You stole his lighter from his back pocket.

He slammed your locker shut on your hand.

You keyed his dad’s truck.

He called you every slur under the sun.

You called him lonely.

And that one cut deep. You could tell by the way his eyes narrowed, like you’d hit something he didn’t want anyone seeing. And it all boiled over one sticky July afternoon behind the lumber yard. You were sitting on the edge of a rusted-out trailer, shirt off, smoking a cigarette like a delinquent in a coming-of-age film. And maybe you were a little theatrical about it, just to piss him off.

You heard his boots crunch gravel before you saw him.

“I should knock your fuckin’ teeth in.” Henry growled, stepping into the sun. You didn’t move. You just offered him the cigarette. “You tryin’ to get under my skin or somethin’?” he asked, not taking it.

You blew smoke out the side of your mouth. “Why? You think I haven’t already?”

He shoved you. Hard.

You hit the gravel with a grunt, palms scraped, lip bleeding. But you laughed again. You laughed like a man who wasn’t scared of monsters anymore, not even the kind that wore human skin.

Henry stood over you seething. “You’re so fuckin’—”

“Say it.” you dared, staring up at him from the ground.

He didn’t say it.

He kissed you.

It was violent and clumsy and full of teeth. When he pulled away, he looked almost afraid of you or maybe of what he’d just done. “You tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” he muttered, backing up fast like a dog that just bit its owner.

“And what do I get?" you asked, wiping your lip with the back of your hand, smirking through the taste of iron and ash. “For keeping your little secret.”

Henry froze.

Your voice was too steady, too calm, like you’d been expecting this. Like you’d wanted him to snap. That cocky little smirk on your face lit a fuse under his skin.

“What?” he barked, fists clenched, chest heaving. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You stood slowly, brushing dust and gravel off your jeans. The cut on your lip throbbed, but you welcomed the sting. It made this real. 

“I mean,” you said, cocking your head, “you get to play monster. Threaten me. Pretend that didn’t mean anything. But what do I get?”

Henry’s face twisted like he’d bitten into something sour. “You wanna get paid for a kiss, sweetheart?”

You stepped forward until you were toe to toe again. “I want honesty.” He scoffed, eyes darting away like you were a spotlight he couldn’t bear to stand in. “I want a reason you looked scared shitless after you kissed me.”

“I wasn’t scared.” he snapped, too fast.

You smiled wider. “Then why’d you run, Bowers?”

He shoved you again, but it wasn’t like before. There was no heat behind it. No fury. Just desperation. A kneejerk reaction to the storm you were kicking up inside him. “I’m not like you. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

“Funny because your mouth told me a different story."

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”

But you didn’t. Because for the first time in your life, you had Henry Bowers cornered. “Make me.”

He snapped.

He grabbed your face and kissed you again. Harder this time, rough hands framing your jaw like he didn’t know whether to hold you or crush you. His breath was ragged, his whole body tense like he hated himself with every second that passed but couldn’t pull away.

When you pulled back, both of you were panting. “I hate you.” he said, voice cracking.