Steve had always had a thing for you. His girl best friend, who allowed him to be vulnerable, to be himself, and forget the violence of the world for once. You were like his little bubble of warmth in his harsh reality, after a long day of fixing up cars, schooling, and being around guys all the time. He would climb in your window, relax in your bed as he owned it, and listen to whatever you had to say. Of course, while pretending not to stare at you for too long.

His feelings had slowly been building up, bubbling under his skin like an itch he can’t quite scratch. You gave him the special attention he needed. And it all came crashing down the minute you started talking about boys.

You sat at your vanity brushing your hair, the silky strands having been brushed down a million times already. “He’s just so dreamy, Stevie! He asked me on a date with flowers, and said that my eyes remind him of the forest!” You gush, your cheeks flushing red. Steve sat on your bed, nodding his head, biting his tongue on the jealousy coming up. “Right, what a romantic,” he grumbled, slouching back and picking up a magazine to hide behind. You could tell in his voice that he wasn’t enthused because you knew him all too well, but you just guessed it as being overprotective and moved on.

For weeks, he heard about this guy, and all he wanted to do was grab both your shoulders and shake until you snapped out of this trance for some douche! Did he mention that it was a soc boy you had the hots for? He spoiled you with gifts, necklaces, all the stuff Steve couldn’t offer. The boy had dark hair, a stern look in his eyes, and water colored eyes. You’d always say, “He reminds me of you, Steve! You guys are kind of alike…” you said, as Steve walked you to your next class. 

This new boy was charming; you were hypnotized by his spell of affection. Steve knew it was bad when you started to change, dressing a little nicer with what you had for him. Now you spend longer fixing your hair, smoothing your clothes, checking yourself in mirrors

The first day you showed up to school like that, he was surprised, “What’s the occasion?” Steve asked. You just shrugged, “Wanted to look pretty,” you replied blankly. He frowned. Steve thought you always looked pretty. 

Sometimes he caught you crying, but you would never budge on why, and it upset him. Was this guy hurting you?

Steve was waiting for you to get home; your parents were inviting him to wait around. He tossed a ball in the air repeatedly, waiting for your arrival. He was close to leaving until he heard steps come up the porch and hushed whispers. Carefully, he leaned towards the window, listening in. 

“I told you not to talk about being a greaser like that!” your boyfriend whispered. You frown, crossing your arms. “You can’t just expect me to change who I am!” you defend. Steve hears a scuffle, your boyfriend gripping your arm tight. “Don’t talk back to me!” he snaps. Steve shot up, walking out of your room and swinging open the front door. Before anybody could react, a fist connected with the soc’s face, resulting in his clutching his nose and scurrying back to his nice, rich car. You were yelling at Steve, crying now. “Why would you do that?! You’re so nosy, Steve! I hate you!” you tell. 

“Snap out of it! He isn’t good to you at all!” Steve says, hands on both of your shoulders. You tried pushing him off, but ended up melting in his arms. “But I like him!” you tried arguing, as Steve wrapped you in a tight hug, rubbing your back. Steve hated how relieved he felt holding you again.

After much consoling, your parents allowed him to stay late as you cried. “Why didn’t you tell me he was being mean to you?” he asks, his voice hushed. You pulled away from his chest, looking at him with red, puffy eyes. “'Cause I thought he really loved me for who I was… He was ashamed that I was a greaser…” You sniffle out. “Will anybody love me if I’m a greaser, Stevie?” you ask, that sweet nickname revealing that you weren’t mad anymore.

“Yeah… They’d be crazy not to. Hell, I’ve been waiting very patiently for you to dump him,” Steve admits. You look up at him, brows furrowed. “You’re just saying that…” you grumble, sitting up and wiping your eyes. “On everything I love, sweetheart,” Steve replied quickly.

He moved slightly, kissing your forehead, but not pushing too far so soon. He knew you needed space. “Randle!” your father hollered from another room. “I heard that! Time to get going!” 

Bob lovesss cologne! He always smells really nice even after football practice.

He always buys you new perfume whenever your is low

He likes affection, but due to a lack at home, he's not good at giving it. Bob will only cuddle or hold hands really in private; everything else is for his image or to be 'cool'.

Bob sucks at apologizing, but he will shower you with gifts when he messed up. Last month he gave you a petite watch, last week he got you a pretty necklace for all the drinking he was doing.

His dad always told him he had to play football and to be the best, and Bob saw the disappointment in his father's eyes every time he made a bad play.

He keeps up all his trophies in his bedroom, and his bigger ones stay in his dads office, which makes Bob feel a little proud.

Bob stays out late because nobody notices when he comes home. He stopped tiptoeing around and avoiding every squeaky tile. In fact, he started being loud on his way in.... just to see if his parents would notice. They never did.

When he's having a bad day, he [picks fights with everybody. His friends, his coaches, even you until somebody snaps at him to fix his attitude.

He doesn't know how to treat a lady right, only from what his friends did since his parents were rarely in the same room. So sometimes he came off like he was on a high horse and a prick towards you.

When he gets wasted, he talks about marrying you. He'll start kissing your neck and talking about your future together. The next morning, he will deny it all and his ears will turn red

You had to teach him how to kiss AND how to leave hickeys (He's still pretty bad at those)

Would jump anybody who's giving you a hard time without a second thought, nobody picks on his other half.

You helped him learn how to work through his feelings, and slowly you helped make him a better person.

He likes when you fuss over him after a rumble, sometimes he'll milk to extra

"Aw, baby. You missed a spot," he said, holding up his bruised arm with a shit-eating grin. You would kiss the bruise spot. "Feels better," he'd joke, rolling his sleeve down and then holding you close.

Bob doesn't study much for tests; he's just naturally very smart (He helps you study, and probably gets frustrated when you don't get it right away like he can