#meeks x reader

You let out a happy sigh at the thought, and your breath fogs up the glass, temporarily obscuring your view of the winter wonderland outside. At some point, you’ll have to go back outside again, and risk the sensation in your hands and feet for the reward of getting home, but as for right now, you’re safe to sit inside and stay warm another hour.

You’re supposed to be studying, but it’s too cozy in here, the woven weight of your sweater too comfortable. Your pen fell from your hand a while ago, lying idly against a half-finished essay on the role of trade in seventeenth century empire building, and you eye it distastefully. You should keep going, make some actual progress instead of daydreaming, but you don’t particularly want to, so you don’t, and cast your eye about for another distraction instead.

That one is quite easy to find. Although you’re not a Welton student yourself, one of your favorite people in the world is, and he’d snuck you in easily enough since none of the faculty wanted to exert themselves in upholding the rules on a cold day like this one. This is not your first time in the halls of Welton Academy, nor will it be your last. You met Steven Meeks what feels like a lifetime ago, came to know him as a friend and better, and you’ve never looked back once. The rest of his friends, the self-proclaimed Dead Poets Society, accepted you into their ranks with only some mild hedging on Cameron’s part, and now the thought of their world without you in it seems more ridiculous than the inverse.

Steven had invited you here so you could be a good influence on each other, studying-wise: he was supposed to be wrapping up some homework on advanced pre-calculus, and you had that stupid trade essay that really needed revising. It seemed like a good enough plan, two people trapped in a room until they finished their work, but instead you’ve been lost in thought for at least half an hour, and Steven– well, you’re pretty sure Steven’s supposed to have been totally immersed in the unit circle, but instead he’s been fairly well occupied with adjusting the knobs on his radio, sin and cos be damned.

Smiling, you cross the room to take a seat at Steven’s parts table. “How’s the math homework going?” You ask pointedly.

His lips prop up in a self-deprecating grin. “About the same as the essay, I imagine.”

You glance guiltily at the abandoned papers on your desk. “Touché. Well? What improvements have you made this time?”

Steven straightens up proudly, clearly happy to have been asked. “Well, nothing major, just a few tweaks, but I think I’ve managed to improve the radius of signal input, which would definitely help with that signal-to-noise ratio issue, other than adjusting the gain, I mean, and–”

He lapses into muttering, prodding again at an antenna on the top of the box, and your heart warms at the sight. Never change, Steven Meeks. No matter what the others tell you.

“So you’ll be able to pick up other channels?” You ask, curious.

“I’ll be able to pick up a channel, hopefully,” he gripes. “Nothing but static so far. Which is annoying, because really all of this should work.”

“Maybe your radio is working fine and the other stations are having trouble because of the snow?” You ask.

Steven shrugs. “Maybe. Guess we’ll find out,” he says suddenly, screwing one last panel into place again and reaching for the dial once more.

Loud static issues from the speakers, and Steven winces, hurriedly turning down the sound. “Sorry, sorry.”

Once your ears are safe, he starts searching for channels again. At first, it’s not looking good, but then there, in between bursts of irregular static, you hear something, a single note, then two. “There!” You say excitedly.

Steven nods, focusing on the station you’d heard. All of a sudden, it comes into clear, crisp focus, and you realize you recognize the tune, one of those cheerful pop melodies that had been playing on the radio the last time you’d driven over here. Steven throws his hands in the air, celebrating like a little kid, then jumps to his feet, pulling you up with him a second later.

“It works!” He crows excitedly.

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re a genius, Steven Meeks.”

“We’re geniuses,” he corrects happily. “You and me.”

Steven reaches down, takes your hands, and starts to dance along with the song. You dance with him, not always able to keep your pace for laughing, and let him spin you. You don’t know all of the words, but you sing the ones you do, and Stven’s more or less able to match you. You’re both viciously off-key, but the real melody is somewhere between the two of you, and that’s basically the same thing as both of you getting it right.

The light shines on the lenses of Steven’s glasses, making his eyes sparkle. The red of his hair matches the flush of his cheeks as he dances you around the room. Your ribs ache slightly from laughing too hard, but it’s a pleasant sort of ache, similar to the burn of the wind on your blushing face when you'll have to brave the cold to go home tonight. These are the sorts of pains we couldn’t live without.

The door swings open, and Gerard Pitts leans in, looking confused, although his expression quickly melts to pride when he hears what’s playing. “Don’t tell me you got the radio working!”

“Ah, so that’s what this ruckus was?” He’s interrupted by Charlie Dalton, elbowing past him with a rakish grin on his face. “We were starting to wonder what horseplay the two of you were getting up to.”

You roll your eyes. “Just engineering brilliance, Charlie. Go back to harassing another first-year.”

Charlie clutches a hand to his chest in mock agony. “You accuse me of harassment? Other students would vie for the pleasure of my company, L/N. You wound me.”

Steven snorts. “You wound us more, Dalton.”

Charlie laughs. “Bullies, you two. Fine, then, Pitts, we’ll take our business elsewhere. I can see we’re not wanted here.”

He wiggles his eyebrows ferociously before Pitts groans and pulls him out of the room. They disappear down the hall, but not before Charlie manages to shout something about keeping the door cracked for the sake of posterity.

Steven sighs in annoyance at the interruption, but you don’t miss the way his face has gone a sudden, flaming red at Charlie’s comment. You’re not completely unaffected either, but you manage to sit back down at the table with the radio, glancing at Steven with an expression of excitement. “Well? Should we see what other channels are out there?”

Steven smiles again, a real smile, the kind he only ever lets slip around you. “Yeah, I think we will.”

The snow sparkles outside your window, chillingly cold but stunningly beautiful. Inside, you’re warm, you’re happy, and you haven’t yet noticed the way Steven watches you like you watch the new snowfall, as if you were the most fascinating person in the world, and, secretly, as if you were his.

dead poets society tag list: @faerieroyal

Steven stared blankly at you, and you struggle to stifle a laugh. He scratched his head, his eyes magnified by those glasses he wore so often,

"But I'm... almost at number twenty-four."

You pointed to the crossword boxes, "It's Rheumatoid Arthritis."

Steven gave an unconvinced look. You rolled your eyes, sitting up,

"Try it."

His eyes focused, zeroing in on the number of blank spaces. Then his pencil etched every letter necessary, writing them down with vigor. Steven mouthed the letters, then laughed to himself,

"Well, what do you know? It is Rheumatoid Arthritis."

You took off your cardigan, leaving you in just a pair of pajama pants and an inner shirt. Steven cleared his throat, looking to the cupboard instead with the reddest cheeks,

"How did you figure?"

You were smug as ever, folding your reading specs on the bedside table, "You would've known sooner had you asked. I'm smart too, y'know."

He approached you, bashful by the red tint of his ears but tempted by the insistence to be closer. Steven settled himself next to you on the bed, taking off his spectacles and putting them next to yours. His brown frames were complimenting your pink ones, huddling with each other just as their owners were.

Steven put an arm around you as you both laid against the soft-fitted sheets. He sighed, peppering kisses under your jaw. His voice was groggy when he spoke low and soft,

"Wanna sleep?"

You shut off the lamp and pulled the blanket closer, looking back to meet his eyes. You caressed his lips, kissing them before closing your eyes,

"Good night, Steven."

There were only soft snores and the warmth of his chest against your back.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ⤵

Meeks' growth spurt this school year is doing wonders for him. Along with his slightly different haircut and the way his voice sounds a little deeper than you realized last may. Meeks' appearance might've changed, but the way he acted towards you hasn't. You and Meeks have been good friends throughout your years at Welton. Being one of the few girls at Welton made no difference to how you fit in with him and his friends.

You've always had a bit of a crush on the redhead, but this year it was different. You've found yourself smitten. Your head only contained thoughts of how his hand brushed against yours during breakfast yesterday, or how he offered his Latin notes to you, and only you.

You and Meeks spent almost every waking second together (with Pitts too, but that's besides the point). Nearly the whole friend group made jokes that you two were meant for each other, or that you two were dating already. It was obvious that both of you liked each other, but Meeks was too afraid to make the first move.

So now, as you stared at the lined paper in front of you, the only thing you could think of was the constellation of freckles on Steven's cheeks.

You were doomed.

In Meek's room, there was a similar situation going on. The redhead was currently contemplating whether he should use this assignment to create a heartfelt message to tell you his true feelings about you. The paper sat blank in front of him.

Steven Meeks felt like one of the luckiest guys on campus knowing that the prettiest girl at Welton was one of his close friends. Walking you to class, sitting next to you during meals, and studying together in the library was a privilege to him. Every single one of his friends knew that he was in love with you.

Everyone but you.

Pitts walked into his shared dorm. He immediately saw the look on Meeks' face and knew he was thinking about you.

"Jesus Meeks, tell the girl already!" Pitts said, as he threw a textbook on his desk.

"It's not that simple and you know that Pitts!" Meeks said. "If I tell her and she doesn't feel the same way I could lose one of my closest friends. It could break up the entire friend group! Todd and Neil will probably end up taking her side and we'd end up never seein-"

"You're overreacting Meeks." Pitts cut the boy off from his rambling. "That's not the type of girl she is. If she doesn't like you back she'll probably let you down easy."

"Gee thanks for giving me confidence." Meeks said sarcastically.

"But you don't even have to worry about that because she likes you back! Like I've said for the millionth time!" Pitts tried to reassure Meeks. "Now write that girl a love poem!"

---

You had decided to write your poem on rainy days. You couldn't stand the thought of your entire English class knowing who you have a crush on. Your day carried on with less anxiety knowing your poem no longer had the potential to embarrass the crap out of you.

Meeks seemed the exact opposite. He was jumping at every time you tapped his shoulder to get his attention, or every time you nudged him because he wasn't focused in Latin. You knew something was wrong because Latin was his favorite.

English class approached quickly. Meeks' face got paler by the second. Instead of walking together from Latin to Keating's class, he walked with Pitts. The pair walked into class while you were still down the hallway. You noticed a sheet of folded paper at your feet.

You picked it up and unfolded it. You recognized the handwriting immediately, as well as the "S.M" in the corner. You figured it must've been his poem for class. Before you walked through the door you stopped and read it.

It was titled "I Love You Because." Your heart fell to the bottom of your stomach.

I love you because you understand Every single thing I try to do You're always there to lend a helping hand, I love you most of all because you're you

No matter what may be the style or season I know your heart will always be true I love you for a hundred thousand reasons But most of all I love you 'cause you're you

You felt sick. You almost walked back to your dorm right then and there. Instead, you stuffed his love poem for some other girl into the middle of your poetry textbook and stormed into the class.

Instead of sitting in your usual chair next to Steven, you sat in the back near Charlie. When you sat down, Charlie noticed the bothered look on your face immediately.

"Why aren't you sitting with your boyfriend?" Charlie nodded his head towards Steven in the front.

"If you're referring to Steven, I have no idea what you're talking about, because he is far from my boyfriend." You said while not making eye contact with Charlie. Instead your focus was on stuffing Stevens love poem further into your book, as if it would make the words on the paper disappear.

Keating then walked into the room. Meeks noticed the seat beside him was sat in, but not by you. He looked around the room behind him, and noticed you with a sad look on your face. His attention turned to Keating when he started talking.

"Be prepared to share your poem today class!" Keating started.

Everyone shuffled their books around and pulled out the pieces of paper that contained their poem. Meeks realized that his was missing. His heart started beating faster. He could've sworn he put it in the front cover of his textbook!

Mr. Keating then started calling people up one by one to read their poem aloud. You paid no attention to the first boy that read his poem. Instead, your brain ran through the 7 girls in your class that Steven's poem could be about. It was probably the other girl in your Latin class that Steven smiled at last week! As you raged silently in your seat, Mr. Keating called Meeks up to read his poem that sat in your bag.

"Mr. Steven Meeks?"

"I'm sorry Sir, I can't seem to find it. I promise I did write one!" Meeks said worriedly.

"My! I expect this behavior from Mr. Dalton, not you Meeks!" The class laughed, while Meeks' face reddened. "It's okay, although, I expect the poem on my desk tomorrow."

"Yes Captain." Meeks said as he shrunk down in his seat.

More students read their poems, and before you could even realize, class was over. Mr.Keating said that those who didn't read their poem that day would read it the next day.

The class stood from their seats, and started to exit. Meeks walked out and waited for you by the door. You rushed out the door with Steven's poem in your hand. You pushed the poem into his chest as you walked out the door.

"Here, I think you dropped this earlier. Whoever it's for will probably want to read it." You stormed off, tears almost coming out of your eyes. You wanted to get away from everyone. You knew Charlie or Pitts would come to interrogate you soon. Luckily, English was your last class for the day, so you were able to lock yourself in your room until dinner.

Meanwhile, Steven was walking down the halls of Welton with Pitts by his side, poem still in hand. Steven was confused to say the least.

"You said she liked me! Everyone said that she liked me!" Meeks said.

"She does like you! At least I think she does..." Pitts tried to reassure Meeks. "Can you tell me her exact words again?" Pitts said as Charlie walked up.

"She said, "Whoever it's for will probably want to read it." What does that even mean? It was for her!" Meeks said. The poor boy looked so defeated. Charlie put his arm around Meeks.

"What happened Meeksie?" Charlie asked.

"Meeks' girlfriend, well I'm not sure if I should call her that anymore, found Meeks' lost poem. It was a love poem to tell her how he feels. And she got mad and said, "Whoever it's for will probably want to read it."" Pitts voice squeaked as he tried to immitate you. "And she threw it in his chest."

"Is that why she sat next to me today?" Charlie wondered. "She seemed pretty sad the whole class. I even called her your girlfriend Meeks, she usually gets all giggly when I call her that, but today she just got all upset." Charlie explained. "Well she's obviously jealous."

"What do you mean she's jealous? The poem was for her!" Meeks said.

"Meeks you're a Latin genius, but God, you're stupid when it comes to girls. She obviously thinks you wrote the poem for some other girl." Charlie said as if it was the most simplest thing ever.

Then it all made sense. Pitts and Steven both had the lightbulb expression on their faces.

"Well that's great! She still likes you!" Pitts said jumping up and down while shoving Meeks playfully.

"Yeah, but I still hurt her. She's in her dorm right now thinking I'm in love with some other girl.

"How are you gonna tell her? Charlie asked.

"I'm not exactly sure, but I think I'm gonna need Neil's help."

----

The next day was Friday.

Friday was usually filled with joy and laughter throughout the Welton halls, but with not having Steven by your side all day, was filled with dreary and sorrow.

Neil had invited you to dinner in town that night. It took a lot of convincing. You had originally planned to sit in your dorm all weekend reading. But when you told Neil you wouldn't be joining him at the Dead Poet's Society meeting he at least wanted to take you out to eat.

It was sweet of him. Word had probably spread about how heartbroken you were about Meeks not liking you back. He probably invited you for dinner because he felt bad.

And so, after a long day of classes, you put on one of your nicer dresses, did your makeup, and curled your hair. The plan was to meet Neil in front of the school so the cab can pick you both up.

It was 6:35, but still no sign of Neil. Your reservations were for 7, and you hated being late. As anxiety creeped in your brain, you noticed someone who was most definitely not Neil walking towards you.

Steven was walking towards you, bouquet and crumpled piece of paper in hand. He was wearing his argyle sweater that you had said was your favorite once.

"Meeks, no." You whispered beneath your breath. You felt so embarrassed! You had no idea what he was doing.

He said your name when he was finally a couple feet away from you. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, something he only did when he was nervous.

"I love you because you understand Every single thing I try to do You're always there to lend a helping hand, I love you most of all because you're you

No matter what may be the style or season I know your heart will always be true I love you for a hundred thousand reasons But most of all I love you 'cause you're you"

You looked at the boy standing in front of you, the flowers in his hand, and the deep red blush that was staining his cheeks. You were in love.

"The poem was for me?" You asked him.

"Yes. Of course it is." Meeks smiled. "Oh! These are for you!" His shaking hand reached out and gave you the bouquet. They were your favorite flowers. You grabbed them from him, fingers touching for a split second.

"Oh gosh Meeks, I feel so dumb." You put your hand on your forehead in embarrassment. "Thank you Meeks. I love it, the poem, and the flowers." An awkward silence fell between you two. You didn't know how to handle the newfound affection... and neither did Meeks.

"Do you mean it... the poem?" You asked, still not completely sure if you were dreaming or not.

"Of course I do." Steven said quietly. He took a step closer, faces almost touching. The tension was split apart by the cab pulling up.

"I love you too Steven." You confessed, sighing a breath of relief.

All of a sudden there was loud shouting and celebration around the side of the building. All of the Dead Poets came rushing to you and Meeks.

"Can I be the maid of honor!" Charlie asked you while tugging on the sleeve of your dress.

"Hey! I should be the maid of honor! She wouldn't be out here if I wasn't supposed to be taking her to dinner right now!" Neil argued, and reminded you of the cab a couple feet away.

"Alright, alright! We gotta go! Leave my girl alone." Meeks said while opening the door of the car for you.

Hearing him say "my girl" was enough for you to faint right then and there.

You stepped in the car and told the rest of the boys goodbye.

After Steven got in and sat right next to you, the cab drove off. The group of rowdy boys still jumping in excitement in front of the school.

You shake your head. He wouldn’t do that. Steven is too sweet for that, too kind. But that thought doesn’t stop the nervous flutter in your stomach whenever you think about handing it to him and saying, “Merry Christmas.” It’s not just a gift, it’s a confession, wrapped in yarn and way too much overthinking.

You sigh again, staring out the frost-covered window of your room. The sky is a thick gray, but something catches your eye. It takes a moment to realize it’s snow. Heavy flakes drifting lazily to the ground, blanketing everything in white.

You lean closer, your breath fogging the glass as you watch. The snow looks so soft and inviting, covering every branch, every rooftop, every pathway in shimmering magic. For a moment, it’s enough to distract you from your nerves. And then an idea sparks in your chest, and it burns so brightly you can’t ignore it.

I have to see him.

It’s a wild, impulsive thought, but it feels right. You pull yourself away from the window, suddenly filled with nervous energy. The snow is perfect, fresh and untouched, and there’s something about the way it falls that makes you think of him with his freckled face lit by the glow of street lamps, his red hair catching the light. You imagine him standing in the middle of the snowfall, laughing softly, and your heart aches.

You grab your coat and boots, dressing quickly for the cold. As you pull on your gloves, you glance back at the desk, where the green hat sits in its little box. For a moment, you hesitate. Should I really bring it?

But something about the snow gives you courage. You grab the box, tucking it under your arm, and head toward the door. Your heart races as you step into the empty night.

His hallway is eerily quiet, and you tread lightly, careful not to let your boots scuff too loudly against the floor. Meeks’ door looms in front of you, a barrier between you and the boy who’s been occupying every corner of your mind. You raise your fist to knock, hesitating for a heartbeat, and then tap softly. The sound barely registers, but the door creaks open almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

Steven stands there, his face slightly shadowed by the dim light from the hallway, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both frozen in a strange, awkward bubble of anticipation.

“Did you see it’s snowing?” you finally whisper, your voice softer than you intended.

Steven’s face lights up instantly, and he nods. “Yeah, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod back, feeling your heart stutter. 

“Do you want to go sneak outside?” you ask, almost daring yourself to speak.

His response is immediate, a quiet but excited, “Of course.” He grabs his coat from the back of his chair, slipping it on quickly, and you suddenly notice something that sends your nerves into overdrive. His head is bare. No hat, no scarf, just his slightly tousled red hair, catching the faint light from the hall.

“Won’t your head get cold?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your grip on the box in your hand tightens.

Steven shrugs. “I’ll survive,” he says lightly, but the sight of his uncovered head makes your heart thrum louder.

You take a breath, summoning every ounce of courage. “Wait,” you say, holding the box out awkwardly. “I, uh… I made you something. For Christmas. I was going to wait, but…” Your words trail off, your nerves tying them into knots.

His eyes widen in surprise, and he looks down at the box before carefully taking it from your hands. He opens it slowly, as if savoring the moment, and pulls out the green hat. For a second, he just stares at it, his expression unreadable.

“You made this?” he finally asks, his voice tinged with awe.

“Yeah,” you reply, your cheeks burning. “I mean, it’s not perfect or anything, but I thought you could use one, and, uh… green looks good on you.” You bite your lip, feeling like you’re babbling, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He’s holding the hat delicately, as if it’s something rare and precious. “You spent all this time making something for me?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, a little shyly. “I thought… you deserved something nice.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you with an expression that makes your chest tighten. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh. “This is incredible. Really.”

But he doesn’t put it on, just keeps turning it over in his hands. You hesitate, then step closer, your heart hammering in your chest. “Here,” you say, reaching out and taking the hat from him. “Let me.”

Before you can second-guess yourself, you stretch up and plop the hat onto his head, adjusting it slightly until it sits just right. He looks at you with wide eyes, his freckles stark against his pale skin, the green wool making his red hair look even more vibrant.

“How do I look?” he asks, his voice light but tinged with something warmer, something vulnerable.

You force yourself to stay steady, though your cheeks burn hotter. “You look… good. Really good,” you say.

His smile softens, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. Snow could be falling in the room for all you know, his eyes are that warm and consuming. He’s studying your face, and you feel the same pull, letting your gaze linger on the curve of his lips, the soft dip of his cheek.

The moment stretches until you can’t stand it anymore. You break the tension by grabbing his hand, your gloved fingers wrapping around his. “C’mon,” you say, tugging him toward the door, your voice barely above a whisper.

He follows, his fingers tightening around yours, and for the first time, you don’t feel nervous. Just alive.

The snow blankets everything in a thick, sparkling layer, muffling the world until it feels like you and Meeks are the only two people alive. As soon as you step outside, you let go of his hand, throwing your head back and spinning with your tongue out to catch the flakes. The cold, crisp air fills your lungs, and the snowflakes melt against your skin, but all you can feel is freedom.

Meeks stands a few feet away, watching. You catch him out of the corner of your eye, his red hair poking out from under the green hat you made him, his eyes wide and soft with something unspoken. For a moment, you forget about the snow entirely and just look at him. He looks so warm and out of place in this icy landscape, like he doesn’t belong in the cold but thrives anyway, like the sight of you could keep him warmer than any coat.

“C’mon,” you say, your voice light with laughter, breaking his trance. You grab his hand again and pull him forward into the snow. “You have to enjoy this!”

“I am,” he says, though his voice is quiet. There’s something in it that makes you pause, but when you glance at him, he just gives you that soft, sheepish smile and lets you lead him forward.

The two of you walk through the snow, your boots crunching softly with every step. You find yourself wandering toward the woods, where the snow is untouched and the faint glow from Welton doesn’t reach as much. The trees stand tall and dark against the white, their branches heavy with snow. The silence here feels heavy, like the world is holding its breath just for you.

“It’s so beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at the trees and the snow falling thickly around you.

“Yeah,” Meeks says, but there’s something in his voice that makes you look at him. He’s not looking at the trees or the snow or anything around him. He’s looking at you.

“What?” you ask softly, a small smile playing on your lips.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, like he’s debating something. You tilt your head, teasing, “Are you cold or something? Because you’re staring like…”

“You’re beautiful.”

The words hit you like a snowball, unexpected and stunning. Your breath catches, and you stop walking. He stops too, his face immediately flushing, his freckles standing out starkly against his red cheeks. “I mean…” he stammers, running a hand through his hair. “What I meant was…well, I mean that too, but…”

“Steven,” you interrupt, stepping closer.

“I like you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling over themselves in his haste. “A lot. I have for ages. You probably already know, but I… I just had to say it. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just…” He trails off, his breath visible in the cold air, and he looks at you like he’s waiting for you to run away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you take another step closer, and then another, until you’re standing right in front of him. “You’re funny,” you say softly, and his face falls for a moment before you reach up and touch his cheek, brushing a stray snowflake away. “Of course, I feel the same.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in shock. “You, uh, you do?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you like the joy you’ve been holding back for so long. “Obviously,” you say, your voice teasing but warm. “Why do you think I made you a hat, Steven?”

He looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe it, like he’s afraid to move in case this is a dream. You don’t give him the chance to second-guess it. Standing on your tiptoes, you close the distance between you, your lips brushing his softly at first, then firmer as his arms instinctively come up to hold you. The kiss is warm and sweet, like every unspoken feeling finally put into words.

When you pull back, you’re both smiling, breathless and red-cheeked. “You’re going to get frostbite if we stay out here,” you say, though your voice is light with laughter.

“I’d risk it,” he says, his voice soft and teasing, “but only for you.”

The boys murmured amongst themselves as they pondered Charlie’s question.

“Y/n.” Pitts said assuredly.

A hum of approval settled over the group.

“Hello?” Meeks whined, “why not me?”

“Well,” Pitts stuttered, “I mean Y/n is just like…stronger”

“Stronger?” Meeks squealed in offense, “she’s a girl…I could take her any day.”

“Oh yeah?” You turned to him quickly, brows furrowing.

“Yeah, duh,” he said, red curls bouncing over his glasses as he nodded his head.

“Alright,” you began rolling up your sleeves, standing up from the floor and turning to Meeks, “let’s settle it then.”

Offering him your hand, Meeks stood up, glancing around the room as the rest of the poets sat up from their respective lounging positions to watch the ‘fight’.

“I can’t hit a girl…” Meeks began.

“No backing down now, Meeksy, you started this, you finish it.” You playfully jab at his arm.

You swear you could hear him mutter an ow before rubbing his arm. 

“Come on,” you repeated as you slapped and punched his arms, his head already dangling in defeat.

“Alright,” he locked eyes with you, “that’s enough.”

The next thing you knew you were pinned to Todd’s bed, Meek’s hands grasping your wrists above your head as he breathed heavily above you.

“Wooo” Charlie exclaimed from the other bed, the other boys dead quiet as their eyes locked on the two of you in such an intimate position. 

Blood filled your cheeks as you stared up at Meeks, a smirk appearing on your lips as butterflies began to churn in your stomach, “wow, you are strong after all.”

His eyes trailed up your face until they locked with yours, a blush finding its way to his cheeks as well.

He began to smile as his eyes remained locked with yours, but only for a moment before yours darkened and you switched positions. Straddling his waist, you pinned his hands down above his head as he stared at you wide-eyed, mouth agape. 

The other boys gasped, silence falling over the room as tension erupted between you and Meeks. He tried to speak but no words came out, just more and more blush on his cheeks.

You held his wrists down firmly, leaning forward just enough that your faces were inches apart. His breathing quickened, and for a moment, you could feel his heart racing beneath you. The room remained dead silent, but you barely noticed the others anymore, the space between you and Meeks pulsing with something unspoken.

"Didn't think you'd go down so easily," you teased, voice low, letting a playful smirk tug at your lips.

Meeks swallowed hard, his eyes darting between your face and the ceiling as if he were searching for a way out, but he was clearly flustered. "I... I wasn't exactly trying," he finally stammered, his voice shaky but laced with a hint of amusement.

"Oh?" you tilted your head, leaning in even closer. "Maybe I’m just stronger than you after all."

You could feel his body tense beneath yours, and as he let out a breath, something shifted between the two of you—an unspoken connection that wasn't just about play-fighting anymore. You let go of his wrists, placing your hands on his chest just long enough to feel the rapid rise and fall of his breath.

"You've definitely proved your point," Meeks whispered, eyes now soft, searching yours for something more than just a playful sparring match.

Your teasing smile faded, replaced with something more sincere as the playful moment transformed into something... unexpected. For a second, you both just stared at each other, the world outside of the bed disappearing entirely.

Then, as if breaking the spell, Todd’s voice cut through the silence. “Uh… you two okay over there?”

You blinked, realizing you were still sitting on top of Meeks. You quickly climbed off him, flustered but laughing it off. "All good," you replied, standing up and giving him one last smirk. "I think I’d uh…I’d probably want to be on that island with me too."

Meeks sat up, still blushing, but he managed a grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'll, uh, second that."

Charlie snickered from the other bed, breaking the tension in the room as the other boys finally exhaled, and the laughter spread. But even with the joking and chatter filling the air again, you couldn't help but notice Meeks stealing glances at you, his eyes lingering a little longer than usual.

'To my lovely (y/n),

Shall I compare the to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... --William Shakespeare (I couldn't resist)

I hope your weekend was just as perfect as you are, and I hope your week even better.

I wish you the utmost luck on ou- your next chemistry test, though I must say, I doubt you'd need luck.

Always yours,

An Admirer'

It wasn't the first note you had received, and you doubted that it would be the last.

They had began to appear, slid under the door of your dorm, a few weeks into the school year; Now it was almost November, and the soft red envelopes had become almost like a friend to you, greeting you every few mornings.

You turned the new letter over in your hand as you sat at your breakfast table.

"Another one?" Your friend asked as she slid into her seat next to you.

"Yup." Was all you said, quickly tucking the envelope under your plate.

She raised her eyebrow, "You know the more this goes on, the more I swear you almost seem disappointed to get one."

You shrugged, "I just wanna find out who it is... and I never seem to get any closer to figure it out."

"You don't wanna just find out who it is," You friend teased, "You just wanna know if it's Meeks."

Just at the accusation, you could feel your face begin to flush, "Shut up."

~~

'To my darling (y/n),

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. --Pablo Neruda

Something about those words feel right, for you and me.

Only you aren't the dark- your far from it.

If anything you are the light, the beautiful, flickering candle and I'm simply a moth drawn to the flame.

Always yours,

An Admirer'

The words of the newest note seemed to echo in your head, even hours after you'd first read it.

Who had written it?

You had read and re read the lines, searching for some sort of message or hint, but still, you couldn't find anything.

Sighing, you tried to focus back down on the calculus worksheet Dr. Hager had given out to fill the last forty minutes of class. It was honestly the last thing you wanted to be focused on, and your eyes couldn't help but wander off your paper and around the room.

After a moment, your gaze landed on the desk next to you, and Meeks' own gaze quickly whipped back to his work. You barely held in a giggle as his face went red, catching his eye just enough to send him a smile.

Later, as you stood in the hall, waiting for your friend to finish gathering her things, you shuffled through your things, surprised to find a new slip of paper:

'Your smile is brighter than the sun, setting off a heat that's almost scorching, yet I'd gladly bear that heat to see it everyday. --Your admirer'

"Did he give you that during class?" Your friend demanded, looking over your shoulder, "He's getting bold!"

"Not in class, I didn't find it till I was out here for a minute- it could've been anyone!"

It was almost exasperating.

~~ So far, the presentations in Mr. Keating's class had gone well, Knox had written about Chris, Hopkins.... , and Todd's off the cuff poem had been incredible.

But now it was your turn, and as Mr. K called your name to go next, you decided you no longer liked presentations in Mr. Keating's class.

"Go on, Miss (y/l/n); dazzle us with your words!"

You took a deep breath, slowly moving up to the front of the class.

"'I don't really know you, not in the way that you know me, but I try to understand in the strokes of your pen, the little things you do, but until then, I'll read them over and over again.'"

You finished reading, making a beeline back to your desk before the class could even begin to clap.

"Excellent, Miss (y/l/n)! Absolutely brilliant!" Mr. Keating cheered, "Another perfect example of one of our main themes: love!"

You only nodded, barley registering his words; there was something about Meeks' expression as you returned to your desk- surprise- shock- and something you couldn't name.

~~ 'To my wonderful (y/n),

I see a sweetness in her smile, bright light shines from her eyes, but life is complete, contentment is mine, just knowing that she's alive --Our very over Knox Overstreet

A poem about me? I must say, darling, I'm flattered.

Always yours,

Your Admirer'

You hadn't stopped to read the note at first, instead peering up and down the empty hall; you'd heard the footsteps this time, but hadn't made it to the door in time.

But now that you had stopped to read the words properly, your heart seemed to drop.

He was in your English class-

He was in your English class!

That narrowed the hunt down to a group of 18 or so.

~~

You weren't sure whose dumb idea it was, yours, your friends, or Sticks. Someone had suggested it at your study hall table, you knew that for sure.

So now you were sitting up at your desk, in the early hours of the morning, attempting to catch whoever was leaving the notes.

You hadn't been up all night, instead waking up early, and checking to find no letter; hopefully today would be the day.

After a while, you heard careful footsteps making their way down the hall, and you sat up from your hunched position, listening as they stopped before your door.

Carefully, you stood up, moving over to the door as quietly as you could, and listening.

After a muffled sigh, a note was slid under the door, and you hardly stopped to pick it up before you pulled the door open.

Meeks' surprised eyes met yours as he stumbled back.

Your mouth dropped open, "You..."

"Me." He responded with a gulp, face flushing bright red.

The hall was silent again, until he began to stammer out an explanation, "I- i- I'm sorry- I just- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable- or anything- i'm just not good at talking- like talking talking- and- and- oh god- I'm sorry-"

"Steven-" You cut him off, your own face beginning to heat up, "I'm not- mad or anything. I uh- I was actually hoping it was you..."

"Really?"

You nodded, reaching back inside to grab the box of letters off your desk, "I- kept all of them. Just cause- they made me feel seen, you know?"

He seemed to breath a sigh of relief.

After another long moment you asked, "Why- why didn't you just talk to me?"

"Because you're you... your pretty, and smart, and incredible, and its like you always know what to do and say and just... I'm not like that- I'm just me. It was easier to hide..."

Slowly, you moved forward, cupping his face in your hands, "I think your wrong. I like just you... I like you Steven."

"oh." He mumbled, quickly bridging the gap between you, and pressing his lips to yours.

You broke away from him after a moment, grinning, "No more fully hiding behind notes, okay?"