𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓
genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff
word count: 4.3k
warnings: cursing, crying, neglect, tiny mention of bleeding
a/n: i think i win the contest of overusing commas with this one 🤍 tbh this fic is just yapping so pls deal with me... it's good to write some proper angst again tho, i missed it :(( hope you guys like it and don't find them too repetetive!!
masterlist
LEE HEESEUNG
It's been two weeks since you got the opportunity to take a proper look at Heeseung. And now as you do, you find it hard to recognize your fiancé who looks like he's about to collapse from exhaustion, to say the least.
“I never asked you to mother me or worry about me so much. Stop getting into my business so much. I’m not a child, YN.”
It’s like he was blind to how hurt his words and actions were making you feel. It’s so unusual for him, so out of character and unfamiliar to you, that you can’t help but think that maybe it really is your fault for riling him up this much.
“I worry about you because I’m your fiancé and I love you, you jerk!” You scoff at his careless words and take a step back, the aching in your heart only increasing. “I only want to look after you because you clearly don't know how to do it yourself. I mean, look at yourself! You look as if you haven’t slept in a week and I know you haven’t been eating either. How can I not worry about you when all you do is neglect yourself?”
“Dunno, maybe find yourself something to keep you busy enough. You stay at home all day, do as much as nothing, no wonder you’re so damn nosy. I would be too with this much time on my hands.”
He’s so indifferent to everything you say, you try to recall where it all started going so wrong. All you did was ask whether he’s eaten at work or not, and now the two of you are snapping at each other as if you weren’t lovers, and trying not to hurt each other was a long forgotten thought by now.
“If you’re so unhappy with our relationship – with me, maybe it’s best we take a break,” you say as you feel your throat tighten painfully.
“Agreed. I never even wanted this marriage in the first place,” he scowls, silencing you, words rolling out of his mouth way quicker than his brain is able to process it.
He bites his words back quickly when he watches your face dropping along with your shoulders, and fuck, you look as if you’ve given up on him right then and there.
You walk away then, tears streaming down your face, muttering something about how ungrateful he was being, and all Heeseung could do was stand still as if plastered to the floor, in utter disbelief of his own, untrue, words.
After his cruel statement echoes through his head for the fourth time, he finally snaps out of the self pity and rushes after you to the kitchen where you’re leaned over the counter, head buried in your hands as you cry.
“Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. He walks up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for everything I said, sweetheart.”
He turns you around gently and feels his chest tighten at how fucking sad you look. He never wants to see you like this. He never wants to be the cause of this ever again.
And when he looks to the side, his throat closes and dries completely at the sight of your engagement ring laying on the counter right behind you.
“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” You ask, wiping the tears away with your hand pointlessly as another stream follows right after. “Things like that don’t come out of nowhere.”
“I didn’t, love, I swear I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him by your neck again.
Never again. Never fucking again. He keeps telling himself in his head as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, just where your ring was supposed to be sitting snugly. Then he lowers it and places your palm against his chest, right above his heart, and covers your smaller hand with his.
That was too close to losing you, and himself, for that matter. Because he would never recover if you were gone from his life and all because of him.
“Then why did you even say it?” You sob pitifully as you feel the warm tears dripping down the tip of your nose.
“I don’t know,” he shushes you gently, trying his best to not break you any further.
You pull away once you feel calm enough, hands clutching his t-shirt. “It's not too late to call off the wedding, Seung,” you manage out breathily, raising your palm to cup his cheek. “I'd rather not take the step further than have you unhappy.”
“Darling, no.” Heeseung bends down to minimize the distance between the two of you and peppers your face with loving, warm kisses. He just wants to erase those atrocious thoughts out of your mind as quickly as possible. “Please, there's nothing I'd ever want more than to make you my wife. That was stupid of me to say. I'll never be happy if I'm not with you, my love.”
“I just don’t want to force this marriage on you. You need to want it as much as I do, otherwise it’s pointless.”
Heeseung almost chokes on air when he rushes out his answer even before you can properly finish your sentence. “I do want it. Please, you have to believe me.”
“Really?”
Heeseung smiles at you softly as he wipes your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Really. Scout’s honour.”
You breathe out, feeling relief, and look up at him with squinted, puffy eyes. “Sometimes I just wanna strangle you to death, Lee Heeseung.”
He chuckles lightly before pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Aren't you just so adorable? You should add this to your wedding vows.”
“Maybe I’ll add this to your eulogy instead if you pull shit like that again.”
Heeseung clicks his tongue with a grin pulling on his lips. “Touché.”
PARK JAY
The atmosphere in the living room is so heavy that your chest starts to hurt. You’re standing barely two steps away from the man you love the most, yet you’ve never felt more far away from him than in this moment.
His eyes – cold but still undoubtedly full of love, drill holes in the side of your head as you turn your face away from him to try and gather your thoughts.
Arguments with Jay were rare. You always tried to work things out immediately, keeping your heads cool. But something has broken over the last month and you can’t see each other eye to eye anymore. At the very beginning of your relationship you made a promise to never go to bed angry. To never leave things unresolved. Yet now Jay’s been sleeping on the couch for the past week, and you fail to understand what the fuck has happened to the two of you.
And you can’t help but think that, maybe, sometimes love is just not enough.
“You’re not even trying to find the middle ground anymore. All you do is snap at me the second I come home. I’m fucking tired of it! Would it hurt to give it a rest for a day?”
The tension is almost palpable. You hate how you can’t seem to back away from any argument but only keep hurting him instead.
“Put effort into our relationship first, then we’ll talk,” you spit out instead, against your better judgment.
“It’s funny coming from you who’s done nothing but put a fucking distance between us!”
“This doesn’t make any sense anymore, Jay. We need some time apart,” you finally speak into the dull silence, eyes casted downwards at the floor as your hand keeps twitching, only to finally grab for your ring finger and slip the silver band off of it. You didn’t think much of your action, hell, you didn’t even process it properly.
Well, not until you hear the shaky exhale leave Jay’s lips.
Silently, he presses his lips together and nods his head before turning on his heel and leaving the room. You listen intently to the shuffling, then ringing of the keys and eventually the door being shut.
A moment of silence turns into minutes of you staring at the ring on your palm with tears burning your eyes mercilessly.
With your heart falling low to your stomach, you drop down on the couch and tug on your hair slightly, cursing yourself for acting so mindlessly.
You wallow in self pity in the dead quiet room. The shiny ring feels so heavy and burning in your clenched fist. You take in a deep breath, then quickly slide the band back onto your finger, feeling instantly shielded with it being on its righteous place again.
And just like that, you spend the next three hours on the verge of losing your sanity. With no word from Jay. He’s left your messages unread. He’s left your calls unanswered.
You don’t know whether he’s okay or hurt or simply gone. All that combined is enough to leave you panicked and terrified, unable to have a second of peace.
You never meant to take it this far. This – your words and rapid actions, that will forever remain as one of your biggest regrets. You don’t like the idea that you made your other half feel like you’ve taken him for granted. Or for what’s worse, like a person that you can use for unloading your frustration on.
There’s this throbbing pain in your chest as you realize that maybe he’s not coming back because why would he if you can’t even love him properly?
Your fingers are bleeding from how hard you’ve been picking on your cuticles.
And then you hear the jingle of keys and soon the front door opens quietly. You know that even after all of this he’s still being careful to not wake you up. It’s killing you how he thinks you’d ever be able to get a wink of sleep without knowing he’s safe.
You’re quick to drop your phone on the couch and shoot up on your legs, rushing over to the door and throwing yourself on Jay’s neck.
“I was so worried about you!” You gasp out, clinging onto your fiancé desperately as tears unknowingly make their way down your cheeks. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”
“Sorry, my phone died,” he replies after a second or two, bringing his arm up to wrap around your waist and keep you close to him.
He’s still upset but he understands where you’re coming from, knowing well that if it was you instead of him he’d probably go insane from worry.
He can feel your heart hammering against his chest, so he lifts his hand and strokes your hair to help you calm down. But then you start crying, feeling his gentle touch even after everything you said, that was enough to push you over the edge. You clench your trembling hands on his sweater as you burst out with choked sobs, slouching against his warm and comforting body.
“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you weep into his chest like a mantra and Jay can quite literally feel his heart cracking at your miserable state.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, hot air hitting your ear before he presses a soft kiss to its tip. “Don’t cry anymore, honey. We’re okay.”
“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you,” you whimper quietly. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Don’t say that,” he scolds you with a frown. Your whimpers twist his guts even more than your harsh words from before. “It’s not the first nor the last time we’ll have an argument. It’s not worth losing your pretty head over it, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” you repeat one last time. “I promise I'll never take it off again. I’ll never lash out on you like that ever again too.”
Jay grabs your hand and runs his thumb over the thin silver band, the same one he was picking so carefully for weeks, and a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. He hates how shameful you sound.
He’ll never tell you how the sight of you pulling your ring off your finger made him physically sick to his stomach. He can't have you feeling even worse than you already do. So instead he brings you close to him and rests his forehead on yours.
“I’m so stupid,” you whisper quietly as you close your eyes, your heavy eyelashes letting go of another few droplets of crystal tears which Jay’s lips soak up instantly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually left.”
“You know me better than to think I’d let us break it off over such a petty fight.” And, yes, you do. But your lip wobbles with silent agony at the sole thought of that. “Hey,” he tries again as he presses a loving kiss to your red nose. “I’m not leaving, okay? How could I ever?”
“I love you.”
With his thumb caressing your burning cheek so tenderly, you feel at peace again.
“I love you too,” he replies without skipping a beat. “No one can handle you as well as I do. And no one sees me for me like you do. We complete each other. We belong together.”
He kisses you silly then, until there’s no more tears left in your body and you’re barely able to breathe anymore. He kisses you until your legs give in and he swoops you up to carry you into your shared bed for the first time in what seems like forever.
He kisses you until it engraves in your mind that there’s no other person for him in this world but you.
SIM JAKE
“Baby, I already apologized.” A groan lingers at the back of his throat but for his own sake he stifles it inside. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
You sit on the edge of your shared bed and clench your fingers on the silky duvet. “How about you start showing up to things we both agreed on attending to?”
He runs his hand down his face. “I know. It just slipped my mind, that’s all. You know how busy I’ve been this week.”
“This shouldn’t be my business only, though. I mean, for christ’s sake, it’s our wedding! I would really appreciate it if you participated in something for once!”
Flowers and cake. That’s literally all you’ve asked of him to go and pick with you for the wedding reception. Knowing his tight schedule, you picked the date carefully so that it wouldn’t meddle with his work and you could even go grab some dinner afterwards. But your plans all went out the window when he didn’t even bother showing up or giving you a heads up text, standing you up yet another time when it comes to your wedding preparations.
You’re honestly getting tired of it.
“I’ll be there next time,” he assures you quickly as he nervously taps his fingers on the doorway of your bedroom.
“You said you wouldn’t do that,” your voice wavers as your shoulders drop with resignation. With the back of your hand, you wipe off the tears that made their way down your cheeks. “You promised to help, Jake. But you left me alone with everything, as usual.”
“It’s not even that big of a deal. This can be rescheduled any time. Baby, stop stressin’ so much.”
“But it is a big deal to me!” You cry out, palm reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You breathe out heavily. “I don’t want to do everything by myself! We’re supposed to be in this together! If getting married means that I’m gonna be alone with all the responsibilities that you don’t consider important enough, I’m not even sure I still want it.”
To back up your words, your hand moves half-consciously to your ring finger and you twist the cool piece of jewelry in between your fingers.
“No, no, no, no.” Jake moves quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes towards you to desperately clasp your hand in his two and stop you from whatever the hell you were about to do. He drops to his knees in front of the bed, right at your feet. “Baby, you promised you’d never take it off.”
You’re at a loss of words as you look into his wide eyes, the seriousness of your actions only catching up to you now. You gasp quietly, eyes watering just like his, quickly relaxing your tensed hand in his and letting him slide the ring back down your finger, just where it belongs.
Silence envelopes the two of you, besides the sound of your sniffles.
You feel awful.
Jake feels even worse.
Leaning forward, you press your face to his shoulder and melt instantly when he brings a hand to caress your hair.
“I'm sorry,” you whisper, clenching your hand to feel the cool ring against your skin. “I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to.”
“I know,” he soothes you just as softly. He stands up from the floor and carefully maneuvers the two of you so that you’re placed on his lap as he sits with his back against the headboard. “It's my fault. I'm sorry. I never meant to disregard your feelings like that.”
At the end of the day, both of you would rather set themselves ablaze than watch the other one hurting.
You nod silently, heart pounding in your chest before you bring your arms up and throw them over his neck.
“I’m sorry I was so impulsive.”
“No. You did nothing wrong.” His soothing voice carries over the room, enveloping you with warmth. “I promise I'll be here whenever you want me to from now on. I don’t want you to feel neglected by me, especially now when you’re this stressed over the wedding. I won’t let you down, again.”
“I just need a little help, that’s all,” you mumble tiredly into his skin.
“I know.” His warm lips press to your forehead lovingly. “I’m sorry for being an insensitive douche. It won’t happen again. I’ll take some days off next week, hm?”
The tears on your face dry slowly as your hold on him tightens. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Then it’s done. I'll be all yours and you’ll be all mine then,” he hums and noses at your cheek, finally bringing out a small giggle out of you. After all these years, he still melts at the sound. “I won’t let things get this out of hand again, YN. I promise.”
“Okay,” you whisper. Tilting your head up and bringing his down towards you, you join your lips in a kiss that you’ve been longing for for days. His movements are slow and careful as he tries to soak up as much of the moment as possible.
His kisses slowly put your broken pieces back together. He never knew how much seeing you cry like this would hurt him. And he’ll make damn sure he won’t ever have to experience that again for as long as you're with him.
“If I have a life to spend, it'll only be with you, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice to match yours, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're it for me. I'll never give you a chance to doubt that ever again.”
PARK SUNGHOON
“You’re never home! There’s always a hundred things more important to you than spending an hour of your time with me. Your fucking fiance! Are we really about to get married when you’re clearly so tired of me already?”
Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally voice out everything that’s been sitting on your chest for the past month. Things have not been working out well with the two of you, much to your despair. He’s been neglectful, always too busy to help you with anything – even the wedding related things that you should’ve gotten done weeks ago.
And you know that he’s swamped with work and it's not his fault. You understand everything. But to ask him to spare you an hour or two of his day shouldn’t be too much. It shouldn’t make him snap at you unlike what he just did the second he came back home. You slowly begin to lose your hope.
“God, have you always been this needy? Why can’t you accept that I can’t always put you first? No matter how much I’d want to, sometimes I just can’t! Deal with this!”
“Fucking- Fine.”
Your hand moves quicker than your brain, and the next thing you know, your shiny ring is being pulled off your finger and resting in the palm of your other hand.
You can see the disbelief flashing through his face briefly before it completely morphs into a scowl.
“You really think that this will solve the problem?” He asks, eyebrows narrowed as he glowers at you from across the room. “Really? Does that ring mean so little to you that you go and throw it away with any minor inconvenience?”
You try to blink away the frustrated tears, hand raking up to brush your hair away from your face. “No, fuck, I just- I don’t know what to do anymore, Sunghoon. I feel like I’m the only one in this relationship. I need you to give me something more because whatever you’re doing now is not enough for me.”
“Well, I’m putting out everything I have, YN! I love you! If that’s still not good enough for you, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”
The silence that falls in the room doesn’t last long as your sudden sob pierces Sunghoon’s ears quickly, making his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. His heart wrenches and twists as the anger simmers down and evaporates from his body within a second, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses at the sight of you breaking down right in front of him.
“Can’t you just try?” You cry into your hands, shielding your face away from your fiance. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Is it really so hard to try?”
No, it’s not. Sunghoon knows it without a second of thinking. It’s not too hard to try, never if it’s for you. And his throat dries so quickly when he basks in the weight of his words that finally made you break as well.
“You don’t know how much it hurts to feel like you’re too much for your partner,” you wail with a small voice, shoulders trembling and hands quickly getting damp with tears. “You’ll never know how it is to feel unwanted, because you’ll never have to when you're with me. Because I love you, asshole, but now I’m doubting if you’re saying it back just for the sake of it.”
With air getting stuck in his throat, Sunghoon looks at you wide-eyed before quickly crossing the living room and enveloping you in his arms. His warmth wraps around you in what you've always considered to be safety, but now it just makes you cry more.
He finds it hard to breathe. The hesitation in your eyes feels like a stab to his chest.
“Of course I still love you,” he says, voice muffled by your hair.
He hates how he made you feel the opposite. He hates how you’re right and he never had to worry about any reassurement of such kind from your side because you’re just that good to him. And his heart breaks with the realization of how much of a lousy partner he’s been to you when all you ever were was nothing less than perfect.
So he places his hand on the back of your head and presses you even closer to his shoulder as you cry, his own eyes burning with tears at the sound of your sobs and sniffles.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling,” he apologizes with a heavy heart, fearful of what’s about to come next. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this much. I could say that I’m tired and the work has been a lot lately, but I know these excuses are not enough to make up for my actions.”
You’re mad and hurt, but you love him and would never want to give up on him, so you wrap your arms around his middle and hold him almost as tight as he holds you, burying your wet face in his chest.
“I love you more than anything, YN.” He pulls away from you only to cup your face and make you look at him. His long fingers wipe away the tears with gentle touch, soothing your stinging skin instantly. “You could never be too much for me. I want all of you. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll love you better.”
And when you’re looking up at him with these shiny eyes of yours, he closes the distance and presses a loving kiss to your swollen lips, hoping to take at least some of the pain away. He doesn’t think he can hold you any tighter. He can’t love you any stronger than right now, and it messes with his head how easily he could’ve had it all ruined only minutes ago.
He’ll never take your love for granted ever again. Because if he did, he’d never be able to pick up the parts of whatever was left of him, and put himself back together ever again.
You can feel his warm hand opening your closed palm before he takes the ring you've been clutching so tightly and holds it in between his fingers.
“Can I put it back on, baby? Please.”
You nod wordlessly while you try to tame your tears. You hold your slightly trembling hand up to him. He takes it, gently, and watches as your bottom lip wobbles while he slides the ring on your finger just like he did months ago.
“I'll never screw up like that again. You have my word for it.”
You sniffle quietly when he kisses you right on the cool band adorning your skin. “You better not, Park Sunghoon.”
His long fingers caress your cheek, wiping the remains of the tears away. “Can you forgive me, darling?”
You don't need to think long of an answer. “You know I can never stay mad at you. Even if you're a idiot, I'll never stop loving you. You have my whole heart, Hoon. Please, don't ever make me regret trusting you with it.”
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fall right into me
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!
a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)
𝜗𝜚
Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Steve.”
“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”
You’re not quite sure where to start.
Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.
The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.
You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.
You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”
You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.
It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?
Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.
Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.
You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”
If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.
“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.
Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.
He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.
“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”
“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”
“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”
There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.
You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.
“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”
“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”
“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”
“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”
You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.
“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”
“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”
There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.
It’s known, felt. Like a fact.
“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”
“Okay.”
“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”
“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”
Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.
But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.
“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”
“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”
“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.
-
True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.
You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.
His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”
The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”
Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”
We’ll, he says. A team.
You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.
“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.
Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”
He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.
He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”
You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”
“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.
You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.
Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.
Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.
Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.
Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.
You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.
The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.
Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.
Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.
Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.
“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.
When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.
“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.
Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.
Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.
It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.
Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.
“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.
“But the frame-”
“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”
“Steve-”
“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”
His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.
“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”
“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”
You laugh wetly into his shirt.
“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”
A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”
-
Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.
Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’
Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.
You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.
By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.
Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.
He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.
Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”
“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.
Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.
The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.
It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.
Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”
“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”
“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”
“Hey!”
“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”
You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.
It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.
You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”
“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”
“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.
Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”
There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.
“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”
He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.
You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.
You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.
When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.
It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.
-
You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.
He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.
It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.
This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.
After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.
Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.
You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.
Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.
If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.
He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.
You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.
That’s it.
Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.
He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.
Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.
Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.
“What?” Steve asks.
“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.
She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.
When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.
He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.
Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.
He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”
Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”
“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”
“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”
“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”
“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”
“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.
“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”
-
That night, your routine was pretty much the same.
Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.
Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.
Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.
After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.
You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.
Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.
He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.
You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.
After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.
Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.
“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.
“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”
Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.
“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.
“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”
“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”
“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”
“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.
Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”
“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”
“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”
You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.
It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.
That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.
He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.
Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.
Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.
“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.
Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.
You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.
Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”
He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.
Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.
You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.
You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
-
On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.
“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”
“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”
You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.
You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”
“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”
“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”
“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”
“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”
“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”
So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.
He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.
You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.
“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.
He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.
He knows you. He cares enough to know you.
“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.
At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’
After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”
“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”
“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.
They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.
“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”
“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”
“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”
“He’s not my-”
“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.
Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?
Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.
The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.
You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?
“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.
You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.
Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.
It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.
You actually like it.
“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.
In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.
Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.
Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.
He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.
As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.
“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”
You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”
You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”
“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”
“We’re not stealing.”
“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”
You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.
Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.
He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.
“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.
“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”
“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”
Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.
You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.
He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.
“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”
His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”
You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.
It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.
-
You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)
But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.
Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.
Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.
So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.
You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.
Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.
By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.
“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.
Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”
You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.
Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.
You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.
The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.
You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”
He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”
“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”
“So you don’t want the waffles then?”
“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”
“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.
Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”
Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.
And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.
Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.
You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.
Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.
You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.
What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.
You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.
Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.
You’ll miss it, you think.
Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.
He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.
Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”
You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”
He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.
A similar one stretches across your own lips.
-
Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.
And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.
The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.
He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.
Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.
He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.
Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.
When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.
Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)
He hopes it’ll be worth it.
Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they��d been racing.
Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.
He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.
Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.
His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.
He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”
“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”
“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.
Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.
Steve’s never nervous around you.
“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”
“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”
You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.
What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.
It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.
When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.
Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.
Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.
“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”
“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.
You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.
This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.
When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.
“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”
“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”
Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.
Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.
Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.
He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.
“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”
“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”
“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”
“I guess I will.”
You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.
His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.
-
You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.
You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.
You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.
Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.
Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”
You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.
“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”
“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”
You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”
“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”
He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”
“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”
He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.
Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.
“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”
“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”
“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.
“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”
Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.
He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.
So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”
You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”
“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”
You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”
Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”
Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.
You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.
He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.
His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.
“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.
Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”
And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.
-
You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.
Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.
Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.
Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.
Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.
As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.
His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.
In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.
It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.
“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.
“Mhm,” he hums.
Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.
“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”
You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.
“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”
“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.
“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”
“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.
“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”
Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.
He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.
It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.
You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.
Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.
“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.
You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”
Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.
You don’t.
Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.
It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.
You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.
Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.
Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.
You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.
It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.
You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.
Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.
You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.
What the fuck just happened?
-
It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.
Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.
You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?
You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.
You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.
Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.
He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.
It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.
Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.
Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?
Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.
You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.
He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.
So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.
Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”
“No, shut up. I need your help.”
“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”
“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.
“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”
Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.
“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.
Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”
Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”
Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”
Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”
“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.
He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.
“What do you mean?”
“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”
Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.
You are worth the risk to him.
“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”
“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”
Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”
-
With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.
You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.
You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.
The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.
How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.
The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.
Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.
You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.
For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.
So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.
Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.
You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.
You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”
You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.
“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”
You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”
“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”
You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.
Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.
“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”
“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”
You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”
“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”
“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.
Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”
“What about when my apartment is ready?”
He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”
You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.
You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.
It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”
“You won’t. Not ever.”
You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.
The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.
“So what happens now?” You ask.
“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”
“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”
He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”
Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”
“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”
He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.
𝜗𝜚
thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3
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MOONLIGHT
home | writing | inbox
🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.
🤍 song inspiration: moonlight by kali uchis.
🤍 author's note: high! theo is the best kind of theo. gif credit to @dramaticals
A thick cloud of smoke permeated the air, making the room as hazy as your drug addled mind. Theo shifted in your lap and silently held the joint up to your lips. You smiled down at your best friend, his watercolour eyes as red-rimmed as your own yet still full of that familiar sharp intensity as he watched you with curious intent. Wrapping your lips around the blunt, you shied away from his gaze and inhaled generously.
As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt your body relax. With an exhale, the terrible day you endured was gone in a breath. You rested against the headboard and let your eyes shut close. Theo traced circles on your skin, happily humming away while you scratched his head. Smoking always made the two of you more touchy and giggly, blurring the lines even more than they already were.
Not that you were complaining.
A late night smoke session was exactly what you needed. Usually, the two of you would be indulging in Neville’s newest strain up in the Astronomy Tower, but thanks to the storm raging outside, you and Theo were confined to his dorm instead.
In all honesty, you didn’t mind. Especially since Theo had a generous stash of snacks to pilfer through.
“This new shit is strong,” Theo remarked, coughing a bit as he waved away the smoke. Above you, rain drops pelted the skylight in a soothing rhythm. “How does Longbottom even come up with this stuff?”
“Because,” you drawled, every syllable slow and syrupy. “Neville actually pays attention in Herbology instead of skipping class and getting into fights.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, bella,” Theo pouted as he poked his nose against your stomach. “Didn’t you get detention for taking a swing at Cho this morning?”
“She called me a slag,” you recalled with a frown. While you had no problem with Cho, she seemed to have a problem with you. All thanks to a certain Hufflepuff. Theo tensed underneath you, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “As if it’s my fault her boyfriend can’t stop staring at my arse.”
“You should’ve told me. I would’ve taken care of it.”
You sighed deeply. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you, Teddy. You tend to be a little overdramatic.”
“Me?” Theo asked incredulously as he placed the joint on its holder. “Overdramatic? That’s absolutely absurd.”
“I know you hated Cedric. When we were dating, he told me you threatened to beat his face in if he ever broke my heart.” Your best friend began to protest, but you held your hand up. You didn't fault him for being overprotective. After all, you've been friends with Theo long enough to know that this is just how he showed that he cared. “I'm not mad. I just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.”
“That stupid prat poured gasoline on the fire and lit the goddamn match the day he made you cry.” Theo ranted, his eyes glazing over with fury. “I should've made good on my promise to beat his fucking face in. He’s lucky you stopped me before I sent him to the infirmary.”
"It's not worth it, Teddy."
Your best friend shook his head. "It's always worth it when it comes to you."
“You shouldn’t get into trouble just because I have terrible taste in men.” Time and time again, Theo warned you about the guys you chose to date, but you were too stubborn to listen. You laughed humorlessly. “I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”
“Hey,” Theo whispered softly, tracing soothing circles on your back. “It’s not your fault your ex-boyfriend’s a prick. He’s an idiot for fumbling you.”
You smiled as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Thanks, Teddy.” He hummed and squeezed your hip. “It’s not like I’m that broken up about it. I’ve just come to accept the fact that my love life is a complete shit show.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Cedric had his moments, but even when things were good, it always felt like something was missing. We just weren’t compatible,” you paused as you considered your words. “Cedric and I weren’t a good match. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.”
Theo cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean?”
Given your longstanding friendship and history, there were virtually no secrets between you and Theo, but there were aspects of your past relationship with Cedric that you weren’t as forthcoming about. Your best friend wasn’t exactly your ex-boyfriend’s biggest fan, so you skimped out on on the details to keep the peace. That was long gone now.
“Our sex life was kind of…bland.”
Piercing blue eyes zeroed in on you. “What do you mean by bland?” Theo pushed himself upright, his face mere inches away from yours. “Was it just missionary and a polite handshake afterwards? Honestly, Diggory seems like the type.”
You snorted in response. Theo wasn’t that far off the mark. “Basically, yeah. I just don’t think we were sexually compatible. Plus, he never wanted to go down on me.”
Theo looked absolutely appalled. “What?”
“Well, we tried and it didn’t really work. It’s not his fault, though. Oral just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve never…” you flushed as you rushed past the embarrassment of admitting such intimate details to your best friend. “I’ve never finished that way. I think it’s just a me problem.”
“Let me get this straight,” Theo said matter-of-factly. “Cedric ate you out once, couldn’t make you cum, and then made you think it was somehow your fault?”
“Cedric wasn’t a dick about it or anything,” you said rather lamely. “He just never tried again, so I figured that was that.”
“That’s a fucking shame.”
You shrugged. The past was in the past. It wasn’t like you could change things now. “It’s alright. Like I said, maybe it’s just not for me.”
Theo stared at you. “You’re just saying that because he didn’t do his job properly.”
You rolled your eyes in response, playfully smacking his arm. “And you’re suddenly an expert on the matter, Teddy?”
“I sure am,” Theo exclaimed proudly. “Cedric’s a coward for backing out after the first try. I mean, sure, it took me ages to get the hang of it, but now eating pussy is my favorite thing in the world.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. Part of it was shock and the other — well, you didn’t want to think of what that other part might mean. Talking about sex wasn’t anything new for the two of you, but it was always in a teasing way. It was never quite this personal.
“Oh,” you said after a moment. Theo watched as you shifted, trying to alleviate the building pressure between your legs. “I didn’t realize…”
“That I love eating pussy?” Theo asked with a smirk. You knew he was doing it on purpose. He never missed out on the chance to tease you. “I’m really fucking good at it too.”
You didn’t doubt it. While you tried not to feed into the rumors of your best friend’s bedroom habits, you knew that he was much more experienced than you were. Judging by the longing stares that followed in his wake, Theo wasn't the type to leave his lover unsatisfied.
After a moment, Theo spoke. “I can show you,” he rasped, that thick Italian accent of his bleeding through the words like it did every time he smoked. “If you’d like.”
You blinked in surprise, practically gaping at your best friend. “You want to eat me out?”
Theo nodded, his eyes dipping to your mouth as you anxiously chewed on your bottom lip. “More than anything in the fucking world.”
The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. “Let me show you how it’s done, bella,” Theo whispered as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Though the action was innocent, his words were far from. “I’d get on my knees and beg for a taste of you. I promise not to stop until you’re a crying, whining mess for me.”
Desire bloomed in your core, filling your stomach with butterflies. Fuck, why was that the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to you? What were you supposed to do? Refuse? That wasn’t even a possibility at the moment. After all, you were just a weak, weak woman.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Theo asked softly.
“Yeah,” you answered confidently. “I trust you, Teddy.”
Theo smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on your temple. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now lay back, I’ll make you feel so good, bella.”
A nod was all that you could muster as you settled amongst the pillows, watching with rapt attention as Theo crawled between your legs. He kept his gaze on you as he kissed your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin. You leaned into his touch as he licked along your collarbone, his big hands slipping underneath your bra. Theo unclasped it quickly, nosing at the straps before kissing down the valley of your breasts.
Those dead eyes came to life as he flicked his tongue over your nipples, sucking on them until they stiffened. You shuddered in response and Theo savored the tiny whimper that slipped past your lips. After showing your breasts ample attention, he continued mouthing at your torso, nipping and biting on the way down. Every sensation was heightened by the weed, your body buzzing even at the simplest touch.
Theo parted your legs and maintained eye contact as he toyed with the tops of your knee socks. He smirked and kissed the spot right above them. “We’ll keep these on, yeah? I like when you wear these.”
You held your breath when he bunched up your skirt, leaving filthy, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs. His breath felt cool on your core yet your entire body ignited into flames as Theo kissed you through your lace panties.
You gasped in surprise, bucking your hips against his mouth. “Oh, fuck…”
Theo hummed against you. “Does that feel good, principessa? I haven’t even started yet.”
With a cocky smirk, Theo slid off your panties and groaned. You were embarrassingly wet, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he relished it. Theo teased two fingers along your folds, spreading your arousal and watching as your slick soaked him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His eyes were nearly black, swallowed by lust as they flickered up to your face. “I bet you’re sweet too.”
Theo popped his fingers into his mouth, pretty eyes rolling back as he sucked them clean. “Gods, you’re so fucking delicious. Better than I imagined.”
You whimpered, pressing your thighs together to tamper the need. Theo shook his head before prying your legs apart and diving in. When he dragged his tongue through your folds, you writhed underneath him, eager for more. The first lick had both of you moaning. He hummed in appreciation as he hooked your legs behind his shoulders.
He chuckled darkly, before biting softly at the flesh of your thigh. “You like that, huh, bella?”
You panted, frowning down at him. “Stop being a tease, Teddy.”
“As you wish.”
His dark head disappeared between your legs, silky brown waves slipping through your fingers as you held on for dear life. Theo wasted no time in showing off his skills, poking and prodding with his tongue. You tugged at his hair as he sucked on your clit, lightly grazing his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Theo popped up to take a hit off the joint before passing it over to you. His slender fingers held them up to your lips before slinking down to continue eating you out. As you held the smoke in your lungs, you inhaled deeply, letting the drug that was Theodore Nott singe your veins.
Nothing in this world could've prepared you for this moment. Theo wasn't exaggerating his skills. If anything, he underplayed just how good he was. Theo switched strategies often, starting off slow and sweet before swirling and sucking, fucking you with his tongue like he’d never get another chance to taste you again. Once in a while, he’d come up for air, smiling as you offered the joint to him.
Mostly, Theo was focused on feasting. He made out with your pussy shamelessly, making it as sloppy and messy as he possibly could. The higher you got, the more sensitive everything felt. When Theo found a particularly sensitive spot, you arched your back and nearly scorched his sheets with the joint.
Theo only chuckled before taking it from your hands and putting it out. “You’re on fire, bella. But I’d prefer if my sheets weren’t.”
You smiled shyly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
He flashed a boyish grin back. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that we didn’t do this sooner.”
“Me too, Teddy.”
He smiled softly at you. “Sei la donna più bella che abbia mai visto.”
Before you got the chance to ask what he said, Theo pulled you by the ankles and picked up where he left off. He made good on his promise, driving you to the brink until you were writhing and whining. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gasped, moaning his name in the night like a prayer. It only encouraged Theo to show off even more, using a combination of his mouth and fingers. His middle and pointer finger slid inside of you easily, squelching while he worked you tirelessly.
There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as you lost yourself to pleasure. When Theo introduced a third finger and flicked his tongue on your clit, a rush of heat flooded your body.
“Oh gods, Theo. Please. I’m so close. Fuck — ”
“C’mon, cara mia. Cum for me.”
Theo watched as your orgasm rocked you from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. He lapped you up like a man starved, not wasting a single drop. You tried to fight the overstimulation by squirming away from his mouth, but Theo merely held your hips down.
“I’m not done,” Theo warned with a growl. “Stay still, principessa. You wanted me to eat your pussy? Then be brave enough to fucking take it.”
When he brought you to your second orgasm, you were gasping for air. You roughly tugged at Theo’s hair, eliciting a filthy moan from him. Despite this, Theo was still decidedly not done. As the third orgasm approached, you screamed before squirting and soaking right through the sheets.
With wide eyes, Theo stared up at you. “Have you ever done that before?”
You flushed, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you shook your head. “No — I — I didn’t even know I could do that.”
Your best friend smiled, brushing your hair back gently as though he hadn’t just made you see Merlin. “Did it feel good?”
“Yes,” you admitted. “Was it okay? I mean, was that too much? Oh god, I’m sorry.”
“No,” Theo said in a stern voice as he tipped your chin up. “Don’t ever apologize. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I like knowing that I’m the only man that’s ever made you squirt.”
“You’re not mad?” You sniffled, lower lip trembling. “I ruined your sheets.”
“Fuck the sheets." He caressed your cheek, gazing deeply into your eyes. "It's still me. Your Teddy. There's nothing that you could do that would make me mad. You're perfect, Y/N."
Theo kissed you softly, his lips pressed firmly against yours to emphasize the words. He was your Teddy. He always would be.
"You're really good at that, by the way."
Your best friend smirked, the cocky grin tugging at his lips. "Oh yeah? I couldn't tell by the way you kept screaming my name."
You rolled your eyes. "I'm not going to compliment you if you're going to be so cocky about it."
He cocked a brow before kissing the sweet spot beneath your ear. "What are you going to do about it, principessa?"
"No fair. You play dirty, Theo."
Your best friend smiled, taking in your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips. In one swift move, Theo pinned you underneath him. "I'll show you just how dirty I can get, bella."
He wrapped a hand around your throat possessively and pulled you in for a kiss. You moaned into his mouth, dizzy with desire. Theo slid his tongue against yours and claimed you with a groan.
"This — this is what it should feel like. This is what Cedric failed to do. That stupid prick should’ve worshipped the ground you walked on, but he didn’t. He missed his chance. It’s my turn now.”
Wrapping your legs around his waist, Theo squeezed your ass as he grinded his erection against your core. Even through his sweatpants, you could feel how big he was. You bucked your hips in response, rubbing against him for more friction.
“Oh fuck, don’t do that,” Theo panted breathlessly. “I won’t be able to stop.”
“Who said I wanted you to stop, Theo?”
Theo cursed up a storm, a mixture of Italian and English that sounded equally hot. “I want you so fucking bad. You’re all I ever want, Y/N.”
You smiled up at him, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “Then have me, Teddy.”
It was like a flip switched inside of him. Theo crashed his lips against yours, frantically tugging your skirt off as you pushed his sweatpants down. They were barely halfway off before he was lining up at your entrance.
Theo pressed his forehead against yours. “Deep breaths, baby.”
Though you were sufficiently warmed up, you knew it was still going to be a stretch. His tip was barely in and you were already gasping for breath.
“Theo, fuck. Oh my god.” You clawed at his back as he inched inside. “You’re so big. I can’t — “
“You can, principessa. I know you can. We’ll make it fit, yeah?” Theo stroked your cheek, giving you time to adjust. “So fucking tight. I can feel you stretching to take all of me. Just a little more,” he slid in further, watching your expression intently to ensure that he wasn’t hurting you. “That’s it. Good girl.”
When Theo finally filled you to the hilt, he pressed down on your stomach, marveling at the tight fit. You whimpered in response, clenching around his cock and making him groan.
“Can I move, principessa?”
Tears filled your eyes, but you wiped them away and nodded bravely. “Yes.”
To his credit, Theo went sweet and slow as you adjusted to his size. He seemed attuned to what you liked and what you didn’t like even without having to utter a word. You weren’t surprised. Theo had always known you better than you knew yourself.
It took some time, but eventually the pain subsided to give way to pleasure. You kissed Theo as he thrusted into you, feeling every delicious inch of him sliding in and out of your pussy. He was going slow for your benefit, but your impatience craved more. It turns out that when it came to Theo, you were an all or nothing kind of woman.
“Theo, please,” you pleaded through tears. “Please, I need more. I need all of you.”
A feral expression crossed Theo’s handsome features before he hiked your ankles over his shoulders and drove in harder. His thrusts were deep and punishing, setting your teeth on edge as he fucked you into the mattress. Theo pinned your arms above your head, watching himself slam into you again and again.
“I love watching your pretty cunt take all of me,” he murmured, intertwining your fingers together. “You’re a fucking goddess, baby. Dea mia, I’ll worship at your altar.”
“It’s never — I’ve never felt like this with anyone else,” you admitted.
Theo softened, his tender gaze drinking you in. “It’s never felt like this with anyone else for me either, bella.”
You pulled him down for a deep kiss, the intimacy of the act surpassing lust and physical attraction. A spark awakened within you, like finally accepting an inevitable truth.
The thread snapped and you allowed it to wash over you like a wave, the orgasm even more intensified than the first three. Theo followed soon after, panting into your neck as he emptied himself inside of you. He whispered your name, collapsing beside you when he finished.
The two of you lay side by side, stunned into silence. You felt breathless and boneless, not quite believing that you just had the most mind blowing sex with your best friend.
Theo glanced over at you. You glanced back at him. The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, breaking the tension.
“Well, fuck.”
He rolled over on his side, tracing your lips with his thumb. “Is that good or bad, tesoro?”
“Good. Definitely good.”
Theo smiled and kissed you softly.
“I meant what I said,“ you breathed as he pulled you to his side. “I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.”
“I know, bella.” Theo hummed in agreement, snaking an arm possessively around your waist. “You were made for me. Just like I was made for you.”
“You knew it would feel like that?”
He grinned. “I had an inkling.”
“What did I tell you about teasing me?”
“I’m not,” he said earnestly. “I knew it would be you since the moment we met.”
The realization from earlier reared its head as you snuggled against him. “We’ve never been just friends, have we?”
Theo shook his head. “Not for a single second, dea mia.”
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