You’d been waiting outside of the locker room for thirty minutes, pacing back and forth as you watched player after player leave, all of them shooting you pitiful looks. Maybe he left super early, and you were here looking stupidly hung up on someone that didn’t even care about you. 

The door swung open once more, and your heart skipped.

Logan and Tucker walked out together, followed closely by Garrett. Your heart returned to its normal pace.

Garrett stayed behind as the other boys continued down the hall. “He’s still inside.” 

You smiled thankfully. “Thank god. I’ve been waiting here for an embarrassing amount of time.” 

“He really likes you.” Garrett continued. “He’s just scared.” 

“And stupid.” You whisper.

“And stupid.” Garrett laughs. “But he means well. I’m not trying to excuse his actions, because a lot of the stuff he’s done is super hurtful. But I also wouldn’t be doing my job as his friend if I let you think he didn’t care.” 

“Thank you, Garrett.” Hannah’s wise nature was rubbing off on him. Or maybe, Garrett was just naturally wise. “I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.” 

You eyed the locker room suspiciously, like you were waiting for a monster to jump out from behind it at any moment. Honestly, you would rather face Cereberus right now than face your fear of being vulnerable and confessing your feelings to Dean. 

Before you could take the coward’s way out, you pushed through the door. You turned the corner, frowning when you saw Dean. He looked utterly dejected as you watched him. He was sitting on the benches still in uniform with his face in his hands. “Dean?” 

He visibly tensed, his voice low as he spoke. “What are you doing here?” 

“I just-” He was right, what were you doing here? “I wanted to check on you. It was a rough game.” 

“Well,” He stood up, his face as emotionless as you’d ever seen it. “You did it. You checked on me. Feel free to leave now.” 

You squeezed your fist, trying to control your anger from bubbling up. “You’re upset.” 

“Yeah, I am.” He walked closer. “I’m upset that you’re here. I thought we weren’t talking.” 

“I still care about you.” You scoffed. “Friends can check on-” 

“Friends?” He looked disgusted at the thought, and your stomach clenched. 

“I can’t believe I actually cared that you were upset. This was such a stupid idea.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You are a child, that’s what that means.” 

“I’m a child?” He crossed his arms, walking towards you. “Please elaborate.” 

“With pleasure.” You spat out, counting out the things he does on your fingers. “You have done nothing but poke and prod at me since Garrett introduced us, you get under my skin on purpose-” “I-” 

“You interrupt me.” You gave him a pointed look. “You deliberately do and say things that you know are going to hurt me. For example, I came in here out of the goodness of my heart, and you treated me like I was no better than a random puck bunny.” 

“I have never tried to hurt you on purpose.” His eyes were dark.

“Well, you do.” Your voice broke. “You do it all the time. You look at me like I hung the moon and the stars. You remember something little that I told you eons ago, you memorize my coffee order, your eyes find mine at every party just to check in. And then, in that exact moment, you start sucking some girl’s face like you didn’t make my heart clench.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked highly offended. “If we’re getting to specifics, then you must know that you hurt me way before I hurt you.” 

“I did not!” 

“You did.” He seemed so small for someone so large. He was towering over you, literally, but physically, he seemed unsure, hesitant to even speak. “You were embarrassed of me.” 

“What?” Your heart dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“When Garrett brought you to the hockey house for the first time.” His eyes bore into yours, practically begging for you to understand what he was getting at. “Do you not-” He frowned. “You acted like you didn’t know me.”

You scoffed, voice raising in annoyance. “That’s what started all of this?” 

“You lied to them!” He retorted. 

“What was I supposed to say? Hey guys, Dean and I made out once two years ago!” 

“Exactly!” He yelled back. You stomped your feet against the floor, stalking out of the locker room. “That was exactly what you were supposed to say!” 

He raced after you, his skates echoing against the floor. Your heart involuntarily skipped, as it always did when Dean was around. “Leave me alone.” 

“No way.” His voice sounded nearer than you would have liked. “Why can’t you just say it?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” You whipped around, colliding into his gear. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist firmly as he steadied you. “I-” 

“I’m scared,” Dean whispered. “I’m scared that I’ll say I love you, and you’ll say it back, and eventually-” He gulped. “You’ll leave because you’ll realize that I’m not good enough. Hell. I’m not even good at-” He motioned between the two of you. “This. Whatever it is that we have.” 

“I can’t even begin to describe what it is we have,” you whisper back. “But I can say that I will never leave you. Even if nothing ever became of us, I would never leave you. I care about you too much.” 

“Babydoll…” His eyes drifted down to your lips, and your breath caught. “I’m a dick.” 

You nodded. “You are.” 

“I’m a hypocrite.” 

“Big one.” You mumbled. 

“I’m a jealous fool.” 

Sometime in the middle of his speech, he’d begun walking you towards the wall. Your back collided against it, a gasp leaving your lips. “Defintely.”

“But I can promise you that I will work on all of that if you just-” He leaned down, his breath intertwining with yours. “If you agree to being my girlfriend.” 

“Dean-” Your voice wavered. “Just kiss me.” 

His pointer finger and thumb grabbed your chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. “You don’t do casual sex.” 

“Why are you bringing this up right now?” Your heart was racing.

“Answer the question.” 

“No, I don’t do casual sex.” You responded.

“And-” He leaned even closer, if that was somehow possible. “I’m assuming that this will be ending in-” he smirked. “So all I need you to do is agree to be my girlfriend, and then we can do whatever you wan-” 

“Yes.” You nodded quickly. “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“I can’t hear you.” 

You glared. “Yes you can.” 

“Say it louder, baby.” 

“You’re so annoying.” You glared before grabbing his uniform in your clenched fist and pulling it to you. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”  

He lifted you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as his lips crashed against yours. You would most definitely have bruises tomorrow morning, but you didn’t really care. “Dean, I’m sorry.” 

“Do you always talk this much when you’re making out with someone?” 

“No.” You gasped as he kissed down your throat. “But you’re different.” 

“Different how?” 

“Let me-” You pulled his lips back to yours. “Let me show you.”

“You’re dangerous.” He spoke between the kisses. “Let me change, and then I’m all yours.”  

“I’m an idiot.” You mumbled under your breath.

“That makes two of us.” Dean whispered, pulling you closer. His arm was wrapped around your waist, as it had been for the past nine hours. Once you’d made it back to the hockey house, Dean had carried you up the stairs in bridal style, and thrown you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. That’s where you’d been for nine hours, until you woke up like this, your arm across his chest, his arm around his waist, and your cheek pressed into his pecs. “We’re together now.” 

You nodded, tracing shapes into his bare chest. “Good point.” 

“Did you have fun last night?” He didn’t have the faintest trace of mischief in his tone. He was genuinely asking you, something that made you fall in love with him all over again. 

“Yes, Dean.” You stretched your neck, kissing his jaw gently. “You could say I had fun.” 

“Good.” He grinned, pulling your lips to his. You grinned, deepening the kiss. “I’m glad. I wanted you to-” He kissed you one more time. “To feel comfortable.” 

“I always do with you.” You smiled, pushing a hand against his chest. “We need to get out of bed, Romeo.” 

“Why?” He whined. “I’m having so much fun in here.” 

“Shut up.” You shoved him away, laughing as he ‘fell’ out of bed. “You need to shower.”

He gasped. “Are you insinuating that I smell?”

You nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

He threw you a shirt and some sweatpants. “For you.”

You pulled the covers up, catching the clothes with ease. “Why thank you, kind sir.” 

“I’ll be back.” Dean winked. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” You giggled, waiting until he shut the door to jump out of bed. You pulled the sweatpants and oversized shirt on, admiring yourself in the mirror. The shirt, you realized, was from high school, something about Connecticut.

“Dean, I need to borrow a-” You froze, turning around slowly. There, as frozen as an ice cube, stood Tucker, his eyes wide and his jaw wide open. “Holy shit.” 

“Hi.” You smiled guiltily. “Good morning?” 

“Guys!” Tucker grinned, jumping up and down. “Guys, come here!” 

You buried your face in your hands, wishing that this was all a dream. “Tucker-” 

“Oh my god.” Hannah was here too? You opened your eyes, blood rushing to your face. “It seems like my advice worked.” 

“What’s going on?” Garrett’s voice, as groggy as you’d ever heard it, shot out from down the hall. 

“You’re not gonna believe it, G.” Logan smirked. “I almost don’t.” 

“You all are finding much too much joy from this situation.” You glared. “You wanted this.” 

“Holy shit.” Garrett was grinning. 

“That’s what I said!” Tucker smacked his friends chest. “It happened!” 

“Finally!” Garrett responded. 

“Hello?” Who else was here to bask in your horribly uncomfortable situation? “Guys?” 

“Beau!” Garrett yelled. “Up here, dude.” 

“Do you guys know where Dean is?” Beau responded. “He hasn’t been answering my texts, and we were supposed to go on a ru-” His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he stared at you. “Nevermind.” 

“Beau.” You begged. “Can you get them out of here, please?” 

He paused for a moment, before nodding. “Alright people, nothing to see here. We’ll reconvene when they’re ready.” 

“What?” They all began to protest. “This is my house!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Beau pushed his way to the front, before shutting the door. “You’ll live.” 

“So-” Allie smirked. “Start from the beginning.” 

You groaned, shoving your face in Dean’s arm. “Kill me now.” 

In the time that Dean had showered, changed, and listened to you tell him what he’d missed, Allie had been contacted and told to get to the hockey house, stat. 

“You can’t get out of this, sweet cheeks.” Allie leaned forward. “We’ve been watching this soap opera for far too long not to know how it ended.” 

“I have to object to you calling my girlfriend sweet cheeks.” Dean interrupted. 

“Overruled.” 

“Girlfriend?” Hannah gasped. “What?” 

“We missed so much.” Tucker whined. “I knew we should have stayed behind.” 

Dean smirked. “I don’t know if you would have wanted to have been around for long.” 

Your head shot up, glaring. “Di Laurentis! Shut up!”

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To be different may be the shortest straw you had drawn in life. Your friends adored you for your silliness; among them, you were known and valued. Freshly out of high school, you now worried the weirdness could be more than just social ostracization. Maybe it could affect your employment in the future.

You imagined yourself sitting at an interview, dressed in your business best with a pencil skirt and heels, being looked at up and down by a man in a suit. He said nothing, but could see past your profession facade, and thinks what everyone else has thought: not you.

Ned gave you the benefit of the doubt, and one week after your interview, you showed up to Scoops Ahoy adorned in sailor garb for your first day of work. There hadn’t been any instructions on where to report to, leaving you to stand awkwardly in line with the customers. It shuffled forward slowly, and you began to worry about not clocking in on time. When it was your turn to approach the counter, you came face-to-face with someone you least expected.

Steve Harrington was standing behind the register in similar nautical wear, with a white hat sitting crookedly atop his gravity-defying hair. It seemed in school that he was a magnet: people orbited him as though he were the Poles, plucked from their places at metal lockers to surround him. He was the Sun above the pyramid of high school royalty. Now, lit by the bright, lifeless glow of fluorescence, Steve looked more like a fallen star. He looked at you first with eyes half-lidded in boredom, before his brows snapped together. 

“You’re the new girl?”

“I suppose so, yes,” you replied.

“What the hell? You were supposed to be here five minutes ago and we had a call-off,” his foot had begun to tap against the ground, you could hear in the tap tap tap on linoleum. A sign of impatience and frustration.

“I’m sorry, I was waiting in line.”

Now his squinted eyes widened in surprise, and you could see that his lashes were quite long for a man. He’d held a reputation for being handsome in school, but you felt that it was an inaccurate description. Steve wasn’t handsome, he was pretty.

“Yeah, I can see that. Why didn’t you just come to the back? I assume that you can at least scoop ice cream; you could’ve helped me out there.”

Now you were the one who was surprised. “Oh, I didn’t know that I could do that. Ned didn’t tell me what to…”

“And where’s your hat? It’s company policy,” he interrupted.

The rest of the day seemed to be you endlessly annoying Steve for things not knowing things that you couldn’t possibly know. According to him, you didn’t stick to the scripted greeting, and spent too long trying to scoop the ice cream into neat towers. He kept scolding you for calling the flavors by their standard names rather than the Scoops names, and got confused by which was which in the freezer. 

“I’m sorry Steve, I looked in the back to refill the Rocky Road like you asked, but I can’t find it.”

“I already told you it’s not Rocky Road, it’s called Rough Seas. Now hurry up! We got a line again.”

You’d never had a job that required you to use a cash register before, and you asked every customer whether or not they’d like their receipt after it printed. It added 15 seconds to each interaction, and seemed to be upsetting Steve, who had to keep reminding you that most people didn’t want their receipts, and not to ask about it. That would explain why the printer had a line of paper almost six-feet long coming out of it when you first came in.

When someone deposited 25 cents into the tip jar, you beamed at them. “Thank you, sailor! Fair winds and following seas!” you called.

 This wasn’t something that you’d been instructed to say, but you figured that you should really hammer in the marine theme as much as possible.

Steve had only groaned, muttering to himself, “Why do I always get the weird ones?”

“Do you want to take your break now?” You asked once the chaos had died down.

He shook his head, taking the sailor hat off with one hand in casual defeat. “Who knows what’ll happen in the 15 minutes that I’m gone. The whole store could go under. You’re not ready to be left alone yet.”

The silence spread over the Scoops Ahoy like molasses, slow and thick. You feared that speaking would only annoy Steve more, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I’m sorry I’m not doing well, Steve. I can tell this job is important to you,” you settled, genuinely guilty to be burdening him. 

His head snapped to you from where he had been gazing at the rest of the food court. “It’s not–it’s important to establish a good work ethic. Y’know, like if I start slacking off here, by the time I have a career I’ll be dead weight.”

“Sure, my dad tells me that all the time,” you replied. “What career would you like to have?” 

Instead of responding, Steve stared down at the dark blue countertop, as if the answer resided there, somewhere deep in the grain of the particle board.

“Maybe you could be a professional athlete? You’re good at swimming. It could be your calling.”

The mop of hair raised slowly towards you. “What?”

Had you said something wrong? Maybe it wasn’t your place to give him life advice. “I… I don’t know. I’m sorry,” you frowned.

“How do you know that I’m a swimmer?” Steve asked, confusion clear in his face.

“They announced it in the morning once our junior year. ‘Swim team captain Steve Harrington plans to lead Hawkins High to victory at this weekend’s state conference. Go Tigers!’ I remember it because someone explained to me that it was unusual that the title went to you and not a senior.”

It was as though you had dropped a bomb, and Steve was watching the wreckage unfold with disbelief. Was it too much information? You had simply answered his question, but now began to doubt your answer. You went to apologize again, but he beat you to it.

“Sorry, I didn’t know that you went to school with me. I just… didn’t expect you to know that. Or remember it,” he said slowly.

“Oh, that’s alright. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken to each other until right now. You’re a little less intimidating than you were in school, so I’m not nervous,” you smiled.

He groaned, tossing his hat through the open partition and into the back room. “No kidding. I’m a fucking joke now. People take one look at me in this stupid costume and laugh. Even chicks who I know liked me in school don’t give me a chance.”

You hummed, thinking of a helpful response. “You could probably get another job, then.”

Steve huffed out a dry laugh. “Like it’s so easy to just get another job.”

“I suppose you’re right. I read in the paper the other day that unemployment rates across the state are the highest they’ve been since The Great Depression. About 13 percent, I believe. Something about the automobile industry, but I’m sure we all know about that,” you rambled.

He just stared at you, as though there was a puzzle in your face he could solve by looking for long enough. “You’ll like Robin; she’s working with you tomorrow. You’re both… quirky.”

Maybe your skin was tough from hearing it so often, or maybe it didn’t sound insulting coming from Steve. He’d used a different word than most people, and you didn’t mind being quirky. Steve didn’t seem to realize it, but you found him quite quirky yourself.

You’d heard that observing the actions of other people was a good way to learn. Thus, the first two weeks consisted of much standing around. This was the hump that many people had a hard time getting past, and the period that much turnover occurred at work. Determined to beat the statistics, you showed up to Scoops Ahoy each day, ready to be drained by your proletariat status. Not knowing what you should be doing at every moment meant that you spent lots of time standing stiffly next to Steve, waiting for instruction.

He was filling out a sheet of paper on a clipboard, and when you looked closer, it appeared to be an order form. Three cases of S.S Strawberry, four cases of U.S.S. Butterscotch, one of Blue Moon Marina. Ned was responsible for keeping inventory and ordering new stock, but it seemed all duty piled elsewhere. You could hear him smacking gum; it was against the rules at work, but he chewed it constantly.

Steve found you from the corner of his eye. “Can I help you?”

“I should be asking you that. Make myself useful and whatnot,” you replied.

He continued to scribble. “Don’t worry about it, it’s dead right now.”

You tapped your fingers rhythmically against the metal rail of the display case, cool against your skin. Thumb to pinky, pinky to thumb, back one way and forth the other. Steve hadn’t yelled at you for your hovering or tapping. There wasn’t any indication that he would be rude to you based on his behavior, and you felt bad expecting that from him. His friends had been less than kind to you in school; you simply assumed that he was the same.

“I know, but I feel bad if I’m not working as hard as I should. I want to be helpful,” you sighed.

Surely there was something in this entire parlor to do. Scrape gum from under tables, reorganize the toppings; you were being driven insane without a task to complete. 

“You are helping. You’re keeping me company.”

He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, simple and clear. This was the task he assigned you to: just being around. Steve hadn’t even looked up when he said it, still marking inventory on his clipboard, yet you felt as though your heart would beat straight out of your chest. It could grow wings and fly straight through the ceiling for how fast it was going. It was the most kind thing anyone had said to you all day.

You refrained from responding, but smiled at his profile; maybe he could feel your joy from three feet away. 

Routine was very good for you. Commute to work, clock in, check inventory, refill flavors that were one-third or more empty, wipe tabletops. Very easy stuff once you did it enough. Scoops wasn’t the most exciting job around, but you enjoyed having a place to be five days a week. That June was then marked as the most eventful month of your life. 

Steve wasn’t meant to be part of that routine. He wasn’t supposed to be the whistling, foot-tapping, high-socked highlight of your day. And yet whenever you came into work and that familiar mess of waves wasn’t behind the counter, a bit of your joy died.

You liked your other coworkers, too. Gary was hardworking, Todd told funny stories, and Robin was the limb you didn’t know you were missing. Nothing should’ve been so special about Steve, and yet he was. He wasn’t even the nicest person that you worked with.

When you took too long to come back from a shift, he would rail on you about workplace integrity, even though he would also take extra time on his breaks. He complained endlessly about how dismal his love life was to you, which you found pathetic and only slightly interesting. If your friends swung by the store to say hello, he would tell you that you were stealing time, but Steve was the one who let kids run through the back hallways and get free scoops.

“Does Ned know that your children run amok in this mall?” You asked, leaning through the open window of the backroom. 

He glared at you. “Is Robin the one who told you that? I don’t like it when she calls them my kids. I just know them from… town.”

“You mean Nancy Wheeler, right? That was her younger brother that just passed by.”

He raised a suspicious brow at you. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged. “I know that you dated Nancy, or I mean, everyone knows that, and I recognize her brother from being in class with my cousin. So I assume, I don’t know. That your whirlwind romance with her meant that you became acquainted with her brother and his… circle. Of children.”

“God, you talk so much,” he sighed. “It wasn’t a whirlwind romance, okay? I was really serious about her.”

You nodded solemnly. “Sure, I know how that goes.” You didn’t. “Lots of other fish in the sea, if that’s what you want. But I read in Seventeen that after a relationship, you emerge a different person, and it’s important to rediscover yourself.”

He shook his head, and leaned into the window with you. “I’m rediscovered already, and I don’t need another relationship. But it would be nice if I could land a goddamn date.” This close up, you could see the small moles dotting the column of his throat. Soft tufts of dark hair peeked out from the collar of his shirt. Your mouth felt dry. Had he always looked like that?

“Don’t tell anyone I said that. Robin has seen me fumble enough times here; she doesn’t need more ammo.”

“Gasp. Don’t worry, Steve Harrington. My lips are sealed,” you flourished with a zipping of your lips, then flicked away the invisible key.

He only rolled his eyes at you, and opened his mouth for another remark, before you cut him off. A pretty girl with a high, permed ponytail had come into the parlor. “Oh God, there she is now. Your future wife. She’s walking up. Hurry, do something.”

Steve’s head swiveled quickly to the front. He turned back to you, a determined sparkle in his eyes. “Alright, wish me luck.”

You graced him with a thumbs-up, and watched as he swaggered to the cash register. Steve was a good guy, he deserved to be freed from his dry spell. Yet watching him lean closer to the girl while she gave him a tight smile made your stomach sink, and you weren’t sure why.

Steve became a part of your Summer that you looked forward to, like running through sprinklers, biting into popsicles, sunbathing in soft grass. When he wasn’t on your shift, it was as if the roof had gone missing, or all of the lights went out. Something was missing from Scoops, and from eight hours of your life. That was not a good thing.

You knew what this meant: you had a heartstopping, ice cream melting crush on Steve Harrington.

Even in school you weren’t delusional enough to believe that someone like him could like someone like you. Despite what years of casual bullying had tried to instill in you, you knew it wasn’t because of some unlovable fault of your own. 

But who would be silly enough to think that the King of Hawkins would stoop to the ranks of drama and chess nerds, where you lay among masses of what could only be described as geeks? The seas of Hawkins High hallways had parted at his presence. On multiple occasions, you had been laughed at for simply raising your hand in class, as if it was funny that you would dare even speak. 

Maybe seeing him everyday had caused this; it was the forced proximity. You mistakenly believed that just because you worked together, Steve was now accessible to you. On your level, playing in the same league.

Although, wasn’t he? Free from the shackles of high school conformity, you had seen first hand for eight weeks that Steve Harrington was just like you. He could be annoying, make jokes that didn’t land, sing lyrics at the wrong time and speak Tears for Fears into silence. He did silly voices, recapped skits from Saturday Night Live in poor impersonations, and protected you from angry customers.

Didn’t he maybe see you in a new light, too? Recognize your feelings from a mile away, and feel the same? He must have, when he looked at you like you were the only girl in the world, warm brown eyes searching your soul. Sometimes he’d bite into the bottom of his shiny, pink lips when you spoke, and it would take every fiber of your being not to reach out and run your thumb against his mouth. 

Once, he’d even placed his hand lightly on the small of your back as he passed by you. Other than the immediate fear that he’d notice how sweaty you were, your pulse spiked from his warmth, felt through a thin layer of polyester. You were sure that there was more than enough space behind you for him to scoot past. Steve in June never would have done that. But maybe Steve in July wanted you, too.

The combination of you, Steve and Robin quickly became your favorite shift to work. When it got slow, there was no shortage of conversation to fill the time, and when it was busy, you all worked around each other with surprising efficiency.

It was a stormy, mid-July day when Robin first brought it up. You could occasionally hear the claps of thunder over the cartoonish jingle of the store, which would explain the slow trickle of customers you two had, talking between orders while Steve took his 30.

“Two scoops of Vanilla Voyage and one Chocolate Ship on a waffle cone, one scoop of Cookies and Cannons in a cup,” you called to Robin, who scooped and laid out the ice cream speedily.

“One waffle and one cup, coming right up,” she called back. You rang them up, fingers flying across the register. 

“Alright, back to business,” Robin said when the store emptied out again. The two of you sat in the front, sharing a milkshake across the scuffed, plastic table. Your crossed legs switched sides a few times, crossing one way for a few seconds, then the other, then back again, your knee jostling the table each time. Robin didn’t seem to notice. 

“You need to stop being scared and tell Steve how you feel. It is exhausting for you guys to tiptoe around each other."

“And what is it, exactly, that I feel for him?”

She pulled the milkshake from you, leaving your fingers wet with residual condensation. “Unfiltered, pure, Summertime love.”

“God, is it that obvious?” You groaned.

“Not too obvious, I don’t think,” Robin slurped, “Unless you have two eyes.”

Your heart dropped. “Do you think Steve knows?”

“Now, that might be the only person who doesn’t know how you feel. I would say I’m not sure how he missed it, but he’s never been the brightest bulb,” she grinned.

“Hey, I like him. He’s smart when it comes to other stuff! Like, he knows all about baseball, and sometimes when the Cubs are playing over the radio, he’ll explain what’s happening to me,” you defended weakly.

She raised her hands in defense. “No judgement on my end. Steve’s a surprisingly good guy. I give him the stamp of approval. Go make out to Air Supply. Use protection.”

Warmth flooded your face at the idea. Kissing Steve was something basically unfathomable. Sex was a topic of conversation that would have you combusting if you let it go too far. “Do you think he likes me, too?”

Robin snorted a laugh in response. “I’m sure he does. Why wouldn’t he?”

You frowned, looking off into the distance. The few shoppers in the mall seemed to be milling about mindlessly, arms full of shopping bags, shoes tapping against shiny, new linoleum floors as they passed by. There was nothing that separated you from them. And yet…

“I don’t know. It seems like my whole life there’s been a million reasons not to like me,” you sighed. “And I don’t know why. I think I’m missing something. Something that everyone can tell just by looking at me.”

Robin stayed silent for a moment, before pushing the milkshake back to you. “I get it. I think I’m missing that same thing.”

You gave her a soft smile. People seemed to see you and Robin the same way. If you got nothing else out of working at Scoops that Summer, you were grateful to at least have met her. She was the diamond in the horrible Hawkins rough.

“God, where is that guy anyway? It’s been more like 40, and I wanna take my break too,” Robin scoffed. Now that she had mentioned it, he had been gone longer than usual.

“Taking a dump, maybe,” you murmured, twisting the plastic straw lazily.

At that moment, Steve walked into the parlor, practically bouncing. One hand was stuffed in his short pocket, and the other held a small cup, white and green from Orange Julius.

“Speak of the devil and he doth appear,” Robin called, watching as he walked up to your table. “And where have you been, Harrington? I’m due for my break.”

He grinned, chewing on the tip of his straw. “Hello, ladies. Sorry for the wait. Robin, why don’t you take 40, too? I’ll even clock you in for the last ten minutes.”

She squinted her eyes at him, full of suspicion. “Why are you being so nice right now? What happened on your break?”

Steve wiggled his eyebrows at the both of you, before taking his hand out of his pocket. He slapped a receipt onto the table. You looked up at him, unamused, before he flipped it around. The back of the receipt had an address on it, signed by Linda with a heart.

“Holy. Shit. Did you actually land a date?” Robin gasped.

You stared at the slip of paper, mouth agape, trying to think of something to say. “Who’s Linda?”

“She works over at the Orange Julius. I went over to get some fries and she asked me to take my break with her. One thing led to another, and now I’m picking her up tonight to see Jaws at the Hawk.”

“Jaws? Not very romantic,” Robin said, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“It’s scary is what it is," he asserted, gesticulating as he explained.

"Let me teach you guys a little lesson on love, alright? We’re gonna go see this movie, and when that kid gets eaten by the shark, she’s gonna scream and look for someone to protect her. Who better to do that but me, and my big, strong arms?”

You felt like you were going to be sick. He did have big, strong arms, and tonight they were going to hold Orange Julius Linda in the dark of the movie theater.

She’d probably bury her face into his chest, and when she finally felt brave enough to look up again, she’d see Steve’s shining eyes. They’d stare at each other, pretending to be surprised by their position, then lean in, lips brushing until–

“Wow, so you get one date after begging for how many months–” Robin began.

“Okay, I wasn’t begging anyone–”

“And now you’re acting like some sort of love expert. That’s ridiculous. I mean, even for you,” she finished, turning to you. “Am I right?”

You gave her a tight smile, before nodding to the man in front of you. “Jaws is a great movie. I’m sure you guys will have a fun time, Steve.”

“Thank you! At least someone is supportive of me,” he said, before walking past you guys to the back room.

Robin shot you a sympathetic look. “We can call about it later, if you want?”

You smiled sadly at her. “Thanks, Rob. You better go take your break before the storm ends. Then we’ll actually have to work.”

She nodded, before getting up and walking out of the store. You sat at the table, only the sound of pop music flooding the mall to give you company. Supportive, Steve had said. It felt like a slap in the face.

He had just become your friend; maybe expecting him to return your romantic feelings was too much to ask. But for a small moment it really seemed like he wanted you, too.

Your record player had been stopped for 10 minutes. The vinyl needed to flipped, but you were so engrossed in your book that you had completely forgotten about it. When the phone rang from your nightstand, you scarcely looked up from the page; just reached out to grab it from the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

You sat up immediately. “Steve? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Does something have to be wrong for me to call?”

“Well, no. But something always is when you do,” you replied. You and Steve had traded numbers your first week at Scoops in case you needed to switch shifts, and ever since then all calls between the two of you had been strictly work related.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to know what you were up to right now,” he replied, voice sheepish through the receiver.

You sat your book down on the bed, splayed to save your page. “I was just reading. Nowhere near as exciting as your night, I’m sure.”

A glance at the clock showed that it was only 10:30 P.M. “How was your date? Don’t tell me it’s over already.”

Steve sighed, the noise crackling against your ear. “It was alright. I don’t think there’ll be a second one.”

“Oh no, what happened?” You could hear him shuffling around.

“Well, I went to pick her up, but she left me waiting in the driveway for 10 minutes because she wasn’t ready. Then we got to the movie late and had terrible seats, like all the way by the front.”

“That’s the worst.”

“I know. I guess I didn’t realize they were doing something special at this screening, since it’s the 10 year anniversary, so they sprayed water at the audience whenever the shark was on screen.”

“Oh man, are you serious? That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Steve chuckled. “She didn’t feel the same way, because she started screaming about how it was gonna mess up her hair. The people around us were getting pissed because she was so loud. I didn’t know what to do!”

You laughed at the thought of Steve, wide-eyed in panic, as his date screamed in terror at her hair falling flat. 

“So what did you do?”

“We left because some big guy threatened to fight me if I didn’t tell her to be quiet! Then when we got outside, she started chewing me out for not defending her in there,” he groaned. “But what was I gonna do? Get my ass kicked because she was bothering everyone?”

“Well, it’d be the noble thing to do,” you teased, before pausing. “I’m sorry your date didn’t go well, Steve. I know you were really excited to finally get back out there.”

“God. When you say that it makes me sound like a pathetic, divorced dad.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you feel worse than you already do.”

“You don’t have to apologize; at least it’ll make a good story,” he said. 

Silence blanketed the conversation. It was warm and comforting to listen to the sound of his soft breathing against your ear. You wished you could reach through the phone to him, see what he looked like when he was all relaxed and dressed down at home. What did his room look like? What did the sheets smell like? Did he sleep on one pillow or two?

“Y’know, I was thinking that you would’ve really liked it tonight. Not the screaming and me almost getting punched, but just being there. It was kind of nerdy with all the Spielberg fans, but it was cool,” he continued. “They’re passionate, like you.”

Like you. He’d been thinking of you tonight, on his date or after, it didn’t matter. You wanted to explode. 

“I think in other circumstances it would’ve been fun. Although movie dates are stressful for me.”

“Woah, wait a minute. Are you saying you’ve been on a date before?” Steve asked incredulously. You tried not to be offended.

“Yes, I have. I know I wasn’t prom queen material or whatever, but I did go out once Sophomore year,” you replied. “With Jared Barnett from my chemistry class.”

“Jared Barnett… I think I remember him. He had the long hair, right? And everyday at lunch he’d eat a corned beef sandwich,” Steve laughed. “He was a… y'know. A guy.”

“You can say it. He was a ‘geek’, or whatever, and most people didn’t like him because they thought he was weird,” you huffed. “But we saw Return of the Jedi together and the whole time I was so anxious I could barely even watch.”

“Jared made you that nervous? I didn’t realize you liked him that much.”

“Honestly, I just liked him as a friend, but I was freaked out because I didn’t know what I should be doing. It was all dark, and he was sitting next to me so I couldn’t read him at all. I just kept thinking, ‘what if he leans in to kiss me? What if he puts his arm around me? Should we hold hands?’ It drove me crazy, although at the end of the night nothing happened, and we went back to being friends.”

“Sounds like a perfectly normal date to me. Two of you watching Star Wars or whatever,” Steve said, a smile lacing his voice.

“Everyone thought we were dating, anyway. They see two nerds being friends in my halls and think they must be a match made in Heaven. It really annoyed me; not because I’d be ashamed to be seen with him, but because people only thought that because we’re both…” you stopped, not wanting to make yourself upset.

Jared was a good guy, who you had lost touch with in the past year. You had never been particularly close, but ran in the same social circles. That was the problem.

You and all your friends were bottom of the barrel, last picks in gym, never invited to parties. You’d been called every name in the book, which is exactly why your peers of Hawkins High assumed that you and Jared must have something in common.

You sighed. “Anyway, it’s not important. Hopefully my loveless woes make you feel better about your date.”

“Not that. Talking to you makes me feel a lot better, though,” Steve said.

Your heart was racing so fast it threatened to burst completely. Steve just said that he liked talking to you, and you tried your best not to squeal and kick your legs against the bed.

“I’ll tell Robin, too, but this week it’s supposed to be really nice out. If there’s a day where all three of us are free, we should drive to the Lake. It’ll be fun; we can drink and swim and pretend we don’t work at Scoops for a day,” he suggested.

The grin on your face was so wide, you were sure Steve would be able to feel it through the phone.

“I’d love to.”

Wednesday was the miraculous day when all three of you were free, and the plan to spend it at Lover’s Lake was put into motion. 

You skipped to your car, a bag stuffed with towels and sunscreen being swung wildly in the air with joy. It would’ve been nice if music played somewhere from the sky, so that you could break into song and dance in the driveway. Your neighbors had long written you off as a basketcase for all the antics you’ve gotten up to in the front yard of your home. Jumping and spinning in silence was no longer odd behavior from you.

Steve would pick Robin up since she didn’t drive, and the three of you would meet on the East side of the lake, where it was quiet and sandy.

When you pulled up to the spot, you were struck with immediate fear when you didn’t see the red Beemer anywhere. It was 12 on the dot; were they running late? Maybe they had bailed on you in secret, watching from the trees while your head swung back and forth. Or sitting together at Robin’s, laughing at the thought of you waiting on your own.

No, Robin would never do that to you. She’d become your closest friend over the Summer; you understood each other like no one else. Would Steve play a prank like this on you? It was hard to imagine, but he used to be cruel. The things he’d done and said to your friends had been worse than the hypothetical situation you had just cooked up. Maybe it was the air, thick and stuffy, muddling your thoughts.

Suddenly, a series of quick beeps pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. The sight of the distinctive BMW rolling up next to your own beat up car made your heart soar.

He popped out of the car in a t-shirt and Levi’s jeans, hugging the curve of his biceps and thighs. This was the first time that you were seeing Steve in his own clothes since you started working together. In fact, you don’t think you’d even seen him outside of Starcourt the entire Summer. 

You were foolish to ever think before that Steve was a sallow, dimmed version of his former self. He practically glowed in the sunlight, all tanned skin, light streaks in his hair, white teeth glinting when he grinned. It was suddenly much hotter outside.

“There you are! Took you guys long enou–wait, where’s Robin?”

“I’m five minutes late; not even,” Steve said, rounding the back of his car to pop open the trunk. “And she bailed on us.”

“She bailed on us? Why? Is she okay? She did say that she was feeling more tired than usual at work yesterday…”

“No, she’s alright, but she has to go to this stupid luncheon with her parents. I tried to call but I figured you were already on your way over here. Seemed like a waste of a good day if we cancelled, anyway,” Steve said, Raybans tucked into the collar of his shirt as he hauled a bag out of his car. 

He turned to you, the perfect image of Summer. “Shall we?”

You walked to a small clearing in the trees, where dirt gave way to smooth rock and packed sand. It wasn’t a beach by any means, but it was the perfect spot to settle for the day; just enough light and shade and water.

Were you supposed to get undressed now? Part of the appeal for this lake day was the idea of sunbathing peacefully with each other. You’d been eager knowing that Robin would be here alongside you; you’d even chosen your two piece.

Now, the idea of stripping alone in front of Steve made your head spin. You crouched down next to your things, rummaging through your bag to stall, before looking back to see that Steve had already taken his shirt off. 

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. The soft patch of hair you’d seen peeking out of his uniform was now on full display, covering his chest and leading a perfect line down his torso, disappearing into his colorful swim shorts. The moles that dotted his face and neck didn’t stop there, either. You could see them decorating the space of his broad shoulders and arms, even one slightly off center from his belly button. Holy shit. 

You were suddenly unsure if it was the heat of the day making you lightheaded, or simply the sight of him. A bead of sweat was trailing from the sharp angle of his jaw to his collarbones. Your eyes trailed up, meeting Steve’s. When you realized that you’d been caught staring, your face went warm.

“See something you like?” Steve teased.

You coughed violently at the remark, before shaking your head. “I didn’t know we were getting undressed already.”

“What the hell do you think we’re here for? I can turn around if you want.”

You nodded sheepishly, waiting for him to look away. Once everything was neatly tucked away in your bag, you cleared your throat, signalling to Steve that the coast was clear.

He turned around, hands on his hips, mouth open with what must’ve been a witty comment on the tip of his tongue. It never made it out, mouth agape with an open stare. His eyes roamed your body, face all the way down to your toes and back up again. You tried not to squirm under his gaze.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend before?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you frowned.

“I’m not making fun of you! I’m just… processing.”

You walked past him, up the rocks to where you knew there was deeper water.

“Oh yeah? Process this!” you called, before jumping in with a graceless cannonball.

The cold water shocked you upon entering, the bottom of the lake like ice, before you swam up for air. 

You wiped the water from your eyes, looking for Steve in the sandy area where you left him, but he was mysteriously missing.

“Look out!” got yelled from above you, where he was several feet in the air, plummeting directing in your direction.

You yelped, quickly diving below the surface just as it broke under his weight. You dared to open your eyes under the water, trying to make out Steve’s blurred figure through the rising bubbles. When you came back up, he appeared bobbing in the water, famous hair slicked back against his skull.

“Jesus, couldn’t give a little more heads up?” you asked, faking anger as you splashed at him.

“I think I aimed wrong,” he laughed, splashing back.

You swam back to shore, taking turns showing your best dives and flips in the air. Steve was irritatingly good at it; diving into the water with barely a plop, twisting his body into angles you thought were reserved for gymnasts. What you lacked in technical skill, you made up for in enthusiasm. Each jump into the water was accompanied with a call for attention, you and Steve yelling nonsense to the sky.

“Geronimo! Cowabunga!” Steve shouted.

“Michael Jordan! Argentina!” You called back.

After tiring yourselves from all the jumps and racing you’d done (Steve had bested you in speed, too), you both crawled onto the towels, warmed from the sun and caught your breaths.

Laying side by side with Steve, on your stomach with a book in hand, you watched as he popped a piece of gum in his mouth, searching through his bag for sunglasses.

“You chew gum a lot. Even at work, when you know Ned will yell at you,” you observed.

He tilted his head towards you, a sly grin gracing his mouth. “Have you been watching me?”

“Sometimes, when there’s nothing else to do.”

Steve looked back up to the sky. “I’m trying to quit nicotine. It helps to have something else in my mouth.”

“You smoke? Or, you used to?”

“Yeah, just for a year or two.”

“Wow. Why did you? Does it… feel good?” You asked curiously. None of your friends had smoked cigarettes, and you weren’t sure that you knew anyone who actually did.

He chuckled at your blunt questioning. “Yeah, it does. Otherwise people wouldn’t do it. Kind of makes your head feel buzzy and light. But I only started because all my friends did,” he sighed. “It’s so stupid, the things people do to fit in. But Carol said I was a pussy if I didn’t at least try, and I couldn’t let them make fun of me, so…”

You didn’t speak for a moment, taking in what he said with awe.

“I guess I didn’t realize that popular people could get peer-pressured, too. It seems stupid to say, but I just assumed that being King Steve, every one followed your lead.”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “It’s all one big, sick joke. I mean, I had a lot of fun in school. It’s not like I regret my life. But looking back, it’s all stupid.” 

You looked back at your book, unreading but deep in thought. “It is all kind of stupid, huh? I actually used to sit next to Carol Perkins in middle school. She was at a table with just the three of us, my friend and I, which I think she hated. I was with my friend, but everyone she knew was on the other side of the room.”

It was biology in 8th grade; just you, Carol, and your friend Shauna. Shauna got bullied for having a stutter. She rarely spoke to people she didn’t know, and you’d felt protective over her throughout middle school. You were both skeptical when Carol was assigned to sit with you two, but she barely spoke either, probably feeling outnumbered by the weird kids.

“She wasn’t very rude to my friend and I–just a few comments here or there, nothing we hadn’t heard before–but one day she said the strangest thing to us. She said that if any of her friends were rude to us, we should tell her,” you continued.

At that, Steve turned back to you, brow creased under his Raybans. 

“It was kind of presumptuous to say that we were getting bullied, so Shauna and I just nodded our heads and went back to work. I mean, we did get bullied. But it was so odd; it was the first time anyone had really acknowledged it. Carol Perkins of all people tried to break the cycle,” you smiled at him. “Obviously it didn’t change anything, but it makes you think.”

“If I knew you in school, I probably would’ve said something equally as dumb. Trying to be good, and not meaning it,” he remarked, before falling silent, his breath steadying out as he napped in the golden light of the day.

Maybe Steve was perfect. The sight of his profile was solid evidence of that; his perfectly straight nose, full lips and glowing tanned skin. More than that, knowing Steve for two months made you truly understand his popularity in school. 

Before, it all seemed so random; you could never pinpoint why some people were worshiped while others were belittled. He wasn’t the kindest person, but maybe it was different when you really knew him. This must have been how all the girls he talked to felt; giddy with excitement and special.

He broke your shared silence over sandwiches and tangerines 20 minutes later. Steve regaled you with a tale from the week: he’d spotted an ex-girlfriend of his with another guy from the basketball team. Apparently he’d hidden behind a display at Waldenbooks until they passed, leaving his ego bruised. 

“We were never serious, it was like 4 years ago, but c’mon. I’m gonna be a loser for life if I continue like this,” he complained.

“Well, that might be true. If I saw you working at Scoops in another 10 years, I’d feel really bad. But I don’t think having a summer job, even if it’s a dorky one, makes you a loser. At least you have your own money! It’s like Brad from Fast Times: he was popular, and he worked at the burger place, and everyone loved him.”

He shook his head, peeling a tangerine and setting it on your towel, before peeling another for himself. “Okay, well then I’m like when Brad had to work at the fish place, and wore that stupid pirate costume, and also got dumped by his girlfriend.”

“Being single doesn’t make you a loser either, Steve. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to get a girlfriend. I mean… is it sex? Are you lonely?” you asked with genuine concern.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned, brow creased. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this right now.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. Besides, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, you’re right. I dunno. I haven’t gotten laid in a while; women aren’t exactly jumping my bones with the hat on. But it’s like… I don’t even like any of the girls I talk to anyway,” he sighed, tossing tangerine peels into the trees. 

“I can understand that, but what’s wrong? It’s not a big town, but there has to be someone you like. Other than Nancy.” Me, maybe.

He laid back onto the towel, squinting into the sun. “They’re all stuck up, or take themselves too seriously. And they’re all expecting something from me. To be King Steve, I guess. Be a big tough guy and all suave and stuff. It’s like I can’t be myself. Or, I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Steve’s eyes glazed over in thought, staring into the sky, seeing something you couldn’t. 

I know who you are, Steve. Or I could, if you’d let me. I like you the way you are. Please look over here. Look at me. You wished that he could hear your thoughts, understand everything you were too scared to say. If he turned to you, he’d see you, shining in the sun like you saw him, and know you were the one.

“I wish I could meet someone fun and relaxed and cool. Someone that’s like you, but not you. Y’know what I mean?”

You froze completely; the heat of the day replaced with an icy chill. But not you.

“Why not me?” you asked, voice small.

He turned to you suddenly, as if just hearing himself. “No, I didn’t–that’s not what I meant.”

Your throat threatened to close, a lump swelling so large you feared your neck may explode. “What did you mean?”

Steve blanched. “I mean, because we’re friends. And coworkers; it would be kind of weird if we…”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip to prevent any noise from escaping. Steve was lying to you, you were certain of it. 'Not you' meant a girl like you, but prettier. A girl like you that didn’t talk too much, that could socialize without making a fool of herself, that was normal.

He sat up quickly, legs crossed close to you, and reached for your cheek. 

“Hey, wait, I’m sorry. Look at me,” he coaxed, trying to read your expression. For the first time since he met you, he was unable to see anything when he looked into your face. It was like your entire being had shut down, eyes staring blankly downward as your teeth bit skin.

“C’mon, look at me,” Steve had never sounded so soft as he cradled your face, tilting it upward. 

You did, seeing his face wrinkled with concern, lips pulled down. It was terrible timing to realize that his eyes weren’t actually brown, but closer to hazel; little flecks of green around the iris. They were beautiful, how it matched the foliage around you.

He was beautiful, and you’d been wrong before to not consider him handsome. He was possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing at that moment, even when he had just said the one thing that had been a curse your entire life.

But not you. But not you, but not you, not you, not you, not you.

“There you are. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, okay?” When you gave no response, he apologized again. “Did I fuck up our lake day? I’ll drive you home.”

At that, you gave a weak smile, and gently removed his hand from your cheek.

“I drove here, remember?”

His eyes widened just a bit at his mistake. “Oh shit, you’re right. I’m used to driving Robin everywhere, I guess…”

You nodded, at a loss for words.

“Maybe we should pack up for the day. We’ll get burnt if we stay out here much longer,” you said, standing up. You didn’t wait for Steve’s response as you shimmied your clothes back on, reaching down to dust off your towel.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, enough fun for one day, I think,” you replied, hauling your bag over your shoulder. Without waiting for Steve, you walked back in the direction of your car, ignoring his call for you to hold up.

You walked briskly through the trees, branches scraping at your arms and legs with tiny scratches that you couldn’t mind. As soon as you spotted your dented Dodge, your body filled with small relief. Once you got in, you’d be home free, no longer have to look into Steve’s pitying eyes.

How embarrassing could you be, getting so emotional over a remark like that? What did you expect; that Steve Harrington of all people was going to fall head over heels for his coworker from the ice cream shop? You were such an idiot.

“Wait up! Hold on!”

You turned from where you had just opened the driver’s side door to see Steve, disheveled with his shirt on inside out, swim shorts still on, approaching you quickly. You paused, waiting as he halted quickly at your side.

“Are we… Are we good?” He asked hesitantly.

You wanted to yell at him. Are we good? Evidently not. 

“We’re good,” you reassured, and despite the fact that you both knew that you were lying, you climbed into the car anyway. You tried not to watch Steve in your rearview, standing pathetically next to his Beamer, bag hanging limply in one hand as you drove away.

It wasn’t easy, but you had managed to rearrange your entire schedule for the week. You weren’t scheduled with Steve in the days that followed your lake escapade, which would usually have you clawing the walls. It was a blessing in disguise now, no longer having to face the man that had broken your heart.

Gary and Todd were good sports when you called them and begged to switch days with them so you didn’t have to see him at work. You had a wonky schedule, having to get up much earlier than usual to make it on time, closing and opening back to back, but it was worth it if it meant you didn’t have to confront that awful feeling.

“God, Harrington is such an idiot. I’ll kill him for you, if you want,” Robin had said when you told her at work the next day.

You shook your head weakly. “I’m mad, but I don’t know if I should even be mad. I mean, if he doesn’t like me, whose fault is that? Nobody; he can’t help it if he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“It’s not about that, it’s the way that he said it! That must have been horrible; anyone would be upset about hearing that,” Robin explained, before turning to the register. It’d been a long day; there was hardly time for talking with how many customers there were.

“Banana boat with the works, two sugar, one with Black Cherry Boat and one with Sea Salt Caramel,” she called to you.

“Jesus Christ, when is this gonna end,” you muttered to yourself, arm deep in rock solid ice cream. Maybe the rush would take your mind off of Steve, but all you could think about were the horrible jokes he would make at a time like this, the humming he would do along to the Top 100 hits that played. The way he’d take over, peeling the bananas to make your job as easy as possible.

After the rush died, Robin pulled you to the back. “Listen, I support your decision to ignore him, but you have to know that the dingus is probably going to bother you nonstop until you hear him out. You have to be ready for that.”

“Why would he do that?”

She sighed, running her hands over her face. “Even if he doesn’t have feelings for you, you guys are friends. One bad day won't change that for him. And even though he is a complete dumbass, we both know deep down that he’s a good guy. Don’t get me wrong, he should be punished. But I know he’s gonna try his best to make you crack.”

Robin had turned out to be completely right. He'd left notes stuck to the whiteboard that said things like I’m sorry! and Please call me, which you tossed into the trash instantly. Even Todd had been recruited to get Steve back in your good graces.

“He really didn’t tell me what’s going on, but he told me to tell you that he’s sorry for what he said,” Todd relayed, looking bored out of his mind.

When you didn’t answer, he spoke again. “What did Harrington do, anyway? Was he really that bad of a boyfriend?”

At that, you threw down the rag you held into the bucket of soapy water where it belonged. “He was never my boyfriend,” you gritted out.

The closest you’d gotten to speaking to Steve was a week and a half after the lake day, when your phone rang from its place on your side table. You answered it absent-mindedly, freezing when you heard the sound of Steve’s voice softly calling your name.

“Hello? Are you th–”

You slammed the phone back onto the receiver, heart racing. You hadn’t heard his voice in days, the way it softly cradled your ear. The sound of your name rolling off of his tongue, like it was Scripture. You missed him so much, it felt like you were being carved from the inside out. It would’ve been easy to answer his call and say it. Yes, I forgive you. Let’s be friends forever. But not you. Not you.

If you went back to work with him, it could be business as usual. Everyday would be jokes and watching his back, like longing wasn’t stuck in your throat. But you knew the truth: you’d gotten too close. You’d convinced yourself that Steve might feel the same way. That he could ever see you as more than a coworker; as more than a friend. With that, you’d killed what barely had a chance to live.

Two Wednesdays after the lake day, you sat home alone. Your parents were off visiting an uncle, leaving you to stretch across the house all by yourself. Outside, the sun had begun to set in a wash of orange and pink, disappearing slowly behind the silhouette of trees. A re-run of Cheers was playing on the T.V; an episode you didn’t care about, and only wanted on for background noise while you read.

A quick knock at the door made you perk up. You weren’t expecting anyone, and were uninterested in managing a door-to-door salesman. On T.V, Sam Malone was wiping glasses. You looked back down to your book, only for the knocking to start again. 

Jesus Christ, who could that possibly be? You set the book aside, and went up to the door. It swung open to reveal Steve, dressed up in a striped polo, hair a floppy mess, as though he’d been running his hands through it.

“Steve?” You hadn’t seen him in two weeks, and now he was standing on your front porch. “What are you doing here? How do you… how do you know where I live?”

He ran his hand through his hair again, pieces falling over his forehead. “I looked it up in the phonebook. Since I already have your number.”

“Oh. Okay,” you squeaked, suddenly feeling exposed. You were dressed in little linen shorts and a big shirt, feet clad in slippers. No one had ever seen you in your house clothes; now Steve Harrington was at your door, witness to your most intimate self. 

“So... what are you doing here?” 

He stared at you, mouth tight, scanning your face as if looking for a tiny pinpoint answer hidden in your eyelashes or skin. 

“I needed to see you. I mean, it’s been two weeks. We used to see each other almost everyday,” he said.

“Why did you need to see me? Did something happen?” You frowned. Not once had you ever seen this expression on Steve’s face; so unsure and sad. Maybe he was sick or…

“Because… I missed you. I didn’t realize how used I got to seeing you until you weren’t there anymore. I know when I say that it makes it sound like I’m just thinking about myself, but I had to come talk to you today,” he admitted.

You shifted from one leg to another, antsy.

“I missed you too, Steve. I just thought it’d be good for us to get some space after that day. I didn’t want to make things more weird, but maybe I already did.”

“No; I’m the one who made things weird, not you. I’m such an idiot for what I said to you the other day. When I said that I’d date someone like you. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop, and if I could kick my own ass I would. Hell, I’d be lucky if you even wanted to date me, not the other way around.”

He stepped closer, inches away from you. One hand braced the smooth wood of the doorway.

Your face softened at his words. “You don’t have to apologize about it anymore; I forgive you. We can keep being friends.”

“Fuck, I don’t want to be friends, okay?” Steve ran his free hand through his hair again. “All I can think about lately is you. Not because I feel bad, or I pity you, but because you’re the best thing that’s happened to me all Summer.”

You stared at him, eyes wide in shock. Your throat was completely dry, leaving you speechless; not that you’d know what to say, anyway.

“You’re the most interesting, funniest person I’ve ever met in my life. Every time I’d see you at work I’d get excited because I knew I was going to have the best shift in my life. That day at the lake should’ve been perfect. I should’ve told you all of this; that you’re amazing,” he cupped your cheek at that moment, just like he had at the lake. This time it left your heart racing with anticipation, his warmth radiating into you. “That you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You whispered his name softly, unable to believe what you just heard. At any moment your heart could burst out of your chest and shoot into the sky. 

“You… You like me?”

He tilted your face up slightly, before leaning in. Your lips brushed against each other lightly, almost hesitantly, as if giving you space to pull away before he pressed closer. 

Both of Steve’s hands cupped your face, one reaching back to settle on the back of your neck. You brought arms up to his shoulders, and allowed your hands to tangle in his hair. It was even softer than you imagined, and you wished you could pinch yourself and make sure none of it was a dream. He gave a small moan in your mouth as you scratched gently against his scalp. File that away for later.

When you pulled away, you found Steve with flushed cheeks and lips glossy from yours. You held his shoulders while he brushed his thumb against the lines of your face, moving down to hold your waist. 

“Yes, I do like you. I really, really like you.”

“That’s such a relief,” you smiled, “I really like you, too.”

Steve grinned, moving to kiss you again. “I give you permission to kick my ass if I ever hurt you like that again. You can slap me, if you want.”

You held him just an inch from your lips, “That won’t be necessary, I think. All will be forgiven if you just make it up to me.”

He guided you into the house with hands moving down to your hips, lips against yours. “I’ll start right now.”

omg. very afraid that he's ooc or that this story sucks and makes no sense but i had to get it out of my system. if u enjoyed feel free to leave a like/comment/reblog!

You’d fallen for John Tucker by complete accident. Sweet, shy you, slightly introverted at heart, had no interest in athletes, especially the hockey boys with their big heads. Were they undeniably hot? Absolutely. Their egos and excessive ability to make themselves the loudest, most apparent people in the room overrode their looks, though, at least in your opinion.

Enter sweet, caring Tucker with his disarming smile and charm, who completely blew away your expectations and changed your perspective on dating athletes. Grace had set the two of you up, insisting that he would be perfect for you, and you almost ghosted him by failing to show up for the first date.

Going on that date, however, would turn out to be one of the greatest decisions you’d make to date.

Tucker was the perfect boyfriend, a true gentleman through and through. He’d hold doors open for you, insisting that pretty girls should have a man waiting on their every need. He cooked meals for you many times a week, packing you lunch or dinner with a sticky note love letter on top on the off chances you couldn’t eat with each other in person. Above all, he was your rock. He kept you tethered when life felt too wild, showed up for you in all the ways and places you needed him to be, and made sure you felt nothing but respected and cherished.

Your confession of love was as easy as breathing, something that deep down just made complete sense.

It was past midnight, one of the rare nights where regardless of what you tried, you couldn’t fall asleep. You’d been texting Tucker back and forth and made the mistake of mentioning your sudden insomnia to him. He'd insisted on coming to your dorm to keep you company and offered to make grilled cheese to share in the kitchen. Despite you telling him he didn't have to, he showed up at your door 1 AM, grilled cheese supplies in hand. You had one of his hoodies on, and he pretended that it didn’t make his heart race.

You’re rambling on and on about a class that was driving you nuts. He catches bits and pieces of the story you were amid telling, but above all else, a realization stops him dead in his tracks.

He could listen to you talk for hours. Hell, he could listen to you talk for the rest of his life if he were to be so lucky.

Suddenly, a future with you was the easiest thing in the world for him to picture. He couldn’t imagine living life without you. So, as he plated the grilled cheese, he turned around, placed it on the kitchen table, and blurted, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Real smooth, Tuck. You’re no Cassanova, that’s for damn sure.

Silence stretched in your dorm, the only sound Tucker heard being the pounding of his heart in his ears. You stared at him, all wide eyed and shocked, and he wondered if he had just completely thrown away the best relationship of his life.

All his worries melted away, however, when you gave him a soft smile that only proved more how gone for you he was. “I love you too.”

The rest, as they say, was history.

Soon after your confessions, Tucker insisted you come to the house he shared with his roommates and meet the other 3. You’d heard about them and their antics before from what he’d told you, but you’d also seen his self-confidence issues which stemmed from that. Everyone thirsted after Garrett, Dean, and Logan (who puck bunnies had deemed as the ‘Hotter John’), and Tucker felt left behind.

He confided to you how often he’d stare in the mirror and analyze every detail, wondering what was so wrong with him or what the other guys had that he didn’t. With your help, love, and care, Tucker was finally starting to feel worthy of affection, which is why him inviting you over to meet the guys was such a big step.

He was no longer afraid of you meeting the guys and thinking one was hotter or falling for someone else; you only had eyes for him.

You’d tried a few times to back out. You were nervous about the other guys thinking Tucker was out of your league or that you simply didn’t fit in with their chaotic, yet cohesive puzzle. He insisted they wouldn’t, and when you saw his eyes dim at the prospect of you not showing up and avoiding his friends, you knew that meeting them was non-negotiable.

Tucker was on his second clean of the entire house in the last 12 hours. He’d scrubbed every surface imaginable, making everything look as neat and presentable as humanly possible.

“Dude, chill out.” Garrett laughed. “You’re acting like the queen’s coming or something.”

“To him, she might as well be.” Dean chimed in.

“Guys, I’m serious, so help me God, if you do anything to scare her off and ruin things I’ll kill you all.” He held up the knife he was washing for the third time in their direction, jokingly pointing it back and forth. “Remember I know where you live.”

“Relax, Tuck.” Logan interjected. “We’ll play nice…for now. Plus, Grace already sent me a dozen texts reminding me to be welcoming, and I can never deny my woman.”

A sudden knock at the door broke off any remaining conversation. Tucker scrambled to take his cleaning gloves off, putting the last of the sparkling silverware (that you probably wouldn’t even see tonight!) away and running to the door. He checked his appearance, giving the guys one last look that told them he meant what he said, and opened the door.

You stood a foot away from the door, wringing your hands in front of you nervously and staring downward at a spot at his shoes that you suddenly found very interesting.

“Hey, sweetheart.” All signs of tension drained from both of your bodies at the same time, as if you were each other’s own personal solutions to creating happiness.

You opted for a smile as your own form of greeting, stepping into his outstretched arms and embracing him tightly. He smelled the way he usually did, which you loved, but there was also a strong undertone of something chemical-like. Bleach? Disinfectant?

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Tucker broke away, gesturing toward you. “My girlfriend.”

Dean was the first to speak, bowing dramatically and extending an arm forward, “My lady, what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance.” He leaned back up, shooting you a smirk and a wink.

Garrett smacked his arm, earning a dramatic “Ow!” in response, before saying, “Hey, Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet the girl Tucker talks about at least ten times a day.”

Tucker shifted subtly, his face warming at being called out so bluntly. You grabbed his hand and squeezed, sending him a reassuring smile that you found the information to be incredibly endearing.

“It really is nice to finally meet you.” Logan chimed in. “We haven’t seen Tuck here this happy in a long time. Now we finally can put the face to the name of the woman of his dreams.”

You finally spoke, “It’s nice to meet you guys, too. Whoever is important to Tucker is also important to me.” The look he gave you in response out of total admiration could’ve made butter melt.

“Say, Y/N,” Dean started, wanting to get to know you better and share stories, “Have you heard of the time Tucker had to make an entire friendsgiving feast unplanned and the turkey ended up going up in flames?”

“And then he caught me in the tub with a vibrating pink dildo, buzzing happily away in my hand.” Cue hysterical laughter from around the table.

Long later, after getting to know all the boys over dinner, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the boys weren’t as egotistical and overbearing as you thought. Conversation ended up flowing easier than expected, and after taking a little time to loosen up (maybe or maybe not with the help of some alcohol…), you would even join in on their banter at some points. Tucker was over the moon to see all his favorite, closest people in one place getting along so well, and kept pondering if 6 months was too soon to go ring shopping. It absolutely was, but hey, a guy could dream, right?

The other girls were all out for the night, Grace at the radio station and Hannah and Allie having their own night in, so the boys eventually migrated to the couch to watch a sports show with beers in hand. You opted to stay in the kitchen and help Tucker clean up, washing dishes and bumping hips with shared smiles and laughter.

“Fuck, man.” Dean groaned. “They’re so perfect and mushy gushy for each other it makes me nauseous.”

“Dude, you and Allie get caught making goo goo eyes and shoving your tongues down each other’s throats almost daily. I think we can handle one more man in love.” Logan peeked behind him, catching Tucker wiping dish soap bubbles from your cheek as you laughed in his hold. “They really do make the perfect pair.”

“Domestic as hell, too.” Garrett agreed. “They’ll be married and settled down somewhere before we know it. Hell, it’ll probably happen right after we bust out of this joint.”

All three agreed on one thing, however- you were simply meant to be.

Behind them, you and Tucker were wrapped in a sweet embrace, leaning in to press soft pecks against each other’s mouths. You were completely oblivious to the guys behind you placing bets on how long each phase of your relationship would last.

Maybe it would be two years. Perhaps five. It didn’t matter; all Tucker knew from that moment on was that you were undoubtedly his soulmate.

He’d prove to you for the rest of your lives why he was worthy of your love, but as you looked at him with nothing but adoration and pure, true love in your eyes, he knew you were in it for good, too.

BONUS: His attention was, however, caught by a familiar teasing voice belonging to none other than Dean from where he sat on the couch.

“Ring by spriiiiiing…”

You and John Tucker are what people would say to be polar opposites.

You’re carefree and go with the flow, while he’s attentive and meticulous. He plans events and schedules parties, while you show up with a six pack of alcohol and hopes of having a good time. He’s a sweetheart, yet more shy and anxiety-ridden, while you’re outgoing and able to chat with just about anyone.

Technically, the two of you shouldn’t mix well, but you’ve always secretly hoped so badly that somehow you could.

You’d just finished telling the group surrounding you in the quad a joke, and everyone was laughing. Well, everyone except Tucker, that is.

He had his hands stuck in his jean pockets, looking around at anyone and everything besides you. Your heart stopped momentarily, smile immediately slipping from your lips and shoulders dropping slightly.

“Damn, Y/N, that was a killer!” Dean praised, clapping you on the shoulder.

“I agree.” Allie chimed in. “You always know just how to make us laugh when we need it.”

“Oh, thanks! What can I say, in another life I was a stand-up comedian, I’m sure of it.” Your conversation continued with the group, but you couldn’t help your eyes from straying over to Tucker every second. He still hadn’t met your gaze once.

You’re being really annoying again. Stop talking before everyone gets sick of you. Tucker hates it when you ramble. Just let other people take the lead and shut up for a bit.

“Hey, are you heading to the fair tonight?” Hannah asked you. “It’s only in town this weekend. Garrett and I were going to go for a bit if you wanted to stop by.”

You pondered the idea for a second, before suddenly remembering there was one big flaw in the idea of attending. “Maybe. Logan’s got my car in the shop though, so I’d have to walk there.”

“Tucker will take you! He doesn’t have anything going on. You guys can take my truck. Grace and I won’t be going until tomorrow night.” Logan told you, looking over at Tucker with what seemed to be a shit eating grin.

Tucker snapped his head in Logan’s direction, shooting him a glare. “Oh, uh, actually, I have to make those appetizers for the party on Sunday.” He rambled, now facing entirely away from you. “What kind of host would I be if I left my guests hungry?”

He was lying and you knew it. Garrett had told you days prior that Tucker had spent the first few days of the week going crazy in the kitchen, getting all the food prepared and ready to go.

Feeling defeated and forlorn, you sighed, letting out a meek, “I get it. Listen, I’ve gotta go; I’ll see you guys later.” You turned on your heel, speedwalking towards your next class while hiding the tears of frustration welling in your eyes. Some of your friends called out their goodbyes, to which you held up a hand weakly behind you as a form of waving.

If you had stayed even a minute longer, you might’ve caught Dean’s “Really, man? ‘Appetizers’? When are you finally going to get the balls to ask her out?” Followed by Tucker’s “I know, man! I got nervous! I want to ask her out the right way.” “That was the right way right fucking there, genius.”

Instead, you sank into your seat in the classroom, heart hurting at the presumed fact that you were just too much for him to be able to love.

(Unknown Number); Hey, it’s Tucker!

(Unknown Number): Sorry for the random texts. Hannah gave me your number so I could talk to you. Hope that’s okay.

(Unknown Number): Anyway, I ended up finishing the appetizers way sooner than expected, and I was wondering if you wanted to go to the fair with me? I can pick you up.

(Unknown Number): No pressure, though, obviously

y/n: oh hey, Tuck! absolutely! you can pick me up around 6 if you want.

Tucker :): Great! Looking forward to it.

You could burn a hole through your carpet with how much you were pacing back and forth. Your heart was racing, nervous enough that you could feel the sweat in your palms.

You couldn’t stop the nagging voice in the back of your head from wondering if he was only doing this out of pity for you. After all, he’d shown almost no interest in you until an hour ago, never fully having a conversation together or connecting on a deeper level.

Two polite knocks at your door had you running to turn the knob, stopping yourself just short of it. Play it cool, he won’t like it if you’re hyper.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to Tucker standing there with a bouquet of pink roses clutched tightly in one hand.

“Hey,” He greeted, outstretching his arm in your direction. “These are for you. I know you probably think it’s weird I got you pink roses, but they signal admiration and I wanted to make sure you know how much I admire you. If you don’t like them I can probably go buy some red-“

“Tucker.” You cut off his nervous rambling with a reassuring smile. “I love them. You really didn’t have to do that.”

Where was the Tucker from this morning who wouldn’t even glance in your direction? Who you’d barely spoken more than a few sentences with at a time?

You decided you really liked this version of him. Maybe you were wrong about him thinking you were a nuisance.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Of course I did. I’m taking one of the most gorgeous girls on campus to the fair with me, which has just made my entire year, by the way.”

You moved in the direction of your kitchen, pulling down the one vase your friend had gifted you (“You never know when a hot guy will swoop in and try to win you over with flowers!”) and setting the roses inside.

“Should we get going then?”

“Of course. After you, my lady.” He gestured toward the door, hand settling on your lower back as the two of you exited your dorm. He grabbed every single door for you on the way out, even stepping ahead of you to open and close your passenger door of Logan’s truck.

“I was taught to mind my manners.” The sheepish grin that accompanied his statement only made your heart flutter even worse. “When you’re out with a pretty lady, she shouldn’t have to lift a finger. At least not with me.”

The entire drive to the fair, he kept glancing in your direction, as if he couldn’t believe you were in the truck with him. His hands twitched as if he were trying to restrain himself from reaching out to touch you; not that you would’ve minded regardless.

As he pulled into a parking spot on the lawn just outside of the fair, you glanced at each other simultaneously, sharing a nervous, sweet smile before he hopped out to come open your door for you.

A part of you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that everything had changed so fast between the two of you. Just this morning you were convinced he hated you, and now you almost thought the exact opposite. You bumped shoulders as you walked side by side, sharing easy conversations and sharing excited looks.

“Hey, look who decided to join the party!” Garrett called from his spot on one of the picnic tables next to Hannah. “What took you so long?”

“Had to finish my appetizers, remember?” Tucker responded, waiting until you sat on the bench opposite the other couple before sitting down himself.

“Yeah, if by appetizers you mean pacing in front of your mirror for hours trying to make sure everything’s perfect for your crush…”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hannah chided, whacking Garrett on the arm and receiving an exaggeratedhuff in response. “Now, who wants to go on some rides before it gets too late?”

The four of you spent the next two hours riding everything you possibly could. Tucker tried to casually throw his arm around your side of the Himalaya ride, which ended up with you being pressed tightly to him as it spun faster in circles. The same could be said for the zipper, except he grabbed your hand that time and held it even after you’d gotten off.

You tried to ignore the butterflies every time he became affectionate with you, or the way you’d feel warm inside every time he gave you a soft look, but trying to hold down your feelings was useless.

Eventually, you ended up at the Ferris wheel. Hannah and Garrett had hopped on the cart before yours, sending you a secret thumbs up while smiling and him giving Tucker a wink.

As your cart ascended the wheel, you decided that now would be as good of a time as ever to get your feelings out into the open.

“You know, I thought you hated me until tonight.”

He almost choked on his own spit, stuttering out a “W-what? How could you think that?”

“Yeah, I really did. I figured you were annoyed by how much I talk and stuff. You never looked my way before now and treated me like I had the plague or something.” You shrugged. “I would’ve understood either way. I know I can be a bit much sometimes.”

He reached forward on instinct, taking your hands and grasping them in his own.

“Hey, no, don’t talk about yourself that way. You’re not a bit much whatsoever. If I’m being honest here, I’ve been too nervous to talk to you because to me, you’re perfect.”

It was your turn to be shocked, stuttering out a huh? of your own.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I shouldn’t have made you feel annoying, that’s completely my fault and I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to prove to you that you’re truly my dream girl. I’m so far gone for you that it turned into a running joke between the guys, making jabs at me for not asking you out any chance I could. I’m head over heels in love with you and I’m ready for the whole world to know it.”

He inched closer to you in the cart, moving to your side and cupping your face in his hands.

“Will you let me make it up to you somehow? I’ll do anything, baby. Just say the word and it’s yours. Everything within me is yours for the taking.” He laughed softly. “Well, everything besides my heart. That was already yours from the beginning.”

“Well, I could think of something…” you teased.

“Name it, baby. I’ll do it.”

“Can you please just kiss me already?”

His smile grew impossibly wider, nodding before leaning in to join your lips in a kiss that left you breathless and aching for more.

Hannah and Garrett leaned down from the cart above you, trying to maneuver themselves to be able to see what was happening between the two of you.

“Ouch, that’s my foot you’re you stepping on!” Garrett hissed.

“Shush! I need to see what’s happening!”

“I knew letting you plan this scheme would be a bad idea.”

“You take that back right now! Look, it really worked! They’re kissing!”

Hannah held her phone dangerously far outside of the cart, trying to catch a shot of your special moment. She squealed louder than she should have upon seeing you two locked in a sweet, passionate embrace, snapping a picture and sending it to the group chat that had everyone besides the two of you in it.

Han Han: (image attachment)

Safe to say Operation: Tucker’s in Love was a huge success <3

<3

The first time Tucker saw you, you almost took out an entire row of glasses at Malone’s. Not one, not two, but an entire row.

It happened on a Friday night, which meant the bar was already packed with students pretending they didn’t have assignments due, hockey players pretending they weren’t exhausted from practice, and Della behind the counter pretending she wasn’t five seconds away from throwing someone out for ordering another round only to forget what they’d asked for immediately.

You were new, and that much was obvious. Not because you were bad at the job, exactly, but because you still had the bright, nervous energy of someone who hadn’t yet learned that Malone’s on a Friday night was less a bar and more a sticky-floored battlefield.

You came out from behind the counter with a tray balanced carefully in both hands, brows pinched in concentration as your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You were wearing black jeans and a Malone’s blue shirt, your hair pulled back messily, as if you’d done it in a rush, and Tucker found himself noticing you before he could think better of it.

He noticed the way you smiled at a customer who was definitely being too loud. He noticed the way you thanked Della twice when she moved around you. He noticed how hard you were trying to do everything right.

And then you set the tray down on the bar too quickly, caught the edge of a napkin holder, and sent three clean glasses tipping into each other with a loud, terrible clatter.

Everyone at the table flinched. Dean was the first to turn around, Garrett’s attention snapped away from whatever Hannah was saying, and Logan started laughing before he’d even fully figured out what had happened.

You froze immediately.

“Oh my god,” you said, hands flying up like you were surrendering to the glasses. “I’m so sorry. I swear I’m usually less of a disaster when no one’s watching.”

Della sighed, though there was already affection in it. “Sweetheart, nobody expects grace here. Just survival.”

Dean grinned from the booth where he sat with the boys. “Ten out of ten entrance.”

Garrett kicked him under the table without even looking at him.

You winced, cheeks burning, and immediately started gathering the glasses before any of them could fall off the bar.

Tucker was on his feet before he’d even thought about moving.

“Here,” he said, already grabbing a stack of napkins from the end of the counter and stepping closer. “I got it.”

You looked up at him, startled, like you hadn’t expected someone to help instead of laugh. Something weird shifted in Tucker’s chest.

“Oh,” you said, your voice softening. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, steadying one of the glasses before it could roll off the edge. He gave you a small smile. “First Friday?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little,” he said, smile tugging at his mouth.

Your mouth curved into an embarrassed but sweet smile, and Tucker noticed the way your whole face seemed to warm with it.

Dean, because of course he did, leaned over the booth and said, “Careful, Tuck. She might make you work for free.”

You glanced between them, your smile still lingering. “Tuck?”

“Tucker,” he said, handing over the glass he’d rescued. “John Tucker.”

You took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for half a second.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said. Then you looked down at the glasses, sighed, and added, “Apparently also a public safety hazard.”

Tucker laughed, not because it was that funny, though it was, but because you were smiling at him like you were happy he had.

That was the first thing Tucker noticed. Not that you were the prettiest girl in the room, though you were. Not that you were the clumsy new waitress, though the boys would absolutely bring that up later. Not even that you were the transfer student Hannah had mentioned once, the one who’d started working at Malone’s because she needed extra money, and Della liked hiring people she could boss around.

The first thing was that you looked at Tucker like he was the one you were talking to — not the guy beside Dean, not Garrett’s friend, not one of the hockey boys. Him.

It was a stupid thing to notice, so of course Tucker noticed.

Over the next few weeks, you became part of Malone’s the way some people became part of a song — slowly at first, then all at once.

You were there on Fridays and sometimes Saturdays, always with your hair tied back in a way that never lasted more than an hour before pieces started falling loose around your face. You learned the regulars’ orders faster than anyone expected. You learned Della’s moods, learned that Dean always said he wanted something different before ordering the same beer anyway, that Logan would steal fries from whoever sat too close, that Garrett was polite because Hannah elbowed him when he forgot, and that Allie always tipped too much because she knew what the job felt like.

And Tucker — you learned his drink by the third Friday. That shouldn’t have affected him. It did anyway.

“You want the usual?” you asked, already reaching for it as he and the boys slid into their booth after the game.

Dean stopped mid-sentence and turned slowly toward Tucker, wearing the most irritating smile imaginable. Logan looked absolutely delighted. Garrett looked like he was trying very hard not to seem delighted. Tucker ignored every single one of them.

“You remembered?” he asked, which was the wrong thing to say because it made him sound surprised.

You blinked at him, then smiled. “You order the same thing every time.”

“So does Dean,” Tucker said.

“Yeah, but Dean changes his mind three times before going back to the same thing. You have to prepare for that emotionally.”

Garrett laughed quietly into his drink.

Dean put a hand over his chest. “I feel attacked.”

“You should,” Allie said, appearing beside him like she’d been summoned by the opportunity to tease him. “It was accurate.”

You grinned and slid Tucker his drink first, and he hated how quickly he liked it—hated how his eyes followed you when you walked away to help another table. Hated even more that Dean noticed immediately.

“Oh, you’re so in trouble.”

Tucker glanced at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything specific,” Dean said.

“You didn’t need to.”

Logan leaned forward, as if this were crucial evidence. “She gave you your drink first.”

“Because I was sitting closest.”

“You weren’t,” Garrett said.

Tucker shot him a look. “Aren’t you supposed to be mature now?”

Garrett shrugged, his arm around Hannah. “I’m in a relationship, not dead.”

Across the room, you laughed at something Della said, nearly dropped a pen, caught it against your chest, and looked far too proud of yourself for saving it.

Tucker tried not to smile, and failed.

Dean pointed at Tucker’s face as he’d just found evidence. “That. Right there. That’s pathetic.”

Tucker picked up his drink, unimpressed. “You’re literally dating Allie.”

“Yes, and I became pathetic in public. It’s part of the process.”

“I’m not becoming anything,” Tucker said.

“Sure,” Dean said.

Tucker knew exactly what they thought.

He knew how it looked: new girl, pretty smile, sweet enough to make everyone in the room feel like she was happy to see them. Of course, he liked her. Everyone probably liked her. You were the kind of person people noticed because you made it easy for them. You asked questions, laughed without trying to seem cool, apologized to chairs when you bumped into them, and once gave a drunk sophomore a full pep talk because he looked sad over mozzarella sticks.

You were sunshine in a place that mostly smelled like beer and fried food.

Tucker told himself that was all it was: you were friendly, and he was interested because of it. It didn’t mean you were interested back.

Girls usually went for guys like Dean: loud, confident, easy to flirt with because he did half the work for them. Or Garrett, with the captain thing and that accidental golden-boy charm, even though Hannah would probably murder anyone who tried. Or Logan, who looked like trouble and knew exactly how to make it work.

Tucker was the nice one, the safe one, the one girls asked to hold their coats while they danced with someone else.

He’d made peace with that a long time ago — mostly. Then, on the fourth Friday, you proved you were going to be a problem.

It was later than usual, with the crowd thinning out around midnight and the booths left sticky and half-empty. Tucker had ended up at the bar while the others argued over whether to go back to the house or order food. You were wiping down the counter with your sleeves pushed up, cheeks flushed from the long shift.

“You’re staring again,” you said, not even looking up.

Tucker blinked at you. “What?”

You glanced at him, eyes bright with amusement. “I said you’re staring.”

“I wasn’t,” he said.

“You were,” you said.

“I was just thinking,” he said.

“About the counter?” you asked.

“It’s a very interesting counter.”

You smiled, and Tucker felt stupidly pleased with himself for being the reason.

“You always do that,” you said, still smiling.

“Stare at counters?” he asked.

“No,” you said, leaning your hip against the bar. “Make jokes when I catch you looking at me.”

Tucker’s throat went dry.

That wasn’t fair. You couldn’t look that sweet and then say things like that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You hummed like you didn’t believe him, which was fair, considering he sounded ridiculous.

Dean appeared at Tucker’s shoulder at the worst possible time, because of course he did. “He never does.”

Tucker closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “Go away.”

Dean grinned at you because, apparently, subtlety had never been an option. “Has he asked you out yet?”

Tucker’s head snapped toward Dean. “Jesus Christ.”

You froze for half a second before your face went pink.

Dean looked like Christmas had just come early.

“Oh,” Dean said slowly, looking far too pleased. “Interesting.”

“Dean,” Tucker said, warning clear in his voice.

You cleared your throat and turned back to the counter, trying to hide your smile. “Does he need help with that?”

Tucker stared at you, Dean made a sound like he’d been shot, and Garrett yelled from the booth, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tucker said, far too quickly.

Dean turned back toward the table. “Tucker’s dying.”

“I’m fine,” Tucker said.

You were still smiling down at the counter like you hadn’t just caused chaos.

Tucker didn’t recover for the rest of the night.

After that, things changed. Not dramatically, and not enough that anyone else would’ve called it obvious — except maybe Dean, who called everything obvious if it helped him be annoying. But Tucker felt it.

You started lingering near him when the bar slowed down. You leaned across the counter when you talked to him, chin propped in your hand and eyes warm with focus. You asked about his classes. His practices. His stupid sandwich preference after Logan tried to convince you Tucker had “boring taste,” which somehow turned into a ten-minute argument about whether turkey counted as a personality flaw.

You also started touching him. Not much, just enough to ruin him.

Your fingers brushed his wrist when you set down his drink. Your knee bumped his when you sat beside him for five minutes during your break. Your hand landed briefly on his shoulder when you squeezed past him behind the bar, soft and apologetic and completely unnecessary.

Tucker told himself you were probably like that with everyone, right up until he watched you tell Dean to stop leaning over the bar because he was “ruining the ecosystem,” and decided maybe you weren’t.

By the sixth Friday, Della had started looking at both of you like she knew something neither of you had admitted yet.

That was also the night everything finally clicked into place.

The boys came in late after an away game, tired and loud, their faces flushed from the cold. Hannah and Allie were with them, bundled in coats and already claiming a booth while Dean declared he was starving with the drama of a man who hadn’t eaten in years.

You were working closing again, and Tucker tried very hard not to look too happy about that. Failed, probably.

From behind the bar, you caught his eye and smiled so brightly that his chest went warm.

“The usual?” you asked.

Dean groaned, as if he were personally offended. “This is disgusting.”

You laughed, confused. “What?”

“He’s smiling like an idiot,” Dean said.

Tucker elbowed him in the side.

You looked at Tucker, smile softening as you asked, “Are you?”

“No,” Tucker said.

“He is,” Logan called from the booth.

“He absolutely is,” Garrett added from the booth.

Tucker stared at Garrett. “You too?”

Garrett lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m just observing.”

You set his drink down in front of him, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “For the record, I don’t mind.”

Tucker forgot how to speak, and you walked away before he could find a response.

Dean leaned closer, his voice low enough that only Tucker could hear. “If you don’t ask her out tonight, I’m doing it for you.”

“You are not doing anything,” Tucker said.

“Then do something,” Dean said.

Tucker looked toward the bar, where you were reaching for a stack of napkins and laughing at something Hannah had said. You nearly knocked over a bottle with your elbow, caught it just in time, and then looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

Tucker had. You saw him seeing you, and your nose scrunched with embarrassment. He smiled before he could stop himself.

Dean sighed, as if this were personally exhausting. “God, you two are unbearable.”

Tucker looked away, like that settled it. “She’s just friendly.”

Dean stared at him.

“What?”

“Are you actually stupid?”

“Wow. Very helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Dean said, glancing toward you before looking back at Tucker. “That girl has been making heart eyes at you for a month.”

“She’s nice to everyone,” Tucker said.

“She threatened to pour soda on Logan last week,” Dean said.

Logan looked up from stealing Allie’s fries. “I deserved that.”

Dean continued, with the patience of someone explaining something painfully obvious, “She likes you.”

Tucker shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of the words. “You don’t know that.”

Dean’s expression softened slightly, which was somehow worse. “Tuck.”

“Don’t,” Tucker said.

“I’m just saying,” Dean started.

“I know what you’re saying,” Tucker said, his voice coming out lower than he meant. “But she’s new. She’s nice. And she has all of you literally sitting here every week. I’m not going to assume she’s looking at me like that just because I want her to.”

For once, Dean went quiet.

Tucker regretted saying it immediately. Not because it wasn’t true, because it was, but because he’d never said it out loud before. And, of course, because timing apparently wasn’t on his side, he looked up and saw you standing a few feet away with a tray in your hands, your expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

Tucker’s stomach dropped. You had heard. Maybe not all of it, but enough.

You blinked once, then gave him a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Della said last call.”

Then you turned and walked back to the bar.

Dean leaned back slowly, the teasing finally slipping from his face.

Tucker dragged a hand over his face, guilt hitting all at once. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, quieter now. “That one might be on you.”

The next twenty minutes were horrible. You weren’t rude, and somehow, that made it worse. You were still sweet when you cleared the table, still smiling when Hannah hugged you goodbye, still telling Logan he couldn’t take the basket of fries with him because it was “not a souvenir.” But you didn’t linger near Tucker, didn’t brush his hand, didn’t smile at him first.

By the time the others left, Dean gave him one very pointed look from the door. Tucker ignored it, mostly because he deserved it.

He stayed behind while you wiped down the bar, sitting at the end with his coat folded beside him like he wasn’t sure where else to put himself. Della had disappeared into the back, clearly on purpose, and without the usual noise, the bar felt strange. Softer. Too quiet.

You didn’t look at him for a while, and Tucker let you have that.

Eventually, you set the rag down with a sigh. “Are you waiting for Della or me?”

“You,” he said. You glanced up, and he swallowed. “If that’s okay.”

You looked at him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You seemed surprised by that, so Tucker kept going before he could lose his nerve. “For what I said earlier. You weren’t supposed to hear it.”

“Would it be better if I hadn’t heard it?”

“No,” he said, looking down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. “Probably not.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the bar. “Do you really think I’m just being nice?”

Tucker hated how gentle your voice was.

“I think you are nice,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. “No, it wasn’t.”

You waited, giving him time to answer.

Tucker exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what I think. I guess I’m trying not to assume.”

“Assume what?” you asked.

“That you’d choose me.”

The words settled between you, quiet and honest and too exposed.

Your expression softened when you said his name. “Tucker.”

He let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I know. It sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” you said.

“It kind of does,” he said.

“No,” you said, walking slowly around the bar until you were standing in front of him. “It sounds like you don’t see yourself clearly.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was still flushed from work, hair coming loose around your cheeks, your eyes tired but warm. There was nothing teasing in them now.

“You keep acting like I’m looking past you,” you said, voice soft. “I’m not.”

Tucker went completely still.

You swallowed, a little nervous now, and somehow that made the words hit even harder. “I saw all of them first. I still looked at you.”

For a second, Tucker couldn’t speak. He’d imagined you saying a lot of things. Not that. Never that.

“[Y/N],” Tucker said quietly.

Your smile wobbled slightly. “Too much?”

“No,” he said, voice rough. “No, not too much.”

Della chose that moment to appear from the back, took one look at the two of you, and turned right back around. “I forgot absolutely nothing. Continue.”

You laughed, breaking the tension just enough for Tucker to breathe again.

He stood and grabbed his coat. “Let me walk you home.”

Your eyes lifted to his, softer now. “Okay.”

Outside, the cold air hit your face, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. Tucker walked beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush every few steps, but not close enough to crowd you. The streets around Briar were quieter now, wrapped in the kind of late-night stillness that made every little sound feel louder — your shoes on the sidewalk, Tucker’s breath in the cold, the distant noise from another bar down the street.

For a minute, neither of you said anything, and then you laughed softly.

Tucker looked over at you. “What?”

“I just realized I basically confessed to you in front of a bar counter that still smelled like spilled beer.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Very romantic.”

“I’ve always been known for my elegance.”

“You did knock over four glasses the first night I met you.”

“Three,” you said, pointing at him. “It was three.”

“One almost fell off the counter,” he said. “I’m counting it.”

“You’re cruel,” you said, trying not to smile.

“I did help.”

“You did,” you said, your voice softening. “That’s why I remembered you.”

Tucker’s chest tightened at that.

You kept walking for a few more steps before adding, “Everyone else laughed. Not in a mean way, but still. You just helped.”

“It wasn’t exactly heroic.”

“It was to me,” you said quietly.

He didn’t know what to do with that, so he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked down at the sidewalk like it might tell him what to say.

You smiled at him, and somehow Tucker felt it even without looking.

By the time you reached your apartment building, the tension had changed shape again. It was still soft, still warm, but there was something electric underneath it now, something that had been building for weeks across bar counters, half-finished conversations, and every smile you’d given him like it wasn’t ruining his day in the best way.

You stopped when you reached the door.

“This is me,” you said.

Tucker nodded, like he knew that and still wasn’t ready to leave. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved. Then you looked up at him. “Do you want to come in?”

His eyes lifted to yours. The question was quiet, but there was nothing unclear about it.

Tucker’s voice dropped when he asked, “Do you want me to?”

You stepped closer, your eyes still on his. “Yes.”

That was all Tucker needed.

The elevator ride was silent, broken only by your uneven breathing and the small ding of each floor passing. Tucker stood beside you with his hands at his sides, not touching you yet, though the restraint in him was obvious. You could feel it — in the tight line of his jaw, in the way his eyes kept flicking to your mouth before he forced them away, in the way he seemed to be waiting until you were somewhere private before letting himself want you properly.

Somehow, it only made you want him more.

Your apartment was small and warm, a little messy in a way that made you immediately wince as you unlocked the door.

“Don’t judge,” you said as you stepped inside. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Tucker looked around at the books stacked on the coffee table, the blanket slipping off the couch, the mug in the sink, and the tiny lamp glowing in the corner before looking back at you.

“I like it,” he said softly.

You smiled at him. “You’re very easy to impress.”

“Only when it’s you,” he said.

The words were quiet and simple, and they stole the air from your chest.

You closed the door behind him, then turned the lock.

Tucker’s eyes dropped to the movement, and his expression shifted. When he looked back at you, something had changed. He was still Tucker — still warm, still steady — but the softness in him had sharpened into something more focused.

You swallowed, voice suddenly smaller. “Hi.”

His mouth curved, just barely. “Hi.”

“You’re standing very far away,” you said.

“I’m trying to be respectful,” he said.

You stepped closer, eyes on his. “You can stop.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Tucker moved then, closing the small space between you in two steps. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle at first, like he was giving you one last second to lean away.

You leaned into his touch.

After that, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was warm, deep, and immediate, like weeks of almosts had finally found somewhere to land. Tucker’s hand slid into your hair, the other settling at your waist as he pulled you close enough for your chest to press against his. A soft sound slipped out against his mouth, and Tucker’s grip tightened.

“There you are,” Tucker murmured against your mouth.

Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

You kissed him harder, your hands sliding up his chest and feeling the solid warmth of him beneath his jacket. Tucker walked you back until your spine met the wall near the door, his body caging yours in without ever making you feel trapped.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, his mouth brushing your jaw.

Your head tipped back as his lips moved to your neck. “I wanted you to.”

His hand tightened briefly at your waist.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “Wanted me to walk you home?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Wanted me to come upstairs too?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

His mouth hovered near your ear, voice low. “Wanted me to touch you?”

Your breath caught before you could answer. “Tuck—”

He kissed the spot just beneath your jaw, pulling a sound from you that was almost a whimper.

His voice went rough. “Say it.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into his shirt. “Yes. I wanted you to touch me.”

He groaned, low and restrained, before his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time. Your hands pushed at his jacket, clumsy with urgency, and Tucker helped you pull it off before shrugging out of it and tossing it somewhere near the couch.

You laughed breathlessly as it knocked into a chair.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

“Don’t care,” Tucker murmured, already kissing you again.

Your back hit the wall hard enough to make your whole body light up, but not enough to hurt. Tucker’s thigh slid between yours, and the second you rocked down against it without thinking, his hand tightened on your hip.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “You’re going to make me forget how to be nice.”

Your lips curved against his. “Maybe I don’t want nice.”

His eyes lifted to yours, and there it was again — that quiet intensity.

“I can do both,” Tucker said, voice low.

The words went straight through you, sharp and warm all at once.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your skin. He touched you slowly at first, almost reverent, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. Then your hips moved against his thigh again, and his control slipped just enough that his fingers pressed into your waist.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’ve been thinking that since the first night.”

“When I dropped the glasses?” you asked.

“Especially then,” he said, like it was obvious.

You laughed, only for it to break into a gasp when his mouth found your neck again, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the spot.

“Tucker,” you breathed.

“I know,” he murmured, his hand moving higher until his fingers brushed the underside of your breast through your bra. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head quickly, voice barely steady. “No.”

“No?” he asked, voice low.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened at that, and then he kissed you like those words had undone something in him. The warm, steady Tucker from Malone’s was still there, but this version of him felt different — more confident, more direct. His hands knew exactly where they wanted to go, his mouth knew how to make you melt, and every quiet groan he gave you made your knees a little less reliable.

He pushed your shirt up slowly, and you lifted your arms for him. The second your shirt hit the floor, his gaze dropped to your chest, and his jaw flexed.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You almost made a joke. Almost. But the way he looked at you made it hard to hide behind one.

His hands came up to cover your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing slowly over the thin fabric. Your back arched off the wall as a soft moan slipped out before you could stop it.

Tucker’s mouth parted slightly, his voice rough. “Don’t hide that.”

“What?” you breathed.

“Those sounds,” he said, his thumb moving again just to make your breath catch. “I want to hear them.”

Your cheeks warmed, but your body answered before your mouth could, another quiet whimper slipping out when he leaned down and kissed the top of your breast.

“Like that?” Tucker asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers tightening in his shirt. “Like that.”

He undid your bra carefully, sliding the straps down your arms before letting it fall between you. His eyes moved over you more slowly this time, and something about the softness in his face made your chest ache.

Then his mouth closed around your nipple, pulling a moan from you as your head knocked back against the wall.

Tucker groaned against your skin, one hand firm at your waist while the other covered your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until you started shifting against him, needy and restless.

“You’re so responsive,” Tucker murmured, kissing across your chest. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

You swallowed, surprising yourself with how steady it sounded. “Tell me.”

His eyes flicked up, and for a second, he looked surprised. Then his expression shifted, a small, almost dangerous smile tugging at his mouth.

“It makes me want to take my time,” he said, voice low. “Makes me want to find out every way to make you sound like that again.”

Your thighs pressed together, and Tucker noticed immediately. Of course he did. His hand slid down your stomach, fingers pausing at the button of your jeans.

“Can I?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He unbuttoned your jeans slowly, eyes fixed on your face as he pushed the denim down your hips. You kicked them off awkwardly, nearly tripping in the process, and Tucker caught you with a quiet laugh, his hands steady on your waist.

“Still clumsy,” he murmured.

“You’re very distracting,” you said.

“Good,” he murmured.

You were about to answer, but then his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, and every thought disappeared.

He touched you over your panties first, two fingers pressing against the wet fabric, and his breath caught.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re wet.”

Your face burned at the way he said it. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said, fingers moving slowly over your clit through the soaked material. “Just trying to process the fact that you wanted me this badly.”

“I did,” you whispered.

The admission came out soft and honest.

Tucker’s eyes lifted to yours. You held his gaze, even though it made you feel exposed.

“I wanted you,” you said again, softer this time.

Something shifted in his face. Then he kissed you hard, fingers pushing your underwear aside and sliding through your wetness. The first touch of his skin against your cunt pulled a gasp from you, your hips bucking toward his hand before you could stop them.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

His fingers circled your clit slowly, steady and precise, and you clung to his shoulders as pleasure sparked low in your stomach.

“Tuck,” you whimpered, fingers tightening on his shoulders.

“Right here,” he murmured, his forehead touching yours. “I’ve got you.”

He slid one finger into you, eyes fixed on the way your lips parted, then added another when your hips rolled against his hand. The stretch pulled a louder moan from you, and Tucker’s jaw tightened like the sound was testing every bit of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “You sound so pretty.”

His touch grew deeper and more deliberate, his thumb finding you again as you stayed pressed against the wall, nearly bare while Tucker was still fully dressed. The imbalance should have made you embarrassed.

It didn’t. Not with him looking at you like that, not with his hand between your thighs, his mouth at your jaw, and his voice low in your ear.

“Tell me what feels good,” he murmured.

Your breath shook around the answer. “Your fingers.”

“Yeah?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you breathed, gripping his shirt tighter. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

His fingers curled again, and a moan broke from you into the quiet room.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough. “Let me hear you.”

The pleasure built faster than you expected, heat tightening through your stomach and thighs, but just before it could break, Tucker pulled his fingers away.

A frustrated sound slipped out of you. “Why—”

He dropped to his knees, and your mouth went dry as Tucker looked up at you from the floor, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs.

“I’m not done with you yet.” It should not have sounded as hot as it did.

Then he pulled your underwear down, slow and deliberate, before lifting one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Tucker,” you breathed, fingers tightening in his hair.

His mouth pressed against the inside of your thigh. “Hold onto me.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, and then his mouth found your cunt.

The first stroke of his tongue made your whole body jerk, a sharp moan slipping out as his hands tightened on your thighs. He ate you like he’d been waiting weeks for it, slow and deep at first, tongue dragging through your wetness before flattening over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

He hummed against you, the vibration making your knees buckle slightly, and Tucker held you up.

His mouth worked over you with a patience that felt almost unfair, tongue circling your clit, lips sucking softly while his fingers dug into your thigh every time you tugged his hair. You could feel how wet you were, could hear it too, and the sound made your face burn even as your hips started moving against his mouth.

“Tuck—fuck, right there,” you gasped.

He groaned like the words had gone straight through him, focusing there until the pleasure turned sharp and bright. Your head fell back against the wall, one hand still buried in his hair while the other braced beside you.

You were close, close enough that your thighs started trembling.

“Tucker,” you gasped. “I’m—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He only held you tighter, mouth sealed over your clit until you came with a broken moan, hips jerking against him as pleasure rolled through you. He stayed with you through it, easing the pressure when you started to shake and pressing kisses to your inner thigh when you finally whimpered from the sensitivity.

When he stood again, his mouth was wet and his eyes were dark.

You could only stare at him.

He wiped his thumb across his lower lip before leaning in to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as Tucker made a rough sound against you.

“Bedroom,” he said, voice rough.

You nodded quickly.

The walk there was not graceful. You bumped into the side table, Tucker knocked into the doorframe, and you both laughed against each other’s mouths until the laughter turned into another kiss the second you reached your room.

Tucker pulled his shirt off, and you finally got to touch him properly.

He was warm beneath your palms, solid and broad, and his stomach tightened when your fingers dragged lower toward his belt.

“You okay?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

His eyes met yours, dark and unsteady. “I’ve been better.”

You laughed, but then your hand brushed over the hard outline of him through his jeans, and his smile vanished.

“Oh,” you whispered, your smile fading too.

Tucker caught your wrist gently, his voice rough. “Careful.”

You looked up at him, pulse jumping. “Or what?”

His expression shifted again, that quiet confidence settling over him like he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Or I’m gonna fuck you against that wall before we even make it to the bed.”

Your stomach dropped, but you held his gaze. “Maybe I’d like that.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Then Tucker kissed you hard enough that you stumbled backward.

Your back hit the bedroom wall, his body pressing close while his hands lifted you by the backs of your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct, and Tucker groaned when you rolled your hips against him.

“Condom?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Nightstand,” you said, breathless.

He carried you to the nightstand just long enough to grab one before returning you to the wall, laughing low when you kissed his neck impatiently.

“Eager,” he murmured.

“You’re the one who mentioned the wall,” you said.

“I did,” he said, voice low.

“Then stop talking,” you breathed.

Tucker’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “Yes, ma’am.”

He shoved his jeans down just enough to roll the condom on, then stepped between your thighs again, one hand sliding over your hip while his other arm kept you steady against the wall.

The head of his cock brushed through your wetness, and for a second, both of you went quiet.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, voice barely steady. “Tuck.”

His forehead pressed to yours. “I know.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open while holding you like you were something precious and something he wanted badly enough to ruin all at once. The angle was intense, your back against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his body doing all the work as he filled you completely.

Your mouth fell open, breath catching in your throat.

Tucker groaned, the sound rough against your mouth. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“You too,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a second before he started moving. Slow at first. Controlled. Deep enough that every thrust stole your breath, his hips pinning you to the wall while his hands kept you steady. You were still sensitive from his mouth, still wet and aching, and every drag of his cock pulled another moan from you.

“Tucker,” you gasped.

“I know,” he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw. “I’ve got you.”

“You keep saying that,” you breathed.

“Because I do,” he said, voice steady.

Your chest tightened, but then his hips snapped a little harder, and the feeling turned back into heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped.

“There?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Yes,” you gasped.

He adjusted his grip, holding you higher before hitting the same spot again, and your head fell back against the wall with a moan.

Tucker’s eyes locked on your face. “That’s it.”

His pace built slowly, not rushed but intense, every thrust dragging sounds from you that you couldn’t hold back. The wall was cold against your back, his skin hot against yours, and your whole world narrowed to Tucker’s hands, Tucker’s mouth, Tucker’s cock moving inside you like he’d been waiting weeks to prove exactly how well he could ruin you.

“You have no idea how hard it was,” he murmured against your throat, “watching you smile at me from across that bar.”

A whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Thinking you were just being nice,” he said, hips driving into yours harder until you gasped. “Thinking I was making it up.”

“I wasn’t,” you breathed, clinging tighter to his shoulders. “I wasn’t looking at them.”

Tucker’s grip tightened, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him messily. “I wanted you.”

He groaned against your mouth.

The next thrust nearly tore a cry out of you.

“Say that again,” he rasped.

“I wanted you.” The next thrust hit harder, stealing the rest of the sentence from you. “Tucker—”

“Again.”

“I wanted you,” you moaned, nails dragging down his shoulders. “I wanted you so badly.”

That broke something in him. His pace turned rougher, still controlled but less careful now, hips snapping into yours as he held you against the wall. You clung to him, moaning his name, letting him hear every gasp and broken sound because he seemed to need them as badly as you needed the way he moved.

“Touch yourself,” he said suddenly, and your breath hitched.

His eyes met yours, dark and intent.

“I want to feel you come around me.”

Your hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and the first circle made your whole body jolt. Tucker cursed, forehead dropping to yours as you clenched around him.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Your fingers moved faster, clumsy from how badly you were shaking, but the pressure built quickly with him still fucking into you, his voice low and constant in your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your ear. “You’re so pretty. Doing so good for me.”

Your breath broke.

“Come on, baby.” His grip tightened. “Let me feel it.”

The orgasm hit hard, your body tightening around him as your moan broke into something helpless. Tucker held you through it, thrusting deep and uneven as you pulsed around him, until he followed with a rough groan, hips jerking as he came.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard against your neck, holding you up like letting go was not an option. Then he laughed softly.

You opened your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his mouth brushing your shoulder. “Just thinking Dean’s never going to shut up if he finds out.”

You laughed, still breathless and warm. “Then don’t tell him.”

“He’ll know,” Tucker said.

“Why?” you asked, smiling against his skin.

Tucker pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile softer now. “Because I’m not going to be able to stop smiling.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

After that, he carried you to the bed and set you down carefully before disappearing to clean up. When he came back, he had a damp cloth in his hand, cleaning you gently and murmuring an apology when your thighs twitched from sensitivity.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, still a little breathless. “Very okay.”

His mouth curved. “Good.”

He lay beside you, and for a second, a strange shyness settled between you again. Not awkward. Just new.

You turned onto your side to face him. “You can stay.”

His eyes softened at that. “Yeah?”

“If you want.”

“I want,” he said, without hesitation, and the answer came fast enough to make you smile.

Tucker pulled the blanket over both of you, and you curled into his side like it already felt familiar. His arm came around you, warm and steady, fingers tracing slow lines down your back.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Then you whispered, “I meant it, you know.”

His hand paused against your back. “What?”

“I saw all of them,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “I still looked at you.”

Tucker stared at you for a second, something tender and disbelieving crossing his face. Then he kissed you, soft this time, slow, like he finally believed you.

The next morning, Tucker woke with your leg thrown over his and your face tucked against his chest.

For a second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you — at the sunlight slipping through your curtains, your hair messy against his skin, the tiny crease between your brows like you were arguing with someone in your sleep.

He smiled before he could stop himself, which, as it turned out, was exactly the problem. Because when he finally left your apartment in yesterday’s clothes and walked into the hockey house just before noon, Dean was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

Dean looked up. Tucker froze. The spoon stopped halfway to Dean’s mouth as a slow, terrible smile spread across his face.

“No way.”

Tucker sighed. “Don’t.”

Logan appeared from the kitchen immediately, because he had a sixth sense for chaos. “What? What happened?”

Dean pointed his spoon at Tucker. “Our boy didn’t come home last night.”

Garrett looked over from the table, his brows lifting.

Logan’s face lit up. “[Y/N]?”

Tucker tried to walk past them. “I’m leaving.”

“You just got here,” Dean said, delighted.

“Then I’m leaving again.”

Garrett laughed under his breath. “Good for you, man.”

That was somehow worse than the teasing. Tucker shook his head, but he was smiling, and Dean noticed, because Dean noticed everything that made life unbearable.

“Oh, he likes her likes her.”

“Shut up.”

Logan grinned, leaning in like this was the best news he’d heard all week. “Did she finally get tired of waiting for you to make a move?”

Tucker paused at the stairs. Thought about your smile, your apartment, your voice saying, I still looked at you. Then he turned just enough to say, “Actually, she made the move.”

The room exploded. Dean yelled, Logan swore, and Garrett laughed properly this time.

Tucker headed upstairs before any of them could ask anything else, but he still heard Dean call after him.

“I’m proud of you, Tuck!”

He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

💌lmk if you want to be added to my taglist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you had been stranded in the commuter parking lot during a freezing september downpour, staring hopelessly at a completely dead engine and crying, when tucker had pulled up in his massive truck.

he hadn't just lent you jumper cables which would've been more than enough.

he had stood out in the freezing rain, hooking up the batteries, talking you through exactly what was wrong and then waited until you safely cleared the campus gates.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

now, a year later into your sophomore year, you two were inseparable.

you weren't just classmates anymore. you had become really good friends. he was one of your anchors on campus, a person you trusted.

and for over a year—for as long as you had known him, really—you had been desperately, quietly drowning in love with him.

your best friend, nadia, had been pushing you for months to just give in and finally make a move, insisting that the chemistry was entirely there.

but you would honestly rather walk face-first into oncoming traffic than risk your friendship by putting yourself out there like that.

so, you had chosen to keep it buried, agonizingly silent.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you had been able to pinpoint the exact moment you truly fell for him, too.

it was during a chaotic karaoke night at malones.

tucker had practically dragged you up onto the sticky stage to sing mr. brightside with him.

he had wrapped a heavy, protective arm around your shoulder, holding the microphone directly in front of both of you as you both screamed the lyrics.

you had sung quite badly on your end, but he hadn't cared at all.

you even let out a breathless, private kind of laugh as you yelled the words, because the lyrics about jealousy and watching someone else with the person you wanted were so brutally, painfully ironic.

at the time, tucker was kind of seeing another girl, and it had lowkey broke your heart every single time you thought about it.

still, the entire bar had cheered for you, and when the song finished, amidst the flashing lights and laughing crowd, he had leaned down and kissed your forehead.

it was a completely casual, affectionate gesture to him, but it had sent a seismic shock through your chest, and you had had to fight with every ounce of your willpower just to stay composed.

your heart wasn't hammering against your ribs.

not at all.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the air in the crowded kitchen shifted.

a shadow fell over you, and the oppressive weight of the room seemed to lift.

"hey," a low, steady voice rumbled.

you looked up to see tucker was standing there. he was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, his curly dark hair slightly mussed from the humidity.

he didn't look angry, just looked immovable.

tucker's eyes flicked briefly to the guy's hand near your head, then down to your face. he read the tight, exhausted strain in your smile instantly.

"sorry to interrupt," tucker said to the guy, his voice entirely polite but carrying an undercurrent that brooked zero argument.

he looked back at you, his brown eyes softening. "but you dropped your sweater on the stairs earlier. want to go grab it before someone spills something on it?"

"oh. uh yes. thank you," you breathed, the relief so sharp it made your knees weak.

the guy blinked and slowly backed away, raising his cup in a silent surrender.

tucker didn't look at him again. instead, he placed a warm, heavy palm against the small of your back.

the heat of his hand burned straight through the thin fabric of your top, guiding you through the crushing crowd and up the stairs toward the quieter, dimly lit second floor.

"you okay?" he asked as soon as the noise of the downstairs dropped by half. he stopped in the hallway, turning to face you fully.

he kept a respectful distance, but his eyes were entirely locked onto yours. "you looked like you were about to faint down there."

"i was just... trying to be nice," you murmured, staring at the collar of his shirt because looking into his eyes felt too dangerous. "i didn't want to make it weird. since you invited me, i didn't want to seem ungrateful."

tucker let out a soft, huffed breath, a mixture of amusement and genuine concern. "you don't have to be nice to people who don't respect your space. you are allowed to say no." he stepped a fraction closer, his head tilting down to catch your gaze. "if you want to leave, i can drive you. my truck is right outside."

you looked up at him then. tucker was the resident 'good guy' of the hockey team. he was the one who did the grocery shopping, the one who cooked the meals, the one who always seemed to have his life entirely together.

he was your friend, the boy who sat next to you in class with perfect posture, taking meticulous notes, always completely steady.

"i don't want to go home yet," you whispered, the alcohol in your system giving you a sudden, terrifying burst of reckless courage. "but i really don't want to go back downstairs either."

tucker's chest rose and fell in a slow, deep breath.

his eyes darkened, the easygoing, polite classmate fading away to reveal something much heavier, much hungrier. "okay," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a rough murmur. "well you know my room is at the end of the hall."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you knew exactly which room it was.

you had been in tucker's room to study on multiple occasions before, whenever the house was chaotic and the living room was completely unusable.

you had sat cross-legged on his floor with your notebooks spread out whenever dean decided he was going to aggressively make out with some girl on the couch.

when garrett and logan would yell at each other while playing video games at maximum volume you had sat in his swivel chair.

back then, tucker's room had been a platonic sanctuary.

but the moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you tonight, the polite boundaries dissolved.

tucker didn't pounce. he moved with a deliberate, agonising slowness that made your blood sing.

he walked up to you, his hands rising to gently cup the sides of your face. his thumbs traced your cheekbones, his callouses catching slightly against your skin.

he waited, his eyes searching yours in the dim light of his bedside lamp. "are you sure? tell me to stop if you want me to stop."

"don't stop," you choked out, reaching up to grip his wrists.

when his mouth finally met yours, it was like a dam breaking. tucker was patient, but there was an underlying desperation in the way he pulled you against him.

his hands moved down your bare back where the halter top exposed your skin, his fingers locking around your waist and lifting you slightly so you were flush against chest.

he tasted like mint and the dark beer he had been sipping, his tongue sliding against yours with a deep, consuming rhythm that made your head spin.

he guided you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of his mattress, and then you were falling, tucker coming down with you.

every single movement was an exercise in communication. even when his hands were trembling with the effort to hold himself back, he kept checking in.

"too much?" he whispered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin right beneath your ear, making an involuntary shiver rip through your body.

"no. it's perfect. please, tuck."

he groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your collarbone. his hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, a few stray dark curls falling into his eyes before his fingers reached for the ties of your top.

he paused for a fraction of a second, waiting until you arched into his touch and gave him the unspoken permission he required.

with a gentle tug, he undone the straps, pulling the fabric away. his eyes roamed over your skin with a reverence that felt almost sacred.

he looked at you like he worshipped you.

his mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of burning, wet kisses down your throat, across the curve of your shoulder, down to the soft skin of your stomach.

when he finally rid himself of the rest of his clothes, the sheer scale of him took your breath away—all hard muscle and tan skin.

but when he slid between your thighs, he was incredibly gentle. he braced his weight on his forearms, framing your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, winding through it.

"hey, look at me," he asked you softly.

you opened your eyes, blinking through the haze of pleasure. tucker was staring down at you, his jaw clenched, a bead of sweat tracing the line of his temple. his eyes were burning, completely stripped of his usual easygoing charm.

"it's just you and me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "just us."

you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as a wave of intense, blinding heat flooded your system.

tucker froze, letting you adjust, his chest heaving against yours. he kissed away the tear that leaked from the corner of your eye, murmuring a stream of praise against your skin. "you're so beautiful. come here, sweetheart, i've got you."

you silently choked at the compliment, it almost felt real. but you knew what this was.

when he started to move, the pace was agonizingly perfect. it wasn't the frantic, uncoordinated fumbling you had experienced with other guys. tucker knew his body, and he wanted to know yours.

he set a slow, deep, devastating rhythm, his hips rolling into yours with a physical certainty that had you sobbing his name into the quiet of his room within minutes.

every time you tried to pull away from the sheer intensity of it, his grip on your waist tightened.

he anchored you to him, pulling you deeper into the sensation until the entire world narrowed down to the sound of his ragged breathing and the friction of skin against skin.

you felt the overwhelming, terrifying realization that you were completely, utterly undone by him.

when he finally came, his head buried in the crook of your neck and he gripped you so tight you could barely breathe.

and you held him just as hard, believing, with every fiber of your being, that everything had changed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

what you could only describe as a cacophony of metal and chaos was coming from the kitchen downstairs.

the alcohol had completely worn off, leaving behind a pounding headache and a sudden, suffocating wave of reality.

the room was cold, but the heater in the corner clicking loudly. next to you, tucker was still asleep, lying on his stomach, the sheets pooled around his lower back, exposing the muscular expanse of his spine.

you sat up slowly, pulling the duvet tightly against your chest, and looked around.

tucker’s hockey gear was stacked neatly in the corner. his textbooks were lined up on his desk. everything about john tucker's life was orderly, structured, and deliberate.

and then there was you.

a heavy, sickening dread began to pool in your stomach. your brain, always hyper-tuned to the threat of rejection, immediately went into overdrive.

what did you do? the unwelcome voice whispered.

he's your friend. you've studied in this exact room so many times as just a friend, completely terrified of ruining what you had, and now you've gone and done exactly that because you basically threw yourself at him.

you remembered how he had said, "we don't have to make a big deal out of this," to a girl at a party a few weeks ago who had been clinging to his arm. you remembered how he valued his peace.

he's going to wake up, look at you, and realize he made a massive mistake and completely ruined our friendship, you thought, the humiliation already burning in your throat.

you wanted to disappear. to protect your own fragile pride, your defenses immediately slammed down.

you pulled your knees to your chest, your expression suddenly turning tight, closed-off, and rigid.

tucker stirred, a low groan escaping his throat as his eyes slowly blinked open.

he turned over, his face soft with sleep, a faint, instinctive smile forming on his lips as he looked at you.

"hey," he rasped, his voice incredibly deep from sleep. he reached out, his hand moving to rest on your thigh over the blanket. "how you feeling?"

you didn't move into his touch. you stayed perfectly still, your voice coming out clipped and distant. "i'm fine. i should probably get going before nadia thinks that i died."

tucker's smile faltered. his hand remained on your thigh, but his fingers went still.

his brown eyes, usually so warm, sharpened as he scanned your face. he saw the tension in your jaw, the way you were holding the blanket like a shield, the complete lack of warmth in your eyes.

he misread it instantly.

to tucker, a guy who prided himself on reading people and making them feel safe, your rigid posture looked like pure, unadulterated regret.

he thought you woke up, looked at him, and wished with everything you had that you hadn't slept with your friend.

a sharp pang of guilt sliced through his chest, followed closely by a dull, hollow ache. his jaw clenched, and he slowly pulled his hand back, tucking it under the pillow.

"right," tucker said. the softness vanished from his voice, replaced by that careful, polite, emotionally controlled tone he used when he was trying to manage a difficult situation.

he didn't want to pressure you. he didn't want to make you feel worse than you clearly already did. "yeah, of course. don't stress about it."

he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, keeping his back to you as he grabbed his sweatpants from the floor.

"we don't have to make a big deal out of this," tucker murmured, his voice entirely deadpan as he pulled the fabric up.

he turned his head slightly, offering you a small, forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. "it was a crazy night. we're good. i can drive you home, or i can just head down to the kitchen and give you some space to get dressed. whatever you want."

to your ears, it was the ultimate rejection.

we don't have to make a big deal out of this, translated to: it was a mistake. let's forget it happened so our friendship isn't ruined.

"the kitchen is fine," you said, your voice entirely hollow. "and i can walk home. it's close."

tucker swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "okay. uh i'll see you later in class then."

he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him. and you sat in his bed, wrapped in his scent, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the library basement was freezing.

up on the main floors, people actually studied, but down here in the archives, the air tasted like dust and old paper.

it was the perfect place to hide.

"if we use the third-quarter data for the mock marketing pitch, professor hayes is going to lose his mind," tucker's voice broke through the silence, rich and steady, dragging you back to the present.

you blinked before focusing on the heavy textbook open between you. this was your usual routine. monday and thursday afternoons, tucked away in the back corner, acting like you hadn't map-read every inch of each other's bodies three months ago.

you had become masters at it. you had learned how to position your notebooks so your elbows never brushed. you had learned how to look at his forehead instead of his lips when he spoke.

for three months, you had forced yourself into a grueling routine of emotional detachment. you had systematically taken every memory of that night and buried them under layers of cold logic.

you had forced yourself to fall out of love with him, day by agonising day, because surviving his presence required it.

and the hardest part?

tucker was a good communicator. everyone knew that about him. he was the stable one, the guy who spoke his mind, the guy who handled problems head-on.

so when he had gone completely silent about that night, you hadn't viewed it as hesitation. you had viewed it as an answer.

you assumed his silence meant he didn't want you.

you assumed that to him, it had just been a momentary lapse in judgment, an itch scratched with a convenient friend.

you had no idea how beautifully, tragically wrong you were.

you didn't see the war he was fighting every single day.

tucker wasn't silent because he didn't care.

he was silent because he was terrified.

in his mind, he had already crossed the ultimate line by having sex with you and he was absolutely paralyzed by the fear of losing the only thing he had left.

your friendship.

he was suffocating in his own caution, desperately trying to protect your comfort while his own heart tore itself to pieces in the process.

"right. third-quarter data," you muttered, your fingers hovering uselessly over your keyboard before you typed a string of nonsense sentences just to look busy.

beside you, tucker shifted. even without looking, you were acutely aware of him—the heat radiating off him in the drafty basement, the scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the crisp air he had brought in with him.

your phone buzzed on the wood. the screen lit up, cutting through the dimness of the booth.

isaiah: can't do dinner tonight, forgot i have a group project meeting. come over after? like 11?

you had started hooking up with isaiah a month ago after meeting him at a seminar.

you didn't even like him that much. he was careless, he left you on read for hours, and he never supported your goals.

just last week, when you told him about the competitive summer internship you were applying for, he had barely looked at you, and said, "why do that to yourself? it's a lot of work for a low payoff."

but isaiah was safe. he didn't know the exact cadence of your laugh. he didn't make your chest ache with a heavy, hollow longing every time he walked into a room.

most importantly, isaiah didn't make you feel like you were a mistake.

he was the buffer you needed to prove to yourself that you were over john tucker.

you reached out, your thumb hovering over the screen to type a quick no worries, see you then, but you never got the chance.

a hand suddenly moved across the desk and clamped down around the edges of your phone, and with a swift, deliberate motion, tucker flipped it face-down against the wood.

the sharp clack of the plastic hitting the table echoed in the quiet corner.

but he didn't pull his hand away.

his fingertips brushed against your knuckles, just a fraction of a second too long, a heavy, desperate warmth that sent a jolt straight up your arm.

you looked up, startled, your breath catching in your throat.

tucker was staring at you. the easy, relaxed posture he usually maintained was entirely gone. his jaw was clenched so tight a small muscle was leaping under his tan skin.

he had seen the text. because he sat right next to you, because he was always hyper-aware of your movements, he always saw.

"don't," tucker said.

"tucker, it's fine," you said, your voice shaking slightly as you reached out to pull your phone back.

you tried for a casual, dismissive shrug, but it felt brittle. "it’s just casual—"

"it's not fine," he interrupted.

he leaned forward, planting his forearms on the table, and his massive shadow completely eclipsed you, cutting off the rest of the library.

the polite, stable classmate you had forced yourself to get used to evaporated in a single exhale. in his place was something raw, volatile, and entirely starved.

"he treats you like a late-night option, and you just take it because you think that's all you're worth," tucker hissed, his dark eyes boring into yours, practically stripping away every defense you had spent months building. "it kills me. it is physically killing me to sit here every week, pretending to read these damn chapters, and watch you let him do it."

his gaze dropped to your lips for a devastating, lingering second—a look full of so much unsaid hunger, regret, and agonizing yearning that it made your chest ache.

he looked like a man dying of thirst, staring at water he wasn't allowed to drink.

your breath hitched, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs.

for a second, the sheer intensity in his eyes made you dizzy.

but then, the reality crashed back over you, and the sheer hypocrisy of his words flared a sudden, angry fire in your chest.

"you don't get to say that to me" you whispered fiercely, leaning in too, refusing to let him back you into a corner.

"you don't get to judge who i spend my time with, tucker. not when you're the one who walked out of your room the next morning and told me not to make a big deal out of it. you're a communicator, tucker. you talk when something matters to you. you set the rules with your silence, and i'm just following them."

tucker flinched as if you had physically struck him.

the irony of your words clearly cut him to the bone. his desperate attempt to communicate respect had been read as total indifference.

when his eyes snapped back to yours, they were blazing, but the truth he so desperately wanted to scream was choking him.

he couldn't say it. not here.

not when he was still terrified that pushing too hard would make you run away forever.

he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his jaw working as he forced the raw, aching desperation back down, locking it behind a wall of sheer willpower.

"i told you that because you looked like you were going to cry," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, strained whisper that vibrated with everything he was keeping back.

he ran a hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly before letting go. his eyes searched yours, pleading, absolutely drowning in a longing he felt entirely unequipped to handle. "i thought i crossed a line. i thought i ruined us."

he looked down at your face-down phone, his mouth pulling into a grim, tight line, his hand twitching on the table as if he was fighting every instinct in his body to reach out, pull you against him, and never let you go.

when he looked back up, the vulnerability was guarded, but his eyes were still heavy with a crushing, silent ache.

"go to his place if you want to," tucker said softly, though the tension in his rigid shoulders betrayed him completely.

he picked up his pen again, his fingers gripping it so hard it looked ready to snap. "but don't pretend you're doing it because you actually want him."

the silence that followed his words was thick enough to suffocate.

tucker didn't look back up at you. he kept his eyes pinned to his textbook, his broad shoulders practically rigid as he turned a page with a sharp, aggressive snap that nearly ripped the paper.

he was completely retreating back into himself, locking the doors and pulling the blinds, leaving you stranded in the wreckage of whatever the hell had just happened.

your chest heaved as you stared at the side of his face.

you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to demand he explain what those words meant, what that look meant, why he was acting like your choices were tearing him apart when he was the one who had drawn the boundary lines in the first place.

but the sheer exhaustion of the last few months caught up to you all at once.

the anger drained out, leaving nothing but a hollow, heavy ache.

so without a word, you reached out, snatched your phone from beneath his hand and shoved it into your pocket.

you didn't text isaiah back and for the remaining forty minutes of the study session, neither of you spoke.

the only sounds were the scratching of tucker's pen and the frantic, chaotic thoughts screaming inside your own head.

when the clock finally hit four, you packed your laptop so fast the zipper caught on your cord, and you left without saying goodbye.

he didn't try to follow you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

what followed was a brutal, agonizing stretch of silence that lasted for days. you skipped your usual thursday afternoon study slot, pretending you had a sudden conflict, unable to face the suffocating atmosphere again.

tucker noticed. of course he did.

by thursday night, the texts started coming. your phone would buzz against your nightstand, and every time you saw his name flash across the screen, your throat would go tight.

j.tucker: hey. can we talk? about tuesday.

you read it from your lock screen, then cleared the notification.

an hour later, another one.

j.tucker: i shouldn't have judged your situation. it wasn't my place. i'm sorry.

you actually opened that one. you let the chat stay open, letting the 'seen' status flash right back at him, a deliberate, quiet retaliation for the months of silence he had handed you first.

it felt petty and cruel, but it was the only armor you had left.

around midnight, one final text slipped through.

j.tucker: please don't freeze me out. i just want to make it right.

you left him on seen for that one, too, staring at the ceiling until three in the morning, wondering how a guy who was usually so perfect at finding the right words could have spent three months completely misreading yours.

you were trying so hard to stay mad at him, because being mad was infinitely easier than acknowledging the terrifying truth.

the truth was that his words had shaken every single defense you had built.

the friction of it all made everything else feel completely unearned.

by friday afternoon, looking at your phone felt like a chore, especially when a text from isaiah popped up asking if you were still coming over later.

tucker's words hung over your head like a dark cloud.

unfortunately he was right. you were using isaiah as a shield, and it wasn't fair to anyone.

so, you called him. it took less than two minutes. you told him it wasn't working out, that you weren't looking for the same things anymore. isaiah barely even sounded surprised—just muttered a careless "alright, cool, catch you around" before hanging up.

it didn't even hurt.

if anything, the lack of effort on his end only proved how right tucker had been.

but dumping him didn't fix the hollow ache in your chest.

it just stripped away your final buffer, leaving you entirely unprotected against the thought of tucker.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

by friday night, you were a complete wreck, which was the only reason you let your friends drag you to malones. it was suffocatingly hot, packed wall-to-wall with sweaty students looking to forget about midterms.

"nadia shoved a plastic cup of mystery liquid into your hand and yelled over the noise vibrating through the floorboards. "stop thinking about isaiah. stop thinking about everything. we are getting drunk."

"i'm trying," you lied to nadia, taking a sip that tasted mostly like foam.

you weren't thinking about isaiah. you were looking for a specific head of curly hair in the crowd, even though you told yourself you hoped he wouldn't show up.

the opening notes of a song started pulsing through the bar's speakers, cutting through the generic pop remixes the student dj had been spinning. it was slow, heavy, and drenched in bass.

love on the brain by rihanna.

a loud cheer went up near the small, makeshift karaoke stage in the corner.

"oh, shit, look who's up," nadia laughed, nudging your shoulder.

your eyes snapped toward the stage.

tucker was standing there, looking like he had been completely hijacked into doing this. he had a beer in one hand and the mic in the other, wearing a simple yellow t-shirt, his shoulders dropped in a lazy, unbothered posture.

down in the front row, dean di laurentis was leaning against a high-top table, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he raised his glass toward the stage.

it took you exactly one second to realize what had happened.

dean had requested it.

he was the one who had submitted tucker's name to the dj and picked the track, completely intending to instigate.

dean had been watching the two of you dance around each other for months, picking up on the sharp drops in temperature whenever you walked into a room, and he was clearly done waiting for tucker to make a move.

tucker looked out over the crowd and gave dean a slow, warning glare, pointing a finger at him and mouthing you are dead toward the front row.

he was trying so hard to play it off perfectly—just a guy getting forced into a bad slot on the karaoke wheel by his roommate, keeping it light, keeping it casual so nobody would think twice about it.

but as he leaned into the mic and the first verse started, the athlete front began to quiet down.

tucker didn't do the usual dramatic karaoke bit. he didn't try to perform or work the room.

it was smooth, effortless, and entirely devoid of any theatricality. it was just him.

he kept his eyes on the back wall for the first few bars, entirely focused on maintaining that unbothered, nonchalant vibe.

but as the heavy, aching longing of the chorus started to swell, his focus shifted.

he didn't scan the crowd. his eyes cut through the haze of the bar, landing on the shadow of the pillar where you were standing with a sudden, quiet precision.

he didn't hold your gaze like a man putting on a show.

it was a heavy look—the kind that felt entirely accidental but completely deliberate.

in the brief moments his eyes locked onto yours, the casual act he'd been putting on for the room completely vanished.

the lyrics didn't feel like a performance instead they felt like a confession he was trying very hard to suppress.

his eyes stayed anchored to yours through the bridge. there was a raw, quiet desperation in his expression that he couldn't hide behind a grin anymore.

the noise around you seemed to dull into background static. you couldn't move.

you just watched him, the truth he had been suffocating under laying entirely bare between you across the crowded room.

he wasn't silent because he didn't care.

he was silent because he was drowning.

don't you stop loving me.

his eyes never breaking from yours for even a fraction of a second.

despite how hard he had tried to play it off just moments ago, john tucker was down on his knees, begging you to understand.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the second the song ended, the bar erupted.

his teammates started shouting, slamming their cups against the tables, and dean was laughing loudly, clapping tucker on the back as he stepped off the low stage.

but tucker didn't look at any of them.

his eyes stayed pinned to yours for one last, heavy second before the moving bodies of the crowded bar finally cut off his view.

"holy shit," nadia breathed next to you, her jaw practically on the floor.

you couldn't even hear her. your lungs felt entirely empty. the heat in the bar was suddenly suffocating, and the walls felt like they were closing in on you.

"i need air," you choked out, not waiting for nadia's response as you shoved your cup into her hand and began pushing your way through the dense crowd toward the exit.

you spilled out of the heavy front doors and into the cool, crisp friday night air.

you walked a few yards down the pavement, ducking into the dim, quiet alleyway beside the building just to get away from the bass vibrating through the brick walls.

you leaned your back against the cool brick, closing your eyes and trying to force your heart to slow down.

don't you stop loving me.

the words were still ringing in your ears, wrapped in that low, gravelly register.

"you left your drink with nadia."

your eyes snapped open.

tucker was standing at the mouth of the alley. the neon red light from the bar's sign caught the edge of his jaw, throwing the rest of his face into deep shadow.

he had his hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched against the night breeze.

he looked completely depleted, the confident front he had maintained on stage entirely gone.

"i didn't want it anyway," you whispered, your voice shaking.

tucker took a slow, deliberate step into the alley, his heavy boots clicking against the pavement.

"didn't know you had a future in r&b, tuck. that was... intense." you said not meeting his eyes.

"dean's a fucking idiot," he said quietly, his voice rough. "he thinks he's funny. i didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

"didn't you?" you asked, a sudden spark of that old defense mechanism flaring up in your chest to keep you from crying. "because you looked right at me, tucker. you looked right at me and you sang those words like you wanted to kill me."

tucker stopped walking. he was only a few feet away from you now, his frame completely blocking out the streetlights behind him. he pulled his hands out of his pockets, his knuckles twitching.

"i looked at you because i couldn't help it," he confessed, his voice dropping into that low, raw register from the library basement. "i've been trying to help it for months, and i'm done. i'm entirely empty. i have nothing left to fight you with."

"you're the one who started the fight" you cried out, your voice breaking as the tears you had been holding back all week finally blurred your vision.

"you walked out of that room the next morning, tucker. you told me it wasn't a big deal. do you have any idea what that did to me? i had to force myself to fall out of love with you because i thought i was a mistake to you!"

tucker flinched as if you had physically struck him. the word love seemed to hang in the space between you, heavy and terrifying.

"you weren't a mistake," he choked out, stepping closer until the heat radiating off him completely wrapped around you.

his hands came up, hovering just inches from your face, his fingers trembling. "you were the only thing that felt real. i told you that because when i woke up, you were staring at the ceiling looking like you regretted every single second of it. you looked terrified. i thought if i pushed you, i would lose you completely."

he let out a ragged, broken laugh, his eyes swimming with the exact same yearning that had been burning on that stage.

"so i stayed silent. i tried to be the good guy. i tried to be respectful while you started going out with isaiah," tucker hissed, his jaw clenching. "and it was killing me. every single day. i didn't want to break the rules, but then i realized my silence didn't protect you at all. it just let someone else ruin you."

he looked down at his shoes, then back up at you, his eyes entirely bare. "today i saw you standing there, and i realized i would rather dean mock me for the rest the year than spend another day letting you think i didn't want you. it was killing me. you have no idea how much it was killing me."

you stared at him, your heart turning over in your chest.

all this time you thought you were the one drowning, but tucker had been completely underwater.

"i broke it off with him," you whispered.

tucker froze. his chest stopped heaving. "you what?"

"i called isaiah this afternoon. i broke it off," you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "because you were right. i was using him as a shield because being with him was safe. it wasn't fair to him, and it wasn't fair to me. because he isn't you."

a soft, fractured sound ripped from tucker's throat.

the next second, his hands were in your hair, his large palms cupping the back of your head as he tilted your face up and brought his lips down against yours.

it was like pouring rain after a drought. the kiss was deep, heavy, and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fierce, possessive hunger that made your knees go entirely weak.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, tangling your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you completely gave in.

tucker groaned against your lips, his hands moving down to grip your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground to press you firmly against the brick wall.

he kissed you like he was trying to make up for every single day of silence, every single unread text, and every single second he had spent starving for you since october.

when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, his eyes still dark and heavy with emotion as he looked down at you.

"i'm not backing off this time," tucker whispered fiercely, his thumbs wiping the stray tears from your cheeks with a tenderness that made your heart swell. "i don't care about the rules. i don't care about being casual. we are doing this right."

you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "okay." you whispered against his skin.

"about fucking time!"

the loud, booming voice shattered the quiet of the alleyway, making both of you jump.

you blinked against the sudden glare of the streetlights as you peeked over tucker's shoulder.

dean and logan were standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning against the brickwork like a pair of absolute menaces.

dean had his arms crossed over his chest, his trademark smug grin practically splitting his face in two, while logan stood beside him, shaking his head with a slow, amused chuckle.

tucker didn't let go of you. if anything, his grip on your waist tightened, a heavy protective weight as he let out a low, deeply irritated sigh.

"go away," tucker muttered, his voice still thick and rough from the kiss, not even turning around to face them.

"oh, come on, tuck, show me some gratitude," dean scoffed, taking a sip from a fresh plastic cup of beer. "i literally orchestrated your entire romantic awakening tonight. if it weren't for my flawless track selection on that karaoke machine, you would still be pining."

"he's right, you know," logan chimed in, tossing an arm over dean's shoulder with a lazy smirk. "we've been suffering through the tension in that house for months. we practically had to hold a house meeting just to discuss how miserable you were."

"seriously," dean agreed, shaking his head dramatically. "the yearning was getting a little pathetic. we had to intervene for our own sanity."

tucker finally turned his head just enough to give his teammates a deadly, unamused glare. "if you two aren't gone by the count of three, i'm letting garrett know who actually broke the blender last weekend."

logan's smirk instantly vanished, and dean straightened up, clearing his throat.

"okay, okay, we're leaving," dean said, raising his hands in surrender as he started to back away toward the bright, noisy entrance of the bar. "but for the record, you're welcome!"

"don't forget to thank us in your wedding speech!" logan shouted back, laughing as dean shoved him back into the crowded bar.

the heavy metal doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off the bass and leaving the alleyway quiet once again.

tucker let out a soft huff of laughter against your hair, the rigid tension finally leaving his shoulders as he looked back down at you.

his eyes were softer now, warmer, but the heavy heat from moments ago was still simmering right beneath the surface.

John Tucker, Briar U's laidback forward was the kind of guy who took everything in stride. He had a heart of gold, infinite patience, and a Texas drawl that could melt the panties off a saint. But his life had recently become a massive, tangled wreck. Earlier in the year, a brief hookup with Sabrina James had resulted in an unexpected pregnancy. Tucker, being the thoroughly decent, stand-up guy he was, stepped up immediately, vowing to support Sabrina and the baby every step of the way.

But then, he fell in love with you.

Because of the fragile situation with Sabrina, you and Tucker had decided to keep your relationship off the radar. You didn’t want to add to her panic, nor did you want to deal with the relentless, vicious gossip of the Briar campus. But what started as a temporary protective measure had morphed into a heavy, suffocating weight. You were sick of hiding. Sick of slipping out the back door of the hockey house before his roommates could catch you doing the walk of shame. You were tired of feeling like a dirty little secret, and the brutal strain had caused a constant, underlying friction between you two.

Which led to the explosive argument in his bedroom just hours before the team’s victory party.

You were pacing the length of his floor, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, while he sat on the edge of his neatly made bed. He was watching you with those heavy-lidded, deep brown eyes, his large hands resting loosely on his spread knees. His unnatural stillness only fueled the anxious, clawing fire burning in your chest.

"I can't do this anymore, Tuck," you said, your voice trembling as you snatched your jacket off his desk chair. "I'm fucking done. We're done."

He went utterly, terrifyingly still.

"Come here, darlin'," Tucker commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that usually turned your knees to absolute water.

"No." You zipped up your jacket with shaking fingers, refusing to look at him because you knew if you met his gaze, your resolve would snap in half. "I mean it this time. I am so fucking exhausted. I feel like a ghost in my own relationship."

Tucker pushed himself off the bed. His massive, muscular frame seemed to swallow the small space of the room as he stepped directly in front of his closed door, effectively trapping you inside. His dark auburn hair was a messy halo, and beneath his calm exterior, his warm brown eyes were flashing with a dangerous mix of panic and pure, unadulterated male stubbornness.

"We are not doing this, Y/N," he said slowly, his Texas drawl thick with absolute refusal. "We are not breaking up."

"I am the goddamn side piece in my own relationship!" you yelled, the frustration boiling over as hot tears finally spilled down your cheeks. "I know you have to be there for Sabrina and the baby. I want you to be there for them. You're a good man, Tuck, the best I know. But I can't be your hidden fuck-buddy anymore. I can't watch you rush out of the room to take her calls, or drop my hand the second we step outside because someone might see us. It hurts too much. It's tearing me apart."

A muscle feathered in his tight jaw. Tucker closed the distance between you in two long strides. You tried to step back, but his large, callused hands gripped your shoulders, hauling you gently but firmly against the hard wall of his chest. You were instantly grounded in his signature scent of sandalwood and citrus, a scent that felt so much like home it made a broken sob rip from your throat.

"You listen to me," he rasped, his voice vibrating against your collarbone as he lowered his head to look you dead in the eye. "You are not second place. You are never second place. You are everything to me."

"Tuck, please—"

"No, you're going to let me speak." He brought one of his large hands up to cup your cheek, his rough thumb catching a tear before it could fall. "I know it's hard. I know I'm asking a hell of a lot of you to wait for me to sort this mess out. I hate that I'm the goddamn reason you're crying right now. But I am a patient man, Y/N. I will wait out any storm to keep you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head as you pressed your hands against his chest, trying to physically push away the one thing you wanted most in the world. Beneath your palms, his heart was hammering wildly against his ribs.

"You have to," you whispered, your voice cracking. "Go figure out your life. Be a dad. Do what you have to do without worrying about keeping me happy in the shadows."

You pulled out of his grip, intentionally ignoring the raw, devastated look that flashed across his handsome face. You reached around him, your hand wrapping tightly around the cool metal of the doorknob.

"I'm going to be at Malone's tonight," you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the fact that your heart was breaking into a million jagged pieces. "I promised Allie and Hannah I'd celebrate the win with them. But don't look for me, I need space."

You slipped past him, yanking the door open. You left him standing there in the middle of his bedroom, his jaw clenched tight and his broad chest heaving, his heart full of absolute, uncompromising refusal to accept that this was the end.

By the time you pushed your way into Malone's, your hands were still shaking.

And the absolute worst part of being best friends with Allie and Hannah? It meant you were automatically dragged into the Briar hockey team's inner circle.

They had commandeered the massive, wraparound leather booth in the back corner, and you were squished right into the middle of the loud, rowdy chaos. Garrett, Dean, Logan, and Fitzy were practically shouting over the music, toasting their shutout win and passing around pitchers of beer.

And sitting directly across the wooden table from you was John Tucker.

He hadn't said a single word since you sat down. He just sat rigidly on the cracked vinyl cushion, a half-empty bottle of Miller gripped in his large hand. For Tucker, the booming bass of the jukebox and the chaotic crowd seemed to fade entirely into white noise. The only thing in sharp focus was you. Every time you dared to glance up, those heavy-lidded, dark brown eyes were already locked on you, burning with a heavy, volatile intensity that made it impossible for you to draw a full breath.

You felt like you were bleeding out invisibly. You’d done it. You’d looked him in the eye, told him you were done being his dirty little secret, and walked away. Now, forced to sit so close to him, it felt like you’d carved out your own heart with a dull knife.

Hannah nudged your shoulder, shoving a shot of cheap tequila into your hand. "Drink up! You look like you're at a funeral, Y/N/N, not a party."

Allie leaned in over Dean's shoulder, her blonde hair catching the harsh neon light. "Seriously, what's going on with you? You've been miserable all week."

You forced a smile that didn't reach your eyes and downed the shot. The liquor clawed down your throat, "Just tired. Let's go dance."

You dragged them out of the booth and shoved your way onto the small, packed dance floor near the jukebox. The music was deafening, the heavy bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes and rattling your ribs. You squeezed your eyes shut, letting yourself get lost in the chaotic, grinding rhythm of the crowd. You laughed loudly with Allie and Hannah, desperately trying to project the image of a girl having the time of her life. But all you were really doing was trying to ignore the heavy, scorching gaze you could feel burning into your skin from across the room.

Tucker was watching you.

Usually, he was the anchor of his friend group—observant, laidback, the quiet guy who kept his head and his temper when everyone else lost theirs. Tonight, he felt like a coiled spring pulled back so tight it was about to snap.

Every breath he took felt like inhaling broken glass. You’d told him you were done. You’d looked at him with tears in your beautiful eyes and told him you couldn't be his second-place secret anymore. And the worst, most agonizing part? He knew you were absolutely right.

His eyes tracked your every movement through the strobe lights. You looked fucking breathtaking—flushed, wild, and utterly out of his reach—and he wasn't the only one who noticed.

A tall guy from the lacrosse team slid up behind you on the dance floor, his hands hovering dangerously close to your hips. Another guy, some frat bro in a backward cap, was trying to catch your eye, shouting some garbage pickup line over the loud music.

Tucker’s jaw locked so hard his teeth ground together. A dark, ugly possessiveness flared in his chest, incinerating every ounce of his southern patience.

They saw a beautiful, single girl looking to get wrecked and have a good time. They didn't know you belonged to him. They didn't know the soft, needy sounds you made when he sucked marks into your neck, or how perfectly your body bowed up to meet his. And it was his own damn fault they didn't know. He had kept you in the shadows to protect Sabrina's privacy and manage the baby drama, but in doing so, he had left you completely unprotected. He’d made you feel like you didn't matter. He'd practically served you up on a silver platter to every thirsty dirtbag in Malone's.

He watched, every thick muscle in his massive frame going violently tense, as the lacrosse player leaned in, his mouth entirely too close to your ear. Tucker saw you politely step back, your posture stiffening in clear discomfort, but the guy persisted. The asshole actually closed the distance again, flashing a cocky grin and reaching out to boldly wrap a hand around your waist.

That was it. Patience was officially dead.

Tucker’s grip on his beer bottle tightened until his knuckles turned stark white, the thick glass groaning dangerously under the pressure. With a harsh, ragged exhale, he slammed the bottle down on the sticky wooden table so hard the remaining liquid foamed over the top.

"Whoa, Tuck, where are you going?" Garrett asked, looking completely startled by the sudden, aggressive movement from the calmest guy on the roster.

Tucker didn't answer. He didn't even look at his captain. He was already moving, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowded bar, his dark eyes locked dead on the man touching what was his.

He parted the sweaty, grinding crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, his massive frame shoving through the bodies without a single apology. The rational, endlessly patient part of his brain—the part that always played the long game, the part that had agreed to keep this relationship off the radar to deal with Sabrina's baby drama—was dead and buried.

Fuck the secret. Fuck the gossip. Tucker didn't care about the whispers, the rumors, or the stares that were bound to follow. He only cared about the fact that the woman he was completely, irrevocably in love with was slipping through his fingers, and half the bar was trying to swoop in and take his place.

You spun around, desperate to step away from the persistent lacrosse player whose hands were getting way too bold, but before you could tell the guy to back off, a blur of black and silver stepped into your line of vision.

You gasped as the lacrosse player was suddenly violently ripped away from you.

Tucker’s massive, callused hand was fisted in the collar of the guy’s shirt, lifting him nearly off his feet.

"Hey, what the hell, man?" the lacrosse player sputtered, throwing his hands up. He puffed out his chest, trying to look tough.

The words had barely left the guy's mouth before Tucker’s fist cracked across his jaw.

The sickening thud cut through the immediate vicinity of the dance floor. The lacrosse player stumbled backward, crashing into a nearby table and taking a couple of empty beer bottles down with him. The crowd gasped, forming an immediate, wide circle around you, but Tucker didn't even flinch. He stood over the groaning guy, his broad chest heaving, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

"Stay the fuck away from my girl," Tucker growled, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration.

The guy scrambled back, holding his bleeding jaw, and frantically nodded before disappearing into the crowd.

Tucker didn't spare him a second glance. He turned to you, the violence in his frame immediately shifting into a raw, desperate need. Large, familiar hands instantly gripped your hips, hauling you flush against his hard chest.

"Tuck—" you breathed, your heart doing a wild, violent somersault against your ribs.

"Mine," he murmured fiercely.

He pulled you seamlessly into the heavy rhythm of the music. His hands slid from your hips to trail possessively up your spine, sending a shiver of blistering heat straight to your core. He spun you around, pressing your back flat against his broad chest, his thick arms wrapping securely around your waist as he swayed with you.

He could feel you trembling, feel the exact moment the adrenaline bled out of your muscles and you melted against him. This was where you belonged. Not hiding in the shadows. Not sneaking out the back door of the hockey house. It was an undeniably intimate, blatantly sexual claim, loud and clear for the entire fucking bar to see.

Over by the booths, the reaction was instantaneous. Dean’s jaw practically unhinged, his drink freezing halfway to his mouth. Garrett actually choked on his beer, coughing violently while Logan thumped him on the back. Hannah and Allie exchanged wide-eyed, completely stunned looks. John Tucker, the quietest, most reserved guy on the roster, had just knocked a guy out and put on a very public, very unapologetic show.

Tucker spun you back around to face him, completely oblivious to the shocked stares of his teammates. He brought one hand up to cup your cheek, his rough thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip, parting it slightly.

"I don't care who sees," Tucker said, his voice fierce, unwavering, and laced with absolute certainty. "I don't care how complicated it is. I am not hiding you anymore, Y/N. And I am sure as hell not letting you break up with me."

Before you could formulate a response—before your brain could even process the magnitude of what he had just done—he dipped his head and captured your lips in a searing, breathless kiss.

It wasn't a gentle, hidden kiss in the dark. It was a bold, desperate, world-stopping declaration. He kissed you like a starving man, his tongue parting your lips and claiming your mouth with a consuming, dominant heat that made your knees buckle. He caught your weight effortlessly, pulling your hips flush against the hard ridge of his arousal, showing his teammates, your friends, and everyone else in Malone's exactly who you belonged to.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your chests heaving together in the smoky air.

Tucker was the undisputed anchor of the Briar hockey house. He firmly believed that being a team player was just as critical off the ice as it was on it. By default, he was the resident cook, the guy who cleaned up the post-party messes, and the one who quietly kept his three massive, hyperactive roommates from burning their townhouse to the ground.

You fell into step beside him so naturally it felt predestined. When he was fixing a broken railing on the porch, you were sitting on the steps handing him the screws. When he was cooking his legendary, carb-heavy meals for the guys, you were perched on the kitchen island, chopping vegetables.

You became the "Mom" to his "Dad." At first, playing house was a massive turn-on. There was something undeniably hot about domesticity when it was mixed with the raw, adrenaline-fueled energy of a D1 athlete. You’d help him organize the pantry, and he’d reward you by backing you against the wall, his callused hands gripping your thighs to lift you against his chest the second Garrett, Logan, and Dean left for gym. You loved him, and because you loved him, you took on his burdens.

But as the brutal New England winter thawed into spring, that shared weight stopped feeling like a partnership. It started feeling like a noose.

Senior year was a meat grinder. Tucker was quietly suffocating under the anxiety of his future, agonizing over whether to move back to Texas to take care of his mother, or risk his dad's insurance money to start a business in Boston. You were buried under the crushing, soul-sucking pressure of your final exams and post-grad panic.

You were both running on fumes, completely depleted. Instead of leaning on each other for comfort, you started treating each other like just another exhausting obligation on a never-ending to-do list.

The casual touches stopped. The sex evaporated, replaced by the sheer necessity of sleep. You were two ghosts haunting the same kitchen.

Tucker was standing at the stove, aggressively stirring a pot of marinara sauce. The muscles in his broad back were visibly knotted beneath his gray t-shirt. You were sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at your laptop screen, a dull, throbbing headache pounding behind your eyes from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. The silence between you was so thick it felt toxic.

"Can you hand me the garlic powder?" Tucker asked. His signature southern drawl, usually so warm and rich, was clipped and hollowed out.

You blinked, dragging your burning eyes away from your thesis paper, and blindly reached across the counter for the spice rack. Your sleeve caught the edge of a glass olive oil bottle. It tipped, fell, and shattered against the tile floor, sending a slick puddle of oil and jagged shards of glass across the grout.

You squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a ragged, trembling breath. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," Tucker groaned. He dropped his wooden spoon against the stove with a loud clatter and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just... leave it. I'll clean it up. Like I clean up everything else."

The profound unfairness of the comment felt like a physical slap to the face. Your eyes snapped open, a hot, defensive spark of rage overriding your exhaustion.

"Excuse me?" you snapped, pushing your chair back so hard it screeched against the floor. "I spent three hours this morning doing the laundry you and Logan left piled in the hallway. I scrubbed the bathrooms yesterday so you wouldn't have to. Don't stand there and act like you're the only one keeping this place afloat."

Tucker whipped around, his brown eyes suddenly flashing with a raw, desperate anger. "I'm the only one holding us afloat! I am fucking exhausted, Y/N. I'm trying to figure out my entire goddamn future, I'm trying to keep this house from falling apart, and every time I look at you lately, you're a million miles away. It's like you don't even want to be here anymore!"

"Because I'm fucking tired, Tuck!" you yelled, your voice breaking as hot tears of sheer frustration flooded your vision. "I am so damn tired of being the caretaker! I'm tired of pouring everything I have into you and your friends and getting absolutely nothing back! If looking at me is so exhausting for you, then why am I even here?"

Tucker stared at you. His broad chest heaved with heavy, labored breaths. And then, the most terrifying thing happened.

The anger completely drained out of his face.

It was replaced by a hollow, devastating emptiness. The fight just left his body. He leaned back against the counter, looking at you like he was staring at a stranger.

"I don't know anymore," he whispered. His voice was completely broken. "I don't have anything left to give you. I'm empty. Maybe you shouldn't be here."

The words paralyzed you. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't fighting for you. He was just... letting you go. He was too tired to hold on.

A cold, protective numbness washed over your shattering heart. You closed your laptop, shoved it into your tote bag, and grabbed your coat off the back of the chair.

You walked down the hallway, your vision swimming.

Just as you reached the entryway, the front door swung open. Dean and Logan ambled inside, laughing loudly about something Coach had said at practice. Dean kicked off his sneakers, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the air.

"Oh, thank God. Smells like chicken parm," Dean said, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face as he dropped his heavy hockey bag to the floor. "Hey, Y/N/N. What time is dinner?"

You pulled your coat on, refusing to wipe your eyes. You looked dead at him, your voice dripping with cold, bitter heartbreak.

"Ask Tucker," you rasped. "I quit."

You walked out into the freezing night air, letting the heavy front door slam shut behind you.

Dean blinked, his grin slowly fading as he turned his head to look at Logan.

"Did she just..." Dean trailed off, the reality of your shattered voice finally cutting through his oblivion.

Logan winced, staring at the closed door. "Yeah, dude. I think Mom and Dad just called it."

For five days, the fallout of the breakup played out in two different apartments, mirroring each other in a devastating, silent tragedy. You and Tucker hadn't just broken up—you had both completely flatlined.

At Hannah and Allie’s dorm room, you had become a ghost haunting their hand-me-down couch. You hadn't showered in three days. You wore an oversized Briar Hockey hoodie that still faintly smelled of sandalwood and citrus, pulling it up over your nose every time your chest seized with another panic attack. You dragged your heavy textbooks onto the cushions with you, but you hadn't turned a single page.

Hannah tried everything. She brewed endless cups of tea and gently rubbed your back while you stared blankly at the wall. Allie took a fiercer approach, bringing over tequila and loudly threatening to march over to the guys' house and slash Tucker's truck tires.

But neither tactic worked. If you spoke the words out loud—if you admitted that the safest, most solid guy you had ever known had looked at you with utter defeat and let you walk away—it would make it real. And you weren't ready to live in a reality where John Tucker didn't want to be with you anymore.

Across campus, the house was suffering an identical, agonizing death.

Without Tucker functioning as the beating heart of the house, the ecosystem had violently collapsed. But it wasn't the towering stack of pizza boxes on the coffee table or the unwashed laundry spilling into the hallway that had Garrett, Logan, and Dean on edge. It was the absolute, hollowed-out shell of their best friend.

Tucker was drowning, and he was taking himself down quietly. He hadn't turned on the stove since the night you walked out. His bed felt massive and freezing without you curled against his chest. To escape the suffocating silence of his room, he punished himself at the rink. He woke up before dawn to run brutal suicide sprints, hit the boards with an aggression that had Coach Jensen screaming at him, and then came home just to stare at the spot on the kitchen tile where the olive oil bottle had shattered.

He had failed you. That thought looped in his head like a sick, twisted mantra. He was supposed to ease your load, and instead, he had been the one to finally break you.

By day five, your friends decided they had seen enough collateral damage. A secret meeting was called to order in a back booth at Malone's.

Garrett, Logan, and Dean were crammed into one side of the sticky vinyl booth. Hannah and Allie sat opposite them.

Dean was aggressively eating a stack of pancakes, inhaling them like a man who had been wandering the desert for forty days.

"Slow down, Dean, you're going to choke," Allie muttered, sliding her coffee cup out of the splash zone.

"I can't," Dean mumbled around a massive mouthful of syrup and carbs. "Tuck hasn't cooked a single meal since Thursday. We've been living on dry Cheerios and protein powder. My body is cannibalizing its own muscles, Allie-Cat. I'm wasting away."

"You're fine," Garrett sighed, unapologetically stealing a piece of bacon right off Dean's plate. Garrett looked across the table at Hannah, his dark eyes dead serious. "What's the status on Y/N? Because if I have to watch Tucker stare blankly at the wall for one more day, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. He's a ghost, Wellsy."

"Y/N isn't any better," Hannah reported quietly, wrapping her hands around her warm mug. "She's practically fused to our couch. She won't talk about what happened. If Allie or I even say his name, she just pulls the blanket over her head and pretends to sleep."

"We tried to get Tuck to talk, too," Logan chimed in, leaning forward. "He just told us to drop it. They're both completely shut down."

"Because they're both too damn stubborn," Allie said, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked between the three massive hockey players. "If we confront them, they'll just get defensive and dig their heels in. We have to be sneaky about this."

Garrett leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Allie's right. An intervention won't work. We can't force them to talk to us. We have to force them to talk to each other."

"How?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow. "They're actively avoiding each other. Y/N even changed her route to class so she wouldn't have to walk past the ice arena."

"Think about it," Hannah said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face as she looked at Garrett. "What is the core issue here? They're both caretakers. They spent the entire year playing Mom and Dad to you guys. When things got hard, they stopped taking care of each other."

Dean swallowed his pancakes, his green eyes lighting up with realization. "So... we give them something to take care of."

Garrett grinned, tapping his knuckles against the diner table. "Exactly. We manufacture a crisis. Something so chaotic that their instincts override their stubbornness, and they have to team up to fix it."

The plan was executed with military precision.

Tucker was at the gym, violently punishing a heavy bag until his knuckles were bruised and aching beneath his wraps. He was trying to outrun the suffocating emptiness that had swallowed him whole, but it wasn't working. Without you to take care of, he had no idea what to do with his hands. 

His phone vibrated furiously in his gym bag. He ignored it. Ten seconds later, it aggressively buzzed again. Then again. Cursing under his breath, he finally tore his gloves off and swiped the screen open to see three frantic texts from Logan.

Logan: WE HAVE A SITUATION.

Logan: DEAN TRIED TO USE THE STOVE. THE KITCHEN IS LITERALLY SMOKING.

Logan: GET HOME NOW.

Tucker’s heart plummeted straight into his stomach. Dean was a disaster in the kitchen on a good day. Tucker grabbed his keys and sprinted out to his truck, breaking at least three speed limits on the drive back to the house.

Meanwhile, across campus, you were buried under your fleece blanket on Allie’s couch, staring blankly at the wall, when your phone started ringing.

"Hello?" you answered, your voice thick and raspy from disuse.

"Y/N, thank God!" Allie yelled through the speaker. She sounded completely out of breath and bordering on hysterical. "You have to get to the house right now!"

You sat up so fast your head spun, the protective numbness instantly vaporizing. "Allie, what's wrong? Is someone hurt?"

"Dean decided he was tired of starving and tried to cook dinner!" Allie shouted, the shrill, piercing sound of a beeping smoke detector echoing faintly in the background. "There is smoke everywhere! Logan is panicking, Garrett can't find the fire extinguisher, and Tucker isn't answering his phone! You have to come help us!"

"I'm on my way!" you yelled, throwing the blanket off and shoving your bare feet into your boots. Your "Mom" instincts completely overrode your heartbreak. You didn't even bother grabbing a real coat, sprinting out the door in your oversized Briar Hockey sweatshirt.

Ten minutes later you slammed your car into park, ran up the front steps, and shoved the heavy wooden door open.

"Allie?!" you yelled, coughing as a faint, bitter haze of smoke drifted down the hallway.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in your tracks.

The room was an absolute biohazard. A thick layer of white flour was dusted over every visible surface like snow. A pot was boiling over on the stove, hissing aggressively as starchy water hit the hot coils. The smoke detector had been ripped off the ceiling and was sitting on the island, its battery completely removed.

But there was no Allie. No Dean. No Garrett or Logan.

The only person in the kitchen was John Tucker.

He was standing in the center of the chaos, still wearing his sweaty gym clothes, staring at the boiling pot with utter, unfiltered confusion. He whipped his head around when he heard you gasp.

"Y/N?" Tucker breathed, his bloodshot brown eyes going wide.

"Where are they?" you demanded, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as you scanned the empty room. "Allie called me, she said there was a fire—"

"Logan texted me," Tucker interrupted, taking a cautious step toward you. His deep southern drawl was rough and entirely bewildered. "He said Dean was burning the house down."

You both froze.

You looked at the empty kitchen. You looked at the perfectly dismantled smoke detector. You listened to the absolute, unnatural silence radiating from the rest of the house.

"Those motherfuckers," Tucker breathed, dragging a heavy hand down his face as the realization hit him.

You let out a shaky, jagged exhale, leaning back against the doorframe as the adrenaline violently crashed out of your system. You had been set up. The boys weren't starving, the house wasn't burning down, and there was no emergency. Your friends had orchestrated a highly coordinated, incredibly cruel trap.

Tucker walked over to the stove, his broad back stiff as he clicked the burner off and dragged the hissing pot to a cool coil. The kitchen fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

For the first time in six agonizing days, you were really looking at him.

He looked terrible. The shadows under his eyes were bruised and purple, his auburn hair was a sweaty mess, and he carried a rigid, defensive posture that absolutely shattered your heart. He looked like a man who had lost everything.

He grabbed a dish towel, keeping his eyes glued to the flour-covered counter. "I'll clean this up," he muttered, his voice sounding hollow and completely defeated. "You can go back to Allie's."

"Tuck..." you whispered.

"I mean it, Y/N," he rasped, aggressively wiping at the flour. His knuckles were turning stark white. He wouldn't look at you. "I know you don't want to be here. You don't have to stay just because they tricked you."

You watched him frantically scrub the counter, your chest physically aching. The anger and resentment that had fueled you for the past week completely evaporated, leaving only a profound, desperate sadness. You realized then what Hannah and Garrett had figured out days ago. You both had hard exteriors, but inside you were soft. You were both so damn busy trying to hold the house together for everyone else that you let yourselves fall apart. 

You walked forward, your boots stepping over a stray piece of burnt pasta on the floor, reaching for the roll of paper towels sitting on the kitchen island. You tore off a handful, wet them under the faucet, and stepped right up beside him.

In absolute, suffocating silence, you started wiping the flour off the counter next to where he was frantically scrubbing.

Tucker went completely rigid. The aggressive motion of his hands stopped instantly. He stared at your smaller hand moving in sync with his, his broad chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths.

The silence stretched, heavy and agonizing, broken only by the hiss of the cooling stove.

"I love you."

The words were so quiet, so raw, they almost didn't register. Your hand froze on the counter. You slowly turned your head to look at him, your heart completely dropping into your stomach.

He had never said those words to you before.

Tucker finally looked up.

"I love you," he repeated, his signature southern drawl thick and trembling. "I realized it a couple of weeks ago. And it terrified the absolute shit out of me."

"Tuck..." you whispered, your throat painfully tight.

"I'm supposed to have a plan, Y/N," he choked out, swiping a shaky hand across his jaw. "I've been saving my dad's insurance money for years. But graduation is right there, and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. If I move back to Patterson to take care of my mom, I lose you. If I stay in Boston and try to start a business, I have no idea if it's going to fail. I felt like I was drowning in all this uncertainty, and I..."

He swallowed hard, looking at you with complete, heartbreaking defeat.

"I didn't know how to integrate you into a future I hadn't even figured out yet. You work so hard, and you have all these goals, and I was so scared of dragging you down into my mess that I panicked. I pushed you away."

"You idiot," you cried softly, the hot tears you had been holding back for six days finally spilling over your lashes. You dropped the paper towels and turned fully toward him. "You don't have to have it all figured out. Nobody has it figured out."

"I'm supposed to be the one who fixes things," he rasped, his voice breaking. "And I was so terrified I was failing you."

"You never failed me," you whispered, stepping into his space and resting your trembling hands flat against his broad, tense chest. "And you aren't dragging me down. I don't care if we're in Boston or Texas. I don't care if your business plan takes years to figure out. I don't need a perfect plan, Tuck. I just need you."

A jagged, shuddering breath tore out of Tucker's chest.

He closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping his massive arms around your waist and burying his face deep into the crook of your neck. He held you so tight it bruised, lifting you slightly off your feet as his large frame collapsed against you.

"I can't breathe without you," he confessed, the words vibrating fiercely against your skin. "Don't leave me again. Please, darlin', don't walk out that door again."

"I'm right here," you promised, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your tear-stained cheek against his temple. You buried your fingers in his auburn hair, holding him just as desperately. "I'm not going anywhere."

Too loud for Tucker’s liking, honestly.

Dean was halfway through his third beer and yelling at Beau over a hockey game playing above the bar. Garrett was trying to convince Logan to take shots with girls he definitely did not know. 

Tucker sat wedged between Beau and Dean in the booth, nursing the same drink he’d had for twenty minutes. 

Dean threw his arm over Tucker’s shoulders, “do you want to act like you want to be here?” Dean spoke dramatically as he sighed. 

Tucker didn’t even look up from his beer “I do want to be here.” He didn’t even sound convincing. 

Beau shook his head “look around, Malone’s is crawling with girls tonight.” He motioned to the surrounding tables of girls who were looking at them.

“And?”

Beau sent the boy a glare, “you have spoken to zero of them.” It was almost painful to the boys around them.

“Maybe I’m taking a vow of silence.” 

Dean snorted “no you’re being weird.” Beau was quick to clarify “more weird than usual.” Tucker flipped them both off without a beat.

Because the truth was simple: he wasn’t interested in anyone here.

Because he was already seeing someone.

Had been for months now.

Secretly.

Not because he was ashamed of you, actually, it was far from it. The problem was that the second the guys found out, his life would become unbearable. 

Garrett would become an overprotective father. Dean would question why you wanted to be with Tucker, and Logan would wonder how Tucker got you. 

So Tucker kept you to himself.

And you didn’t mind as you found it hilarious.

Especially tonight.

Because the second you walked into Malone’s, Tucker saw the exact moment Dean noticed you “oh my god dude.” Dean patted the boys chest as he pointed his head towards you.

Tucker took a sip from his drink as his eyes followed the blondes “what?” He cocked his head as he wondered what they wanted.

Dean nodded toward the front entrance “look at her.” Beau immeditely joined in “Jesus Christ.”

You were laughing at something your Allie said, pushing your jacket off your shoulders as you headed toward the bar.

Tucker bit back a smile, he had missed you “go talk to her!” Beau motioned to Dean to get up so that Tucker could move. 

But your boyfriend stayed calm “nope.” He shook his head as he smiled. 

He was intending to go nowhere “dude are you blind?” Logan groaned, getting involved. 

“She’s exactly your type.” 

“She’s anyone’s type.” 

Dean’s comment almost got a laugh out of Tucker. 

You glanced around, immediately letting your eyes land on Tucker in the crowded room as a tiny smile tugged at your mouth.

Dean caught it “oh my God,” he said looking like a kid in a candy store as he grinned “she smiled at you.”

Tucker leaned back casually “people smile at me all the time.” He tugged his fingers through the end of his hair.

Logan let out a snort as he shook his head “no they don’t,” Logan said.

The boys all got ready to push him in your direction “I am not doing this.” Tucker announced as he raised his hands in surrender.

Dean pointed accusingly “you’re scared.” His eye twitched as he almost wanted to hit the younger boy.

That got Tucker to look at him “scared?” Tucker raised an eyebrow slowly.

Beau grinned as he rubbed the boys shoulders “prove him wrong.” He urged Tucker to give it a shot.

You were fully aware of what was happening now. Tucker could tell by the way you were hiding your smile behind your drink.

Dean leaned across the table “ten bucks says he can’t even get her number.” The blonde was resorting to a bet to get Tucker moving.

Garrett snorted into his beer “twenty says he won’t even get half way there.” Garrett motioned to Tucker to get a move on.

Tucker sighed dramatically, setting his beer down “fine.” The table erupted immediately confirming that you knew what or who they were talking about.

“There he is!”

“Atta boy!”

“Don’t embarrass us!”

The boys all chanted as Tucker motioned to them to shut up.

You watched him approach with a dangerously amused expression.

And behind him, all of the guys were walking this like it was game 7 of a Stanley Cup final.

Tucker stopped in front of you.

You tilted your head innocently, “hi.” Your lower lip was caught between your teeth.

“Hi.”

Dean was practically standing on the seat trying to hear.

Tucker glanced back once at the table full of idiots watching him.

Then he looked at you again.

Without hesitation, Tucker slid one hand around your waist and kissed you.

Not quick, either.

A full kiss.

The kind that made your hand curl into the front of his shirt immediately.

The bar around you disappeared for a second beneath the whistles and shouting coming from the booth.

When Tucker finally pulled back, you were grinning so hard it hurt.

Behind him?

Absolute silence.

Dean looked horrified.

Beau’s mouth was literally hanging open.

Garrett nearly choked on his drink.

Logan slapped the table so hard the glasses rattled “huh?” Dean was almost speechless as he blinked repeatedly.

He shook his head “how did that?” He looked at Logan who was just as shocked.

Tucker didn’t even turn around yet almost amused that the boys were so shocked “you told me to talk to her.” He shrugged, making you grin.

“You kissed her!”

You shrugged, “he’s good with his words.” You tried to hold back a laugh as you never expected to meet the boys like this.

Dean recovered first.

Barely.

He looked between the two of you “this is absolute bullshit,” he declared as he knew that there was more to the story “there’s no way this just happened naturally.” You seemed too comfortable next to Tucker.

You were still tucked against Tucker’s side, laughing as Beau continued to stare at the two of you like you had told him Santa wasn’t real “thirty bucks,” Tucker reminded casually, holding his hand out toward Dean and Garrett without even looking at them.

They slapped their wallets onto the table in front of them “I can't believe this.” Dean grumbled as he shook his head. 

Logan was grinning now, delighted by everyone else’s suffering “this is my new favourite thing.” He laughed as he shook his head. 

Beau looked back at how you wrapped your arm around Tucker’s torso “you two know each other?” His words finally made the boys clock what was going on.

Tucker shrugged as he smiled “yep.” He shrugged grabbing the thirty dollars from the boys before he held it out for you to grab. 

You smiled as you took the money from him “thanks baby.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek as you slipped the money into your pocket.

Everyones face dropped, “baby!” Gasps travelled across the table.

Dean shook his head “I demand a redo!” He raised his hand as Garrett nodded in agreement. 

Tucker shook his head “you guys thought I didn’t have game!” He argued back as he squeezed your waist. 

Beau nodded as the other three went quiet, “y’know what it was kinda hot what you two did.” He confessed making the three boys glare at him. 

Tuckers cheeks turned red “so how did he get you anyways?” Logan asked as he watched you smirk. 

The truth was that Tucker needed a study partner and your professor nominated you. 

But your story was far more entertaining “have you seen this man?” You patted Tuckers chest making the boy turn even redder. 

The boys found this to be the funniest thing in the world “could have just asked me once I would have been swept off my feet.” Tucker felt like you were torturing him. 

And of course the boys were eating it up “this is perfect.” Dean quickly forgot about the bet as this all seemed far more entertaining to him. 

Tucker groaned “I hate all of you.” He grumbled pinching his fingers at your side. 

You smirked as you kissed his cheek “and you wonder why I waited to introduce you to them sweets.” The nickname rolled off of his tongue. 

Garrett laughed “how long have you been hiding her from us?” Tucker sucked at his cheek. 

“Spring Break?” 

Tucker knew something was wrong. You hated that he knew.

You hated that he knew you well enough to tell the difference between tired and quiet, between busy and avoiding, between I’m fine and please don’t ask me again because I’ll fall apart if you do.

He noticed everything. Usually, you loved that about him.

Usually, it felt like one of the safest things in the world, the way Tucker paid attention without making a performance out of it. He noticed when you were cold before you said anything, when parties started to overwhelm you, and when you were hungry but too stubborn to admit it. He remembered the kind of coffee you liked, the songs you skipped, and the exact look you got when Dean said something that made you want to throw something.

He noticed because that was how Tucker loved you, quietly and steadily and carefully, and now all that care felt like a light pointed straight at the thing you were trying to hide.

At first, you told yourself it was stress. Your period was late, sure, but not late enough to panic.

By the second day, you decided your body was just being weird. On the third, you stopped looking at the calendar. By the fifth, you knew—not for sure, but enough. Something heavy had already settled in your stomach before you even bought the test, a quiet, awful certainty that made your hands shake as you stood in the pharmacy aisle, staring at pink boxes and trying not to cry in public.

You bought three, and you didn’t really know why, maybe because one felt too fragile, too easy to doubt. Maybe because part of you wanted the universe to have to say it more than once.

It did. All three were positive.

Three little answers sat lined up on your bathroom counter, blunt and impossible, nothing like the moments in movies where music swelled, and people somehow knew what to do with their faces.

You just sat down on the floor and stayed there for a long time, until your phone buzzed beside your thigh.

tuck

hey baby, you still coming over tonight?

You stared at his name until it blurred. Then you turned your phone face down and cried so quietly it made your throat ache.

After that, everything became about avoiding him without making it obvious, which was impossible because Tucker had never been stupid.

You canceled on him that night.

Then the next one.

You stopped going to the hockey house because you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting beside him on the couch while everyone yelled around you, pretending nothing had changed when your life had already split into before and after. You stopped staying over because his room felt too much like the place where it had happened, not the test, but the ordinary night that hadn’t seemed important enough to remember in pieces.

You and Tucker had always been careful. That was the part you kept circling back to until it made you feel sick.

You’d been careful. He’d been careful, because of course he had. He was Tucker. He always asked if you were okay before kissing you deeper. He checked in even when you rolled your eyes and told him he was being too sweet. For Tucker, responsibility had always been another kind of love.

And still, it had happened.

The sixth time you ignored one of his calls, you pressed your phone to your chest afterward and whispered, “I’m sorry,” to a room that couldn’t answer.

The next day, he stopped texting as much. He never stopped completely, but there was less of him on your screen.

Somehow, that was worse.

Somehow, that was worse, because it meant he thought space was what you wanted, and because you were hurting him, but he was still trying to be kind about it.

By Thursday night, you were sitting on the floor beside your bed, staring at the drawer where you’d hidden the tests, when there was a knock on your apartment door.

You went still.

Another knock followed, gentler this time, and then came his voice.

“Baby?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. No, not tonight. Please, not tonight.

“It’s me,” Tucker called softly through the door, as if you didn’t know, as if your heart wasn’t already trying to crawl out of your chest.

You didn’t move.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence from the hallway.

Then his voice came quieter. “Hannah told me you were home.”

You let out a shaky breath that almost turned into a laugh, because of course she did. You’d deal with Hannah later. Right now, Tucker was outside your door, and three positive pregnancy tests were hidden in your nightstand.

You pushed yourself to your feet on unsteady legs and crossed the room. Your hand hovered over the doorknob for too long before you finally opened it.

Tucker stood in the hallway in sweats and a faded Briar Hockey hoodie, his hair still damp from a shower, like he’d come straight over after practice. He looked tired, but not just physically.

His eyes softened when he saw you, but something in his face stayed guarded, like he was bracing for bad news and hated that he had to.

“Hey,” Tucker said softly.

Your throat felt raw, but you still managed, “Hey.”

He looked at you a little too long. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I’m fine,” you lied.

His mouth tightened just barely, but you saw it. “You keep saying that.”

You looked down when you said it. “Because I am.”

Tucker was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was still gentle but firmer than before.

“Can I come in?”

You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to shut the door and sit alone with the truth for just a little longer, even though it’d already hollowed you out. But Tucker looked like you’d already been shutting doors in his face for days, so you stepped back and let him in.

He stepped inside quietly and closed the door behind him, and your room had never felt smaller.

The room felt different with him in it.

Tucker glanced around once, not because he was nosy, but because he noticed things, especially when you were falling apart. The unmade bed. His hoodie, the one you’d been sleeping in, was shoved halfway under your pillow like hiding it could make you miss him less. The mug on your desk with cold tea you hadn’t touched.

His eyes flicked to your nightstand, just for a second, before coming back to you.

You hated how quickly he noticed, and you hated even more how much you loved him for not asking yet.

“I’m not here to pressure you,” he said.

You crossed your arms over your chest, as that could somehow hold you together. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” he promised.

“I said okay,” you muttered.

He flinched a little, not dramatically, but enough for you to see it.

You wanted to take it back the second it left your mouth, but you didn’t know how. Apologizing felt dangerous, like one soft word might make you unravel.

Tucker pushed a hand through his hair and looked away for a second.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “I’ve tried to be patient because I thought maybe you needed space, but I’m worried about you.”

“I do,” you answered too quickly, and his gaze found yours again.

“From me?” His voice went quieter.

Your chest tightened, and his name barely made it out. “Tuck—”

“Is it me?”

You couldn’t answer, and that was answer enough.

He nodded once, as he understood, but it wasn’t agreement. It was the look of someone trying to absorb the hit without making it their problem.

“Okay.”

You hated the way that word landed, hated the way he said it so low and carefully, like he was placing something sharp between you.

“It’s not like that,” you got out.

“I don’t know what it’s like.” His voice cracked a little, and he looked away again. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Your throat burned around his name. “Tucker.”

He let out a hard breath through his nose. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I did.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

His eyes were wet, though he wasn’t crying yet, only close enough to make you feel like the worst person alive.

“I keep replaying everything,” he said. “The last few weeks. The last time you came over. The game. That night.” His jaw tightened around the words. “I keep thinking maybe I pushed you somehow, or missed something, or said something stupid and didn’t realize it.”

“No,” you got out quickly.

“Then what is it?” His voice was quiet now.

You shook your head because the words still wouldn’t come. “I can’t.”

Tucker stared at you like he was trying to understand how to reach you, but the hurt on his face only deepened.

“You can’t tell me?” he asked.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted.

“Try.”

A brittle laugh slipped out of you. “It’s not that simple.”

“I’m not asking you to make it simple.”

“You don’t want this.”

Tucker went still, and for a second, neither of you seemed to breathe.

When Tucker spoke again, his voice had lost some of its steadiness. “Are you breaking up with me?”

The question cracked something open inside you.

“What? No.” The answer came out fast, almost frantic.

“Then why does it feel like you are?”

“I’m not.”

“You won’t call me back. You won’t come over. You barely answer texts. You don’t look at me when I see you.” His voice stayed quiet, but the panic underneath it was starting to fray. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to leave it alone,” you snapped, and regretted it immediately.

Something in Tucker’s face changed, and it would’ve been easier if it had been anger. He looked like you’d finally said out loud the thing he’d been afraid of hearing.

He nodded slowly and took a step back, like he was trying to give you exactly what you’d asked for.

“Right,” he said, and panic shot through you before you could stop it, because he sounded like he was giving up.

“Tuck—”

“No, I get it.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to be the guy who keeps pushing when you’re asking me not to.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I just needed to know if I did something wrong.”

You couldn’t breathe, not when he looked so sad, not when he was still trying to respect you, and not when you’d somehow made him think this was his fault.

Suddenly, the truth felt too heavy to keep holding alone.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tuck.” His gaze lifted to yours, and you heard your own breath shake. “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, it felt like everything stopped. The words didn’t echo because they didn’t need to. They just landed between you and sat there, impossible to take back.

Tucker stared at you like he was afraid to move.

For a moment, nothing happened. There was no movement, no sound, no immediate reaching for you, no perfect line or soft, cinematic promise. Just Tucker, frozen, his face going blank like every thought in his head had disappeared at once.

Then Tucker blinked once, and his gaze dropped, not quite to your stomach, just down, like he couldn’t help it, before coming back to your face.

“What?” he breathed, barely above a whisper.

Your arms tightened around yourself as you said it again. “I’m pregnant.”

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. The color slowly drained from his face, and you watched the moment he understood.

The color slowly drained from his face, and you watched the moment he understood, watched as the boy who always knew what to do with his hands suddenly had no idea where to put them.

He stepped back once and sat down on the edge of your bed.

He took one step back and sat down on the edge of your bed, not because he was leaving or because he didn’t love you, but because his legs looked like they’d forgotten how to hold him up.

Seeing him like that made you want to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you got out.

Tucker’s head lifted sharply, but no words came, and that was the part that hurt.

You knew he was shocked, knew he needed time, knew, logically, that no one could respond perfectly to those words. But his silence cracked open every fear you’d been carrying for days.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, faster now. “I know we were careful, I swear. I don’t know how it happened. I took three tests, and they were all—”

“Three?” he echoed.

You nodded, and the tears finally spilled over. “Yeah.”

His gaze drifted toward the nightstand, like he couldn’t help it, and this time, you didn’t miss it.

“They’re in there,” you whispered, nodding toward the nightstand.

He didn’t reach for it. He just stared at the drawer like maybe it could answer for him.

Then he dragged both hands down his face and breathed, “Okay.”

Your heart sank, because that was all he had: okay. Not good, not bad, just the word people said when they had no idea what else to say.

“Okay,” he repeated, quieter this time.

“That doesn’t sound okay, Tuck.”

His hands dropped into his lap. He looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d known him, Tucker looked completely lost.

“It’s not,” he whispered, and somehow, his honesty hurt more than comfort would’ve.

You flinched, and Tucker saw it immediately.

“No, baby, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You regret this.”

His face twisted at that. “What?”

“You regret this,” you repeated.

“No,” he said, like the word had been ripped out of him.

“You do.” Your voice broke. “You’re looking at me like everything just ended.”

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “That’s not the same thing.”

The room fell quiet again. You looked at him, and he looked back, eyes wet now, his jaw tight like he was using whatever strength he had left to hold himself together.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. The sentence felt small, awful, and real.

You nodded, tears sliding down your cheeks. “Me neither.”

“I don’t know what happens now.”

“Me neither.”

“I don’t know how to—” He stopped, swallowed hard, and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know how to be what you need me to be right now.”

That nearly broke you because he sounded ashamed of it, as if being shocked made him cruel and being scared meant he’d failed you.

“Tuck,” you whispered. He looked up. “I don’t know how to be what I need right now either.”

His face crumpled a little.

For a second, he looked younger than you’d ever seen him. Not like a hockey player, and not like the steady boyfriend who always remembered your coat, walked you home, and kissed your forehead when you got anxious. Just a scared boy sitting on your bed, staring at a future neither of you’d planned.

“I thought you’d hate me,” you admitted.

His brows drew together like he couldn’t understand the words. “Hate you?”

“I know that’s not fair to you.”

“No.” His voice came out rough, but sure. “It’s not.”

Tucker closed his eyes for a second, like he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. When he opened them again, he looked at you.

“But I get it,” he said. “I hate that you thought it, and I hate that you were alone with it. But I understand being scared enough to think the worst.”

You cried harder then, not loudly, but silently, with tears falling faster than you could wipe them away.

Tucker stood slowly, careful not to rush you or assume.

His hands lifted a little before dropping again, like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do.

“I want to hug you,” he admitted, his voice unsteady. “But I don’t know if you want me to.”

That was what undid you, not a speech or a promise, but the fact that even shattered and terrified, he still asked.

You nodded, and that was all it took. He crossed the room carefully and pulled you into his arms.

You broke against him then, completely. You pressed your face into his hoodie, hands gripping the fabric at his sides as you sobbed hard enough for your chest to hurt. Tucker held you tightly, not because he knew what to do, but because he knew you needed him there. His breathing was uneven, and his hand shook against your back. At one point, he whispered your name like it hurt to say.

“I’m scared,” you choked out, and his arms tightened around you.

“Me too,” he admitted, holding you tighter.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was the answer that made you believe him. He didn’t tell you not to be scared or promise that everything would be fine. He didn’t say the easy thing just because it would sound better. He only held you and admitted he was scared, too.

After a while, when your legs started to feel weak, he guided both of you down to the floor instead of the bed. The two of you sat on the floor beside your dresser, half tangled together, your knees touching and his shoulder pressed against yours.

It wasn’t romantic. It was ugly, quiet, and real. Tissues were scattered near your desk from the night before, and your laundry basket was overflowing. Tucker’s hoodie was still half-hidden under your pillow. Your face felt swollen from crying, and your eyes were red.

“What do we do?” you whispered.

Tucker looked down at his hands. “I don’t know.” Your stomach turned, but then he added, “Not tonight.”

You looked at him.

“I mean…” He rubbed his palms against his sweats, still nervous. “I don’t think we have to know all of it tonight.”

“All of it?” you echoed.

“Yeah.” His voice was careful. “Whatever all of this ends up being.”

The words sat between you. Neither of you said ‘options,’ ’ decisions,’ or ‘baby.’ Not yet. It was too big, too soon, too terrifying.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to want,” you whispered.

Tucker nodded slowly, accepting that for now. “Okay.”

You looked at him, scared of the word again, and of course, he noticed.

“I mean… you don’t have to know right this second,” he said quickly. “That’s what okay means. Not that I don’t care.”

“I know.”

“I care.”

“I know.”

“A lot,” he added, and your lips trembled. His eyes did too. “I just don’t want to say the wrong thing,” he admitted.

“You already thought I was leaving you.”

“That was before you said something that kind of changed everything.”

A broken laugh slipped out before you could stop it, surprising both of you.

Tucker looked at you for a second, then let out a shaky little sound that almost passed for a laugh before it was gone.

Then the silence came back, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. It still hurt, still scared you, but it wasn’t lonely anymore.

“Are you mad?” you whispered.

“No,” he answered immediately.

“Not even a little?”

He looked at you then, really looked.

“I’m mad that this happened when we were careful,” he said. “I’m mad that you felt like you had to hide it. I’m mad that I didn’t know you were this scared.” His voice softened. “But not at you.”

Your eyes burned again when you said his name. “Tucker.”

“I’m not mad at you,” he repeated.

You pressed your hands over your face, and he waited.

After a moment, you felt his fingers gently touch your wrist, not pulling, just there. You lowered your hands.

He looked at you like his whole world had tilted, but even then, he was still trying to find you in it.

“I might need a second sometimes,” he said. “I might say the wrong thing, or get quiet, but I don’t want you to think that means I’m leaving.”

Your breath caught. “I don’t know how not to think that.”

“I know.” His thumb brushed gently over your wrist. “Then I’ll keep reminding you.”

You stared at him. “What if you change your mind later?”

Tucker looked like the question hurt, but he didn’t rush to answer, and that made it scarier and better at the same time. Because when he did speak, it sounded like he’d chosen the words instead of reaching for the prettiest ones.

“I can’t promise I won’t be scared tomorrow,” he said. “Or next week. I can’t promise I’ll always know what to say. I can’t promise this won’t be messy.”

Your throat tightened, but you still managed, “But?”

His hand slid down until his fingers carefully tangled with yours.

“But I love you.” His voice broke around the words. “And I’m here right now.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “Just right now?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “God, no. I don’t mean it like that.” You couldn’t breathe. “I mean…” He squeezed your hand, eyes wet. “I don’t want to make a promise so big it sounds like I think this is easy, because it’s not. I’m scared out of my mind.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence.

“But I’m here right now,” he said again. “And when right now turns into morning, I want to be there too. And after that… I want to keep showing up, as long as you’ll let me. I don’t know how else to say it.”

There was no perfect answer, no neat line that fixed anything, and no magical moment where the fear disappeared. But Tucker’s hand was in yours, still trembling, still there.

You leaned into him, and he pulled you gently against his side.

For a while, that was enough. Not enough to solve it or make you less pregnant. Not enough to make either of you ready or make tomorrow easier. But enough to get through the next minute, and then the one after that.

At some point, Tucker shifted closer and rested his cheek against the top of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered against your hair.

The words sounded different now, not lighter or easier, but still true, and that was what made you cry again.

“I love you too,” you whispered into his hoodie.

His fingers tightened around yours. Neither of you moved toward the bed. Neither of you talked about doctors, parents, the team, school, or what it would mean after tonight. Those things waited outside the room, as if neither of you was ready to step into.

For now, you stayed on the floor: two scared people, one impossible truth, no plan, no answers. Just Tucker breathing shakily beside you, his thumb tracing small, uneven circles over the back of your hand.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” you whispered.

He was quiet for a second. “Me neither.” His hand stayed wrapped around yours. “But maybe we don’t do it all tonight.”

Another tiny, broken breath shook through your chest.

“Then what do we do tonight?” you whispered.

Tucker swallowed. When he answered, his voice was barely a whisper. “We sit here until it feels like we can stand up.”

It was neither a solution nor a plan, and it did not make anything okay. But it was real, so you nodded, and Tucker stayed.

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