#haters to lovers au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neocrias · 4 months

Text

really nice guy who only hates you

Summary : Jeno hates you and always makes it clear, but you don't care because the feeling is mutual. Until one day, your mutual friends set you up and the unwanted encounter ends in a way neither of you could have imagined.

wc: 4,6K gênero: fluff; kind of haters to lovers; slightly suggestive

Jeno doesn't know why he hates you so much, but he definitely hates you.

From the minute you walked into the arcade, walked into the hangout of his friends, clinging to Jaemin's arm and pretending to be all cute and innocent, he knew he didn't like you and decided to make it clear. Jeno didn't look in your direction when you spoke, he didn't laugh at your jokes - even though his whole group of friends thought it was funny - and whenever he had to talk to you he was harsh and rude.

He never bothered to be at least a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way.

Also, you were never a very patient girl and this only worsened the hostile atmosphere between the two of you.

Maybe it was your very confident manner, or your different style, maybe it was the way you gestured when you spoke... Jeno doesn't know what it was, but he knows he hates you. And if he could do everything he wants, surely, "spill a bucket of paint when you pass him in the hallway" would be the first thing. Oh, he longed for the moment when he could tear the confident, self-centered expression off your face, removing all the happy sparkle from your eyes was his biggest dream.

You hated it too. So maybe the enmity was reciprocated, but you knew it wasn't. You didn't hate Jeno, not in the same way he hated you, but you sure hated the way he treated you.

He never bothered to be even a little polite to you and there were many times when he bumped into you on purpose just to annoy you. He succeeded every time, by the way. You were never a very patient girl and that only made the hostile atmosphere between the two of you even worse.

One day you went to see the new cafeteria that opened on the university campus.

At first the whole group would go, until everyone, one by one, canceled. Leaving only you, Jaemin and Jeno to go alone. Of course, none of the three bothered to check the group chat conversations, so the reaction of disgust you and Jeno had when meeting each other was too dramatic and annoying even for Jaemin – who has always been very patient and playful with your mutual hatred.

That day, however, he didn't want to hear about the bullshits between you, feeling too tired to deal with it. Jeno didn't take the hint and made sure to hit the bottom of your glass when you went to drink your juice, consequently dirtying you on purpose. You also didn't act as polite as you should’ve and on impulse threw all the rest of your cold drink in his face in retaliation.

— I told you, man — Jeno commented when you shot back. The boy wiped his face with his hands and then twisted his wet shirt with an arrogant look and proud of the reaction he managed to get out of you. He was talking exclusively to Jaemin, his best friend, as if you weren't by their side. — She hides behind this sweet girl façade, but she's stupid.

— YOU are stupid, stupid asshole.

— You don't even know how to curse — Jeno crossed his arms, being the arrogant bastard he's always been with you. He had a sneer gracing his thin lips and an eyebrow raised in defiance.

You wanted to rip that evil smile off his face in the most violent way, but you prioritized your friendship with Jaemin and only for that reason you made an effort to have a greater tolerance for the boy's teasing, unfortunately you lost control this time and already felt the guilt because of the disappointed look Jaemin gave you.

— Jaem… — you called in a restrained voice, pouting your lips when your eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration, you tried to hold back the tears, refusing to cry in front of Jeno.

The blond let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples hard, looking at you with the most tired and annoyed expression. — That's it, let's go.

— Oh, what's up!? — Jeno complained nervously. — Are you going to stay by her side even when she does shit?

— You're the one who started it — Jaemin warned.

— It was just a joke — Jeno said.

— A joke, my ass — you grumbled and Jeno gave you an angry look, silently yelling at you to keep your mouth shut.

— I'm tired of you two — Jaemin complained. The blond chattered endlessly, complaining about you at such a fast speed that the two of you missed half of the scrambled words. — Act like an adult at least once in your life and stop messing it up for everyone.

This happened a few weeks ago. About the same number of weeks you don't see Jaemin, or the other boys in the group. It's not that they're purposely excluding you. You're just too ashamed of your lack of control to face any of them, especially your best friend.

Even remembering it makes you angry. Because of the damn Lee Jeno you don't even have the courage to look at Jaemin and what makes it worse, is the knowledge that he's only like that with you.

You see how Jeno is so kind to everyone else, always offering to help anyone who needs it, even the ones he doesn't know, always promoting group study sessions for friends who are struggling, and you've been actively excluded from all the sessions by him. Jeno has even driven his car over a puddle of water just to get you wet, when earlier that same day he handed over the umbrella to a pair of freshmen to get home without getting wet.

Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. You felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the boy asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

The walk to Jaemin's dorm was very quick, taking no more than 15 minutes at a slow pace, and the cool spring weather was an incentive for his apology. Without realizing it, you arrived in front of the small and old dull yellow apartment, the doorman didn't even bother to announce your presence, already used to you wandering around the building. Tired of feeling lonely and miserable, you decided that you would go after Jaemin today. I felt the need to apologize for your behavior before, even after the blond asked you incessantly to have a little more patience.

— I haven't seen you in a while! — he greeted.

— Hi, Mr. Choi — you replied with a sympathetic smile. — Is Jaem home?

— Oh, yes. He arrived a few minutes ago, you were lucky.

With a restrained thank you you took the stairs up to the third floor, where he shared an apartment with Renjun, a design student, and Jisung, a freshman in the dance course.

You give three rhythmic knocks on the door, his trademark and after a few minutes of waiting, Jaemin appears disheveled and with swollen eyes.

— Thank God, I thought you were going to run away from me forever — he complained, but he wasn't mad, and pulled you into a tight hug.

— I was embarrassed — muttered. — I know I promised I wouldn't do anything stupid, but…

— But Jeno won't give you a break — Renjun shouted from the couch.

— You didn't have an internship today? — you asked.

— I traded my time off with Soohee — he replied simply.

— That's weird, you know? — Jisung, who was coming back from the kitchen, eating another one of his many packages of ramen, asked rhetorically. — Jeno hyung is usually very nice and kind, I don't understand why you guys are like that...

— Because he hates me!

— That's the problem, Jeno hyung doesn't hate anyone.

— Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess.

Jaemin remained silent during the conversation and sat down next to Renjun on the couch, going back to paying attention to the movie they were watching before you arrived.

— I’m really really sorry, Jaem

— Don’t be. He had it coming — Jaemin comforted you, pulling you to sit with them and watch the movie. Suddenly, everything was fine again.

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— Dude, I think you're crossing the line with her — Chenle complained about the drama between Jeno and Jaemin's best friend.

The Chinese didn't understand what his friend had against you, in fact, Chenle liked you. To him, you were a nice, funny, decisive girl, you knew very well what you wanted and you didn't give much confidence to anyone who wasn't your friend. This, of course, gave you a bad name in the halls of college during integration week, some upperclassmen didn't like being continually let go by you, so they made up a rumor or two out there, but you never cared. Chenle admired that.

— Fuck, even you, dude? — Jeno was unhappy. No one was on his side, and he began to question whether he was really overreacting to you. This made him hate you even more, again for no reason.

— At this point it just seems like you can't control that you're like SUPER into her — Haechan proves.

— Not everyone is a weirdo like you who likes to make girls cry, Haechan — Jeno pinched the tip of his nose.

— Not everyone — the brunette agreed — but you sure do.

Chenle let out a loud laugh, amused by Jeno's irritation, but he couldn't help but think about how Haechan's theory made a bit of sense, so the Chinese asked incredulously. — Dude, are you seriously into her?

— Of course not, idiot.

— So you're intimidated by her? — Chenle insisted once more, and that only made Jeno even angrier. Jeno rolled his eyes hard and crossed his arms uncomfortably and replied with an arrogant voice.

— Intimidated by what?

— Well, she has a reputation.

— So?

— SO you are afraid to get dumped by her?

— Ugh! As if!

The two boys continued arguing heatedly as Jeno grew more and more annoyed, which only amused Chenle more and more and made the Chinese man laugh loudly. Eventually, Jeno got up and locked himself in his room, slamming the door hard to make his anger clear.

Haechan smirks and Chenle realized right away that their older friend was planning something bad – or good, if seen from the right point of view.

— What are you planning?

— Only good things — Haechan replied. Then the two exchanged complicit glances and smiled mischievously at each other, already knowing where they wanted to go and immediately agreeing to the plan.

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haechan created the "genius idea" group haechan added renjunnie haechan added Jaemin

jisung: I don’t think this is a good idea, hyung

haechan: Don’t be a pussy, jisung

Jaemin: no, he is right, haechan-ah that’s a terrible idea

haechan: Jaemin, trust me a little, ok? I know what I'm doing, man!

Jaemin: i don't think so… rejunnie: maybe he’s right

haechan: I’m always right, man.

chenle: My thought exactly

Jaemin: i should know you’ll be involved on this you little brat

chenle: You know what they say: great minds think alike

haechan: Come on, he’s so into her. It’s getting stupid!

renjunnie: what could go wrong? they already hate each other…

jisung: So… what do you think, hyung?

Jaemin let out a tired, thoughtful sigh. He knew that this was definitely not a good idea, but maybe it was a necessary move.

If Haechan's theory was right and in fact Jeno was into you and just didn't know how to react, then maybe it would change things for all of you and for the whole group to be honest. But if Haechan was wrong...

Jaemin doesn't even like to think about that possibility.

In the end, he decided to give his - almost always - well-meaning friend's crazy ideas a chance. Without giving it much thought, Jaemin typed his reply:

Jaemin: fine let’s do it

Now he just needed to talk to the two of you, especially you.

It would be easy to convince Jeno to go out with the group, all he needed to say was that it would be a date with the boys and the brunette would be there in a flash. But it was different with you.

You two hung out a lot, Renjun and Jisung joining you often, but when Haechan and Chenle got together, it meant that Jeno would join in too. And you'd been avoiding him like the plague ever since the incident in the cafeteria, wanting to ignore him at all costs. So it would be hard to convince you to go out with the whole group again and Jaemin was the one responsible for thinking of something to change that.

He called you earlier that evening, biting his nails anxiously at having to lie to you when one of his promises was never to lie. Guilt was already coursing through him, so he hoped it would pay off.

— Jaem? Did something happen? — your sleepy, soft voice rang out on the other end of the line when you picked up after the fifth ring. — Are you all right? Do you need help?

He only realized he'd been too long without answering when you started firing off questions in a hurried and worried manner. Jaemin let out a nervous, breathy laugh before answering. - I'm fine. A bit anxious, actually.

— What do you want now, Na Jaemin? — you asked from the other side, this time in an impatient and accusatory voice.

— The boys are going to have a meeting at the usual arcade, to celebrate Haechan's scientific initiation…

— No — you cut him off, knowing full well that he was going to ask you to go along and, normally, you would have accepted, because you liked going out with the boys, but now you were avoiding Jeno like the plague.

— Please, I need you there! — Jaemin hurried. — Yuki's going and she hasn't left my side for months, I kind of need...

— That I help you get her off your back? — you cut him off once again. — Why don't you just tell him you're not interested?

— I've already tried!

— Jaem, I don't know if...

— Please, for me? — Jaemin knew it was a low blow, but if he wanted you to go he'd have to appeal to the emotional. Anyway, it's your fault for being a butter heart.

He heard her heavy sigh on the other end of the line along with annoyed grumbles, cursing herself for being so soft.

— Okay...

— Yes! I love you, you know that, right? — he thanked you, and imitated various kissing noises. You laughed tiredly and hung up on him, not wanting to put up with any more of your best friend's mushiness.

Okay, you've gone, now all that's left is Jeno.

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You entered the arcade alone after waiting for Jaemin for long minutes outside. You also flooded his number with messages and calls that he deliberately decided to ignore.

— Na Jaemin, I swear to God... — you grumbled, entering the vintage arcade that no one knows how it has managed to hold together over the decades and looking for the boys at the tables in the integrated cafeteria, but finding no one.

You picked up your cell phone again and checked the time: it was just after 6 p.m. "Maybe I'm too early," you thought to yourself, calculating the possibilities and deciding that this was what had happened.

To pass the time, you ordered a strawberry milkshake. You were happily savoring the sweetness of your frozen dessert, feeling minimally happy at the start of the evening, but your happiness didn't last long because it was at that moment that you noticed Jeno entering the arcade, also alone and angry.

— Of all people… — you grumbled, rolling your eyes.

If the boy saw you here, he made a point of not showing it and walked straight past you. Jeno sat at the last table, sprawled on the brown leather sofa and typing furiously on his cell phone, his thick eyebrows furrowed in concentration until he raised his face in confusion, feeling that he was being watched.

So your eyes met and he made a sneer that was promptly reciprocated by you. When Jeno raised an eyebrow, as if to silently say "what are you looking at?", you responded with an exaggerated roll of the eyes and turned away from him.

The arcade was still partially empty and therefore quieter than usual, so it wasn't hard to hear the sound of heavy boxes falling to the floor in a loud thud, followed by a thin scream that aroused your attention and concern.

— Oh my God! Are you all right? — you asked hurriedly and got up from the bench you were sitting on. Just as you were about to lift the mobile bench to help the attendant, Jeno pushed you, getting in front of you to get to the little accident faster.

— Idiot — you grumbled.

— Are you all right? — he asked, gently lifting the girl off the floor and checking that she had no apparent injuries.

— I'm fine — the girl replied quietly. — I was startled by the boxes falling, but they're all empty, so I'm fine.

She let out an embarrassed laugh, looking at Jeno and then at you with cheeks red with embarrassment. You realized that there was no point in trying to help her, thanks to Jeno who monopolized the girl's attention with his exaggerated worries, so you decided to pick up the boxes that were scattered on the floor and the few packages that fell out of them.

— Thank you, you've been very kind — she thanked you for what seemed like the fifth time in a row. — You can order whatever you like — she suggested, looking hopefully at the two of you as you gathered outside the counter again. Seeing your refusal, she insisted — It's on the house.

— I've already eaten — You pointed to the half-empty glass of milk shake.

— My friends aren't coming anymore, so I'm leaving — Jeno denied it and you turned your face away in confusion, looking at him in shock and denial.

You took your cell phone out of your pocket, looking for the group chat and frantically reading the messages in search of answers. You refused to believe Jeno, but Jaemin's singular message apologizing was the cruel confirmation you needed.

— Shit! — you both complained together - which surprised both of you - but the reasons were quite different for you.

You were stressed that Jaemin had let you down, you felt angry and disappointed that he had lied to you and used the "for our friendship" card to manipulate you into meeting the tormentor of your nightmares.

For Jeno, the situation was a little worse, as his stalker was walking towards him with a wide, frightening smile that didn't reach his glazed blue eyes. In the same minute he felt his breathing become heavy and his knees give way, he looked around, thinking of the best way to get out of there without the girl catching up with him.

You noticed your enemy's desperate face, trembling hands and ragged breathing after noticing the foreign girl approaching. You looked at him, then at her, then back at him and decided that you could revel in the suffering of the boy who was too nice to everyone but you. So you turned your back on him and picked up your bag, preparing to leave and leave him behind.

Jeno didn't react with anything other than frightened glances and an unsure step backwards when the girl started to come closer and try to touch his face with her pale hands. You wanted to punch yourself in the face for worrying about the boy who had been nothing but cruel and rude to you, but his cowed reactions got to you.

Jaemin was right, you do have a heart of butter.

With an exasperated sigh you moved back closer to the boy, entwining your arms with his and stared at the girl with your typical cold, sharp eyes that you wore as your personal armor against the harassment you suffered from seniors at the beginning of college.

The blonde girl looked at you with the same fury in her eyes as you looked at her, but you didn't let yourself be intimidated. She was no match for you anyway.

— Is something wrong? — you asked with disinterest.

— Yes! — she was impatient and clenched her fists in a firm, furious grip. — You're touching my boyfriend!

— Your boyfriend? Are you sure? - you replied condescendingly. — Because it seems he can't even stand to look at you and neither can I.

— You don't know who you're messing with — said the girl, trying to look intimidating.

You just smiled mischievously in response and took two steps towards her, towering over her who is considerably smaller than you. With your chin held high and a glint of pure evil in your eyes, you replied: — And do you know who you're messing with?

You must have looked really scary because she blinked in shock and staggered backwards, her eyes blinking nervously, trying to understand what had just happened. Jeno was also surprised - and a little scared - by your attitude, suddenly remembering the feeling he had when he first saw you on campus.

Contrary to what he remembered, it wasn't with Jaemin. On the first day, the veterans organized a hazing to welcome the freshmen and you were there, looking all proud and fearless for refusing each of the challenges they proposed until the leader got too angry to deal with you and sent you away with a simple wave of his hand and a tired sigh.

That day he realized that you were everything he wanted to be and would never be: able to stand up for yourself. That day he also realized that he was jealous and intimidated by you, so when you showed up behind Jaemin, acting completely different from when you were alone, he decided that he didn't trust you and therefore hated you.

Now, Jeno couldn't feel more grateful for your duality. Thanks to you, Ava was gone and he could return home without having to deal with the girl's obsessive and stalkerish attitude.

He sighed with relief. But the feeling only lasted a brief moment, because as soon as he looked at you again, he saw the way your eyes looked worried. Worried about him.

Without understanding what he were feeling, Jeno got angry again and shoved his shoulder into yours as he walked away. You snorted in disbelief and glared at him angrily, watching his broad back move away towards the alley where he had stashed his bike.

In an impulse of rage, you went after him, stepping heavily as you were equally annoyed, running a little to catch up with him.

— Is that what I get for my thanks? — you shout marching after him and when all he does is walk faster without looking back, taking the bike key out of his jacket to leave, you feel even angrier and run after him, pushing his back hard.

Jeno stumbles, but manages to balance himself and turns to you with a red face and furious eyes. — I didn't ask for your fucking help, okay? — he shouts back and towers over you.

You don't back down, in fact you take another brave step forward, coming face to face with him. — You couldn't do that even if you wanted to. You were acting like a puppy who'd lost its mother — you teased, pushing his chest with your index finger. It wouldn't hurt, but if you were going to annoy him, you'd take your chance. — You missed peeing your pants, scaredy little puppy.

He pushed your shoulders back in retaliation and, after a shocked sigh, you retaliated by doing the same thing to him. The two of you repeated the childish act a few times, never too hard to hurt, but enough to cause a nuisance.

— Dude, what's your problem with me? What the fuck have I ever done to you? — you shouted. Lucky for you, the street was empty, except for a trio of friends who had passed you both earlier without caring. — Apart from getting you rid of that crazy bitch, of course!?

— You get in my way all the fucking time. You've wormed your way into my group of friends, into my life and now I can't even hate you in peace because you can't stop being the Miss heroine who has to save the day, can you?

You laughed out loud, throwing your head back. — Have you heard yourself? — you asked incredulously. — You sound like you're into me and you don't know how to ask me out.

You tried to joke, hoping that sarcasm would be able to get you out of this weird and confusing situation you've gotten yourselves into, but Jeno was serious. Staring at you in shock and realization, expressions that you were quick to copy the next second.

Before you could say anything else, Jeno grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you eagerly. It was quick, strong and desperate, like the first impulse to breathe after drowning for so long. You gave in almost automatically, your body instinctively knowing what to do, accepting him as if he had always been yours. In fact, he was, he just didn't want to admit it.

You melted in Jeno's warm hands. The boy's soft lips tasted like paradise itself. You almost felt your knees give out when he circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

You encircled the boy's neck with your arms and propelled yourself on tiptoe so that you were at the same height, making the kiss more comfortable for both of you. You pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

Jeno wasted no time and trailed kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. Everything was so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

He took precise steps forward, pushing your body back until you were leaning slightly against the leather seat of his motorcycle. His right hand went to the back of your neck, gripping your hair to keep you where he wanted you.

Your lungs were burning from lack of air, and although you didn't want to, you pushed back, trying to make space between you so that you could breathe.

But Jeno wasn't satisfied with just that. When you pulled away, he wasted no time in trailing kisses down your cheek, jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine at the ghostly sensation of his touch. It was all so new and intense for both of you that all you wanted to do was give yourself to each other right then and there.

— I can't fucking believe it, Lee Jeno — you complained, but this time your voice had a tone of amusement, causado by the situation and the playful little bites the boy was leaving at the base of your neck.

— I don't believe it either… — he replied and gently brushed the hair from your face. — I still hate you, just so you know.

— It's mutual — you replied teasingly and they both smiled mischievously.

— Yeah? — he replied before coming closer once more, surrounding you with his scent. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you leaned in, wanting to kiss him again.

Você acenou com a cabeça em confirmação, o que só fez Jeno sorrir ainda mais.

— That's even better.

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light-yaers · 2 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me: Chapter Ten

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied sexual content, flirting, eventual sexual content/smut, 18+

Listen to the RWYLM playlist here

A/N: this one is long and a lot happens. that is all

Word Count: 12k

Chapter Ten

There’s an image that you’ll never forget.

Your family and the Dameron’s, sat in the living room. Poe’s by the Christmas tree, picking up presents and handing them to whoever’s names are on the tag. Your mother fills everyone’s glasses with more mulled wine, her homemade batch, full of cinnamon and oranges and candied cloves. Shara is waving you over from the sofa, big smile on her face and a slanted pair of reindeer antlers on her head. Your father is smiling smally, some tinsel wrapped around his neck, forced upon by your mother.

Poe turns to you then, present in his hands, stretched out to you.

“This one’s for you,” he announces, perfect teeth flashing brilliantly.

You step forward, leaning over the couch enough to take the gift from his hand. His fingers skim yours. “Merry Christmas,” he says, and it fills you with so much warmth that you think even the cold outside wouldn’t affect you.

“Merry Christmas, Poe.”

This is what you’ll never forget. Christmas when you were twenty-one and he was twenty-two and your moms were both together again.

You thought the warmth in your heart would never dampen. You thought this was your ticket out of the depressive, repressive, emotionally constipated years that came before this gorgeous Christmas in front of you—

Until after.

On Boxing Day, you and Poe take a walk. Just around the block a few times, toggled up in boots and snow coats and thick scarves, trying not to clutch each other’s hands for warmth.

(Or just because you want to)

(You really want to)

That’s when the car comes spinning down the street, wheels slipping on black ice and music blaring from the interior. It screeches to a halt, prompting you to gasp and grab onto Poe’s arm reflexively. He blocks you from it, from whatever dangers may have occurred, but it’s fine; the car stops right by the sidewalk.

“Poe fucking Dameron!” a voice bellows from within, before the window rolls down quickly.

You inhale sharply, painfully. You tug away your grip on Poe and step back from him, just a little.

“Danny?” Poe squints into the car, leaning towards Danny in the passenger seat. In the back of the car, he recognises the others. His old group from high school, the boys that laughed at you in the lake, the boys who continued to made fun of you after Poe left.

He didn’t know that, though.

You stand back as they reunite, laughing incessantly over their catch up.

Danny’s in the passenger seat, with his severe features and buzzcut hair and puffer jacket on during all seasons. Next to him, driving, is Ollie—a scrawny man, with a thin nose and blonde hair the colour of ice on the ground; slightly dirty. In the back are two others, both from high school, but you’re only concerned about the two in the front.

They laughed at you at the lake, made you feel fucking stupid. You were only a kid.

And after Poe left—it only got worse.

You hadn’t seen them in ages, not since graduation three years ago.

“Man, you haven’t changed,” Danny keeps on.

“Yes, he has. Look at his jaw,” Ollie.

“Okay, fine. His jaw is bigger—,”

“And his shoulders,”

“And his di—,”

“Is that who I think it is?” Danny pokes a finger out of the window, interjecting Ollie. He’s pointing past Poe, towards where you’re standing on the sidewalk. You fight the urge to cower away, or to stick up your middle finger.

Ollie leans closer to the window, a smirk appearing on his face. “Oh, hey! It’s String Bean!”

A senseless nickname that grated on you more than it should have. They gave it to you in sophomore year, when you grew several inches over the summer and were a lanky little thing.

“I told you, Ol. Nothing’s changed,” Danny laughs out, as the two boys in the front fight the urge to absolutely blow the tops off their heads from chuckling.

“Still together after all this time, huh?” Ollie says, his voice notably dropping an octave.

You can’t be here any longer.

You let out a guttural groan, something between a whimper and an annoyed huff. Crossing your arms and muttering to yourself, you walk away without a word to any of them. Poe calls your name, panicked, but you continue to stampede down the street. They finish up their conversation, and while Poe catches up with you, their car drives past you again—

“See you on New Years’ Eve, String Bean!” Danny yells from the window, and you catch a glimpse of Ollie’s knowing glance behind the wheel just for a second—it’s a look you’ve never seen from him before—

Knowing eyes, straight mouth, brows low. Compared to the Ollie who messed with you in high school, this one looks grown; more dangerous, even. They throw a New Years’ party every year, not that you’ve ever gone before.

You try to shrug off the entire interaction before Poe catches up with you, but before long he’s grabbing your arm and huffing and puffing from the jog to get to you. His white breaths circle you on the corner of the block, his cheeks flushed with red from the cold.

“Hey, you okay?” he breathes out.

“Fine,” you try to shrug him off, but it only makes him latch on more. His fingers feel warm. “I’m just cold,”

“Anyone with eyes would be able to know that you’re lying,”

“I’m not,” you whine. Poe’s so surprised at your childish behaviour that he lets out a single, shocked chuckle. It makes you want to stomp your feet in protest.

“I can’t believe you,” he’s amused.

“I’m not in a playing mood,” you comment. “So, don’t—play—with me, right now, Poe,”

“You’re making that face,”

“What face?”

“The face from the lake,”

You think you stop breathing for just a second, your heart wincing beneath your ribcage, before it starts up again and hits you like a sucker punch.

“Just—stop,” you plead.

“Why?”

“Because,”

“Because, what,”

“Because!” you yell, voice echoing throughout the streets of your neighbourhood. “I don’t like them. They make me feel small. They make me feel like I’m still thirteen years old and I just got chucked into the fucking lake, or I’m walking down the hallway in school and they’re shouting shit at me for no reason. Putting attention on me when I don’t want it, looking at me when I don’t want it, talking about you as if I was the reason you fucking moved away—,”

“Wait, what?” Poe mumbles.

“—because somehow they knew. They knew that we fought, Poe. I don’t know how because I never told a fucking soul, not even my parents properly, but they knew we had a fight and that we weren’t talking. They blamed me for you leaving, I know they did,” you want to cry now, want to scream to the sky like some lunatic and let it all out.

Poe’s expression softens drastically. He moves his grasp on your arm to your wrist, closer to your cold fingers.

“I’m grown, Poe,” you calm down. “In college, finally, and surrounded by people that actually give a shit about me for once,” you peer up at him, trying not to hold back any of what you feel. “I don’t want to be around the people that made me feel worthless, especially at some stupid New Years’ party with everyone else from high-school,”

You actually can’t think of anything worse than attending something so vile; a house full of everyone you went to school with; who watched you grow up; who knew you throughout every bad haircut, awkward phase, torn to pieces by Poe moving.

Poe’s looking at you like he’s stuck. Between a rock and a hard place, between the past and the present, between you and discovering what he missed out on after moving.

This was your curse—reading him like a book, like a doctor’s waiting room magazine, like your favourite story growing up. You knew every line, every dimple and scar and spot, that made up his intricate and gorgeous face.

He wants to go to this silly party with all these silly people. He hasn’t said a word since you burst, yet you know exactly what he wants.

“You want to go, don’t you?” you say, just so he doesn’t have to admit it to you himself.

“I do,” he lets out, like he’s somehow ashamed. “But, I understand why you don’t want to,”

“You’re allowed to go, Poe. It’s not up to me,”

“I know,” he breathes out, shooting you a saddened look. “I really wanted to spend New Years with you,” he smiles.

You want to kiss him.

“There’s always next year,” you offer, and it makes him beam. He embraces you then, in public, in the damn street, around the houses of people you both know and their parents and their pets and siblings and whoever else.

It makes you feel loved, makes you forget about those silly boys with their stupid laughter and idiotic nicknames and all the like. You were all just kids, all just young, not yet knowing any better. Maybe they’d grown, but you didn’t want to invest the energy to find out.

Perhaps, they simply didn’t deserve to know who you really were.

“Someone has to take care of our drunk moms anyway,” you chuckle into his neck, ever so slightly tilting your face even deeper into it. He smells like sandalwood. He’s warm. He gets goosebumps when you breathe out, but doesn’t move away.

“This is true. Your dad won’t be able to handle them,” Poe lets out.

“They’d ruin him,” you add.

“Totally,” after Poe says this, it’s apparent that neither of you want to pull away.

You both want to stay clung to each other for as long as possible, embraced, together, warm. Long hugs often felt like a prison sentence, awkward, but a hug with Poe had never felt like that—not even after all the time apart.

When he’d hugged you on Thanksgiving, it had felt like a part of your soul had come flooding back after years away. When he hugged you at college it was fast and sloppy, but he still always made sure to linger for a second too long.

When he hugged you now—you knew he was trying not to squeeze you too tight (and failing). You could feel the thump of his heart throughout your limbs, the warmth radiating from beneath his coat, the strength of his muscles under his skin.

You breathe out, a long breath, one that says it’s time to go. Poe pulls away with you, smiling down at you as your flushed-from-the-cold faces meet one another.

“I need a cup of cocoa,” Poe starts. “Down for cocoa?”

“I’m always down for a hot beverage,”

“I’ll remember that when I’m at the farmers market, around all the fancy tea,”

It snows in the evening, the first snow you’ve seen since the beginning of the year. Poe and Shara moved west, away from the cold winter months, but you’ve always grown up with them. Poe, too, before Shara’s car was speeding away from your shitty little town.

Poe’s face lights up, like the thousands of Christmas lights on the houses of your block. He jumps up immediately, eyes wide as he takes in the first falling snowflakes outside, catching the streetlamps luminously.

He looks like a puppy, like a golden Labrador or retriever that’s got the zoomies. He bounds out of the living room, chucking on his boots at record speed, before opening the front door as fast as he can. You watch from the living room window, as Poe runs around the front yard and tries to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Shara stands next to you, arms crossed, dimples on her cheeks from how hard she’s smiling.

“He misses the snow a lot,” she starts. “Christmas every year was always dampened. It wasn’t cold enough, wasn’t cosy, you know? He’s missed this,”

“This?” you turn to her, happy.

“Home,” Shara replies, before bringing a hand to your face softly. “You.”

Your heart sinks into your gut, overwhelmed by how much you’re feeling. It’s nostalgia, it’s the understanding that you and Poe have, it’s the prospect of the future, all tied together with a red ribbon. You can’t blink because, if you do, you know your eyes will well with tears; out of your control.

Instead, you swallow away the feeling of your throat closing up, you bite away the want to spill everything that’s happened all over the carpet, you ignore the feeling of butterflies in your gut that’s almost become normal, over the past few months—

And you run outside to join Poe.

It’s picking up, as bigger snowflakes cascade to the ground and stick upon the icy streets and frosted grass already. What was a dotted covering two minutes ago is now a thin blanket, stretched throughout your neighbourhood. Poe’s footprints disturb the perfect layer. Small pockets of green sprout from spots on the ground where he’s balled up snow already, making a stack of snowballs at record speed.

His cheeks are blushed with rouge, his nose a bright pink— beautiful. Poe Dameron, frolicking in the fucking snow, was beautiful beyond belief.

You stand on the doorstep, snowflakes sticking to your hair as breath swirls around your face. Your fingertips are already getting cold, but you don’t care. You bend down and pick up some snow, compacting it into a snowball as quickly as you can.

When it’s tight enough, you lob it at Poe, only a few meters away from you—a direct hit. It smashes into his back, between is shoulder blades, and he lets out a surprised wail before turning to you.

That smile. It was from a catalogue or stock image or something. A perfect smile.

“You’ll pay for that,” he lets out lowly, threateningly, tossing a snowball between his hands in warm up. You squeal like a child, rushing off the doorstep and into the rising levels of white on the ground.

You throw snowballs at each other until you’re sure you have frostbite. You run around in the cold until you’re sure your lungs have frozen completely. By the end, you’re both shivering and exhausted and rushing around like drunken toddlers, tripping over nothing as the snow piles up beneath your feet and lands on your eyelashes.

On the walkway to the front door, you slip and let out a scream, flailing around as your balance is shot. Before you can recover, Poe bombards into you from behind. You both crash to the ground, landing on top of each other in a mess of limbs and aching joints and frozen fingers, ears, noses, toes.

You share the same air as all oxygen is ripped from your lungs, spluttering with laughter at your idiocy, clutching each other for dear life and drunk on the sheer cold in the air. Your mom snaps a photo before you can object. It’s too late to get angry about it, and you’re too tired to care.

This is what Christmas was all about, anyway.

Later, Shara and your mom head to Poe’s Abuelos’s house to make sure his heating is on during this cold spout. Your dad is upstairs in his study, no doubt reading from the sports section of a newspaper or plucking the strings of his electric guitar, that often goes untouched for months on end.

You and Poe are piled with blankets on the couch, TV playing some Hallmark movie about a man and a woman falling in love during the holidays. You’re still shivering, but the two of you have unintentionally wrapped your limbs around each other. Your head rests on Poe’s shoulder, with his arm wrapped around you snuggly and tightly. His feet are freezing as they clash into your own, stretched out upon the footrest in front of the coffee table.

Poe lets out a scoff at the movie; a lingering shot of the main couple, reuniting in sunny LA, after the man followed her home from his cold, wintery hometown, where they met. Classic.

“They’ll last two weeks,” Poe comments, kissing his teeth. “These movies are all the same. They hate each other at first, are polar opposites, but always end up bonding over some deeply relatable or traumatic experience. That’s when they realise that—hey—maybe they’re not so different after all. Then the feelings come along, until something separates them again and one of the characters travels across the country to get the other one back, and to say the magic words,”

“Those three little words that everyone is dying to have told to them, of course,” you join in with Poe’s cynicism, turning to look at him. You both don the same, amused smile.

“I... love... you,” you both say it at the same time, in the same exact playful tone that shows just how much you want to vomit at the cringe of it all.

“Still, though. It’s kind of cute,” you admit, gently leaning into Poe just a bit more. Casually, he readjusts himself, so your head presses to his chest. It’s done so simply and without objection that anyone would believe you snuggle like this every damn evening.

“It’s not cute, it’s unrealistic,” Poe hits back. “I’ll only believe love stories like this when someone runs through an airport to tell me they’re in love with me,”

It’s silly, but you inhale sharply at his words. It wasn’t the same thing, but you’d done it. You’d run after him, screamed his name, had tears running down your face. You’d tried to get him to stay, wanted to tell him that you loved him, needed to let him know how you felt before he left—but you were too late.

Even after all this time, you had no idea if he’d actually seen you that day or not.

Poe peers down at you then, smirk donned. “Would you run through an airport for me?” he asks, and it’s obviously a joke, but you’re suddenly not in any mood to play around.

You send him a look. A look that sums up that you’re a sad excuse for a human, that tells him that you’re, perhaps, an idiot—but oh well. You exhale through your nose.

“I already have,” you say smally. “Well—sort of—anyway,” an attempt to be light-hearted.

Poe laughs, confused, but he’s still beaming at you.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” you backtrack immediately, suddenly too afraid of telling him the truth.

“It’s not nothing and it’s not stupid. What is it?” he presses you, his brows furrowing.

“It’s—it’s not a big deal, Poe,” you get up swiftly, removing yourself from the comfort of the blanket and his warmth. Now you’ve gone and done it, gone and made it deep. “It was years ago, it doesn’t even matter. It’s a joke,” you round the couch, headed for the kitchen.

Poe follows you without question, determined. “Come on,”

“It wasn’t even an airport,” you start with the excuses. “And it wasn’t to tell you that I loved you. Not the same thing at all, really—,”

“Spit it out,” Poe urges, and there’s more venom in his voice this time. He’s frustrated. He’s cold.

You lean against the counter by the sink, staring at your reflection in the blacked-out window that looks out over the backyard. It’s the kind of blackness where someone could be staring at you right there, on the other side of the glass, but you wouldn’t be able to see from the lights being switched on inside.

You can see Poe behind you, slowly but surely stepping his way towards you.

“You didn’t even see it,” you let out, giving up your fight. “I shouldn’t have even brought it up,” you turn slowly, and Poe’s planted himself between the kitchen island and you. You have nowhere to go; nowhere to look, except from right into his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid—,”

“You’re talking about the day we moved, right? About how you ran after my mom’s car?”

There’s no reason to deny it, not when he’s been urging you— knowing exactly what you are talking about from the get-go. You brought it up, you started this deep conversation. As much as you’d wished, way back then, that Poe hadn’t heard you—you were lying to yourself.

You wanted him to know you tried.

He’d seen you.

You smile at him, sadly, overexposed, glassy-eyed. “Yeah,” you croak out. “You saw?” you ask, and you hate how oddly pathetic you sound, like you’d been waiting to hear his reaction for all these long years.

“So did Mom,” he admits, and you’re torn between feeling a massive relief or being the most embarrassed you’d ever felt in your life. “She asked me if she should stop driving. I said no,”

It’s nothing new. You were there. The car didn’t stop, Poe didn’t shout back, didn’t even acknowledge your efforts. You were there; but hearing it from his mouth is what made it sink in. He’d seen, he’d heard, maybe even thought about jumping out of the car because of it, but he hadn’t.

He’d kept driving.

“I didn’t know you saw me,” is all you can say, weakly. You don’t want to whine; you don’t want to ask why he didn’t rush to you in return.

“I didn’t stop because I couldn’t,” he goes on, as if he hasn’t heard you at all. “That look on your face. You were wearing—pyjamas, for fucks sake—and you were crying. God, you were crying so much. Your face was blotchy and you had snot all over you,”

Inexplicably, you let out a laugh. It catches both of you off-guard, to the point where Poe bursts into a chuckle of his own. Abruptly, inappropriately, but sweetly.

“I mean, you were a mess,” he splutters out.

“I know,” you agree, no need to fight. “Did you see my fluffy socks?”

“The drenched ones. I can’t believe you ran from your house to mine in socks. It was fucking raining!” he exclaims, and you can’t hold in your continuous laughter anymore.

“I know,” you exclaim in return. You’re both laughing so hard that it’s becoming hard to breathe. You feel dizzy, lightweight, like a helium balloon ready to drift into the stratosphere. With a drunkenness to it, you dip your head forward until it lands on Poe’s chest.

“I always knew you were melodramatic, but seriously?” Poe says, amazed. Gently, he places a hand on the top of your head, smoothing out your hair. “You really had to make me moving away about you, huh?”

He’s right, he’s always fucking right. You hate it and love it at the same time. It means you don’t have to be right all the time, don’t need to have all the answers. Poe already knows; he always knows.

If you’d had this conversation two months ago, it would have ended with a fight; in tears; a screaming match. When you thought about it, this was progress. Laughing at the absurdity of it all, making jokes about your combined pain because it’s the easiest way to address it— truly address it.

“That’s why I didn’t get out the car,” his tone drops an octave. He rests his chin on your head gently. “Your face. You were so upset. I couldn’t deal with it,” he smooths your hair again. “Still can’t, to be honest,”

Still can’t.

“That’s why I jumped into the lake, and why I told you about my tattoo, and why I slept on your bedroom floor, that night in September,” he spills. “You just... looked so fucking sad. I can’t stand it,”

You close your eyes. “I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say. Poe lets out a scoff.

“And now you’re apologising for looking sad,” he lets out, and you realise how fucking stupid it is. Gently, he lifts your head up, so you’re face to face. His hands stay on your cheeks, thumbs swiping your skin softly. Your noses almost touch. “Only you would apologise for that, I swear,” a smile. You smile back. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” Poe’s eyes dip to your lips for just a second.

He wants to kiss you. Your gut lurches with the desire to do the very same.

There were no rules. You could kiss him, he could kiss you. Nothing was stopping you whatsoever. The urge is there, is it not? The warmth in your gut is practically screaming for you to plant your lips on his, so why don’t you?

Why not?

You pull away, enough to tell him that this isn’t happening; not tonight.

“I need to work on hiding my facial expressions, evidently,” you let out, and it splits the tension apart instantly. It’s still light-hearted. This moment has not been ruined, just cut short.

Poe smiles at you. He smiles at you like you’re the fucking sun.

“Good luck with that,” he lets out. His thumb swipes your face once more, before he tugs himself away.

Poe jumps back onto the couch, clearing a space for you next to him. “Come on,” he calls. You’re still in the kitchen, calming the adrenaline that buzzes within your fingertips. “I want to see these fuckers get married in the sequel,”

In the lead up to New Years’ Eve, you and Poe are inseparable.

You know why; why he’s hovering around you like he’ll die if he’s without you for five minutes; the party. He feels guilty, he feels wrong, even though he has no reason to. He helps you with grocery shopping, joins you when you tidy the kitchen and living room, sits with you on the couch when you catch up on college reading.

He offers ideas for what you could do, with the moms, when the clock strikes midnight.

“Have a shot, orrr you could do karaoke. When the ball drops, you could all jump off the couch and take one of those freeze-frame photos, like at the end of High School Musical. Oh! Or, or, or, orrrr—,”

“Poe,” you cut over him, slamming your book closed. It a matter of hours, he’ll be at Danny and Ollie’s party. “We’ll be fine,”

“I know,” his voice is high pitched. “I’m just saying—,”

“You don’t need to. You don’t need to just say,” you send him an amused look. “I already told you—I don’t care about the party, or the fact that you’re going. You don’t have to feel bad about it, okay?”

He’s silent for a minute or so, taking in your words and figuring out how to respond. “Don’t you think—hypothetically— of course, that if you came it would almost be like a fuck you to them?”

“What?” you place your book on the coffee table.

“Everyone’s a dick in high school. They know what they did to you, how they made it all shit, so wouldn’t it be throwing it back in their faces if you went and showed them how much you’ve grown?”

There was some logic to his words, but you still couldn’t get past it.

“I don’t owe them anything, Poe,” you say.

“I know, I know,” he leans forward, eyes wide. “Believe me, they don’t deserve your efforts, but it would be powerful, you know? Rocking up with me, kicking them all in the metaphorical balls, showing them who the fuck you are,”

You contemplate it, just for a second. The satisfaction that you could feel, entering into that environment with everyone who saw you grow up, and showing them that you turned out fucking amazing. You knew what Poe meant, where he was coming from, but that didn’t stop you from wondering why?

What was the damn point? Why did you need to make a statement towards people that have never given a shit about you?

“What I’m trying to say is,” he restarts, when you don’t reply. “Come with me,”

There it is.

“I want to go to this stupid high school party with you, because we never got to do this shit before. We never got to get so drunk that we threw up in strangers’ toilets. We never got to play spin the bottle, or do jello-shots together,”

“We literally do all of that at college, Poe,” you say bluntly, amusedly, obsessed with the way he looks so deep in thought, so desperate to get his points across and persuade you to come.

“It’s not the same, though,”

“No, it’s worse,” you let out. Poe deflates, just a little.

“I won’t go, then,” he lets out, and you bite back immediately.

“Hey— no fair. You want to go, Poe. I don’t have any desire to, but you want to. I can see it. You wouldn’t be trying to convince me if you didn’t,”

“I’m not going,” he crosses his arms. You let out a sigh.

Why was this man, this big chunk of Greek god of a man, such a fucking twat?

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re difficult?” you say, clenching your teeth.

“All the time, why?”

“Because you’re being difficult, Poe,”

“I’m not going to the party if you’re not going,” he stands his ground.

“You’re—you’re doing this on purpose,” you panic.

“Not. Going,” back and forth, back and forth. It almost made you feel warm.

“You’re appealing to the part of me that wants to please people— you’re manipulating me into saying yes. I’m not going to budge,” you let out hesitantly, but it’s clear that, with every word, you’re slowly giving in. Poe’s smiling beneath his hardened exterior.

“I think I’ll stay in tonight,” he adds. Pointlessly.

“Poe,”

“We can look after our drunk moms together,”

“I swear, Poe. I swear—,” you’re cut off when he leans forward quickly, tugging you by the wrists into him. He gets close, really close, so you have no choice but to look at his pretty boy face—his pretty boy manipulation face.

“Come to the stupid, high school reunion party with me, so we can play spin the bottle, and so I have an excuse to go into the new year with you,” he whispers.

You melt.

You close your eyes, exhaling in frustration. You can feel Poe’s pulse through the tips of his fingers, smell his sandalwood aftershave and the scent of his shampoo. He wants this so badly.

He wants you.

Gently, you lean forward and place your forehead on his. It feels right.

“Okay,” you give in, finally.

As soon as you do, you can feel him smile. You don’t need to open your eyes to know that his dimples are popping out, that he’s smiling with his teeth, that some celebratory chuckles want to burst from within his chest.

He tugs away, because he wants to look at you. You let him, as you both open your eyes and take in the features of each other’s faces.

“Thank you,” he lets out, and you know he truly means it.

Seeing Poe Dameron smile like that made up for his persuasion tactics immediately.

You’re still picking out clothes when it’s time to leave. You’re sweating profusely, groaning to yourself every time you look in the damn mirror because it’s awful. Being put on the spot, being judged as soon as you walk into the fucking house, it was getting to you before you’d even got there yet.

Poe knocks on the door timidly. “Ready to go?” he asks, softly.

“No, I am not ready,” you reply, ripping off the jeans you were wearing when they don’t match the top you’ve got on.

“Can I come in?” he asks, even softer. It’s like you’ve come full circle from last semester. Knocking on doors, you being half-naked, him being respectful. You were used to all of this.

Before you let out a reply, you rush over and pull open your door. It whips open fast, scaring Poe even before he’s taken in what you look like. A dishevelled princess, of some sort, or something. You turn away after he’s got a good look at you, ass fully out as you kick a pile of clothes that lies on your floor.

“I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman, and I still don’t fucking know what to wear to parties,” you let out, exhausted already, before dropping yourself onto your bed.

Poe enters your room quickly, shutting the door before the moms can see this scene play out. He gestures to the clothes on the floor.

“Just... wear clothes,”

“Oh, wow—thanks, Poe!” you exclaim, sarcastically. “I never would have fucking worked that out on my own!”

“I can assure you, babe—,” you cross your arms at the mere cheek of him. “You look good in everything you wear. Just pick something,”

“You’re really not helping, here,”

“Then what do you want?” he asks, his tone of voice shifting into something more serious, something more helpful. “Tell me what to do to help and make you feel better,”

You feel helpless, like you’re trapped between your mind and your soul—both of which think you look fucking ugly. Poe thought you looked good, thought you were beautiful, thought you were hot, no matter what you wore.

Maybe that was worth using.

“Pick for me,” you say.

“What?”

“Pick for me. The clothes,” you repeat, gesturing to the pile beneath his nose. He regards you, and just for a second there’s a look on his face that says you’re being crazy, but all too quickly it’s gone. It doesn’t linger on his pretty boy jaw; it’s replaced by a look of determination instead.

“Anything?” he chides.

“Within reason,” you chastise, embarrassed. “But, yes,”

“Okay,” he says, squatting to the ground. He starts sorting through your clothes, but stops to let out a final, “Why?”

“Because I trust your judgement more than mine,” you say, as plain as day.

He doesn’t question you at all, just looks at you and nods without hesitation. The funny thing is that this is a part of you that hasn’t changed in years. The anxiety, the self-doubt. Poe has seen it all, too. He knows what it was like for you growing up, the way you struggled with the skin you lived in, and the ways that you still did.

He accepted it all, bells and whistles and wrinkles and all the ugly bits and pieces that people would find unwelcome or gross, he accepted them all and helped you through them.

Back then, and now.

“This,” he stands, clutching a long skirt and crop top combo. “You’ve worn this before,” he comes forward slowly, peering down at you as you sit on your bed. He passes you the clothes, before dropping onto the mattress next to you.

This outfit. Of course, he picked it.

“I wore this at your party,” you remember. All those months ago.

“Yeah,” he smiles, the sweet kind. Poe wasn’t often sweet like this, but he picked his moment well.

You’re at the point where you don’t care, so you stand up and slip off the top that you’re already wearing. Poe’s seen you like this before, bra and knickers and nothing else, so what does it even matter? You slip on the skirt, all too aware of the trepidatious stares that he gives you from your bed.

He’s not staring— trying not to, at least— but sometimes his eyes linger on a part of you. Your lower thigh, your calve, your shoulder blade, the back of your neck. With every focused glance, he’s seeing more of you than he ever has before.

You tug the crop top over your head afterwards and feel immediately better. You fiddle with your hair, trying to shake it out, but it’s caught around the chain of your necklace.

“Here,” Poe’s there before you even ask.

Gently he starts untangling, strand by ruffled strand, the hair from the small chain. You’re in front of your full-length mirror, catching the way his hair droops over his forehead; how his brows are furrowed in subtle concentration; how his shoulders are so much broader than yours. He’s taller, too. By a few inches, but it looks like more when you already picture yourself as small next to him.

“Got it,” he mutters, grabbing the rest of your hair and gently smoothing his fingers through it afterwards. “All done,”

When he looks up, he catches your eye in the mirror reflection. You were already looking at him, waiting to see the soft expression on his face and the curve of his jaw.

“Thank you,” it comes out as a whisper when you don’t mean for it to.

You’ve both been saying thank you a lot over the past week. Maybe it’s to try and fix some deep-rooted problem where neither of you ever apologised or acknowledged the good that you did for each other— either way it feels good.

At the end of the day, when Poe did things like this—had your back, went along with the stupid things you did, listened to you no matter what—you wanted him to know that you appreciated him.

You gasp subtly when he places his hands on your waist from behind. His fingers buzz with electricity when they touch your bare skin. His eyes roam your expression all the while, checking for any signs of you being uncomfortable.

“You look really good,” his voice drops an octave, and your gut drops along with it.

It’s obvious what you’re both thinking about. The fucking kiss, the way he pushed you up against the wall. The lake, the way his eyes scraped over every inch of your see-through undergarments. Every moment of intimacy that you’ve ever fucking had with each other—every moment exceedingly more intimate as you went on.

This only cements it, as you fight against the insatiable urge to turn around and face him and immediately plant your lips on his. Maybe then, you wouldn’t even go to the fucking party. You could stay here, feel him touch every inch of you, have his warmth and power and sandalwood scent all over you before you even bothered pulling away for air.

“Come on, kids!” Shara yelling up the stairs throws all of those plans out of the window. Poe removes his hands for you so fast that it’s almost like they’d never been there in the first place.

You turn to him, but he’s already at the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” he says, obviously flustered and flushed and reeling from those subtle touches. Still, though—he smiles.

You let out a shaky breath, one that tells him do that again, please. “Okay,”

You take a few minutes to calm yourself, to brush your hair and sort yourself out. Sure, you were going into the belly of a great beast and putting yourself on the line, but Poe is here. Sure, you would be surrounded by people who, a lot of which, tormented you day in and day out, but Poe is here.

It was different this time. It’d been years since you’d seen most of them, too. Maybe it would be better, maybe it would be fine.

Poe is here.

It’ll be different, this time.

Shara drops you both off, shooting you her signature mom look when you say goodbye on the street. She looks oddly scary, oddly serious, like she’s threatening Poe not to be a mess, and you to have fun.

The two of you approach the house, music already blaring inside, and cars packed around the block. It’s a big deal, this silly party, ever since Ollie and Danny moved in together and stopped partying in Ollie’s garage.

Through that door, everyone from your high school years lingers; the way that damp and mildew build up over time and, even when you think it’s gone, the smell is still there. All those times they were cruel, all the months and years you spent moving on from it, came rushing back to you like trying to trudge through snow in a blizzard.

“Poe,” you stop suddenly, on the porch steps. He halts with you, softening his expression. “Can you—,” a shaky breath, then you stick out your hand. “Please. Just for tonight,”

Poe’s smile grows fondly, before he takes your hand without any hesitation.

“Are you asking me to stay by your side?” he chides. You only nod. “Is that all?”

“What else would I want?” you question, shooting him a confused look. He looks amused, looks playful. This genre of Poe was, regrettably, one of your favourites.

“We could have some fun with this,”

“What kind of fun?”

“The meddling kind,”

“Use your words, Poe,” you urge him, but with every boyish word of his, you feel more at ease. He’s trying to calm you down already, in the way that he knows works best; without drawing attention to it too much.

“Let’s pretend we’re together,” he says plainly, and you almost combust on the spot. Your cheeks explode with warmth, your gut hurtling itself towards the closest drinks table already.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,”

“You know it would be fun,” he hits back, nodding at his own words. “I wanna bet a few of my middle school exes are here, too. The ones that hated you,” you let out a scoff immediately, but reflexively give the pretty boy a smack on his shoulder.

“We can’t,”

“Why the hell not? It’s a bit of fun, and when are we ever gonna see these people again, huh? Next year’s party?” you couldn’t argue that he had a point, as much as this threw all kinds of mechanical equipment into the works.

“Okay, I see where you’re coming from,” you smile at him, mimicking his mischievous smile. “But, where does this leave us?”

“God, you’re such a fun sponge,” he rolls his eyes at you, whining like a child.

“I’m being realistic—,”

“Well, stop being a realist,” he interrupts. “Join the Dark Side,”

“Just tell me this,” you cut off his playful metaphor. “Does this change things for us? Or is this party a write-off when we wake up tomorrow?”

What you meant was—if you hold my hand, if you hug my waist, if you dance with me, top up my beer, kiss me whenever we want, and do all of the things that both of us desperately want to do, will this become more real?

Poe regards you, still with the corners of his mouth turned up.

“I won’t forget it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says unapologetically. “I’ll probably savour it, to be honest. But, it doesn’t have to mean things immediately change,”

God, you love it when he’s so straightforward and honest. All it did was make your stomach drop even further into your gut. In a good way.

“Okay,” you agree. “Me too,” you add, admitting that this is something you’ll remember fondly and nodding as if you were making some business agreement. Some fake dating agreement that sprouted from nowhere. “You’re much better at making up the games, by the way,” you add, and Poe scoffs abruptly.

“This is much more fun than having sex with other people. People that aren’t you and me—,” you shove him again playfully, but all he does is tug on your hand clasped in his own and causes you to fall into his chest. His other hand finds your waist, gripping onto it familiarly. “Catch my drift?” he adds at the end.

“I think everyone on the block knows what you’re saying, lover boy,” you joke, but you’re relishing this.

Poe’s hand on your waist shoots up to your face, gripping the back of your neck ever so slightly as he leans in closer, eyes gleaming. “Call me that again if I’m drunk and prepare for the consequences,”

Maybe I want to face those consequences.

He swipes his thumb over your cheek, his signature move, before removing his hand and dangling it at his side. “I’ve got you,” is all he needs to say to make you feel safe.

You nod once, as both of you swivel towards the door. “Let’s do this,” you let out. “And just know that if I don’t end up punching Ollie or Danny tonight, it’s because I have very good self-control,”

“Noted,” Poe laughs subtly.

He squeezes your hand once, before the two of you enter the house.

God, you wish Heidi was here. She would have made this all the more easy, all the more manageable, as you and Poe stepped into the abyss. Immediately, he’s whisked up by old friends from his freshman year. They exclaim and slap him on the back as they reintroduce themselves, sending you knowing smiles as you almost cower behind him.

You’re polite. You nod hellos back and give people half hugs and look desperately around rooms trying to find some semblance of a bar. When you and Poe round the corner, you spot the kitchen—because Ollie’s sat on the counter by a keg of beer.

“Dameron!” he announces, and a small parting opens for you and Poe to tread forward. Poe grins like a schoolboy as he embraces Ollie, before he turns back to you.

“Drink?” he asks.

“Get the lady a drink, Poe, that’s a good boy,” Danny saddles up to the counter suddenly, large coat always fucking on despite the stuffiness of the house. You frown slightly at the way he said it, as if it’s such an awful thing that someone was getting you a drink.

“Beer, please,” you reply, ignoring the playful looks that pass between Ollie and Danny.

“I can’t believe you two stayed friends all this time,” Ollie starts, as Poe pours out beers into solo cups. You see Poe freeze, as his shoulders tense suddenly.

“You two haven’t changed at all,” you let out, trying desperately not to get angry or upset. You knew it was exactly what they wanted.

Boys like Ollie and Danny were all the same—self-righteous, boisterous, always looking out for their next target or someone to joke at. When you were in school, it was constant, but only made worse from Poe’s abrupt absence. They knew you were at your weakest when he wasn’t around, knew that you were easy bait.

They used it to their advantage for the next four years, though you did raise your defences by the time you hit junior year. When senior year came around, you could sway their words as if it was some contemporary modern dance—with ease, while being incredibly choreographed within your head.

“Oh?” Ollie questioned, jumping down from the counter and landing before you with a thud. Poe flinched at the keg, but didn’t move to your aid. He was watching; learning. He didn’t know these guys as you did, nor was around them for as long.

He was the outsider in this scenario, and he knew it.

“And you think you have?” Ollie continued, in that same old, sinewy voice that he always wore when you tried to be smart. “You look the same to me, too, sweetheart. Still small, still whining about some shit,”

Danny chuckled beside him. “Still pining after Dameron over here,” he said it as clear as day, and you inhaled sharply immediately, ready to go ballistic, to give them the best fucking speech they’ve ever heard in their lives about how shitty they are, how much they’ll never know you, how much you don’t give a shit—

But that’s when Poe moved.

He handed you your beer and wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you into him as he sent Ollie and Danny a smile.

“What are we talking about?” he smiled sweetly, but you knew he was seething inside. He needed to learn the hard way why you never wanted to come to come to this stupid party. Now he knew.

Before Ollie and Danny could even answer, he turned to you and planted a kiss on your cheek. “It was beer you wanted, right?” he let out, but he didn’t need to double check. He was playing up for the imaginary cameras.

You breathed out, instantly relaxing. “Yeah, thank you,” you replied, soaking in that look on his face. He was relishing this, the way he instantly flipped all the points of their jokes for the evening in one blow.

“No problem, baby,”

Baby.

Your entire body tensed as he said it, keeping up with the charade. The only thing was, it didn’t feel like a charade anymore. This is what you’d spoken about outside. You knew this was going to happen.

But in this moment, with Poe looking at you like the sun after he’s just called you baby, all you can do is smile up at him, like he was some kind of intricate statue in the Louvre. You let the instant urge to reach your hand to his face fondly take over you, as you gently brought your hand to his face and left it there for just a second, before dangling it back to your side.

Then, the two of you turned back to Ollie and Danny—

Utterly speechless.

“You two?” Danny starts. “You’re—?”

“Together?” Ollie joined in, pointing between the two of you like he was at a tennis match.

You let Poe take the reins, not just because it was his idea, but because you knew he wanted to. Just with them, just about this. “Since college,” Poe replied. “What, are you confused or something?”

“Confused is a word you could use,” Ollie replies. “Surprised is a better fit,”

“Oh?” Poe says, keeping his face smiley and gleaming despite the death grip he’s got as he holds you. He’s pissed off, he’s angry. “I think it was inevitable, to be honest,”

“But, you’re so... different,” Danny chimes in, trying to keep things light-hearted. He shuffles on the spot, readjusting himself in his oversized coat.

“That hasn’t stopped us being friends for most of our lives,” Poe keeps trying, and you love him for it. Really, you do. He’s fighting in your corner, hitting back where you never could.

“We’re not teenagers anymore,” you finally pipe up, shooting Ollie a look. For once, you soften your expression at him. “You might find that we’re more alike than when we were kids, now,”

Ollie chuckles immediately, rudely. “You and me? I wouldn’t bet on that,”

“That’s a shame,” Poe says strongly, cutting over you. “You’re missing out,” he ends on, and his face sours as he says the final word. Ollie retreats subtly, as Danny stares in awe at how tense the room just got.

Poe sticks out his hand after a few seconds of silence. “It was good to see you guys again,” Ollie, acceptingly, shakes his hand. “Thanks for the beer,”

Ollie nods, but it’s clear that some line has been drawn. Poe discovered the truth, the kind of truth that being older than fifteen allows you to see. Ollie and Danny were the type of guys that never changed, never grew up—and maybe that was good for some things; keeping that part of themselves alive even after they have families and adult jobs; but it wasn’t good for anything else.

“Come back later! We have jello-shots!” Danny exclaims happily, as you and Poe file through the rest of the house.

It’s packed to the brim, so full of people that the windows are starting to prickle with condensation and sweat is appearing on the brows of those on the dancefloor. The two of you stop for a while, boogying to some chart topper as you invade other people’s personal space (and they, yours).

That’s when you see her. She’s dancing like a maniac, half full glass of wine sloshing around in her grasp as she fights to keep the thin-rimmed glasses on her nose. In a sundress in the middle of winter, she still somehow doesn’t look out of place.

“Genevieve,” you say out loud, as Poe peers round to follow your gaze. He perks his brow.

“Who’s that?”

“We shared a few classes,” you say, following her movements. “She—,” you stop yourself, forcing yourself to catch Poe’s eye. Your face says it all. “She’s a cool person,”

Poe catches on immediately, having been updated about your abysmal high school experience.

“Go say hi,” he urges, trying to gently push you in her direction. You smack him once, mot forcefully.

“Not today. Ollie and Danny have been... more than enough,”

“They’re only the beginning, baby,” it slipped out. You think he doesn’t even notice. “I already spotted people from middle school waiting for the bathroom,”

“I can hold in my pee if I have to,” you say. Poe smirks at you.

“Gross,” he comments, smiling.

You glance back at Gen then, feeling the urge to say hello despite the fear. You’d always wanted to say more to her, to befriend her. But back then, doing any socialising beyond movie nights with Luke and trips to the drive-thru had seemed impossible.

Things were possible now, you were realising.

You turn back to Poe, sighing. “I think I need another drink, to be honest,” you let out, and Poe takes your cup from you softly.

“Coming right up, baby,” he says, and you try to scoff away your blush.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you comment. All Poe does is laugh.

“Your face just lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, you have no leg to stand on,” he chuckles out, before you gently push him away. He heads to the kitchen, sending you one last smile before he rounds the corner. You’re left on the dancefloor, alone, encased by people you haven’t seen in years.

You move out of the way to a less crowded spot, bumping into dancers as you go. You blurt out sorry’s as you do, ignoring the subtle double-takes from people you knew in middle school as they realise that it’s you. You, of all fucking people, at Ollie and Danny’s New Years’ party. It was oddly comical.

Poe’s back in the kitchen. You see the back of his head in the distance as you approach the entryway, but a hand grabs you abruptly, tugging you back to the dancefloor. You let out a yelp as you’re pulled back and twirled around so fast that you almost fall onto your ass.

“Look who showed up!” Gen exclaims, right into your face.

She’s drunk, it’s plain to see, but she’s also impossible to find annoying. Shock turns to a warmth as she sways to the beat of the song with you, hand still clasped in your own.

“I’ve been coming here every year since we graduated just waiting to see if you’d show up, and God, I’m glad you did,” she yells over the music, and you let out a scoff from embarrassment.

“Really?” you let out, surprised. It’s not like you’d been friends, maybe just in passing.

“Of course!” she slurs excitedly. “We never got to hang out in high school! I heard you went to college a few years after graduation,”

“Yeah!” you yell into her ear. You’re leaned in, trying to converse over the thump of music. “I’m a freshman!”

“Ha!” she laughs, pointing at you fondly. “I’m a senior now, so that makes me your elder,”

You catch up about things, about life, all while boogying to upbeat tunes. Gen twists and twirls you around the dancefloor, glass of wine always close to slipping from her grasp, but she manages to keep hold of it despite.

Poe finishes up at the keg, heading back to you when someone calls his name from the living room. A huddle of guys looks over at him, grins donned, beers in their hands.

“Poe!” the middle one calls again, ushering him over. Poe lets out a laugh, jogging over enthusiastically. The middle one pats his hand on Poe’s shoulder. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Dameron,”

“I could say the same about you,” he says back, prompting the obligatory catch-up between them all. Middle school friends, guys that Poe hadn’t seen since moving, all together again.

This is why he wanted to go to this stupid party. Not for Ollie, not for Danny, but for this. Seeing familiar faces after so long, going into the new year with people that watched him grow, for a little while.

Daning with Gen, you realise that he’d been right to want this. This overload of nostalgia; this display of fondness for people that you saw on a daily basis, only now relished in because of distance over the years.

If you hadn’t of come tonight, you never would have known you had a new friend whenever you visited home—Gen. If Poe hadn’t come tonight, he never would have caught up with the guys again like this. Maybe not until all your respective reunions in twenty or so years.

“Who you here with?” one of the guys asks, gesturing to the two cups in Poe’s grasp. Poe scans the room, trying to find you from his spot.

“I’m actually here with—,”

“No fucking way,” he’s interrupted by the guy on his left. “That’s not what I was expecting. Look who’s here,” he points over to the dancefloor, just as you come into view with Gen.

Poe stops breathing, just for a second. He savours this moment. He savours the look on your face, the warmth on your cheeks, the curl of your lips as you grin to oblivion. He savours the way you’re dancing without fear, without a care, having fun in this shitty little town for once in your goddamn life.

“Her,” Poe says, proudly. “I’m here with her,”

“You’re still friends?” the guy pointing comments. He drops his hand, smiling. “It’s been, like, forever. That’s impressive,”

“You were like peas and carrots in middle school,” another adds.

“Aren’t your mom’s close friends too?” Poe nods in response, but he can’t stop looking at you. His eyes are fixed, stuck in place, following your every move.

This is an opportunity, isn’t it? The same as what he did with Danny and Ollie. He could leave it, saying nothing more, just agree with what the guys are saying, but where’s the fun in that?

Living this fantasy, just for a day, just for tonight—what a way to end the year.

“We’re together,” Poe starts, turning to the guys. “She’s my girlfriend,”

That was all that he wanted to say.

That was all that he wanted.

Just for tonight, this was a lie he was happy to live in.

You’d been living under a rock since Poe left, missing out on the finer things in life from being afraid; dancing on sticky floors; red and blue jello-shots; saying fuck you to your high school bullies in unconventional and sneaky ways.

On Friday nights, it was customary for you to curl up and watch a movie, eating ice cream pint by glorious pint. Dressing up nice was a special occasion. Late nights consisted of insomnia and reading with tired eyes.

Not anymore. Not now that he was back.

Sure, you still loved movie nights and eating obscene amounts of ice cream, or reading into the dead of night when your mind refused to let you sleep. Dressing up nice was now more common, but that didn’t stop you from getting muddy and gross on the lacrosse field.

It was weird to think that it’d only been three months since Poe came back into your life, but here; dancing with Gen and a group of guys you knew in middle school; performing an awful tango with Poe; laughing like you needed it to survive; it didn’t feel weird at all.

Gen stole cigarettes from Ollie’s room, and you smoked them in secret in the backyard.

Poe kept topping up your beer without asking. He was hypervigilant of your cup, taking it from your grasp when it was close to finished and coming back with it full once again.

He held your waist when you spoke to people, joining it when college stories cropped up or you recalled moments from middle school that were worth revisiting.

It was getting close to midnight when you turned to him.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, as he peers down at you.

“You okay?” he asks. He’s so good at asking, at checking in on you. You almost can’t stand it.

(You’re a liar)

“Just drunk,” you let out sweetly, swaying slightly in his grip. When he lets you go, you head straight to the backdoor.

The cold air hits you like a sucker punch, but it does what you intended it to—wakes you up immediately. Your lungs scream for the temperature drop, taking your breath away slightly. You chuckle to yourself in shock, utterly unable to stop smiling.

You think you’ll never be able to stop smiling, maybe.

Poe is here.

“I’ve always been curious,” a voice pipes up, making you flinch. You whip your stare to a silhouette before you, totally black, until the subtle orange glow of a cigarette burning lights his face. “How you’d act at something like this,”

Ollie steps forward into the light of an outdoor lamp, cigarette betwixt his lips. You recoil immediately, suddenly feeling a bit sick.

“And?” is all you can think to respond. You cross your arms defensively over your chest.

“You’re... fun, I guess,” he lets out, almost like it’s painful for him to admit. You scoff, a puff of air omitting from your lips and disappearing into the cold.

“I actually have a personality. Not that you’d know,” you feel more confident with every word spoken. Ollie steps forward once more, but doesn’t overcrowd you.

The way he catches your eye makes you frown. His eyes are glassy, his face sweaty. He’s been dancing and he’s absolutely flushed. You’ve never seen him like this before—so unperfect looking.

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he questions.

“You’ve never given me a reason to like you,” you say bluntly. Ollie sucks on his cigarette deeply, exhaling slowly.

“I guess you’re right,” he admits.

Silence descends over the backyard, enough for you to become aware of your sprouting goosebumps. You shoot Ollie one last look, before swivelling on your heels to head back inside.

“Poe’s changed,” he lets out abruptly, halting your movement. You stay still, back turned to him. “You changed him,”

“No,” you say strongly, turning back to him. “You changed him. You never knew what Poe was really like, only moulded him to be the person you wanted him to be,” rage bubbles beneath your chest subtly.

“He looks happy,” Ollie replies, and you falter.

You aren’t expecting that.

“I pissed him off earlier, didn’t I?” he asks again, and all of a sudden, his face has changed. He’s not smiling like some mischievous schoolboy. Instead, his expression has softened into something that resembles a genuine human being.

“You insulted me,” is all you need to say.

“And that pissed him off,” Ollie explains to himself, nodding as he does so. He inhales another pull from his cig, blowing it out quickly. “Makes sense. You’re together now,”

You’re together now.

“Yes, we are,” you let out. You’re lying, but it doesn’t feel like it. You’ve both been lying to everyone all night, but it doesn’t fucking feel like it.

“I don’t understand it,” Ollie mutters, throwing his cig to the floor and stomping it out.

“It’s not your relationship to understand,”

“You can shout at me, if you want. I’ve been a dick, I am a dick,” he lets out, almost wanting you to get angry, to get flustered. “Even when you’re fucking angry you’re all... civilised,”

“There’s no point in wasting my energy on things I don’t need to,”

More silence. More tension.

Ollie stomps on the cigarette again even though it’s already out.

“Do you want a jello-shot?” he asks.

“Not really,” you say, bluntly.

“Do you want another beer?”

“Poe got me one already,”

“Do you want a cigarette?”

You stop, eyeing up the packet in his hands. This is obviously some attempt at peace, in some kind of backhanded and fucked up way. Ollie has never had to apologise in his fucking life, not to anyone, so this is new. This is strange and messed up and new.

You step closer to him, sticking your hand out in response.

From an outside perspective, one could call this a wholesome moment. Three years later, an ex-high schooler and her high school bully sit on the back steps of his house party, smoking cigarettes together as they huddle from the cold. They don’t really talk, just the occasional it’s cold tonight and it’ll be midnight soon comment that gets them through most of the awkwardness.

Inside, her fake boyfriend is getting restless at her absence. No one knows they’re actually lying—and maybe that’s explanation enough that they should just pull off the band-aid and fall headfirst into this thing.

Not one person has asked how or why, they’ve just accepted that you and Poe are together. They’ve called it cute, a long time coming, unsurprising; and the worst part of all is that both of you have been lapping it up. The comments, the sweetness of it all, the allowance of being close to each other without anyone batting a fucking eye.

It would be comical, if it wasn’t also so awfully sad.

It would be comical, if one of you hated it and one of you loved it.

“It’s two minutes to midnight,” Ollie says, flicking away his finished cigarette. Your heart leaps sharply, filling your gut with nervous energy immediately. “Better go and find Dameron,”

“Why?” you ask, and as soon as you do you wish you could take it back. The penny drops. Ollie looks at you, amused. You turn away and look at the floor, hiding your embarrassment.

“If you want another cig, hit me up,” Ollie adds, as you stand up and glance towards the door. You spot Poe in the kitchen by the keg, chatting away with old friends but, every few seconds, looking towards the backdoor.

He catches your eye and stands up straight, ready for you.

“Thanks,” you allow yourself to say. Saying thank you to Ollie was something you never expected to actually say. You leave him outside, as you slip through the backdoor and back into the house.

A minute to midnight.

You approach Poe as the yells start. It’s a minute! One minute! Everyone refills their drinks and heads to the dancefloor, linking arms as couples and laughing as friends. Poe puts down both your cups on the counter, approaching you quickly.

“Come on,” he urges. There’s this look in his eyes, a gleaming look, an excited look. You smile at him, instinctually intertwining your fingers in his as he slowly leads you through the house.

You follow the mob that head to the dancefloor, but Poe takes a detour. He takes a sharp left, ascending the stairs as you look behind yourself. “Where are we going?” you ask in subtle panic. “We’re going to miss it!”

“We won’t,” he says, as you choose to keep following him up the stairs.

You reach the landing. It’s utterly deserted, empty of people when before it was scattered with those chatting and drinking. Poe takes you down the right-hand corridor. You laugh behind him, feeling some kind of sneaky feeling.

“Where are we going, Poe?” you chuckle out. He turns around to face you and starts walking backwards. He repositions his hands onto your wrists warmly and tugging you along.

“Trust me,” he says.

I do. I really do.

Thirty seconds to midnight.

Poe enters a bedroom. It doesn’t look like Ollie’s, too tidy, too not boyish. It’s dark, besides the twinkle of fairy lights that line the ceiling. You look up, mesmerised, lights reflecting in your irises.

Downstairs, the muffled voices of party goers get louder. Someone yells twenty seconds! It’s followed by a cheer, one that vibrates up through the floor and shakes the room you’re stood in.

“We’re going to miss it,” you repeat, but it’s not a complaint. Being alone with Poe was something you were looking forward to tonight, secretively.

“I know,” Poe admits, as the two of you come to a halt. “I just wanted to say this one thing,” he says, his face softening gently. You hold onto his every word, ignoring the thump of your heart in your chest.

He looks so perfect when he speaks his mind, you think.

“Okay—truthfully—I wanted you to come tonight so I had an excuse to kiss you at midnight,” he lays his heart on the floor for you, and you pick it right up. “But then I thought about it, and—I don’t want to have a fucking excuse to kiss you, I really don’t,”

Gently, he brings a hand to your face, gripping his fingers on the back of your neck. You lean into him, gripping onto his shirt.

“So, I brought you up here, because I don’t want to kiss you at midnight anymore,” he says lowly, swiping his thumb over your cheek. Your stomach drops into your gut, reverberating throughout your entire body that your fingers start to buzz.

“Why not?” you whisper, swallowing away your nerves. Poe leans in closer, small smile on his pretty boy jaw.

Ten seconds to midnight.

“Because I want to kiss you anyway,” something comes over him, something raw and hot, like a craving he can’t ignore. He drops his forehead to yours, lips grazing your nose. “Not just at midnight on New Years’ Eve,”

Five seconds to midnight.

“Do it, then,” you breathe out.

Three seconds to midnight.

Poe kisses you two seconds before the cheers start, before you’re both thrust into the new year. He’s soft and gentle, not knowing where to begin, where to hold himself as he falls completely.

He only fumbles for a second or two before you’re melting. Poe holds you up as you fall into him, inhaling everything about him as you forget about time, about where you are, about what you’re doing.

You’re kissing Poe, that’s what you’re doing.

And everyone downstairs thinks you’re dating, thinks you’re together, and have been since you started college and reunited.

Were they right? Were you lying to them—or to yourselves?

You can’t see the line anymore, the line between real and fake, when you’re falling this deep into Poe’s grasp. He parts his lips, gently sticking his tongue into your mouth as you focus on breathing steadily through your nose. He tastes like cinnamon, like beer, like some kind of warm Christmas concoction that very quickly becomes your favourite.

He brings his second hand to the other side of your face, tugging you ever closer to him as he slowly starts treading backwards. He drops himself down on the windowsill, opening his legs. You stand between them, now at his height not standing on your tiptoes.

Poe wraps his arms around your torso, making sure you’re comfortable. He places one last peck on your lips, static and quick, but still with so much care, before he pulls away.

When he looks at you then, you don’t feel overexposed and vulnerable—

You feel free.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper to him, smiling so much that your cheeks start to hurt.

When Poe smiles back you, he looks golden.

“What a year it’ll be,” he says softly back at you.

What a year it’ll fucking be.

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