shewrites7 - Tumblr blog

shewrites7 · 9 months

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The First Step

carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary - The first thing you do when you get back to your hometown of Chicago is pay Carmen, your oldest friend and maybe more than that, a visit at The Beef. When you land yourself a job there, the more he sees of you, the more he seems to push you away for reasons he isn't yet brave enough to tell you, even if all he wants is to be with you. But if he'd ever known you, he'd know that you weren't going to back down without a fight.

type - one shot (its a long one)

word count [16.6k]

tags: Carmy Berzatto x f!reader, friends to lovers, pining, slight miscommunication, a little angst, "stop pushing me away", hurt/comfort, and new promises.

warnings: swearing, mentions of grief/death, panic attack

a/n: check this out also on my ao3! <33

Carmen was tired, to say the least. He'd been working himself to the bone every damn day for the past few months, trying to get The Beef to a good, stable place. Somehow, as time went by, he'd only managed to dig himself a deeper grave. With the money they owed to Cicero, he knew, deep down, that the restaurant was, for lack of a better word, fucked.

But he kept holding on. He couldn't let go of it. He'd wonder, in the depths of night, why he was fighting so hard for this place when he could easily sell it to Cicero. If, maybe, he was holding onto someone. He didn't amuse the thought. He physically couldn't.

So he threw himself deeper into his work. Deeper into making The Beef a reputable place, with a professional working staff and high-quality food. It didn't matter that the others looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He didn't have the time to worry about that. He didn't have time for much of anything, which is why Sydney had been pushing for new hires. She'd said that they needed more hands in the kitchen, more workers up front, more of everything. They should be desperate.

That's why she'd spent hours putting up posters for new hires on what felt like practically every block of Chicago within a mile radius from the restaurant. And that's why you'd happened to stumble upon one of them while walking to a favorite pizza place of yours that you'd loved as a kid. It was one of the first things you'd planned on doing ever since you'd gotten back into the city. That and meeting up with some old friends who you'd missed with an ache in your chest. So, seeing the poster clinging to the utility pole saying that The Beef was hiring had your heart skip a little beat at the prospect of not only getting a job but seeing the people who had basically been your family growing up again.

It was a Friday morning when you'd stopped by The Beef, the rusted white sign sticking out like a sore thumb. A rush of aromas wafted against your nose when you walked in, and the front door made a jingling sound that was almost nostalgic.

No one was at the front register. In fact, you couldn't see anyone at all, only hear some muffled voices coming from the kitchen in the back. The voices grew louder as seconds went by, and you could tell they were shouts. The kitchen door then flew open, finally revealing the argument going on between two people, one being an unfamiliar woman in an apron, and the other being none other than Richie Jerimovich.

"Richie, I swear to God-"

"I already told you," came the booming voice of Richie, neither of them noticing your presence at the door. "Your foo foo plans for this place are not gonna fly, Sweetheart!"

With the way Richie was talking to her, you could see the woman's patience wearing thin as she rested a hand on her temple with shut eyes as he carried on. It was only when she reopened her eyes a few moments later that she noticed your presence.

"Hi," you said, making your way over to her. "I saw your poster, the one about looking for new hires-"

"Right, right." She offered a strained smile, stress seeming to stay with her. "I'm Sydney, you must be one of the job applicants?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"A job applicant?" Richie's voice boomed through the room, his voice always projecting ten times louder than need be. You had to admit, you missed it. "F that bullshit, that's fucking Mars Bar!"

Sydney's eyebrows lowered at the shouted nickname, the one that the Berzattos had gifted you years ago after your favorite candy as a kid. You granted Richie a smile, him finally noticing you. "Nice to see you too, Richie."

He marched around the counter to engulf you in a bear-like hug that had you letting out a chuckled gasp from the impact, arms wrapping tightly around your back. He let go in a beat and slammed his hands down on the counter in excitement, always loud.

"Just wait till Carmy hears about his favorite girl being back, I swear to God."

Something fluttered through you at the mention of that name. Carmen's name. With a whirlwind of thoughts sifting through your mind, you almost missed the other name that Richie had called you, aside from Mars Bar. Carmy's favorite girl.

-----

Richie had barged into the kitchen with full vigor, slamming open the swinging door dangerously close to a nearby Tina.

"Cousin!" He moved through the different chefs' stations until he got to Carmen's, who was wrapped up in prepping and quite frankly had learned to tune out the sound of Richie's yelling for his own health. "Yo, Cousin!"

Richie boisterously grabbed a hold of Carmen's shoulders, rocking him a little and moving his hand that wielded a knife, cutting diagonally into beef he'd been pre-slicing.

"Shit," Carmen cursed, irritation forming. "What the hell is it, Cousin?"

Richie just laughed, a mind never paid to Carmen's annoyance. "Yea, you're pissed at me now, Carmy, but you're gonna think I'm pulling your dick when I tell you who's at the fucking register right now."

With a forever-present dull headache, Carmen sighed and shifted his focus to him, putting down his knife on the counter. He gestured a hand out to him. "Who's at the register, Rich-"

"The fucking love of your life, that's who!"

Richie gave Carmen a playful punch in the arm, but he remained unphased, a frown etched on his features. "See, what the fuck are you talking about? I don't have a love of my-"

"Two words, Cousin. Mars Bar."

Richie was right. Those two words really did do something to him.

"She- ... she's here?"

He rubbed his jaw, brain short-circuiting for a second as he tried to make sense of Richie's words. His eyes bore into Richie's never-serious ones, trying to grasp onto whether or not he was, just this one time. If he was messing with him, he didn't think he'd be able to take it.

"Yes, bro!" Yelled Richie, patting him on the back. "I swear to you. She's here, and hot as balls, too."

He squinted his eyes at him with a twinge of disgust, slightly shoving him to the side to get towards the door. He still didn't know if he believed it. You'd been traveling abroad on some grant that he, to be honest, didn't know much about. But you were doing great things. He couldn't guess why you'd come back to The Beef, of all places.

When he saw you through the window, he was lucky he was hidden behind the safety of the kitchen door because he couldn't control the way his body and mind froze at the sight of you. He took in the way your smile beamed out into the room as you spoke with Sydney, warm and unignorable, and he could've sworn something changed in the chemical makeup of his brain. Something that had his eyes widening and his feet planted in their place.

"What'd I tell you?" Richie's voice from behind him knocked him out of his trance. There was a smug, amused edge to his voice. "Now go and talk to her."

Carmen put a hand out, shooing him away. "I will. I just," he stopped, trailing off as he took in the way you truly seemed to glow after all the time spent away. He liked how it looked on you.

"Aww, don't tell me you're nervous now, Carm." Richie put his arms on Carmen's shoulders.

"Shut the fuck up." He shoved Richie off of him with a grimace, but his eyes never left you, jaw clenching as he followed your movements. "I'm not."

The pit in his stomach told him otherwise. He ignored the feeling, determined, and took in a breath before opening the kitchen door to the front of the restaurant, to where you stood.

At the sound of the door swinging open you finally turned your attention to him, lips coming to part with a subtle inhale that somehow left you feeling breathless.

"Carmen." You said his name with a grin, eyes lighting up, heart picking up its pace in your chest. You ran over for a quick, thoughtless hug that left his body partly on fire when you pulled away just as fast.

"Mars Bar." He uttered the old nickname endearingly, his voice cracking at the end of his words for some reason. He cleared his throat. "You're uh- you're here. In Chicago."

"Woah," Richie interrupted, coming in from behind, boisterous. "We've got a genius in The Beef, everybody!"

Sydney snorted from somewhere in the distance, but you couldn't even laugh because you'd been too busy staring at the way Carmen ran his hand through his golden hair that had been unruly since you were practically kids and still was.

"Yeah," you breathed, cringing at how awkward your voice sounded to your own ears. "I'm here."

The two of you held onto each other's gazes for a beat too long, scanning over the other wordlessly, taking in the changes that the years apart had brought.

"Well, uh," Carmen started, licking his lip to find strings of coherent words. "Do you wanna come into the office? Catch up?"

You nodded with a pleased tug of your lips. "Yeah, sure Carmen."

He nodded too and led the way, arm delicately resting on your upper back for a second in a way that left his fingertips buzzing, alive.

You entered the room after he did, the desk and walls littered with papers and sticky notes of different colors, an overload to the senses. It was stuffy, even with the door left open.

Before he turned to face you, he clumsily sorted some papers that'd been sitting on a wooden chair into stacks and pushed them onto the highest shelf above his desk so you could sit down, his white t-shirt slightly tugging upwards as he reached. Your eyes subtly followed the movement, eyes glancing steadily over a part of his lower abdomen that you felt alarmed at even sneaking a peak. That and the muscles that showed clearly from the short sleeves of his shirt.

God, you'd only been back in Chicago for a few days and your mind was already doing that thing it always did when you were around Carmen, like it didn't have the ability to think straight or act rationally when he was around.

"So, uh," Carmen started, turning his focus back to being one hundred percent on you. It became hard to concentrate when he did that, because he had the most piercing blue eyes you'd ever seen and you found over the years that they'd always had more than just one emotion swimming around in them. As you looked into them now, you still came up short in identifying them.

"What are you doing back in Chicago?" He looked at you like you were a puzzle, one he couldn't give up on solving. "Did the studies abroad finally start to bore you?"

"Yeah, they did," you joked, looking down at your lap. "Not really much to do in Europe compared to this place, you know?"

Carmen let out a wisp of a laugh, nodding, while also noting somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the first time he'd laughed in at least a few days. Your presence could always do that to him; Put him at ease when nothing else truly could.

"And, of course, I could only go so long being separated from the Berzattos."

He laughed again. That made twice. "Oh yeah?"

You nodded, playful in your words.

"I mean it." You did.

You let a comfortable silence nestle between the two of you, feeling the upward tug of your lips that you could only blame on Carmen. The thought left something alighted in your chest

"Seriously though." You say up a little straighter in your seat. "I guess the real reason I stopped by was because I was wondering if I could help out around here for a little while, now that I'm back home."

At this, the smile that had been resting on Carmen's face began to weaken.

"What?" His forehead creased, eyes dancing across your face with curiosity and disguised panic of his own.

Sensing his change in mood, you hurriedly continued. "I'll be home for a while and, you know, I just figured me getting a job here would be convenient and-"

"No."

You stopped mid-sentence, zeroing in on the man before you. "No?"

He had one hand leaning against the desk, the other's fingertips pressed to his forehead, head cast down, eyes evading yours.

"No, I- I'm sorry, Mars. We're ... we're not hiring right now. We don't need any new workers." At that, you frowned, taking in the tension in Carmen's stance and the tightness in his voice.

"I know The Beef is hiring right now, Carm." You gave him a disbelieving look. "In fact, I got the idea to work here from the flyers Sydney put up everywhere, so don't try and tell me you're not looking for new job applicants." You took a step closer to him, sensing something wrong and confused as to why he would lie, but he only seemed to be growing more agitated, shifting his posture upwards and no longer leaning on the table.

"That was a mistake, alright? I didn't ask her to do that. The Beef is doing perfectly fine, we don't need any extra help." Something sour was rotting in the undertones of his voice, the way he said the word help as if the thought of it was repellent.

"I didn't mean anything by asking. I ... I know you guys are doing fine, probably great even, I was just thinking that maybe I could-"

"We don't need any new fucking hires, Mars." He slammed his hand down on the desk, his tone raising so abruptly that it had you taking a step back in surprise.

When you looked up at him with alarm in your eyes, immediately his eyes began to soften, regret flooding through them. You held his gaze until those same eyes became taken over with this sudden guilt, almost sadness, flickering downwards towards his hands that moved to rest on his office desk, away from you.

You took a second to scan over the desk that was littered with papers and unsigned documents. It wasn't like Carmen to be unorganized, you knew that much. He had to be in a bad place to have his office look like this. Or, rather, Mikey's old office.

The room was a sensory overload, every inch of it a reminder of Mikey. Anyone would go crazy spending their days in here. Especially if that someone had been his little brother.

Carmen rubbed his hands over his face. You took a step next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder that lit aflame from the heat he gave off.

"For what it's worth," you started softly, and Carmen had to fight a shiver at how close your voice was to him. "I miss Mikey too."

He didn't make any movement to turn towards you, his jaw clenched and eyes still staring downwards. He didn't know what made you feel like you had to say that to him. He didn't need to look at you, though, to know you truly meant it.

"You can't work here," he said, his voice sounding defeated and a little far away. "I'm sorry."

Something restless in your heart was determined to make you fight back, figure out why Carmen was refusing you without a good reason. But something else inside of you softened at the way Carmen wouldn't meet your eyes, seeming guilt-stricken, and decided to back down. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder gave him a final squeeze.

You took your leave for the office door without Carmen moving an inch.

"Bye, Carm." Your voice was unfairly soft towards him, even if he felt like he didn't deserve the kindness that thrummed from your heart. "It was nice seeing you." You paused. "I've missed you."

Before he could turn to say goodbye, somehow communicate the 'I've missed you too' that he'd been meaning to express since he'd seen you, you had already turned down the hallway, out of sight. He knew for sure, then, that you didn't deserve that response from him. But he just didn't know how to tell you. How to explain without sounding ridiculous why alarms sounded in his brain at the thought of you working at The Beef.

He'd always known that you were destined for more than just the life you'd shared with him as kids, where you scored straight A's and were one of the top in your class. When you'd left for college while he stayed put, he didn't even let himself miss you, because he'd just wanted what was best for you. And when you furthered your studies even after college, traveling abroad, he knew that was the life you were meant for. To see you stopping all of that to work at The Beef, the place where his brother's dreams had become nothing but dead ends as time went on, wouldn't settle right inside of him.

Worst of all, he had visions of you working in the kitchen, behind the scenes where tensions were constantly overwhelming, of him losing his cool in front of you and you seeing a side of him he tried to keep you far away from. You'd always known the youngest brother Carmy, the world-class chef Carmy, the one who was at his best around you. He couldn't imagine what he would do if suddenly he revealed the Carmy he tried to hide; the Carmy who worked at The Beef, a bundle of unstable frustration who was barely hanging on, the Carmy who still didn't know how to live life without Mikey but who melted from your touch, who wanted more from the girl who'd been at his side for so many years as nothing but a friend, and a great one. He couldn't risk losing that.

Especially not with the condition of The Beef at the moment, which needed his full focus. Having you around would definitely not allow for that. So he convinced himself that this was for your own good. For his own good.

When you rounded the corner back out into the front of the restaurant, Richie was still there behind the counter, holding a phone to his ear.

You smiled at him a little tiredly and silently waved goodbye, walking towards the door.

Richie frowned, removing his focus from the phone call. "Where the hell are you leaving to so fast?" You spun around. "Don't tell me Carmy scared you off already."

You laughed awkwardly and thought of what to say, but must have taken too long to answer because Richie's face was already contorting with an over-the-top grimace.

"What'd that moron say to you, huh?"

You put a hand out, trying to calm him. "Richie, it's nothing, really-"

He was already stalking off towards the office, muttering something about 'killing Carmen'. You shook your head to yourself, because you knew how headstrong both of them were, and turned towards the exit. And, as you finally opened the glass door to leave, you could hear yelling and shouted vulgar words coming from the office. You didn't stay long enough to listen.

You didn't know what to think when it happened. You'd been sitting at home all weekend, alone, and honestly truly bored and wondering if coming back home was the right choice when your phone started ringing. You checked the screen and it was an unknown caller, but boredom had you picking it up anyway.

Mars Bar!

"Hello? Who is this?"

It's me.

"..."

Richie.

"Ohh ... right. How did you get my number again?"

I asked around. Anyways, it doesn't matter. I'm supposed to be telling you that you're gonna start work tomorrow.

"What? Start work? Where?"

At The Beef. C'mon Mars catch up with me here.

"Sorry, I'm just ... confused. Carmen told me you guys weren't hiring and that he couldn't give me a job?"

Oh, that. Don't worry about Carmy. I set that moron straight.

"What are you saying?"

I'm saying, you got the job kid!

"Richie, are you fucking with me right now?"

No! Why does everyone always think I'm fucking with them? I'm fucking serious hon.

"Okay, okay! I ... I believe you. I think."

You better! Carmy is really fucking stoked to have you work here, I mean it.

"He ... he is?"

Sure! So I better see your ass Monday morning, capeesh?

"Y-yea I guess so."

Your heart really should not have fluttered the way it did when Richie told you that Carmen was supposedly excited to see you. He hadn't sounded like it when you'd brought it up to him. In fact, he seemed strangely opposed to the idea, like you'd hit a sensitive area.

You weren't sure if you could really believe Richie. Like you'd always known, Carmen was stubborn as hell. The change of heart was unexpected, to say the least. You didn't know what to think. You still didn't know, as you walked through the front entrance of The Beef the next day, ready to start work. The only person to greet you at the front was Richie, standing behind the counter, per usual.

"Cousin!" He gestured you over. You greeted him back and rounded the corner to stand behind the counter next to him, unused to the feeling after spending years on the other side of it.

Richie spent at most two minutes giving you a rundown of what you'd be doing at The Beef, merely distracted by some yelling in the kitchen. The brief directions consisted mostly of taking orders and ringing a bell. A real challenge.

"Yeah, so that's basically it." He gave you a pat on the back and your front almost hit the counter at the impact.

"No paperwork or formalities or anything?" You were almost suspicious of the fast speed at which this had all happened. Richie whipped his head around like you'd stated something crazy.

"Formalities? C'mon, what are we, the fucking White House? This is a family business, Cousin."

He patted you on the shoulder roughly. "Thanks, Richie," you said, both slightly amused and slightly unnerved. You tapped your fingers on the marble countertop, trying to seem casual. "Where's um ... where's Carmy?"

Richie scratched his head. "He's, uh, he's busy. He'll be out soon. Don't you worry, shortcake." He gave you a wink that you didn't know what to do with and turned back towards the kitchen. You were gonna have to talk to him about those nicknames in the workplace sooner or later.

You called out to him before he left into the kitchen, hesitant. "You're sure Carmen said he wants me to work here, right?"

Your eyes bore into Richie's for a moment, and it was almost like you could see the thoughts in his head visibly swarming about. His shoulder raised. "Well, he didn't exactly say he wanted you to, but anyone with fucking eyes can see that he wants you-"

"Richie!" Your jaw hung open in utter annoyance and bafflement. He frowned at you.

"What?"

You almost scoffed. "Did Carmen really not say it was okay for me to work here?" You looked around, bewildered. "Does he even know I'm here?"

Richie gestured his hands out to you. "Sure he does!"

You could tell just from his tone what your answer was. You put a hand on your hip, shaking your head to yourself. "I'm going in there to talk to him."

"No!" Richie's eyes widened. "No. Just calm down, and I'll talk to him."

You stared at him disbelievingly. He stared back at you challengingly with the confidence only Richie could have. "I'll be back in no time. I know what I'm doing, trust me."

Richie didn't know what he was planning on doing when he opened the door to the kitchen in search of Carmen. He just hoped he wasn't using a knife when he found him.

He turned a few corners before Carmen was in his line of view, hunched over the counter as he worked busily on something Richie couldn't see. He leaned against the counter next to him, watching Carmen as his focus didn't even falter.

"Carm."

He didn't get a reply, just the back of Carmen's head as he focused on reading the piece of paper in front of him, hand braced against the shining surface it lay on.

"Carmy."

The man in question slowly shifted his focus to the man next to him, whose distracting presence had become impossible to ignore. "What? What is it?"

Richie peered down at him. "Promise that you won't get mad."

Carmen's eyes narrowed. "What the hell did you do?"

"Just promise me you won't fucking blow up at me like you always do."

"Why would I promise that if I don't even know what the hell you did?"

Richie tipped his head back exasperatedly. "Just say you promise!"

"I fucking promise! Okay?" Carmen ran a hand through his hair, moving it again to cross his arms. "Now, what is it?"

Richie paused, kicking out his foot and casually peering down at it with feigned interest. "Mars Bar is outside right now. Again."

Carmen's forehead creased and he looked over at Richie with sudden alarm. "What? Why? Is she okay?"

Richie gave him a knowing look, smug for a moment. "Yeah, she's fine." He shrugged. "I just, um, might have given her a job here up at the register."

Carmen's face was unmoving, his tone raising with poorly hidden anger. "You what?"

"And I might've also told her you really wanted her to work here."

Carmen's eyes scanned Richie's sporadically like he couldn't process his words fast enough. "Wh- Why the fuck would you do that? I already told her no-"

"Yeah, and I told her yes. Because you're an idiot and I'm saving your ass. You're welcome!"

Carmen ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "For what? Fucking me over?"

"I did not fuck you over, Carm, I'm doing this for you!"

Carmen shook his head, anger bleeding its way through his mind. "What the hell are you talking about? I told you, Richie, I don't want her anywhere near this place. I- I thought that was understood."

"No, it was not fucking understood because it was a stupid idea." Carmen let out a scoff as Richie put his hands out to Carmen in a calming gesture. "This is a good thing, trust me."

Carmen sputtered. "How the fuck is it-"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me, Carm!" Richie shouted, bravely putting a hand up in front of Carmen's face. He pointed his finger at him which Carmen regarded with annoyance. "You need to stop being a moron and pushing away every single fucking female that tries to come within ten feet of you, alright?"

Carmen's brows furrowed even further, confusion building alongside anger. "I really have no goddamn idea what your point is here, Richie, but this has nothing to do with-"

"Oh spare me, Cousin!" He shouted. "We all know you've had the hots for Mars Bar over there since you were kids, alright?"

Carmen's mouth clamped shut immediately at this, his breathing coming out in fumes. He shook his head back and forth.

"Is this what this whole fucking thing is about, you jagoff?"

"Woah woah woah!" Richie cut in. "I am not the jagoff here, Cousin. I'm helping you out!"

"Richie's right, Carm," cut in Fak from behind, appearing suddenly out of nowhere like he always seemed to.

"Shut the fuck up, Fak!" Carmen held his head in his hand, trying to grab hold of his temper that he could feel slipping out of control. He needed to breathe.

"She can't work here."

Richie raised his arms in a shrug. "Well, you're gonna have to go tell her that yourself."

"I fucking will."

Carmen stormed off towards the kitchen door, ready to tell you yet again that you had to leave, a daunting thought overlooked thanks to adrenaline. Richie chuckled from behind him. "Yeah right, like you're gonna fire her."

Carmen didn't let himself listen to Richie any longer. Fists clenched at his sides, he opened the door and there you were, standing there, looking confused and a little surprised with parted lips.

Richie came up from behind and patted him on the back. "Go on, Carm. Tell her." You watched as Carmen's jaw clenched.

Carmen really wanted to tell you that you couldn't work here. That you had to go home. That you had to run far away from this place and go back to studying abroad and being more successful than any of them and all of that bullshit. Maybe it was because your eyes were shining a little too bright in the restaurant lighting, or that they looked a little too hopeful as they stared back at him with raised brows, waiting. But he didn't say anything of those things.

"You..." he started. Your eyebrows raised further. His palms suddenly became sweatier. He took a breath in.

"You, um," a beat passed. He licked his lip. "You're gonna need an apron."

Your eyes lit up even more if possible, and he thought his heart would give out. Then, you ran up and threw your arms around his neck in a tight hug, and he genuinely questioned if his brain had short-circuited because, by the time he came back to reality, you'd already pulled away and were practically jittering with excitement from in front of him.

"Thank you so much, Carm." Every time you smiled at him in that way he felt himself lose a bit of control. He didn't like the feeling. "You won't regret it."

He smiled back at you because he couldn't not. He wasn't so sure.

Carmen had given you your apron. When he'd handed it to you, you'd brushed fingers and your heart skipped a little beat at the contact. That had been the most eventful thing to occur within the next four days.

You'd done practically nothing at The Beef all week. There'd been a noticeable lack of customers coming into the restaurant to take orders, and those who did oftentimes came in just to see Richie, which had you leaning against the counter waiting and listening to their loud conversations with the man.

It felt like there was some sort of prank being played on you. Surely they wouldn't pay you money for doing absolutely nothing. All the waiting around doing close to nothing made you antsy, frustrated, and confused.

You'd been meaning to address this to Carmen, to ask what you were doing wrong, but getting a hold of him was near impossible. You'd seen so little of Carmen that you couldn't even be sure he came into work most days, the only confirmation being his shouts coming from the kitchen at the others. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you became jealous of them. You'd take Carmen shouting orders at you in the kitchen any day over him saying nothing to you at all. It almost felt like he was avoiding you.

It was a Thursday night, and the antsy feeling inside of you had you staying late at work that night, wiping down tables with an intense amount of fervor.

You'd thought you were the last one in The Beef. It'd been dark for hours, but you had nobody and nothing exciting waiting for you at home, so working a little extra couldn't hurt. And, if it made Carmen notice your position at The Beef at least a little bit, it would be worth it.

As your thoughts drifted to the man, something made a noise from the kitchen, and it became apparent to you that maybe you weren't the only one working late that night.

"Hello?" You'd said aloud, your voice slightly echoing in the vacant restaurant. No response was returned. You slowly went back to scrubbing down a table against the far wall from the kitchen door when it swung open, and there stood Carmen Berzatto in his patchwork wool jacket, looking like seeing you was the last thing he'd expected.

The sight was jarring to you for a number of reasons. You jumped up speedily and tucked the rag you'd been using to clean tables slightly behind you as if he hadn't already seen you using it.

"Mars Bar?" He said, the nickname falling easily from his lips like it was the only one he'd ever known you by. He eyed your tense stance.

"Hey, Carmen." Your smile was just as unnatural. His eyebrows pulled downward at you, eyes squinting and blinking confusedly in the dim lighting like he was fighting sleep.

"What are you doing here so late?" You nibbled at your own lip. Carmen, even from across the room, made sure to follow the movement. You noticed him eye the rag in your hands.

"I was just cleaning off some of the umm ... some of the tables." You didn't know why you sounded so embarrassed. You also didn't know what was going through Carmen's mind as he looked over you, and then over the spotless tables behind you.

"Wow," he began, running a hand through his hair. "You really didn't have to do all this. It's not ... it's not part of your job, you know?" A feeling bitter and stale simmered inside of you.

"I know." You stood up straighter. "Maybe I just wanted to.

You wanted to say more in the moment, tell him all of your frustrations, but you didn't. You just stared back at him and watched as he walked towards where you stood by the tables. You didn't move an inch.

His eyes surveyed the tops of the tables and he marveled at how clean they were. Not just clean, but almost sparkling, even in the low lighting that came from a single overhead lamp and the streetlights from outside.

"You did a great job, Chef."

Your eyebrows raised unintentionally. He'd never called you that before, though you'd heard the name from his lips aimed at others countless times. He noticed your reaction.

"What?" He asked, eyeing you curiously. He leaned back against the table next to you, his beautiful stare almost becoming a little too much for you after a long day. You shrugged.

"Nothing. It's just," you paused, "you've never called me that before."

His expression was slightly confused, slightly amused. "Well," he began, gaze shifting from the ground to you. "Now I do. You work here, don't you?"

The question settled uncomfortably in your chest, and you let out a laugh that sounded just as strained. "Hardly."

Carmen's eyebrows flashed downwards in a quick frown. "What do you mean 'hardly'?" You felt his eyes scanning your face, scanning you. "What's up?"

You went back to rubbing at the corner of a nearby table with your rag if only to distract yourself from Carmen's gaze and the petty way your words sounded coming from your lips.

"I mean," you began. "It feels like I haven't really done much of anything around here, you know?" When he didn't say anything back, you continued. "I've only taken a handful of customer's orders in the past couple of days. And, I know I'm not the best cook in the world but I could definitely help out in the kitchen with something. Maybe I could cut up some stuff, or prep it, or whatever you guys call it. Anything, really."

He didn't say anything right away, and you became horrified that you'd pushed his buttons too many times in the last week with your rants and that he'd finally send you on your way once and for all. Then, you heard something like a laugh come from him. You reeled back.

"Is something funny?" You asked, your tone uncharacteristically sour. He silenced his amusement and looked at you intently.

"You've always been such an overachiever, Mars."

You paused, then shook your head. "Oh please, we all know you're the ambitious one."

"No, not when we were kids," Carmen argued. "I was never great in school. You, on the other hand," he chuckled under his breath. "My mom would have me go check in on you whenever we hadn't heard from you on a night before a test. Make sure you weren't overdosing on coffee and pop."

You swore you could feel your heart beating in your chest at Carmen's revelation and the fondness in his voice.

"You know," Carmen began again, getting lost in memories. "I think my mom used to have this theory I'd marry you one day or something. Said you were the only girl who'd put up with my stubbornness."

Oh my God. Your head was spinning. Why was he saying this? He didn't know what the hell he was doing to you. Or your heartbeat, which was concerningly gaining speed. He never did.

All you could say was, "Oh?"

He laughed some more like this was something casual, something funny. You couldn't help but notice that forever present weight present in his eyes, though. Something he could never seem to shed.

"Yeah, well," Carmen began again, "my mother has also been mentally unstable for years, so." He jokingly trailed off, his voice dying in the silence, along with any butterflies you'd felt. You laughed quietly, even if laughing was the last thing you wanted to do when hearing that.

You felt like you were being suffocated. By him and his blue eyes and his dry, self-deprecating jokes and the small quirk of his lips. You were also getting restless because you'd started off trying to talk with Carmen about your job, and now were getting lost in the haze of your feelings for him which you decided were useless and would get you nowhere. You cast them aside the best you could and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Carmen," you said. His attention focused directly on you. "Did you listen to any of the things I said about working here?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he assured you. "Of course."

"So, will you take them into consideration? Let me do more, Carmen. I can do more."

There was a beat of silence. He fidgeted, like he did when he was a boy and couldn't focus in class, or when he was nervous around a girl he'd liked. Nervous around you.

He wanted to say yes. Hell, he would've given you anything you'd asked for just to see you happy. But he didn't know what the consequences of giving you a more important role at The Beef would achieve. What it might stop you from achieving. What it might do to him. So, he didn't say anything. Not anything direct.

"I know you can, Mars." He exhaled and then put his hands in his pockets, eyes cast down. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost midnight. We can talk about this more in the morning. Okay?"

His response was like a smack in the face. A sharp pain that left a dull ache. You let a breath out and tried to keep your face from revealing your stubborn frustration. You slowly nodded. "Okay."

Even if you tried to contain your emotions, Carmen could see it. He noticed it in the quick flare of your nostrils as you breathed, in the slight clench of your jaw. Stupidly, he asked, "Is that okay?"

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your feet. You tapped your foot once. "Yes."

Even more stupidly, he asked, "Are you sure?"

You finally shifted your focus to him and he felt his own jaw clench at the way it sent a rush down his spine.

"Yeah, Carmen." That was the first time he didn't like the way you said his name.

"Alright," he said, nodding slowly, lifting his bag higher on his shoulder.

"Alright."

You lifted the rag from the table, stood there for a second, and walked towards the counter, where you wrung it out and slapped it down into a bucket full of other dirty rags, and left it there. You didn't feel much like putting it away.

Carmen hadn't moved and just stood there by the tables, watching as you collected your coat from behind the counter and turned off the lights as you walked past.

When he saw you walking towards the door, he rushed to get there first, to open it for you. You beat him to it, opening it yourself. He closed it and locked the door behind him. You both were engulfed by the dull chill of the air right away, and you couldn't help but shiver.

Carmen turned to you. "Let me drive you home." He didn't dare offer you a lighthearted smile or anything of that sort. He didn't think he had it in himself to be lighthearted, anyways.

You gifted him a polite one with a short tug of your lips. "I have a car. Thanks."

Carmen could've smacked himself right there. "Right." He didn't know what was wrong with him. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just his assumption, but he couldn't bring himself to clarify.

"I'll walk you to your car then?" He asked, though you knew no matter what you said he'd make sure you'd get to your car safely either way.

"Okay, yeah."

You both turned to walk to your car, Carmen letting you take the lead for a moment before catching up to walk side by side with you. You were hit with the reality that Carmen Berzatto was walking you to your car, alone with you, at midnight. A small gesture that had your mind buzzing from the contrast between your love for him and your frustration with him. Nobody had come close to making you feel the emotions Carmen made you feel, even if no words were shared between both of you on that short walk. It felt completely silent. Somehow, even if the streets of Chicago were anything but, it felt silent.

Carmen thought about how his life was full of silent moments, never saying what he truly wanted to, to the people he wanted to speak to the most. When he noticed you were cold, even through your jacket, he walked a little closer to you. Whether you noticed it or not, he didn't know, but at least it soothed a small part of his mind that was blaring that night, telling him that he'd fucked up with you. That you deserved better. He couldn't help but think that same thing when he was around you, all the time.

You'd both crossed the street to reach your car in not even a full minute, but the walk had felt eternal to you. When you turned to Carmen to tell him goodnight, he was already looking at you intently. You wanted to ask what he was thinking, but you didn't, and unlocked your car.

"See you in the morning, Carmen," you said, tone unrevealing. He gave you his best neutral smile.

"Yeah. See you, Mars."

You went to open your car door, but this time he beat you to it. Even if he made you angry, he was still Carmen.

You watched as he rounded the front of your car back to the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, soft breathing visible in the cold from the white puffs it made in the air as he breathed.

You gave him one last wave as a goodbye, but by that time he was pretty much out of vision, and then drove away.

He watched your car drive down the street, stop at the light, turn the corner, and then glide out of view.

Immediately, he knew he should've said more on the walk to your car. He should've at least apologized. He didn't tell you that he was sorry for being so shitty. He didn't tell you he appreciated everything you did. He also didn't tell you his car was parked on the opposite end of the street.

And as he walked back to it, crossing The Beef again with its spotless tables, he thought about nothing except you.

The next morning had you waking up with a headache that only worsened when you stepped foot into The Beef. Your coworkers were shouting and blurting out orders in typical kitchen lingo that you honestly didn't fully understand.

There seemed to be an underlying tension simmering in the air that morning that had everyone's voices raised just a little bit more than usual, echoing through to you from your designated spot behind the front counter.

You figured out soon that that tension came from the review of The Beef that had been put in the paper the night before. It was the same topic that had Sydney and Richie arguing back and forth for minutes on end next to you.

"So this is a war on poor people?" You heard Richie ask as you finally tuned back into their yelling. "I see you."

"No," Sydney yelled back. "This is a war on you shutting the fuck up and learning how to use the tablet! The end dude."

"What is the end?"

You turned to your left to see Carmen stride out of the kitchen, looking every bit intense, shoulders hunched and rigid. He glanced at you in some form of a greeting for only a second before putting himself between Richie and Sydney and somewhat settling their argument.

"Are we ready?" He asked them with a rushed tone.

"No!" Sydney snapped, but headed back into the kitchen with Richie, even if you could see she wanted to punch the man in the face.

You turned back around to watch Carmen as he hurriedly ran a hand through his hair and started to rush back into the kitchen. You tried to catch his eyes, but he didn't meet your gaze.

"Um, Chef?" You tried to call, reaching out an arm to get his attention just a hair too late, him brushing past you without taking notice of you.

"Carmen?" This time he turned around, head flipping around to focus on you with eyes shot wide in the rush.

"What's up?" He asked, eyes quickly assessing your face. For a second you forgot what you were supposed to be asking.

"Did you, um, think about what I said last night?" He blinked back at you. "You said we'd talk about it in the morning, so, could we maybe talk about it?"

With the way he stared back at you, for a second you could've sworn he'd forgotten what you were talking about. Then, it had clearly dawned on him and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, holding out a hand to his head.

"No, yeah, right." He thought for a second, and then looked around, peeking into the kitchen, attention clearly spread elsewhere.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Can we just ... talk about this another time?"

You tried not to show your frustration. "Like when?"

"Uh," Carmen started, but he was already backing into the kitchen. A loud clanging noise of pots and pans rang through to the front, and his focus was completely lost. "Who the fuck keeps denting my pans, Chefs?!" He shouted. He threw the kitchen door open and moved to go inside, but not before calling out "We'll talk later, Chef!" and disappearing into the kitchen.

You groaned. "Later," could mean any time between that day and Easter. You didn't want to blame Carmen. You knew he was extremely busy and tended to overwork himself. But something in the back of your mind told you he was avoiding you. You didn't like the feeling.

It'd only been maybe an hour into the day when all hell started to break loose in the kitchen. At least from what you could hear. There was three times as much yelling as usual and people were weaving through the station by the front counter and the kitchen, shouting sandwich orders. Meanwhile, you felt lost and unhelpful, with no direct answer as to what was going on.

You'd spent your time filling up the napkin dispenser and cutting green tape, feeling your uselessness in your bones. Maybe Carmen was right. Maybe you were overly ambitious. That didn't change the fact that now it seemed like not just Carmen, but everyone else had gone out of their way to keep you away from the kitchen.

You'd thought about going in there anyway, but thought better of it when listening to the commotion. That was, until you saw Marcus with his bags taking his leave towards the exit, a look of both anger and defeat on his face.

"Woah, Marcus," you called out with furrowed brows. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

He let out a quick breath from his nose that sounded like it was supposed to be a wry laugh. He pointed towards the back. "Anywhere but in that kitchen." You frowned and he shook his head. "He's losing his shit, man."

You were confused and looked to him for more of an explanation, but he was already walking out the door and it didn't seem like he had any plans of coming back. You wanted to ask him "who?", but you had a sinking feeling in your gut telling you that you already knew just who he meant.

That and the loud "Fuck!" that came from the other side of the wall was the last push you needed to finally storm into the litchen. As soon as you walked in, it was a complete overload to your senses. The sounds and smells of sizzling food, the clunky buzzing of timers, and an argument at practically every corner. What had you reeling to a stop, though, was the sight of Carmen shouting truly throat-tearing orders, face turning red with exertion, hair damp from sweat, skin gleaming in the sight.

"Can somebody get me a Sharpie that fucking works?!" he screamed while whipping a Sharpie out of his hand and onto the ground. Your eyes widened at the sight.

"Woah," you said aloud, not even meaning to say the word but being unable to stop yourself. When you did, Carmen's focus switched onto you in a second and you could see the pure chaos held behind his eyes.

"Wh- what the fuck are you doing in here?"

You frowned at his abruptness. "I just wanted to know what the hell is going on in here-"

"Nothing is going on in here."

Someone laughed from around the corner and about three more timers began to buzz and beep.

"Oh please, I've been hearing screaming for hours and then I see Marcus storming out of here with his things saying you've lost it."

At that, Carmen paused, eyes searching yours intently. "Marcus left?"

"Yeah," you answered steadily, unsure of how exactly he'd react. "It looked like he was quitting."

For a second, it looked like Carmen felt guilty, sad, but then he was fuming and slamming his hands down on the counter.

"Fuck!" He shook his head back and forth like he was rummaging through a thousand thoughts swirling around his head. He shouted again. "Fuck!"

You didn't like the sight before you, or the way Carmen seemed to be losing control of himself, and quickly. "Now can you tell me what the problem is?" You almost pleaded. "I could help."

Carmen hardly bothered to look you in the eyes and strode past you to reach the oven you'd been standing by, lifting the lid of a pot and adjusting the heat at lightning speed.

"You're not seriously ignoring me right now when I'm offering to help-"

He put up a hand. "I told you I'd talk with you later, Mars. Go back to the register."

You scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? That's-" you shook your head. "I'm not leaving until I at least know what the fuck is going on."

"You wanna know what the fuck is going on?" Richie shouted out, laughing to himself loudly as he appeared from behind the corner. "Some moron left the pre-order option open on her beloved tablet overnight and now we're 250-something beefs behind schedule!"

Your head was spinning from the news and from the lack of air in the kitchen, but the yelling kept coming.

"Okay, well, the 'moron' is right here and she has a name, thank you," cut in Sydney, livid. "And there is no fucking way you are putting all the blame on me right now, Richie-"

"Who else's fucking fault is it sweetheart?"

"Richie, I swear to God if you call me that one more time-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Carmen's booming voice split the two of them apart. "Shut the fuck up and get back to work!"

They listened and went back to their stations angrily mumbling to themselves. That didn't change the fact that you knew the kitchen was in deep shit and Carmen was one wrong move away from losing his mind. You watched as he stormed around the kitchen to different stations. You'd be an idiot if you just stood at the register waiting for more nonexistent orders.

"Sydney," you called out as she passed by. "What can I do to help?"

She raised the corners of her lips in a slightly surprised smile and thought for a second.

"You can probably start by helping me with peeling these potatoes for now." She handed you a basket filled with potatoes and pointed towards a metal peeler on the counter. You quickly nodded.

"Okay, on it, Chef."

"Great. Oh, and-"

"Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?" yelled Carmen as he rounded the corner behind Sydney. He glanced angrily back and forth between you and the potatoes in your hands.

Sydney rolled her eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing, Chef? I'm getting us some very much necessary extra help."

"We don't need any fucking extra help right now!"

Sydney turned fully to face him. "Carmy what the fuck is your problem right now? Just let her fucking peel some potatoes!"

Carmen was breathing heavily, a vein in his neck visibly contracting."I told you guys she stays out front. I told everyone she's not supposed to-"

"Excuse me?" You asked, cutting in. He was talking about you like you weren't standing right behind Sydney, hearing his every shouted word. "Sydney's right. You need to stop getting so worked up about this!"

Carmen looked like he wanted to scream. To break out into shouts even louder than even those from this morning. You'd only seen Carmen worked up like this a few times before and even then he knew when he was taking things too far.

He didn't say anything back to you and just turned away.

"Someone just get her out of here!" He hollered, to anyone who'd listen. Anyone but you. Somehow, that was even more angering than his yelling.

"Hey!" You yelled, shoving his shoulder back to turn him to face you. He glanced down towards the same shoulder before looking back towards you. You saw something haughty flash behind his eyes as they stared back at you. "Whatever you need to say about me, you can say it to me, Carmen."

He was definitely speaking to you now.

"I need you to stay the fuck out!" He pointed a finger down at you. "You never fucking listen to me! I gave you this job because you fucking asked me to, because Richie fucking asked me to. So how about you finally listen to me and stay the fuck out?!"

You knew everyone had stopped to watch. It was quieter in the kitchen than it had been all morning.

You both stood standing there with heavy breathing. Your mind couldn't think of what to say back in that moment, but a thousand different responses played through your mind. Things you wanted to ask, to shout, to make sure he understood.

Your stare bore into Carmen's own for a few seconds, noticing the anger in them, but also something fragile threatening to shatter and reveal itself. He looked away from you quickly, bracing a hand on the counter.

"Leave, Chef." He said. You didn't need to be asked twice. Not that he was asking.

"Yeah," you laughed under your breath. You untied your apron and left it on the counter. "I definitely will."

He could call you Chef, but he wouldn't even let you enter the kitchen. He could yell at you, but he couldn't even look you in the eyes as you finally left the kitchen.

Another timer went off in the background as Carmen stood there, mulling over what he'd just done in his head; the one thing, most of all, he didn't want to happen.

Sydney shook her head, brushing past him. "Carmen Berzatto, you are a fucking idiot."

He didn't have anything to say, nothing to argue back with. He knew she was right. And as he heard the front door jingle as a sign of you leaving, he also knew just how badly he'd fucked up.

You didn't come to work the next day, or the day after that. Carmen never got to listen for the jingle of the doorbell as you came into work. He didn't get a single glimpse of you, those glimpses that were like caffeine shots, keeping him going every day. He didn't see your warm, familiar eyes that reminded him why he kept going in the first place. This was what he got for trying to keep you at arm's length. For being an asshole. The regret knawed at him painstakingly.

When the first hour went by and you didn't show up, he didn't need anyone to tell him that you wouldn't come into work that day. He had Richie cover the register in your place, an order shouted quickly as he was forced to think about things other than you. And as the day went on, the fact that he didn't know when he'd see you again was a heavy weight that lay in his chest, waiting to be addressed.

You awoke that morning in your apartment, phone lighting up beside you on your bedside table to four missed calls all from the same person. A person you didn't really feel like talking to much.

You checked the time and saw it was almost noon. It wasn't like you to sleep in. And, you hadn't called in sick to work. Not that it mattered.

The next day went the same. You hadn't called in sick that morning either, but you didn't have it in you to care. You didn't even know if you wanted to come back, but there was a twisting feeling inside of you that you knew wouldn't feel release until you settled things with Carmen. The hard part would lay in being upfront with him, not letting him make any excuses, and not letting yourself soften all because he was Carmen Berzatto. A battle between your pride and whatever you felt for him.

Carmen had called you two more times, but soon, the calls stopped coming. Carmen may have been an asshole at times, but he wasn't an idiot. In fact, he was extremely smart. And definitely smart enough to know that calling you repeatedly would get him nowhere, not when he'd been as awful as he had.

You'd spent the day driving around running errands that left you tired with boredom. The sun was setting as you walked back to your own front door, the air crisp and clear from the cold while your mind felt anything but. You reached your front doorstep and unlocked the entrance to your apartment, only to step forward and feel something crunch and mash underneath the heel of your shoe. You lifted your foot and glanced downward.

A candy bar. You peered down further. A Mars Bar.

Something inside of you paused. Maybe your heartbeat, maybe your thoughts. You weren't sure but you could feel it. The now half-smushed candy bar lay on the floor like a bittersweet memory.

You blinked. There was a note. It looked like it had been torn from the corner of something messily. More importantly, there was writing on it, in pencil, words pressed hard into paper.

I'm an asshole. You don't deserve that.

No name, but you knew who it was from. Not a "sorry" in sight, but you knew he was trying. You could almost feel the intent behind the words etched into the paper as you held it. You wanted to be furious still. And you definitely were mad. But maybe not as much. Because you knew Carmen.

You knew he had the temper of someone who'd just lost a brother, of someone who'd grown up in a screaming Berzatto household in the heart of Chicago. You'd never taken his outbursts to heart and you didn't want to now. Besides. You knew, eventually, you'd miss him too much to ignore him.

So much for not giving in to Carmen Berzatto.

You didn't really know what plan you had when you walked back towards your car, sat down, placed the chocolate bar and note in your bag, and drove. You didn't think you had one. You just were aware that your days away from The Beef had been extremely boring and that you wanted to see Carmen. To hear what he had to say to you. Even if it didn't end the way you wanted.

The familiar path to The Beef stretched before you now as an uncertain one. When you got there, you tossed your bag over your shoulder and got out of your car to the sight of the lights off in the front of the restaurant. But, if you knew anything about Carmen, you knew he'd stay late. Your assumption was proven right when you entered through the unlocked door—a slightly concerning fact—and saw the harsh white light of the kitchen flooding through to the rest of the place.

You hesitated to enter, not sure if you really knew what you were doing, but ignored the thoughts plaguing you and walked carefully into the kitchen, waiting at the door when you saw him.

He faced mostly away from the door, from you, hunched over the counter doing something that had his full focus, enough of it that he didn't notice you at first. You saw he had a toothbrush in hand and that he was determinedly scrubbing at the silver countertop surface that already sparkled spotlessly. Clearly, he didn't notice or care.

It felt like you were holding your breath as you watched him, saw how focused he was, how the muscles in his back flexed and churned with each precise movement he made as he scrubbed at a nonexistent stain. Like he held a desire to erase more than just grime.

He did that for what felt like another minute without pause, and you watched the whole time wordlessly, not wanting to break the focus he had and not knowing what to say regardless. Part of you just wanted to watch him, to see how long he could keep at it without noticing you. It wasn't for too long.

He lifted his posture upright and ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply with little exhale as if something weighty was plaguing him. Then, he finally sensed your presence at the doorway, eyes flicking towards you as his moments came to a halt. You watched him part his lips as he thought about what to say.

He shakenly said your name, a fragile plea. The word was soft coming from his lips like he knew it well, but nestled in your brain with surprise as he called you by your real name, not just a nickname. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything at all.

As he looked at you standing in the doorway, he felt exposed, like you could see through any walls he'd tried to build around himself. Words faltered from his brain. His lips parted again as if he was going to say something more, but they shut just as quickly and he ran a hand over his chin. He gestured that hand out to you.

"You uhm- did you get my note?"

You stared back at him for a beat before nodding and reaching into your bag. You held the note out in front of you, the side of your mouth quirking upwards. "Was this Carmen language for 'I'm sorry' ?"

You were half kidding and half serious, a test hidden in your words. The fact weighed on Carmen's brain, his demeanor more nervous than usual, more anxious.

"Yeah, uhm," he scrunched his eyes closed for a half second before walking towards you, taking the note from your hand and reading it to himself again, feeling the warm haze of shame creeping up on him. "Let me translate."

He read it once more. "Well, the 'I'm an asshole,' is pretty verbatim. I'm an asshole, and an idiot, and a bunch of other bad things." He glanced up at you from the paper and was relieved to see that you seemed at least a little amused. He continued. "And the 'You don't deserve that', you see, that's the good part, it translates directly to 'I'm sorry for yelling at you ' and 'it doesn't matter how stressed I was, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That was wrong of me. And ... you're great.' "

Your eyebrows raised. "That's quite the translation."

Carmen laughed to himself breathily, but it held little amusement. "Yeah, I've been told communicating with me is like trying to tame a wild animal."

You smiled. "Who told you that?"

"Sugar."

Your laugh was warm and sounded like home. It was a feeling that left as fast as it came because soon the air between the two of you seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The heavy silence lay bare and neither of you decided to fill it right away.

"Carmen."

The way you said his name sent shivers down his spine, a sensation that never ceased to affect him. He nodded at you, eyes studying your face showing that you had his sole attention.

"I know you don't like the idea of me being here. You don't have to try and hide it." His eyes widened as you spoke."But, could you at least tell me why?"

He stared back at you, brows furrowed like he was confused. It was like you could see the gears turning in his brain as he fought to find the right wording, revealed by the stiffening mass of his shoulders that never seemed to relax.

"I don't not like you being here, Mars Bar." He spoke slowly. "I think it's great that you're back in Chicago. I ... We've missed you."

A subtle warmth lay in his gaze, but you couldn't help but feel it was dimmed by whatever emotion he'd been suppressing, the battle evident in flickers in the blue of his eyes.

"I want to believe that, but with the way you've been avoiding me, how can I?"

"Avoiding you- that's," he shook his head, almost seeming incredulous, and you watched as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. "I haven't been trying to avoid you."

You didn't know how he could sound surprised, how you could've interpreted the way he's acted all week as anything else. "Well that's definitely what it's felt like when I tried talking to you all week, and you're just ... I don't know, dismissive."

He rubbed a hand at the nape of his neck, focus pitched somewhere that wasn't at you, jaw tightening slightly. "I just ... it's busy around here trying to bring in enough money, and there have been a lot of different things that have my focus right now," he started, as if he hadn't, time and time again, had to remind himself to stop thinking about you.

"Carmen, I know you're busy but that-," you tried to keep your emotions from showing through your voice, but you were aware of the tinge of frustration that was slipping through. "I know that's only part of it. I just need you to be more transparent with me. I can't read your mind."

He nodded, silently thanking God that you couldn't. He swallowed again and you noticed a tremor in the way he held the note he'd written, a sign of unease that he quickly hid in the pocket of his jeans.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know." His blue eyes stared into yours, though you could sense the reluctance in his voice. "But I'm not gonna lie and say that I think it's a good idea for you to stay here."

You felt yourself frown, brows tugging downwards in frustration and confusion. "Why?"

His gaze faltered for just a moment, seeming torn, but he was quick to regain his momentum. "This place is ... it's not meant for someone like you."

You squinted at him, feeling a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah, I just mean," he hesitated, hearing the way you repeated his words, like they were meant to insult. "You were supposed to leave here and finish your studies abroad and achieve great things. Things bigger and better than this shit hole. You were gonna-"

"Carmen, stop." You almost scoffed to yourself. "My plans were always to stay close to home. A few months abroad weren't gonna change that." The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of the words you both shared, the thoughts never said allowed before. You noticed your breathing was becoming labored as you failed to understand the way Carmen's mind worked, the way he tried to communicate so much by doing so little.

"This whole time you were worried about me supposedly being meant to achieve great things, but what about you?" You let out a stunned laugh. "You're the one who studied with the best of the best, traveled all over, became a world-class chef and everything else, and now you're overworking yourself at this place and refusing help."

"Yeah, well, that part of my life stopped when Mikey gave this place to me as a final fuck you, so."

Your heart twinged not only at the name, but at the way Carmen's eyes flashed with hurt while his words could've cut stone.

"Mikey gave this place to you because he trusted you," you reasoned. You tried to make him come down from wherever he was, to detach himself from the hurt and open up. The hard plane of his shoulders lifted once in a shrug, with a small shake of his head as he stared at the ground.

"Yeah well, he just ended up fucking screwing me over."

Carmen's frustration seeped into his voice, the way he emphasized each word like he wanted to release whatever was simmering under the surface. You wanted to reach out, tell him that he could, but you held yourself back and stood up taller.

"That doesn't mean you should push people away from this place. Push me away. I could help out here. I saw how hectic it was the last time I was here and-"

"That day was a fluke," Carmen cut you off. "It's not usually like that..." his jaw worked. "I'm not usually like that." His words were laced with exasperation and a little bit of shame. You could tell he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Carmen, I understand. But-"

"I already blew up at you." His voice cut into the air harshly. He looked away, his chest rising as he tried to control rising frustration. "I didn't mean to do that, I don't... I'm not gonna let that happen again." His words were starting to come out in a rush, escaping his control, something you knew never sat well with him.

"Well, that's my choice to make, Carmen, not one that you can make for me."

"Mars, The Beef isn't- you don't want to settle for this place, just trust me."

"How can I trust you when you've done nothing but push me away since I got here?" You heard the tremble that was growing in your own voice, a mix of hurt and anger. "You've told me a million times what I want and don't want. Have you ever stopped to ask me what I wanted? Seen my point of view?"

Carmen's breathing was picking up too, the crystals that were his eyes looking at you with a mixture of defiance and desperation. He ran a hand over his face.

"I've tried to see your point of view."

"Have you?" you snapped back.

"I gave you the job even though I knew it was a bad idea, I went against what I knew just because it was you and I let Richie convince me it was a good idea, and I am fucking done listening to Richie's ideas-" his breathing was becoming uneven as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"Hey, Richie's done a lot more to help me since I've gotten back than you have, and a lot more listening!" Now you were yelling, and he was yelling and you didn't like the direction this was going.

"Yeah, well did Richie tell you this place was hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt when Mikey gave it to me? Did he tell you we probably couldn't even afford to pay you a decent fucking salary?"

You opened your mouth, expecting to be equipped with a response as fast as the ones that came before, but that didn't happen and you didn't say anything. You let your eyes scan Carmen, searching for a hint that he wasn't serious, but he looked wholeheartedly sincere and angered. In fact, he looked like he was fighting to even breathe steadily.

You looked at him concernedly, taking a step closer, but he just continued, laughing to himself without joy. "He didn't fucking tell you. Of course not."

His breaths were harsh, coming from his nose and lifting his chest repeatedly. His arms slapped down at his sides, hands trembling. "See, that's why I fucking told him I didn't want you anywhere near this crap hole, I fucking told him-"

His yelling stopped. He recoiled, backing up into the counter recklessly, a pot falling behind him with a clang that had you flinching. His vision was pointed downwards towards the ground, but he was frowning so hard you were sure he couldn't see anything at all, hand to his chest, gripping.

"Carmen?" You asked, alarm suddenly overtaking you and washing away whatever anger had been bubbling inside of you. "Wh- are you okay?"

It took him a second to even process what you'd said, another to respond. "I'm fine, I-" you put a hand on his shoulder to brace him, feeling how tense it was, feeling it trying to move with the effort of his shallow breaths. Panic, shame, embarrassment, everything, seemed to claw at his chest, constricting his breathing even more. "I just- fuck, I can't- I can't-"

"You can't breathe," you said, understanding what was going on now with another flash of alarm that you hid, trying to stay calm. He nodded shakily.

"Carmen," you said steadily. To him, the sound of your voice was distant, overshadowed by the sound of his heart pounding loudly in his ears, muffled the way voices sounded when from underwater. Carmen knew he wasn't underwater. You called his name again, and he did his best to hear it. "You're having a panic attack."

He managed to shake his head again. "I'm fine. I just- shit." His legs practically gave out from underneath him and he braced one hand on the table behind him, one on your shoulder.

The sight of Carmen collapsing to the ground had you wanting to release a sob, but instead, you threw Carmen's arm around you and somehow managed to take two steps towards a bucket that was on the floor against a near wall and got him to sit down on it unsteadily.

You took both of his hands in yours, noticing how his shoulders shook, how the bottom of his neck tinted red from the straining effort to breathe.

"Carmen," you called, kneeling down to his level and giving his hands a squeeze. His vision was blurred, staring downwards, but the hazy sight of his hands wrapped up in yours gave his mind a moment's peace before he was struggling to focus again.

You took a deep breath in, feeling selfish that you even could. "Carm, do your best to look at me." You purposefully slowed your words, spoke softly and clearly, and Carmen heard. You took one hand and rested it by his cheek, hair pooling into your fingers. You brushed it back, and ran your thumb across the rise of his cheekbone, lifting his face to look upwards at you. Even when his mind could hardly form coherent thoughts, your touch still affected him like no one else's.

Once his eyes were on you, you took the hand that was still holding his and placed both on your own chest, covering the area of warm skin close enough to feel your heartbeat. A tremor rolled through him, at your hand, at the way you felt, at your touch.

You. You were here, he thought, and that was a comfort to him in itself.

"Here," you said, pressing down gently but firmly on his hand. "Can you feel my heartbeat?"

Carmen tried, really tried, but his head wasn't focusing no matter what he did. You noticed his struggle right away, like he didn't even have to form words for you to know.

Hurriedly, you took off your jacket and threw it to the ground beside you. Carmen heard the sound of a zipper before his hand was taken in yours again and placed on your chest. This time, the underside of his hand felt warmer, closer to you, to skin.

"How about now?" you asked. His eyes were shut, and he really did his best to focus this time, tune into you, into the way your chest moved up and down beneath his hand, and with it, he heard the soft and steadying rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Yeah, I- I feel it."

You let yourself smile slightly, trying to take slow and deliberate breaths. "Carmen, I need you to do your best to match your breathing with mine." You looked at him and the way his features were scrunching with the effort of trying to listen to you. "Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. He'd do anything for you.

He focused on only his hand, yours, and you. Your chest underneath his palm, warm, and steadying, and alive. He felt it rise once, and fall, all in the time that he let out multiple staggering breaths.

The next time yours rose, he didn't let himself exhale until you did, taking in air from his parted lips and releasing it through his nose, feeling how the air spread thin throughout his body, a good feeling. He did that again, focused on the way his fingertips grazed bare skin, on the sound of your heart beating, in time with his now.

Behind the blank nothingness of his eyelids, scenes played out before him. Visions of his past, echos of familiar voices, spurts of color and light overtaking him.

Then, he thought of you, of the warmth of your gaze, even if he didn't deserve it. The shine of your skin, the way it looked soft even in the harsh light of the kitchen. Thoughts of you, you with him, years ago, months ago, and days, how he'd seen you for the first time in months, standing behind the counter with a smile sweet like the chocolate bars you'd always liked, the one he'd left at your doorstep, a weak attempt at salvaging one of the best relationships he'd ever known. He'd buy a million more if it meant you'd stay with him, by his side, like you'd been for years. Like you were now.

He didn't know how much time had gone by, but he opened his eyes and you were still there, still holding onto him, face looking calm but eyes swirling with emotion. With concern.

He felt fine now, his body having enough strength to support him, but he leaned into you regardless, head sunk down, resting in the place beneath your chin, on your chest. He wanted to get as close to your heartbeat as possible, not just feel it with his hand but surround himself with it.

You brought your hands up to envelop him, one resting on the white cotton covering the hard muscles of his back, rubbing it soothingly, the other coming up to rest in his hair again, gently brushing through the strands closest to the root as if to say I'm here, I have you.

You leaned your own head down to slightly rest on the back of his, mouth brushing against the crown of his head in a way so delicate he wasn't even sure he felt it. But you saw the way he melted into your touch, felt the way the muscles in his back slowly seemed to release tension at each caress. He needed to be held. But he was him, he'd never ask for it. But, you were you, and you'd always know.

You stayed like that for minutes more, though you would've held him all night if he needed it. When he sat back up, the whites of his eyes were tinted pink, and one of his cheeks was gleaming in the light, damp. You didn't comment on it. You didn't say anything at all but stood up from where you knelt and walked towards the counters, peeking underneath them until you found what you needed. You stopped at the sink and returned to your spot in front of Carmen with a plastic deli container filled with water in hand. You offered it to him wordlessly.

"Thank you," he said, taking it from you gingerly, but his voice was hoarse and he felt the red heat of embarrassment as he took large sips of the water, draining it halfway at once. A water droplet escaped from the side of the cup, dripping down his chin, and your eyes followed the movement until you felt guilty about it and stared down at your own hands. The two of you let the silence rest as it was, peaceful and healing, until you felt ready to break it.

"I'm sorry," you said, slightly a surprise for yourself to hear the words from your mouth, but you meant them. Carmen sat back up. "For pushing you to this point. I didn't mean to-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Carmen spoke quietly, voice somehow steady. "It- ... that wasn't your fault. It's happened before, when you weren't here."

You let your eyes scan over his face concernedly because he wasn't looking straight at you and you always felt the need to look after him, even if he wouldn't let you.

"This has happened before?" Carmen gave a weak shrug, like this wasn't something he thought about on his own, something he ever let occupy his focus.

"Something like it."

You made a breathy sound of disbelief. "Shit, Carmen."

So many thoughts were demanding your attention, too many. You wanted to tell him how this wasn't supposed to be a normal occurrence, how not okay it was to ignore his mental well-being. Shake him silly for never caring about the right things, for never caring about himself enough. To give him yet another lecture on letting you help him, on letting anyone help him.

"It wasn't as bad this time." His voice paused all your thoughts. "I think it was because you were here."

You didn't know how to respond, but he finally looked into your eyes and saw how much they spoke for you, how they widened, and then blinked once or twice, shying away. Almost like you were guilty, like you were sad. Something inside of him reminded him that he was probably part of the reason for that, and that ate away at him more deeply than any of his, like you said, panic attacks, ever had.

"I'm sorry, Mars."

Your eyes flicked up to his immediately, intention behind them. "You never need to apologize for having a panic attack, Carmen."

"No, for- for not just that." He paused. "For being an ass. For yelling at you. For not listening to you."

You looked at him wordlessly. You didn't want to say it was okay, because you'd be lying if you said that, if you didn't acknowledge how his words still rang sharply in your head. But you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that Carmen certainly made things feel okay when he was calm like this, understanding. Peaceful.

"And I'm sorry for all the shit I gave you about not listening to me."

You let out a quick breath, almost a laugh. "To be fair, I ... didn't."

His heart seemed to swell at even just the hint of laughter that coated your voice.

"Yeah. You don't listen to me." He let the side of his mouth quirk up to match yours. "That's the thing I love about you." Internally he thought, just one of many.

You stared up at him. At the way his eyes seemed to look over your face in adoration. It did something to your heart, pulled on the strings of it, and left it panging in your chest. He noticed right away.

"You alright?" His concern and furrowed brows almost made you want to laugh.

"Yes I'm-," you exhaled. "I'm fine. The real question is, are you alright?" He watched as your eyes flitted all around his face. "To be honest, you don't seem it."

He self-deprecatingly chuckled. "Wow, thanks, Mars."

You shook his arm a little bit, expression disbelieving. "I'm serious."

You thought about how tense he'd been underneath your touch, how tense he'd seemed for the many days that you'd been back home. How that couldn't be healthy for anyone.

"You need to start taking better care of yourself, Carmen." You made sure he was hearing your every word. "Your mental health is important. More important than any job. You have to stop worrying so much about The Beef and start worrying more about you."

He ran a tired hand over his eyes, immediately feeling the urge to look away. "If I didn't put as much as I did into this place, I don't even think it'd still be up and running."

You let the words hang between the both of you for a moment, knowing how important this was to him. It was important to you too.

"I know how much you've done for this place, Carm." You took his hand in yours again. "You care about it a lot, always have. I have too. But you know the toll it's taking on you. That's not good for anyone, and it'll only last so long. And ... that's why I think you should take any help you can get, for now."

As soon as the topic left your lips again, you felt his hand stiffen in your hand, mouth opening to argue, but you held up a hand.

"And before you say anything, I don't care about the full salary, I don't I care about traveling, or 'wasting my potential' or any of that. I care about helping this place, making sure it lasts, for Mikey." You breathed. "And for you. I care about you."

He could feel his own heart start to race in his chest, flustered like he hadn't known you for years, like you weren't one of his oldest friends.

"I care about you too," he said, and the words felt shamefully foreign on his tongue, thinking about how little he'd ever actually said the words. "That's part of why it's hard for me to think about you working here. You mean a shit ton to me. More than anyone else in this damn place."

"You don't mean that." You couldn't stop the way your brows pushed together, looking down at your hand that was holding Carmen's rough and callused ones. "What about Richie, or Fak, or Sydney-"

"They mean a shit ton to me too, but it's ... not the same. You're you."

He looked into your eyes, trying to see if you'd recognized his hints, but he picked up emotions other than the realization. On a frown, on reluctance, on a guarded, shy look.

"I'll always be me, Carmen." You bit at the inside of your cheek, putting off the topic like you weren't important. That was a foreign idea to him. "That doesn't matter. What matters is you not accepting help."

You saw the way his demeanor shifted at your words, a sense of uncomfortableness settling in his bones, revealing itself in the way he sat up straighter. Your grip on his hands was still firm, unwavering, like all you wanted was to make him understand.

"Carmen," you called, but he was already staring at you. "Promise me that you'll let other people take care of you, help you get by. Let me help you."

He was grateful for the way he was positioned, elbows leaning on knees, hands held by yours, because it was stabilizing him, grounding him when he felt like running. He knew that if he wanted to keep you around, keep you by him, he couldn't do that. That didn't change the fact that this was new to him.

"I, um,"

"It doesn't have to all at once." You gave him a smile, a real one, because you knew he was trying. Breaking out of old habits, for you. "One step at a time."

You were back home. Him pushing you away in his head, running, but only in his mind, didn't change that. He didn't want it to. Despite the pull of his mind telling him to hold you at a distance, the push of his heart wanted you. It was drawn to the cradle of your hands, the warmth of your smile.

"I promise."

Your smile grew to a grin that tugged at the sides of your glowing eyes, eyes that sparkled with affection like they held a hidden invitation, a plea for him to let you in. He finally did, and he knew so fully that he would've made that promise to you time and time again if it meant he could have you and see that smile as much as he wanted.

Your fingers brushed the back of his hands as you stood up from where you were kneeling, letting out an exhale that he noticed sounded almost weightless, a change from the burdened way it sounded to him before. The thought put him at ease.

He stood up too, watching you as you retrieved your jacket and put it on, him feeling the urge to help you with even just that. When you focused back on him, the etches of a smile still lingering on your face, it was magnetic. He couldn't look away. You couldn't either.

You stared at the way a hundred different colors danced in the blue of his eyes, a miraculous feat that you'd loved from the start. As you looked at each other, eyes saying more than your mouths had the courage to, your smile grew slowly, heartbeat picking up in your chest.

"Let me walk you to your car," you coaxed, gesturing towards the door. He laughed at the random idea, breaths escaping through his nose.

"What? Why?"

You shrugged, smile and features and everything, warm. "Call it the first step to you fulfilling your promise to me."

Knowing how he'd iced you out, he embraced that warmth. Made it his new home. "Yeah," he nodded. "Okay."

You gestured for him to follow you, he did, and that was all he had to do. You turned off the lights behind the both of you, locked the door, and didn't ask him to do a thing, just to see the amused look on his face when you smiled at him, his eyes staring back at yours like you were a wonder, something rare to be loved and kept safe.

As you walked back to his car, that was all he could think about. How he'd come across this ray of light in his life that was you, and how you'd stayed by his side, a miraculous idea but he didn't even want to dwell on that too much because it took him away from this moment being shared between the two of you, alone, the cold nipping at your skin but it not mattering because too much had happened that night to care.

The moment seemed to come to an end all too quickly. Carmen had stopped once you'd both reached his car, and you did too. He became aware of the feeling of you next to him, savoring it because he knew it'd end the moment he got into his car.

"Carmy," you said, extending the moment just a little longer. He hummed in response, watching as you stuffed your hands in your coat pockets.

"Can you promise me one more thing?"

He nodded, not missing a beat. " Yeah, anything." Something inside of you fluttered. You cast it aside to hold his gaze.

"Promise me you'll always try and tell me what's going on in your head. No more hiding."

His eyes bore into yours like he was contemplating something, a flicker of conflict in them, a vulnerability that you didn't know what to think of. Then, it was gone and you weren't even sure you'd seen it.

"Yeah, I- um," his jaw tightened for a second. "I promise, Mars."

You patted him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that felt phony even to you. "Great ... that's great."

He flashed a closed-mouthed smile and you both stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, not saying a word.

"Goodnight," you told him, because it was what you would've said to anyone else at that moment, ignoring the whispers in your mind telling you something was missing, that Carmen wasn't just anyone else.

Something tugged at him too, nagging him, insisting that he had more to tell you, more to say before the night was really over, before he had to go to work the next day and somehow navigate his day with the new promises he'd made you. But all he said was "Goodnight, Mars," before getting in his car with just a wave goodbye that felt bare and wrong.

You left him one more of your smiles through the passenger window of his car before walking off to wherever you'd parked your own. He was sure he'd felt butterflies. Butterflies.

Only you could do this to him. He'd felt numb, overwhelmed and unsatisfied all the same time for however long, and then you come back to Chicago and suddenly he felt everything, all the time. It was getting to him, clearly, because he found himself opening his car door and stepping out of it, losing control of his body, loosening his grip of rationality all because of you. Because he wanted to see you, needed to. He needed you.

You were a good distance away from his car by the time he'd gotten out of his, but you turned around at the sound of the car door practically slamming. You frowned, noticing Carmen walking towards you.

"Carmen?" you called into the night, confused. He caught up with you, something behind his gaze that had his eyes shimmering. You swore you could feel the delicate movement of his eyes across your face as soon as he was near enough to truly take it in.

He took hold of your hand, fingers interlocking with yours delicately, an electrifying feeling buzzing through you. You let out a small gasp at the contact, vision shooting down at the point at which you both touched, just a hand hold but the contact took your full focus.

"Hey," he said, something like a smile creeping onto his features and you'd never seen him like this, so exhilarated and full of delicate determination. You looked back up into his eyes, and he took a step closer, finally letting himself be pulled by that magnetic force calling him to you that he couldn't resist. He wouldn't, anyway.

"Wh-," you started, meaning to question him but the thought was brushed aside when he leaned inwards, his forehead falling against yours. His curls brushed against the top of your head, and you secretly loved the feeling, becoming breathless.

"You can tell me to stop, Mars." He murmured it so close to you, breath fanning onto your cheek in a distracting but addictive way, and suddenly you were forgetting how to talk. It didn't matter, because you didn't want him to stop. You looked back up at him, and he saw that in your eyes, so he didn't.

His lips brushed against yours, a taste of what he'd been wanting for longer than he could even remember. The feeling it sent throughout him was immobilizing, and he stayed like that, eyes shut, reveling in it.

It was you who closed the distance, pressing your lips to his and letting the dizzying wave from it spread all over you, to the tips of your fingers that immediately reached up to hold his firm shoulders, and to your brain that buzzed in joy and excitement and a bit of something else.

He froze up for a second when he felt your lips crashing into his. Your lips on his felt like the answers to all his problems, and he needed them in a burning, unignorable way. His brows furrowed and his hands reached up to cradle your neck delicately, holding you like you were more valuable than anything he could've bought, anything he could've wished for, could've imagined he could possibly have.

His lips tugged on yours and yours tugged back, a rhythm that felt easy to follow, like the deep thrum of a heartbeat. And when you both finally pulled apart for air, it was like you could still feel that rhythm, because your heartbeats were beating so loudly and in time with each other's that it felt like the moment was never meant to come to an end.

Your foreheads were still connected, and you knew neither of you had it in you to pull away. You felt somehow even more breathless.

"What was that for?" Your voice was soft, hoarse. You swore you saw Carmen's lip quirk upwards.

"I promised to not hide what was going on in my head." Your hands came up to delicately wrap around his biceps, impossibly solid underneath your fingertips. He didn't suppress the shudder that traveled through him. "Call that the first step."

You smiled, this time against his lips, and somehow that beat every single smile you'd ever given him before. It felt like a promise of your own, to share your warmth with him from now on. He liked the idea, a lot. He'd let you do it whenever you wanted, he liked it that much.

He'd let you take care of him whenever you wanted, too. Again and again, until you got sick of him. But he was Carmen Berzatto. You knew you never would.

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shewrites7 · 2 years

Text

Only a Matter of Time

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary - You and Steve decide to spend the whole day together, as friends of course, and all you can do is try your best not to stare at his lips. in other words, The Three Times You Want To Kiss Steve Harrington And The One Time You Do.

type - one shot

word count [6.4k]

tags: Steve Harrington x f!reader, friends to lovers, pining, secret crushes, head over heels in love, a fun day with steve, movie dates and a kiss underneath the night sky. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: none

a/n: check it out on my ao3!!

10:30 AM

You didn't know how many more of these car rides you could take. You were sitting next to Steve in the passenger seat of his car, with three middle schoolers in the back seat that were bound to push you to the brink of insanity if they kept it up. It, meaning, the way they loved to torture you about how you felt about Steve.

They'd picked apart everything about the two of you, mentioning Steve to you when you were alone, giggling in the back seat every five minutes when car rides like these happened. You'd never mentioned to them how you felt about Steve—you weren't even sure what you felt. But, whatever they thought, they were certainly sure of it. And they were relentless.

You wondered if they did the same to Steve, if they ever made fun of him or had him blushing like you did when they'd mention his name to you. He acted practically oblivious to everything that came from the backseat, vision properly aimed at the road as he drove. Meanwhile, all you could do was try your best to look straight ahead, to not glance to your left at Steve. To not notice the way his hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, or the way he tucked his bottom lip when he was really focused on the road, it coming out glossed over and pink.

God, you really had to stop. You weren't doing anything to help your case. Even if you were looking forward to today, your body tensed at the idea of close contact with Steve all day long.

You and Steve were supposed to share the day together doing fun things, like you'd do with him all the time, practically every week. You would spend the entire day in each other's company, no worries, just having a good time. It was tradition, your special thing. Today though, for some reason, felt different. Your leg was bouncing up and down and you were sure the kids had noticed how quiet you'd been. They notice everything.

After you dropped them all off at the arcade, it would be just you and Steve. Steve and you, completely alone. Nobody around to stop you from falling victim to his smile, or unwillingly letting your mind wander towards the tip of the iceberg, the fine line that echoed out to you, what if? A place you knew you shouldn't even think about, but you couldn't help it.

Steve may have never appeared to notice the mess of thoughts going on inside of you, but the others always did.

"How much slower could you drive?" Dustin called up to the front seat, voice full of attitude and impatience. He sat behind Steve in the driver's seat, squished next to Lucas and Max. Steve and you had agreed to drop the three off at the arcade before spending your Funday together, but you started regretting the decision more and more as the minutes ticked by and they still managed to come up with more to say.

"I'm going the speed limit, Henderson," replied Steve, shutting him down. You heard Dustin scoff from behind.

"You'd think he'd wanna get there faster to get to his date." The three snickered in the back in agreement with themselves.

"Date?" Steve asked, peeking in the rearview mirror with interest. You sighed. Here we go.

"The one you two are going on today, that you do, like, every week." Max's tone hinted at the supposed obviousness of the answer that left you sputtering.

"Max, cut it out, " you said, giving her a firm look. You saw her smirk flash at you evilly from the rearview mirror. She was the worst of them. "This has never been a date."

You saw her shrug. "I mean, it's practically a date." The other two murmured in agreement and you wanted to make the unethical choice of forcing them out of the car to walk the rest of the way, but soon enough you noticed Steve pulling into the parking lot of the arcade, and your thoughts were soothed when you realized you wouldn't have to.

"Enough, you guys." You rolled your eyes with a stern tone, but neither of those things masked the flush that you knew had risen into your face. "We're here now. Out."

Sensing your anger, the trio rushed out of the car and into the arcade, waving goodbye hurriedly and turning around, but not before Max threw a look from over her shoulder to you from behind the car's windshield, one that made you shake your head softly to yourself. You shut the suggestion down mentally. You had to.

Trying to pull yourself out of your thoughts and what the kids had been hinting at, you took a peek over at Steve, who seemed unfazed. Had he had any sort of reaction to what the kids were teasing about? Had he even been focused enough to catch on? Steve's face was anything but revealing at this moment, eyes following Dustin, Max, and Lucas as they hurried into the arcade.

Your heart always bloomed in your chest sweetly when you watched the way Steve looked at the kids, ones he'd grown so accustomed to. They were like his family, more than just some random preteens to him. You'd never failed to notice the way they looked at him too, like he was a safe space for them. They'd been so comfortable around him from the start, and you knew he'd do anything for the bunch of them.

It was sweet, and so Steve. He'd always been caring like that, protective and determined. At least, that's how you'd always seen him. You watched him as he watched the three of them, making sure they got in safely. Seconds passed, and then your glances at him pulled you in to study him in the same way you were helpless to ever actually keep yourself from doing, no matter how hard you tried.

Your eyes flickered over to his, and then down to his lips and up again, and you cringed at yourself as you shut your eyes tightly. You were doing it again. It was like your brain ran amuck at times like this. You weren't sure you knew how to stop it.

"Steve! Steve!" came a voice, Dustin's voice. When you looked out to the arcade, Dustin was running back towards the car, hand on his hat to keep it on his head from his pace.

Steve looked at you and then turned back to Dustin, confused. "Whoa, what's wrong?" he yelled. Dustin practically sprinted to his side of the car with a pound on the window. Steve lowered it.

"I need some cash."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Of course," he drawled, but he was most definitely laughing, hardly hesitating before digging into his wallet and handing the kid a few bucks, to which he smiled gratefully and ran off again, Steve's face wearing a warm smile at his retreating form.

You swore you had heart eyes.

Steve laughed to himself and watched Dustin leave again before turning to you, amusement glinting in his eye. He shrugged with a crooked grin that you wanted to get as close to as possible.

"Kids, what can ya say?"

You just laughed, breathlessly. You could say a lot of things.

12:30 PM

You thought it'd be dark enough in the movie theater to keep it from happening. To stop your heart from doing that agonizingly annoying thing that made it beat ten times louder in your chest and had your eyes glancing down to Steve's lips more times than you'd like to admit.

You and Steve's first destination on your traditional day of fun had been the Movies, a classic tradition. You'd been grateful that Steve had suggested the downtown movie complex. There's no way anything could have happened in a dark theater, right? Wrong, so wrong you could've laughed.

You didn't know how much time had passed since the movie started—it could've been minutes, it could've been an hour. Some action movie was playing, but to you, it was practically background noise. Gunshots and the loud whirr of a helicopter were playing on the big screen that had Steve clearly immersed in it all, meanwhile, all you're thinking about is just how much Steve's brown eyes could glitter in the low light of the theater.

Even in the darkness, you could see the way his long lashes brushed against his cheek, the way soft, chocolate strands of hair brushed against his forehead and had your fingers itching to run through them. And, of course, how his lips glistened every time he went back for more buttery popcorn. Steve's lips took up an embarrassingly large amount of space in your brain.

You needed to distract yourself. You knew that this, whatever it was, couldn't keep happening. At least not while you still were painfully aware of how you and Steve stood. Friends, and just that. You wanted to drill the fact into your mind, keep it from wandering to places it shouldn't.

You stuck your hand in the popcorn bucket you and Steve were sharing, thinking desperately that having something to snack on would shake you out of whatever was going on up inside your brain. With a feeling that spread up right through your arm like wildfire, you realized you and Steve had reached for popcorn at the same time. Your hand had grazed his, fingertips brushing against each other softly.

You turned to face Steve right away without thinking, and he was already looking back at you with a smile and a soft, breathy laugh. If only he knew the way that simple touch sent fireworks straight to your chest so quickly you swore your heart skipped a beat. You smiled back at him and looked back towards the screen, trying to pretend as if you'd been focused on the movie all along.

Then, you felt Steve come closer to you, face angled next to yours as his eyes stayed focused on the movie. He was leaning in even closer to talk to you and your body went tense in your seat.

"Hey," he whispered to get your attention, not knowing that he'd already had all of it for, like, the whole movie. "What's your rate of the movie so far?"

You scrambled for an answer that didn't make it sound like you'd been distracted the whole time.

"Good," you breathed, like an idiot. "It's, uh, it's really good so far." You'd settled on "good," a safe answer. If it'd been bad, you figured, Steve would've been talking your ear off in critiques by now.

Somehow, he leaned in even closer, and the heat from his body radiated around you, impossibly warm and steady. Your body didn't budge at all, too scared to brush against another body part of Steve and turn you into even more of a flustered, sweating frenzy.

"Don't you think the secret agent guy's a little unrealistic? I mean, where'd he get that bomb from? And how does nobody recognize him without his glasses?"

You wanted to listen to Steve, you really did. But, his breath fanned against the side of your neck and you could feel the hair that flopped in front of his face brushing against your cheek. It made it pretty hard to, but you nodded with a tight-lipped smile like you'd drank in every word.

"Totally, yeah."

You thought you'd fooled him. He'd hummed in response and didn't say anything else for a good ten seconds, but that was the last of it. Steve knew you too well.

"What's going on?" he asked with his attention now turned fully on you. "You usually chat the whole way through these kinds of movies. That's why we sit in the back, 'member?"

His eyes peered into yours with such concern and a furrow of his strong brows and Holy, he was touching your shoulder. You shrugged like the wind hadn't just been knocked out of you.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't know what's the matter." You offer him a weak smile. "I think I'm just, uhm, hungry." What?

"Sure," he said, and his voice sounded so kind and positive and not judgy because he was Steve and he was perfect.

He even went to pick up the popcorn bowl to give to you, but you reached for it too, and then you were knocking into it and popcorn was everywhere, as in, all over Steve's lap.

"Oh my god Steve, I'm so sorry," You whisper yelled, freaking out and not thinking straight at this moment, at all. Or, really, for the last couple hundred moments. You fumbled to pick up the bowl from his lap with one hand and scoop up popcorn from his lap in the other.

"It's okay," came Steve's amused voice, but you didn't stop, not when your hands brushed against his legs and not when you dropped the bowl a second time and had to re-scoop what you'd already scooped. Your face was hot and you didn't take a moment to think about what you were doing until you saw Steve shift in his seat a little. He cleared his throat a little bit from next to you, the sound almost like a coughed laugh, and you stopped your hands in their place. What were you doing?

You were all over Steve's thighs, and way too close. Too close to him, too close to his lap, too close to... What were you doing?

You were utterly horrified at yourself, and your eyes must have shown it because Steve laughed. It was sweet and clearly trying to soothe the awkwardness, but you still were frozen in place and had to quickly take a deep breath down before you forced your arms back in your lap and shamefully looked anywhere but to your right at the boy next to you.

You peeked over with dread slowly at Steve, who you made eye contact with before he started laughing to himself again, silently of course. The movie was still playing, but you hadn't watched a second of it in the past ten minutes. You were sure he could see how much you were blushing, even in the dark. You swore you could see the tips of Steve's ears flushed red.

"Steve, I'm so sorry," you said again, worrying even more when he stood up from his seat. Was this the time he decided to escape from you?

You were about to get up too, but he held out two hands to stop you. "Stop worrying, alright? You're fine, really."

He picked up the fallen popcorn bowl and flashed you a warm smile. "I'm just gonna go get us some more popcorn or something. You want anything? Candy?"

You looked up at him, shaking your head wordlessly and wanting to crawl into a hole.

"Alright, be back in a few."

He took off down your row of seats, turning back and waving a little at you before climbing down the rest of the steps.

You waved goodbye back, probably too late for him to see anyway, but cursed yourself internally because, God, you could've really gone for some skittles at that moment. Anything to forget about what had just happened. You were drained beyond belief and delirious. And the day had only just begun.

3:30 PM

You didn't know what was wrong with you today, but you knew you had it bad. You'd always felt little butterflies in Steve's presence, but it seemed like today they were just impossible to tame, and they made you do things like spill hot popcorn into his lap. Oh, and now? The butterflies were just refusing to be pushed down.

But you couldn't blame yourself, not at a time like this. Steve was being absolutely amazing, beyond dreamy. You were both at the state fair and knee-deep in fried goods and lemonade that was both sweet and sour.

Steve had spotted one of those fair games that you reminded him were an easy way to lose your money and fast, but he shook his head and started towards the milk bottle toss booth, taking your hand in his.

Ignoring the fuzzy feeling that came from his hand in yours, you shook your head as he asked the man for a set of baseballs and handed him a few singles.

"Steve, you know these are rigged," you reasoned. He looked down at you with a smirk, waving one of the baseballs around in front of your face.

"Not for Steve Harrington. Just watch."

He motioned towards the walls of the carnival booth, all lined with too many stuffed animals to name. Steve put a hand on your shoulder, pointing towards all of the different stuffed bears and more.

"Pick a stuffed animal," he said, eyes glimmering with confidence. "Any one."

Your jaw dropped as you looked at him, but you were smiling and couldn't help the way a laugh tore from you.

"Fine, fine." You took a second to look around at the options, aware of the worker waiting for Steve to take his turn.

"Maybe the pink panda bear, up there." You pointed to a stuffed animal at the very top, one that happened to be one of the biggest ones in the booth. Steve nodded easily and turned to the worker.

"What do I have to do for the pink panda up there?" He pointed to the one you'd mentioned. The man's eyes followed before his eyebrows raised as if the preposition was impossible.

"You gotta knock all six down, one shot."

Leave it to you to pick the most unachievable option. Steve rubbed a hand over his chin, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"I have to say," he said turning to you, "you play a hard game. But I will get you that panda bear. Count on it."

He mock-saluted you before turning back towards the inside of the booth, unfazed, where six milk bottles sat stacked on top of each other in a pyramid.

He took a deep breath in and shook out his shoulders before picking up the first ball and throwing it at the milk bottles with great force. With a wince, you saw the top three bottles fall to the ground, three left standing.

"Crap," said Steve, brows furrowed. Almost with no effort, he threw the next two baseballs back-to-back and knocked down two more, but the middle bottle was left standing. You tried not to pay attention to the way the muscles in his arms flexed at each throw.

Steve was visibly frustrated, but the man working the booth seemed even surprised that he did that well. With a smile plastered on his face, he handed Steve a reasonably sized teddy bear.

"Great," remarked Steve, who was looking at the teddy bear in his hands like it was a piece of trash.

You took the stuffed animal from his hands and held it to your chest.

"It's adorable Steve, I love it."

Steve just shook his head with an annoyed sigh, hands on his hips. "It's not the pink panda you wanted."

You smiled, trying to comfort him with a hand on his bicep. "Don't worry about it, really it's-"

"No," he cut in, eyes looking determinedly into yours, unwavering. "I'm getting you that panda if it's the last thing I do."

His tone was firm and you wanted to melt at how adorably stubborn he was being. "Steve," you tried to call, to tell him he really, really, didn't need to, but he was already asking for another set of baseballs. You were all too aware of the small group of people who were beginning to line up behind you and Steve, probably watching this all unfold.

Steve didn't seem to notice. He locked his eyes on the milk bottles, a look of determination on his face that reminded you of the days you'd watch him on the Hawkins High basketball court during the heated moments of a game. He blew out a puff of air, trying to focus. He stood still for a few moments and then BAM, you blinked and all of the milk bottles were lying scattered on the floor with a single throw from Steve.

You blinked. "Oh my gosh." Your jaw was on the floor.

"We have a WINNER!" Yelled the man, his smile genuine. He splayed out an arm at the wall of stuffed animals behind him. "What'll it be, young man?"

"I'll take the pink panda bear, the big one," Steve said confidently, not missing a beat. He was grinning from ear to ear, his smile contagious.

With a nod, the man went to get the very stuffed animal you'd pointed at just a moment ago, having to get a step stool just to reach it.

He finally managed to get it down, and when he did, you could see just how huge the stuffed animal really was.

"For your girlfriend," said the worker, handing Steve the panda.

You coughed. What?

Some claps came from behind you and Steve, and you turned around to see at least twenty people standing behind you and Steve in line, watching with happy smiles on their faces. Did they think you were a couple, too?

Steve didn't make any move to correct the man, too excited and carried away with taking the stuffed animal and immediately handing it to you.

"For you, my dearest," he said jokingly, only that it didn't seem much like a joke, especially not to the worker who smiled down at the two of you like he was watching a happy couple.

The weight of the panda bear almost had you dropping to the ground. It was almost half your size, fluffy and pink with a bow tie and you absolutely loved it.

"Steve, oh my gosh," you said, trying to meet his eyes from over the panda bear. "You shouldn't have."

He shrugged, waving a hand dismissively.

"Of course I should've." He just smiled down at you with this huge grin on his face. "Anything for my girl."

He didn't stop smiling, and you could feel your knees almost buckle, but you couldn't tell if it was from the weight of the bear or Steve's words. Did he know just what he was saying? The words were playful, too good to be true, but they only sounded sincere coming from his mouth.

Your eyes got lost in his, and, in the moment, you wanted nothing more than to drop the panda to the ground and take a turn holding Steve in your arms instead.

But then you noticed all the people still waiting to take their turn at the milk can toss, no doubt watching the both of you, and you broke eye contact, clearing your throat a little.

"C'mon," you said, motioning to the right with your head because your arms were occupied with the toy. "Let's get the expert milk bottle-tosser something to drink. On me."

Steve stood still for a beat, still looking at you, before shaking his head quickly and clearing his throat with a nod.

"Yeah, let's."

He stepped to your side, put his hand on the small of your back, and you both walked forward, leaving the booth. His touch was anything but steadying.

"I'm paying, though."

You rolled your eyes softly. "Oh please, you won this for me, it's only fair."

Steve looked down at you, and to your surprise shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, fine," he said. Then, he sprinted out in front of you.

"Only if you get there first!" He hollered from over his shoulder.

"Steve!" You yelled with a laugh, voice wobbly as you tried to run with this ginormous stuffed animal in your grasp. Your head barely poked out from behind it.

With just a second more gone by, Steve had run far into the crowd of people and you'd managed to lose a clear view of him. All you could hear was his gleeful laugh that rang through the warm summer air from in front of you, and you wanted to bottle up the sound. You could never get enough of this boy.

9:00 PM

The rest of the time you and Steve had spent at the fair had been the textbook definition of perfect, if perfect included having to hide your heart eyes from Steve every time he did something you found swoon-worthy. Which, because he was Steve and you were you, was about every five minutes.

The hot summer sun had faded into the horizon, leaving the sky to turn slowly into a dark blue that had the streetlights turning on and tinting everything in warm, yellow lighting.

You and Steve were walking side by side, cheeks hurting from how much you were smiling. Steve had always had that effect on you.

He'd taken to holding both of the stuffed animals he'd won for you at the carnival game hours before, despite your protests that you could carry them both on your own. (You couldn't). But, somehow, Steve could hold both with one arm, and hold your hand with the other. A man of many talents, he'd called himself. You smiled at the memory.

Though you'd been fighting your tiredness for the past hour, you let out a yawn into the nighttime air. Steve noticed right away.

"You tired?" he asked, and you lifted your shoulders a little.

"I'm alright. Long day."

Steve nodded silently in agreement, before he stopped abruptly in his place, eyes looking off to something in the distance. "Would you be up for one more ride?"

Following his line of vision, you caught sight of the Ferris wheel that you somehow hadn't gotten to riding yet today, a sight to see with bright lights in juxtaposition to the darkening night sky.

You scratched your head with the hand that wasn't holding Steve's, acting like you were deep in contemplation.

"Hmm, I don't know," you said, the side of your mouth turning up into a smirk at Steve's annoyance.

"Well," he said, the beginning of his famous grin creeping up on his features. "I guess you don't have a choice then."

Before you could say anything, Steve was crouching down and lifting you up with a single arm, throwing you over his shoulder with an embarrassing amount of ease as he started jogging towards the Ferris wheel.

"Steve!" you managed to yell from where your head was hanging, laughter bubbling out from you. You could feel the heat rushing to your face that you could surely blame on the blood rushing to your head from hanging upside down over Steve's shoulder, and not from the feeling that shot through your body from Steve's hold on the back of your bare thighs. He ran quickly, but all you could see was his back. Not that you were complaining.

Before you knew it, Steve was setting you back down on the ground, only to grab onto your hand and pull you towards the Ferris wheel that was a whole lot closer to you now, almost right in front of you.

Steve pulled a rope of tickets from his pocket and held them out to the woman running the ride. She eyed over the two of you and then speedily shook her head.

"No riding with the stuffed animals."

You only now remembered that Steve was still holding both of them. How he had managed to carry the ginormous panda bear and you, you don't know.

"Oh, c'mon," said Steve, but the lady didn't budge. Sighing, Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. You looked down at your shoes. This man.

"What about now?" He questioned, a suggestive edge to his tone. The woman hardly glanced at the cash. Then, she pointed a firm finger at the exit.

Steve deflated slightly, pocketing the money but politely nodding at the woman before taking hold of your hand again to walk a couple of yards away from the woman.

Steve was looking down at the pavement. You put a hand on his shoulder in what you hoped was reassuring. "Don't worry, the day was amazing, we don't need to go on the Ferris wheel, Steve."

He looked up at you then, looking anything but sad. His eyes were fiery and determined in the same way they'd been when he'd been set on getting you that panda bear. And he'd gotten it.

"No, you don't worry, because we are getting on that Ferris wheel." He held the panda bear closer to him. "No man gets left behind."

Your brows pulled together, nervously. Steve turned to face the Ferris wheel, staring at it while chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. You didn't want to know what he was planning, but you knew you probably should find out.

"Steve," you called, "what are you thinking about?"

He turned back to face you, body suddenly alight with excitement. "Plan B."

With that, he tightened his grip on your hand and ran ahead, pulling you quickly behind him. And, instead of stopping at the entrance to wear the lady was collecting tickets, he bolted past her, you in tow.

"Steve!" you yelled, at the same time you could hear the lady working the ride shout at the two of you.

Quickly, Steve threw the panda bear stuffed animal he'd won for you and the other teddy bear onto the nearest bench on the ride and lifted you up onto it with an alarming strength that had you flushing pinker than humanly possible. He hopped up onto it too and hooked the chain from the bench across you both to secure you. Your jaw dropped for the umpteenth time that day.

"That was your plan B!" You yelled, out of breath from all the running. The ride hadn't stopped moving the whole time Steve had gotten you both on the ride, and you were already high up in the air.

"I got us on the ride, didn't I?" reasoned Steve, voice raised from the wind that began whipping against the two of you. Steve's hair was already wild, and he had this excited look in his eyes that had your worries fading away and your words of reason dying before they could reach your lips.

Knowing you well enough to see your shakiness, Steve grabbed onto the teddy bear and waved its arms around, pulling a smile from your lips.

"See," he grinned, handing you the bear. "How could you say no to this face?"

You shook your head as you looked down at the bear in your hands, laughter escaping you. You giggled and looked up at Steve who was laughing too, and your giggles turned into loud laughter that rocked the bench back in forth in the air as you both shouted out your laughter into the night.

It took over a minute just to reach the top of the Ferris wheel from its sheer size, and by the time you did, the ride stopped, probably to let on more people on the bottom.

As you looked out into the night, your laughter softly died from your lips as you took in everything around you. The streetlights shining, the hundreds of people down below you, and the stars glistening in the sky. You felt so close to them. The sight was perfect--the whole night was. You'd been having the greatest time with Steve, him being heartachingly sweet the whole day.

Your body was fighting against you, and you gingerly leaned your head onto the shoulder of the giant panda bear in between you and Steve, and when you peaked to your right, Steve's head was resting on the other.

You felt Steve's hand brush against you and interlock his fingers with yours. Something warm and fuzzy bloomed inside your chest as your hands rested against the fluffy stuffed animal, holding each other.

Besides the delicate sounds of the wind rushing past your ears, it was silent up where you and Steve sat. It felt almost like time stopped. You listened closely, hearing the sounds that the breeze brought to your ears. The ringing of a church bell. The music from the carousel down below. It sounded so peaceful and had your eyes fluttering shut.

Behind the safety of your eyelids, your brain started flooding with thoughts of the boy next to you, with memories from the entirety of the day. The car ride with the kids, the fiasco at the movies, the way Steve had won you the stuffed animal you lay on and was spectacularly perfect throughout all of it. He was the most wonderful boy you'd ever met and you wanted to tell him that. You didn't want to have to hide all the adoring thoughts you had about him. It was tiring. And it wouldn't last forever, you knew that. It was only a matter of time before everything came spilling out. You figured now was as good of a time as ever.

You opened your eyes and broke the silence with a soft call of the boy's name. He didn't respond at first, and you wondered if he could even hear you over the wind.

"Hmm?" he said lowly, a soft hum in response. Suddenly, the wind didn't seem so loud anymore. All you could hear was the beating of your own heart as you willed yourself to let words out, anything.

"Do you-" you paused, thinking about what you were about to say. "Do you ever wonder about the things the kids say? Or, you know, what the worker at the milk bottle game said?"

You swallowed. "Not that you have to think about it or anything you, uhm, you just don't ever have a reaction whenever they poke fun at us and I was just wondering if, ugh, sorry this isn't making sense."

You wanted to melt into your seat. Your voice had breaks and pauses in it and you made absolutely no sense. There went your chance. The silence was eating you alive.

"I, uh," came Steve's voice. "Yea. I do."

You swore you felt your heart drop. Wait, what?

"You do?" You wanted to slap yourself at how surprised your voice sounded.

"Yea, I do," he said. Both of you still leaning on the stuffed animal, all you could see was the scene in front of you. You had no idea what Steve's face looked like at the moment, and you didn't know if the fact discouraged you or made you relieved.

"And," came Steve's voice again, slow, like he was just testing the water. "I guess the reason why I never have a reaction to them is because what they're saying just ... never seemed like it was that far of a leap, you know?"

It felt like there were gears in your brain, spinning and smoking, trying to process Steve's words and their meaning. When you stumbled on what they could possibly mean, you didn't feel like it was possible to believe.

You lifted your head from off of the stuffed animal, wanting to finally see Steve's face. When you looked over at him, he was already looking at you, chocolate eyes having never looked so big, having never shone so bright. It was like you could see the stars in the night sky reflected onto his eyes.

You chewed on the skin of your bottom lip.

"Steve I-," you broke eye contact, feeling like you wouldn't be able to get out what you had to say if Steve was gazing at you like that. "I want to say something more, but I just want to be sure I know exactly what you're trying to say."

Taking a breath out, you looked back up at him again. "What are you saying?"

Steve took a moment to respond, looking down at your interlocked hands before holding yours a little tighter.

"I'm saying ... I think about us being together. A lot."

You couldn't help the way your eyebrows raised. You'd wanted this moment to happen for so long, and, now that it was, you were in disbelief that it was even remotely going well.

"And, uhm," you swallowed, "what do you think about it? Us being together?"

"I," he started slowly, eyes working around in thought. "I think that it makes sense. It makes sense, because I've fallen in love with this amazing girl and, that's what you do when you love somebody, right? You get together with them, spend every moment with them." He looked into your eyes, his hopeful and bright. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

You looked back into his eyes, nodding quickly when you realized you hadn't said anything. "Yeah, yeah I do. I guess I'm just trying to take it all in. Inside it's just ... hard to believe."

Steve frowned, softly, never judging. "What about?"

"About how you feel. I never thought ... " you didn't know what you were trying to say, but Steve took hold of your other hand and any words died on your lips.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Why wouldn't I fall in love with you? How couldn't I?"

You were melting inside, putty in his hands. Steve was amazing and always had been, but this? You were helpless.

You didn't know if Steve could see how much his words were affecting you, searching his face for a sign of anything. He'd never looked more sincere and vulnerable, eyes looking down at you.

"Well," he said, voice soft. "What do you think about it?"

You offered him a smile, squeezing his hands in yours like he'd done before, foreheads touched as you leaned into him. This time, when you looked down at Steve's lips, you didn't feel like you had to hide it.

"How about I show you what I think?"

Your voice was soft and had Steve's forehead creasing against yours.

"Show me?" he asked, lips tugging upwards in a grin. You wanted to kiss that smile so badly. Press your lips to his, once and for all. So, finally, you did.

When your lips found his, it took only a second before he was pressing his right back into yours. Your hands were still holding each other's, and you moved one set of hands to his thigh, needing to steady yourself because the kiss was everything you'd imagined and more. It was delicate but full of a passion that had your chest twisting.

You moved in tandem with Steve, steady and trying to get as close to each other as you could from your seats. You reached your other hand into Steve's hair, finally getting to run it through the soft strands, the ones at the back of his neck that had him letting out a beautiful sigh into your lips. You didn't want the moment to end, smiling into his lips from pure serotonin with only the moon and stars as your witnesses.

You felt a change in the wind that blew against both of you, and you realized the Ferris wheel had finally started moving again and that you both were nearing the bottom. Pulling back from Steve, you smiled up at him. You felt like you could pull an endless amount of smiles from your chest.

"So," you asked, words soft as you kept playing with his hair because you loved how it felt, and what it did to him. "What do you think?"

Steve looked at you with so much love in his eyes that you couldn't believe you'd never noticed it before.

"I, uh..." he swallowed, cheeks flushed. "I agree."

#steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington friends to lovers #friends to lovers #pining #secret crush #love confessions #no use of y/n #steve is a sweetheart #steve is a mom #fun day with steve #crushes #the three times ___#idk how to feel about this one but here it is

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shewrites7 · 2 years

Text

Drunken Nights and Pinky Promises

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary - Your boyfriend of two months is getting on your last nerves, and your best friend Steve’s too. Steve can’t stand him, and you’re beginning to realize that neither can you, for reasons you don’t think you’re brave enough to admit—at least not without some alcohol. Luckily for you, Steve’s set on dragging you to a party with plenty of it.

type - one shot

word count [9.2k]

tags: Steve Harrington x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, heartbreak, “he’s not good enough for you”, a high school party, hurt comfort, secret pining, jealousy, pinky promises and an almost kiss. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: underage drinking, swearing

"Come on," you urged your boyfriend from over the phone, neck aching with how long you'd been on a call with him. During your snack break at work, nonetheless. "You know that's not what I said."

Danny, your boyfriend, was taking up a tone with you over the phone that would have you hanging up if it were anybody else. But this was Danny. You'd been dating him for two months now, and he was the only boy you'd ever seen manage to win over your parents. Well, other than Steve, that is.

You still didn't know how he'd managed to do it, but whatever Steve had done to get your parents to like him so much was the exact reason why he's managed to hold the position of your best friend for all these years, rather than just a few weeks. By then, your parents usually chase off anybody they think isn't good enough for their daughter's company.

But with him, they'd invited him to your house practically every day, too many sleepovers to count. Nights spent under blanket forts with eyes threatening to close from the heaviness of fatigue, pinkies interlocking as you swapped promises with each other you still hadn't broken to this day, where you worked at Family Video with your best friend practically every day, replacing sleepovers with quick goodnight's as he dropped you off in front of your house after a long midnight shift. It was tiring, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

The boy in question, Steve, was finishing up organizing the register from next to you behind the counter. Although seemingly focused on counting cash, it became increasingly difficult for him to focus on the task at hand as he listened to you argue with your boyfriend over the phone. It became near impossible when you decided to leave the phone lying on the counter face up so you could begin working again and keep talking on the phone all at once, walking back and forth behind the counter as your boyfriend's voice disrupted any silence that'd once existed in Family Video. Steve annoyingly acknowledged in his mind with a roll of his eyes that his voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. It was a wonder to him how you put up with the boy for more than a minute at a time.

"I already told you," you said, your voice distant and occupied with organizing the horror films shelf. "Keith has been grumpier than ever, Danny. I can't just skip work to go to some random junior's party."

"It's not a random junior's party," argued Danny stubbornly. "If you went to more of my games, you'd know that this party is to celebrate Hawkins High's third official win of the season!"

Steve almost couldn't hold back a snort as he worked, not being able to help from eavesdropping.

You slapped your hands against your legs, turning towards the phone on the counter with a glare as if the boy on the other line could see you. "You know I go to all the basketball games I can! It isn't my fault I have to work all the time."

You could hear Danny scoff. "You spend more time at that damn job than you do with me."

Steve could see your frustration from where he sat, your cheeks flushing and fists clenching. God, this guy was a piece of work.

You shook your head to yourself. "You know I can't help it."

A rich, humorless laugh came from the phone. "Yeah, especially not when that Harrington is waiting for you at your job, right?"

Your cheeks flushed even more at your boyfriend's accusation, and you couldn't tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment.

It seemed as if you'd only now noticed Steve's presence in the room, looking at him guiltily like he'd caught you doing something criminal. Trying not to seem like he heard the conversation being shared from across the store, as impossible as it may be, Steve's eyes snapped back to the register and away from you, not wanting to further your embarrassment. It didn't take a genius, though, to know that your best friend had heard every word of your argument with Danny. An argument that you finally decided you'd had enough of.

"Danny, I'm not doing this right now." You stomped towards the counter, trying your best not to notice the clearly fake look of disinterest on Steve's face as he counted the same two dollars distractedly.

"You don't want to do anything anymore!"

Knowing that this conversation could go around in circles for hours more if you didn't end it soon, you picked up the phone once again.

"Danny, I'm really sorry, but I have to go."

You numbed yourself as his voice continued to shout anyway through the phone, loud enough that you were sure Steve could still hear him. But you had to get back to work, whether your boyfriend liked it or not. No longer listening to his muffled words, you bid him goodbye, promised to call him later, and hung up the phone for good.

Danny's voice rang through your mind, even after you hung up on him, but the silence of the store throbbed against your head almost painfully, the combination giving you a headache that was sure to stay with you for plenty more hours. All you wanted to do was head to bed early, but you were sure to be stuck working at the store until late into the night.

You turned to Steve who, though he still hadn't moved from his clearly artificial position of hunching over the register, you could tell was dying to say something. At the sound of your throat clearing, Steve looked up at you with a frustratingly superior look in his eyes.

"Oh, stop that," you spat sourly at him. He shrugged with feigned innocence.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

You squinted at his disbelievingly at his tone. "Sure you weren't."

You knew of the pile of words that were on the tip of his tongue, but you honestly weren't in the mood to hear what he had to say. Every time he talked about Danny, it was like trying to stop a train in its tracks. It was no secret how he felt about your boyfriend, his rants about him proving just how much he disliked him. Worst of all, deep down, you couldn't help but think that he was right about everything he said.

"Alright, Steve," you said tiredly. "Let it out."

Steve swirled in his stool, but you kept speaking, your mouth moving a mile a minute with frustration that you knew you were aiming at the wrong boy.

"Tell me how much of a basket case Danny is. Remind me how much of an idiot he is. Describe to me all of the ways you'd like to shut him up. I won't interrupt this time. I'm ready for it." You knew that was a lie—you were never ready for it.

"I just," Steve rubbed his chin, trying to add some casualty to his words. "I just think Danny is ..."

You gestured for him to continue.

"I just think he's more of a talker than he is, you know, a listener." He paused, letting you soak in his words. "I mean, when's the last time you had a conversation that didn't feel like you were talking to a wall?"

Even if he wasn't completely serious, you had to admit to yourself that Steve spoke the truth; speaking to Danny was like talking to a wall.

"And," he continued, "don't even get me started on that basketball bullshit. 'You don't want to do anything anymore'," Steve mocked your boyfriend's voice in a whiny tone. "It's like he's never worked a day in his life! Probably hasn't though, we all know what his house looks like from the parties he used to throw all the time. Not a very understanding dude."

He was right. Everything Steve was saying was right. But that didn't change the fact your blood always seemed to boil whenever Steve talked about a guy you were with, as if they were so absurdly idiotic that you had to be brainless to ever have dated them in the first place. You distracted yourself by organizing the contents of the drawer behind the counter, feverishly rearranging pens in a way that only ever seemed to make you more frustrated.

"Alright Steve, I-"

"It's always complaints with him." Steve didn't seem to hear you. "You'd think he was a middle-schooler with the way he whines. Scratch that, younger than a middle-schooler. Even Dustin never whines that much."

Steve was on a roll now. "And Jesus, that phone call... his voice is painful. I bet he loves the sound of his own voice. Never listens to anybody. Hey, remember when he got you that rose perfume for your birthday? You hate the smell of roses. Your face when he gave you that was priceless."

The blood rushing past your ears was practically all you could focus on as you held a pen in your hands, threatening to snap. You never really knew why Steve's words always had this effect on you. Sure, it could've been because he was almost always spot on about Danny. But when Steve would look into your eyes after telling you all the things he hates about your boyfriend, telling you that you could do so much better than him, that voice nagging you in the back of your mind wanted to yell out "Who? Who could I do better with?" Yet, you didn't want him to answer that question. You didn't know if your heart could take whatever he might say.

It felt to you like Steve talked for minutes more before stopping, noticing the way you gripped the pen in your hands like it was your lifeline.

"Woah, hey there," he cooed, gingerly taking the pen from your hands, concern lacing his voice and drawing his brows together. "You alright babe?"

Babe. No, no you weren't.

"You know, maybe Danny was right about one thing." You were snapped out of spiraling thoughts at Steve's admission of something you'd never thought he'd say.

"And what would that be?" You asked as you placed all the pens back into their proper spots again with a strained breath, slightly not believing him.

"That you need to get out more, have more fun."

You couldn't help but scoff. "And since when do you agree with anything Danny has to say?"

"Since I saw you trying to squeeze the life out of that pen just now." Steve popped a stick of gum in his mouth from his pocket, enjoying this too much. "I can't disagree about you working too much. You throw yourself into work like your life depends on it. This is Family Video, for God's sake. You can spare to ditch a few shifts."

You shook your head at him. "You have a lot of wise words for someone who used to wear a sailor cap to make a living."

Steve guffawed at your smirk, brown eyes gleaming up at you from his seat behind the register. "Well, you should be thanking this wise guy, cause he's the same guy who's gonna be taking you out partying tonight, whether you like it or not."

You stopped in your tracks, blinking. Steve threw an arm around your shoulder, loving your reaction and the alarmed look on your face.

"You heard me, partying. I'm sure you've heard of it. It's the thing most people do when they want to have some fun, you know, dancing, drinks, the occasional-"

You slap a hand over Steve's mouth to stop his poking fun at you. "Okay, you can stop now, Harrington."

Removing your hand from Steve's face, he prayed to God that you didn't think anything of the warmth of his cheeks when you touched his face in that way. He really had to get himself under control, he thought.

"So, I'll pick you up at your place tonight?" Steve asked, noticing the way you glanced down at your watch anxiously, always worrying about work and never yourself. He took your hand in his, drawing your attention away from your watch-bearing wrist.

"Hey," he said, eyes staring up into yours once more. "I'm serious. Don't forget to have a little fun once and a while. It can't all be work work work."

You looked down at you and Steve's hands, marveling at how his large ones completely cocooned yours in between. You shook your head. "You're forgetting we both fight monsters on a monthly basis."

Steve let out an amused breath. "Yeah, well, even the Ghostbusters had to catch a break every once and a while, right?" You squinted.

"I don't remember them ever partying."

Steve shook his head at your ability to always have a comeback ready. He gave your hand a squeeze, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips with a tilt of his head.

"Well, maybe we can be the first."

"You're overthinking this." Steve spoke the words into his phone for what seemed like the hundredth time as he drove to your house. Yes, that was probably a safety hazard, but he'd never been a stickler for the rules anyway. It seemed to him that the risks of leaving you alone to yourself to get ready for a party were higher than those that came with talking on the phone while driving, even at night. Your distressed tone from the other end made that all too clear.

"No, I'm just thinking rationally, Harrington," you reasoned back, your words mushed together as you applied red color to your lips. Steve wasn't the only one multitasking. "Who's gonna cover our shifts for us while we're out partying?"

"Don't worry about that, I've got it handled," placated Steve. What he wasn't saying, though, was that going to this party would cost him four nights' worth of extra shifts at Family Video, courtesy of Keith himself. To Steve, that was a small price to pay to finally get you to have some well-needed fun. He'd do practically anything to see your smile.

"Well, are you almost ready? I'm almost at your place."

Looking in the mirror, you began to panic. Were you almost ready? You had no idea what "ready" entailed for a party like this. One with way too many people packed into some teenager you didn't even know's house, loud music, and most definitely alcohol.

"Uh, yea. Almost ready." You fluffed up your hair in your vanity mirror just a bit before rushing to your closet, cellphone tucked in between your shoulder and neck.

"It doesn't sound much like it," teased Steve, turning the corner onto your street that he knew so well.

"Nope," came your wavering voice as you struggled to put your shoe on your foot, hopping up and down for balance. "I'm ready."

Steve put his car in park in front of your house, noticing the lights on inside your infamously pink-walled bedroom through your window. "Well, great! Cause I'm walking up to your door right now."

You almost tripped over your own feet, nervously laughing with poorly executed casualness. "You-you are?"

"Yep," said Steve chipperly into the phone. He climbed the two steps to your front door with a smug look on his face, peaking through the windows to try and see any sign of his best friend, his suspicion of your lie growing. "Not seeing you, though."

"Oh, don't you worry, Harrington," you assured with feigned confidence, finally hopping down the stairs, phone in hand still. "I'm all ready."

You finally reached the door, swinging it open assuredly, barely stable on your feet after rushing to get downstairs. You were greeted by Steve standing in your doorway, hands in pockets as he stared at his feet.

When he looked up, his smug look was wiped off his face in the blink of an eye. He couldn't possibly form enough thoughts to have any kind of expression other than awe at the view in front of him.

He took in your dress, a color that complimented your skin so perfectly it was like a watercolor painting, your flushed cheeks and slightly parted red lips, hair that was disheveled just enough to make you look effortlessly beautiful. He had to stop himself from reaching up and tucking a fallen piece behind your jeweled ear.

He hadn't said anything, but he didn't trust himself enough just to say anything just yet.

"Hey," you greeted, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath that your body took in from running down the stairs in those shoes. "'Told you I was ready."

He gulped, his throat ran dry. "Yeah, you, uh" Words, Steve. Words. "You look great." He could've smacked himself right then and there. Your painted lips tugged upwards in a warm smile.

"Thanks, Harrington." You scanned him over too, taking in his better quality jeans and nicely-fitting jacket. You nudged him in the arm. "You don't clean up too bad yourself."

Steve couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts for a beat too long before remembering you both still had a party to drive to. He snapped himself back into reality, back to sanity and security.

"Shall we leave?" He asked gesturing to his BMW and holding an arm out to you, to which you smiled fondly, taking his arm in yours.

"We shall."

The drive to the party felt longer than you would've liked, and the car felt warmer to you than it probably should've. Work wasn't the only reason you didn't go to a lot of parties. You'd always steered clear of them if you could and going to one now didn't feel any easier.

Steve, of course, noticed your weird behavior and rested a comforting hand on your knee for half of the drive there. You couldn't exactly say if that was making the temperature in the car feel any lower.

By the time you got there, Steve was parking down the block from the house that was clearly holding the party. You could hear the loud music booming from it even from houses away, your hands a sweaty mess. It was like the bass of the music beat in time with the thumping in your chest. You were surprised your leg shaking up and down didn't distract Steve from his driving a single time. He looked over at you, arm still resting on your knee.

"You ready to go in?" Steve looked at you with hopeful eyes.

"Would you let me stay in the car if I told you no?" Rolling his eyes, Steve gave an extra squeeze of your knee in comfort.

"Don't stress so much." He took your pinky in his, reminding you of how you used to do when you were young and stress-free. How you missed those times in a moment like this. "This'll be fun, I promise."

As much as you wanted to believe Steve, you couldn't help but let your nerves wash over you, them staying with you as he exited the car and opened your door for you, offering a hand for you to grab onto. You took it, praying he didn't comment on your sweaty palms even if you knew inside that he would never.

You both walked up to the house arm to arm, the music already loud enough for you to make out a Duran Duran tune coming from inside the house. The familiar scent of Steve's cologne helped soothe the whirlwind of thoughts inside your brain but made you realize just how much more party experience he had than you did. God, you did not want to be clinging to him the whole night in fear.

Steve could tell you were entering that nervous spiral of thoughts again and turned to you before you reached the door.

"Hey," he said softly, hands resting on your shoulders. "Get outside of that busy head of yours." His hands slid down the sides of your exposed arms. His touch mixed with the chill in the air sent a shiver up your body that you fought to keep down as you stood in front of him."C'mon. Let's head inside." He took your hand in his, taking the lead.

When you walked inside, the music struck your eardrums so loudly that you felt the vibrations in your chest, along with the smell of alcohol in your nostrils. Steve seemed unfazed by it all, looking down at you with an adorably wide grin. It was hard to forget, Steve wasn't just plain old Steve, cashier at Family Video, protector of twelve-year-olds, and official chauffeur. He was "King Steve." Even if he matured wildly from how he used to be, he was still used to all this. Parties like these were practically his element. You did the best impression of a smile you could, and it must have satisfied him enough to have him dragging you off further into the crowd of people.

You couldn't see much in the swarm of people dancing and yelling, red plastic cups in their hands with mysterious drinks you didn't want to know the contents of inside. The home the party was being hosted at was large enough to fit at least two or three of your own home inside. You made a bet that everyone at Hawkins High could fit inside this house, maybe even just the first floor. Of course, this did nothing to soothe your nerves.

It wasn't long before Steve found some people he knew, booming voices yelling "Harrington!" over the music. He went over to greet them, still holding onto your hand as he did. You recognized one of them as Mitch, a kid he used to play basketball with, but couldn't put a name to any of the other faces. They didn't pay you much attention as they conversed, only sparing glances at you that strayed too far South for your liking. Soon, talk of beer pong arose and Steve turned to you right away, leaning down a bit to hear you over the noise of the party.

"You okay by yourself?"

You wanted to say no, to stay within the comfort of Steve and let him keep you close to his side, keeping him selfishly for you and only you. But you could tell Steve wanted to play and, knowing him, he'd stay here next to you all night if you asked him to. It wasn't fair to keep Steve from going off with his friends and having fun just because you were a little nervous at a high school party. You smiled up at him.

"Yea, I'll be fine." You squeezed his arm and had to swallow down your intrusive thoughts of how firm his bicep was. "Go have fun."

The brunette looking down at you smiled his contagious smile again and left a kiss on your forehead before letting himself be dragged off by his friends. A kiss that left your cheeks warm and face feeling fuzzy. And before you knew it, Steve was out of sight and you were standing alone at a stranger's party.

A couple of minutes went by before you came to the conclusion that standing against the wall like a loner wasn't keeping up your end of the bargain with Steve. You promised him you'd try to have fun, let loose a little. You could only imagine all the things he'd say to you right now if he was still next to you. You couldn't tell if trying to socialize would make this any more fun for you, but you didn't really have a choice soon because someone was knocking into you from behind, almost spilling their drink on you.

"Shit, my bad," came a deep voice. When he fully turned around, you recognized him as one of Danny's friends, Scott. He stumbled into you, bracing himself with a hand over your head against the wall, too close for comfort. You could smell the alcohol on him.

"It's alright..." you said, taking a step away for some distance. He only just seemed to recognize you and a look took over his face that you couldn't read clearly in the dark lighting.

"Hey," he blurted. "Didn't Dan say you couldn't make it tonight?"

You shrugged. "I managed to get off of work. Thought it'd be nice to surprise him." You were surprised at how fast the lie came to your lips. You'd almost forgotten Danny would be here. Now, you couldn't help but wonder what he would say if he saw that you'd decided to show up with Steve as your escort.

Scott let out a gurgled sound under his breath that sounded like a laugh. "Oh, he'll be surprised." He looked around before turning back to you. "Want a drink?"

You shook your head, looking around too to see what was so funny. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "Have you seen Danny anywhere?"

"Nope." He smiled. "I'll bet he's looking for you right now. You should go find him."

You didn't like the feeling that caught in your stomach as you looked at Scott's grin, but you brushed it aside for something spurred by all the alcohol in his system.

"Thanks, I will."

He saluted you off and laughed to himself some more, strolling away into the crowd and downing some more of his drink. Maybe it was the smell of alcohol around you and the lack of open space, but the sick feeling in your stomach was refusing to be pushed down. You decided to try and see if you could find something to drink that was nonalcoholic. A glass of water had never seemed so nice.

People crowded around every inch of space in the house, elbows pushing into you as you made your way through the jumble of bodies partying in the living room. The center of the room came into view, decorated with expensive-looking furniture and a coffee table covered with empty cups. And there, laying on one of the couches was your boyfriend. You got a closer look, and suddenly you wished you hadn't. You'd found him and you hadn't even looked for him. Now, you wished you never had.

He wasn't the only body laying on the couch. It may have been dark, but it was light enough for you to take in every square inch of the scene before you, one that had you recoiling, almost stumbling back.

Danny had his face pressed into some girl's, his body laying flushed underneath her's. You'd never seen her before, light hair coiled in curls that brushed against your boyfriend's face. He was so completely enamored by the random girl on top of him that he didn't even notice his girlfriend standing a few feet away from him, absolutely shattered.

"Danny?" you called, ashamed of how your voice broke almost immediately. It wasn't even him who noticed you first, but the girl on top of him. She broke away from their heated kiss and looked up at you with a look of disinterest, shaking the shoulder of the boy underneath her and gesturing to you.

He craned his neck from his position to look at you, eyes taking you in as if he had to scan his brain on who you were. When he did, he scrambled to push the girl off of him and stand up next to the couch, the girl scoffing and walking to another guy carelessly as if realizing what was going on and deciding the drama was too much for her. Danny's sloppy appearance, his undone collar, and messy hair, showing signs of someone running their hands through it, made you green with disgust.

"Babe," he said, readjusting his shirt with a pathetic attempt at a casual smile. "I thought you weren't coming." He took his turn at scanning over my appearance too, eyes stopping a beat too long at my chest. "You look hot." Bile rose in your throat with disgust. You had no desire to thank him.

"I managed to get away from work and thought it'd be a nice surprise if I came, Danny." You shook your head, mad that you could feel your eyes water. "Turns out I'm the one who got a surprise."

People started to stop their conversations and look at the two of you, prying eyes making you even more unsettled. Danny took a step closer to you, but you couldn't tell if it was genuine or just an act. You couldn't tell what was real now.

"Look, Babe," he held out hands in front of him, almost as if he was trying to reach for you. You could smell the alcohol on him from where you stood. The last thing in the world that you wanted was for him to be trying to comfort you right now. He reached out and touched your arm, but you pulled back sharply.

"Don't touch me. And don't call me that."

You could tell that took a swing at his ever-swelling ego. His eyes were cold beneath the mask he was wearing like he was angry at you for your reaction, for doing it in front of all these people. Like he didn't understand your anger.

"Don't make this a big deal," he said, with a glance at the crowd like he expected them to agree with him.

It really was like talking to a wall.

"'Make this a big deal?'" You yelled exasperatedly. "Are you serious right now?" You were ashamed of how you knew you looked right then, on the verge of tears and about to break down right in front of all these people. Danny knew you didn't handle crowds like this well, but that didn't seem to stop him.

"You're always giving me bullshit excuses when I ask to hang out. Did you really expect me to wait around for you to stop being boring?"

It felt like his words were darts and you were the dart board. You didn't know if you had it in you to shout back another argument. You just wanted to leave this stupid party.

You shook your head, taking one last look last look at the boy you thought had been your boyfriend before you began stalking off. You didn't get far.

"Don't pretend like you haven't done the same with Harrington before!"

His shouted words had your blood boiling in a way that had you turning right back around, a wave of fiery anger bringing your palm up to hit Danny right on the side of his face with enough force to have his head whip right to the side. Some people in the crowd gasped, some clearly enjoying this like it was their own personal soap opera. It only made the ringing in your ears louder as you involuntarily tried to block everything out.

"Keep his name out of your fucking mouth." You pushed the palm of your hand to his chest, sending him stumbling a few feet backward. "I hope I never have to hear your voice again."

This time, you made sure you put enough distance between you and him so that you wouldn't hear any of his scathing, drunk remarks anymore. Enough distance so that he couldn't see the way your features shook with the effort of holding back a sob. People danced all around you as you hurriedly tried to be anywhere but next to Danny, swaying hips and not a care in the world. Meanwhile, you felt like the air around you was swallowing you whole.

You passed by the front door, the frame of it calling to you to give you the fresh air your lungs needed greatly. But you couldn't leave without Steve and you had no idea where he was. Yet, the idea of going back to partying like he'd wanted you to seemed near impossible now.

You didn't know what had come over you, but when you passed by a table with every inch of its surface covered in red cups filled with brown liquid, they didn't seem as unappealing to you as they had just fifteen minutes ago. You knew you shouldn't, but when you felt the sting of your palm from the slap you'd given Danny just a moment ago, you used that same hand to grab a cup and bring its contents to your lips.

You hated the power some stupid boy had over you. You wanted to drown out every thought of him that was stored in the contents of your mind. The alcohol burned when it reached the back of your mouth, and you had to scrunch your features together just to get it down. But when you found yourself coming back for a second cup, then a third, it wasn't the taste that had you downing each cup with a wince. It was the way every image of Danny's face softened and blurred in your mind into a swirl of shapes the more you drank. You were addicted to the feeling. Or maybe, the fact that it took away any feeling.

You didn't know how much you'd drank, but you did know that you couldn't help the way your body danced to the music blasting in your ears, or the way you lost track of time. You hadn't even registered the people you were next to, dancing right by them and joining the crowd of people you'd vowed you could never learn to be comfortable around, so unfazed by the party scene.

You felt yourself bump right into a firm body, one that sent you swaying backward on your feet a bit. The feeling of hands coming up to grip the sides of your arms in a firm but comforting hold was oh so familiar. You couldn't make out the crisp edges of the face above you that you should've been able to, but it was impossible for you to miss the way their cologne swarmed around you in a comforting cocoon, and how your first instinct was to lean closer to them, to let your limbs that felt too heavy to hold up be held against him.

"Babe," he called. It was the same name that Danny had called you, making your head pound and your heart sting. But coming from this mouth, it replaced that sting with a slightly warmer feeling.

"Stevie?" you called softly, letting a grin lazily come over you as you looked up at this person that you'd know anywhere. You wanted him to smile back at you, but a frown was evident on his face from what you could see, brows pulled together and eyes scanning over you as if he was checking for signs of harm on some fragile object. Your words slurred together. "Whatsamatter?" His frown only deepened.

"Are ... Are you drunk or something?"

You frowned. "What?" You looked at him amusedly but Steve didn't return the sentiment. "Pfft." A giggle came out from your lips as you raised your hands to his face, pushing the corners of his lips upward in a way that warped his mouth into an obscure-looking smile. "C'mon Stevie, smile. We're at a party, not a funeral." You threw your hands up into the air whimsically. "Don't you just love parties?"

Steve shook his head and the crease between his brows only got deeper. "Holy shit, you are drunk. This really isn't what I meant by 'let loose'." He looked at you confusedly. "This isn't like you, what's going on?"

Something inside you began to curl up and threaten to come up to the surface. Something you only wanted to keep pushed down. You dropped your arms. "Why don't you ask Danny?"

Even if you didn't mean to, you spat out his name like the word was venomous. Steve could've read that you were upset even if you hadn't said his name like that. He always could read you better than anyone else.

"What the hell happened with Danny?"

You didn't want to talk about it. For too many reasons. "Like I said, ask him." You breathily laughed, but it didn't feel happy like a laugh should. "Better yet, ask his girlfriend."

Steve looked at you quizzically, frustrated that he couldn't solve this puzzle so easily. But he had a bad feeling creeping up in his gut. "What are you talking about? You're his girlfriend."

"Really?" you said, your tone loopy and wild even if you felt anything but, deep inside. The alcohol helped hide that. "I could've sworn it was that bimbo on the couch with him just a few minutes ago." You scratched your head, still tipsy, if you could even call it that. "Or maybe it was a few hours ago. Hey, what time is it?"

Steve stopped in his tracks, ignoring your question as he visibly tensed.

"Crap," he ran a hand through his hair stressfully. "Are you saying that dick cheated on you?"

You shrugged. You didn't feel like saying the words. Something in Steve's eyes changed. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he shook his head, muttering to himself.

"I'm gonna kill him."

You knew Steve wasn't a violent person, but he's never been the type to back down from a fight he thought was rightful. You could run through the times he's come home with a black eye before, whether from dumb fights in school or run-ins with evil Russians. Either way, you didn't want to find out if he was serious or not.

You took his clenched fist into your hands. "Hey," you said softly. But suddenly it was hard for you to balance by yourself, and you fell into Steve's chest. It was like your limbs were liquid. "I-I don't feel so good."

Steve's demeanor changed instantly, and he quickly put aside thoughts of your asshole ex-boyfriend as he held you softly, like you could break in his hands any second. He let out a breath above from where your head was pressed against his chest that sounded like a laugh. "Yea, maybe it's cause you had like how many cups of beer?"

You thought for a second, but you couldn't even think of an answer. "I don't remember."

Steve sighed like a mother and moved you so that you were pressed into his side with an arm thrown over his shoulder. Then he started to walk with slow steps that used too much of your effort for it to be normal.

"C'mon, there you go," he said, encouraging you. The close proximity of his face to yours made you even dizzier. You felt your eyes flicker to his lips, but you had enough sanity still in you to draw them away to the rest of his face, taking in his soft features. He was so pretty. Steve coughed suddenly.

"I'm ... pretty?" he asked, the tips of his ears tinting pink in an adorable way as he kept walking with you in his arms. Crap.

"Did I say that out loud?" you laughed, slightly stumbling over your own feet. Steve caught you in no time, of course, arms wrapping around you tighter. That did nothing to make your face turn less red. You thanked God it was dark.

"You must be drunk out of your mind." Steve looked like he was thinking about something and then shook his head, chasing a thought away. You wanted to ask what was going on in his head at the moment, but you'd run out of passes for how many times you could make a fool of yourself tonight, so you decided to keep quiet as Steve dragged you to a staircase at the end of the hall.

With slow, agonizingly slow, steps, you made it up the stairs to a bathroom more secluded from the rest of the party. Steve turned on the lights and shut the door behind you, the bright lights an attack on your senses that had you pressing your head into Steve's chest with a groan. He softly laughed from above you with a few pats on your back.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

His hand stopped in its tracks and he pulled you away from him, hands on your shoulders. "And that, my friend, is why we're in the bathroom." He gestured towards the toilet. "Behold."

You groaned again, head leaning back into his shoulder. "Gross." You liked to believe that you had enough dignity left in you to not be vomiting in the toilet at a high school party. Then, you practically threw yourself towards the toilet like your life depended on it, retching as the last hour came pouring out of you. Forget dignity.

Steve moved to hold your hair up as you threw up into the toilet, hands soft and gentle. You didn't need to turn around to know he was probably wincing and holding back laughter.

It felt like your insides were burning as your stomach emptied itself. For a second, you thought it had finished, both hands braced on the sides of the porcelain seat as you breathed heavily.

"You done?" Steve asked softly from behind you. "See, that wasn't all that-"

His comforting words were cut off as you retched back into the toilet bowl. Your throat ached and your eyes watered. You were miserable. The whole time, Steve rubbed comforting circles into your back. And when your body finally felt like it had rid itself of all the alcohol you'd drank, you slumped back against the wall tiredly, not even able to hold your own head up.

Steve flushed the toilet for you and sat down against the sink, across from where you sat. Your feet touched with the lack of room, both leaning back. You wanted to burry yourself in the sheets of your bed and never come out. You sighed.

"That was definitely a low point in my life." Steve waved a hand dismissively like he hadn't just gotten a glimpse at the contents of your stomach.

"Throwing up in the toilet is a partying right of passage," he comforted. He breathed out a sound like a laugh. "Same with the awful hangover you'll get in the morning."

You groaned, head falling into your hands. "I am an idiot."

You closed your eyes as you buried yourself further into your hands, taking shelter in the dark. Even if you were technically still drunk, sobriety hit you like a truck, everything having to do with Danny coming back to you in a crashing wave of memories. The image of him underneath that girl. His words, how he'd called you boring. How he'd shown no sign of regret for what he's done.

Tears pricked your eyes, sneaking up on you when you hadn't wanted them there in the first place. All night, you'd held back tears, but never actually cried, cried like you're supposed to after a breakup. After being cheated on. But now, in the shelter of the bathroom without so many prying eyes, it was like your body decided for you that now was the time.

Were you really crying because of Danny? You'd never really felt attached to him in the way a girlfriend should and, obviously, he hadn't been too attached to you either. Somehow, that didn't soothe the ache in your chest any less. It didn't stop your eyes from watering, silent tears slipping down silently. Didn't stop a sob from then making its way from deep in your chest to the edge of your lips, echoing loudly in the bathroom, loud enough that Steve could most definitely hear. He moved to sit closer to you.

"Woah, hey," came his soft voice. A hand gingerly rested on your forearm, comforting you. "What's the matter?"

You peaked up at him from behind your hands, still crying. He took one look at your teary eyes and what had happened only just over an hour ago must have hit him. His eyes look apologetic but never judging.

"Sorry, dumb question."

You wanted to laugh at him, but you didn't know if that would trigger another wave of vomiting. Instead, you just let more tears fall.

The only sounds in the bathroom were your sobs and sniffling from your runny nose, the soft shuffle of Steve rubbing your arm comfortingly, and the dim music coming from downstairs. You could faintly hear Pat Benatar's Heartbreaker playing loudly. How ironic.

"You're not an idiot."

Steve's voice echoed through the bathroom, disrupting the melancholy silence. You finally brought your head out from in your arms and leaned back against the wall again, but tears still fell onto your cheeks.

"Well, I sure feel like one..." your bottom lip shook as you spoke. "How could I not have seen it?" Your head moved from side to side, ashamed. "With all the parties he goes to without me, who knows how many more times he's done this? How many more girls he's been with?"

"Don't think like that," Steve said, trying to cut in. You were too carried away wallowing in your own thoughts to listen.

"He's always been a crappy boyfriend to me. Always. I just didn't want to admit it because ... because of too many reasons. It's my fault for not ending it sooner, for letting him treat me like shit for so long just because I didn't have the tits to tell him he was a jerk to his face. It's my fault for-"

"Stop it." Steve couldn't stand to listen to you blame yourself any longer. He couldn't listen to you tear yourself up over a boy who had treated you so badly. He figured Danny was downstairs right now partying the night away without a care for who he'd hurt. He wanted to hurt him back, badly. But there was no way he would let you out of sight for a moment, not when you were shaken up over this boy who'd driven you to drown yourself in alcohol just to forget about how much he'd hurt you.

His voice took a tone stern enough to cut into your ranting and have you listening to what he had to say. "He may have been a jerk, but you're not an idiot. And it's not your fault. None of this is. It's not, okay?"

His eyes pierced yours, a deep earthy brown that made your stomach churn from the intensity they were taking up and had you feeling guilty for speaking so badly of yourself. Steve could do that. You nodded slowly.

"Now," he said, holding out his pinky finger. "When we leave this bathroom and go home for the night, I need you to promise me you're not gonna keep on blaming yourself for this happening. Because it's not your fault, understand?"

Your lips trembled, but your heart swelled with how much you loved the boy in front of you. You took his pinky in yours, squeezing lightly.

"I promise."

He nodded, satisfied. "Okay good. Now, I want you to tell me that I'm the best friend a girl could ever have, got it?"

With the serious look that Steve still had in his eyes as you look at him, you couldn't help but smile.

"Yes. You, Steve Harrington, are the best friend a girl could ever have." Thinking about the words, you realized how true they are. "You really are ... thank you for doing all this, for not running away when I almost threw up on you." You snorted. "I don't know what I'd do without you." He flapped his hand out.

"Alright, alright. Enough thanking, I'm the best, I know."

You laughed at his antics, and there it was. That smile he'd taken overtime at work just to see. The smile that hit him like a truck every time, the one that made his knees weak and his head dizzy. The smile he'd pay anything in the world to have a lifetime's supply of. He smiled back.

"And, for the record," Steve said, voice dreamy with thoughts of you. "I don't know what I'd do without you either."

A comfortable silence overtook you and Steve for a moment. You were already feeling a thousand times better, but it took effort to keep the smile on your face. Steve could see how your eyes still held a sadness in them that he knew wouldn't leave you for at least a little while, and all he wanted to do was reach out, wipe the tears off of your cheeks and tell you how amazing you were. Considering you for a second, something in Steve's stare softened. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, um, you know how I told you that you looked great when I picked you up earlier?"

You blinked, leaving your thoughts behind and having no idea where your best friend could possibly be going with this. Either way, you nodded slowly, hesitantly. Steve chewed on his lip, a habit you knew he'd had since you were little.

"Yea, well, I didn't mean really mean to say that." Your jaw slacked.

"Steve what-"

"Wait, crap, that wasn't what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair, which had an extra amount of product in it for the occasion. He really wanted to get this right.

"What I really meant was that," he ran his tongue over his bottom lip like he was nervous, "that you look more than great. Stunning. That you look like the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. I just ... I didn't know how to put it into words right then and there. I still don't." His eyes raked over you, and you couldn't believe how much love they held as they raked over your runny-mascara-wearing, still slightly nauseous, hardly sober state. "Even now. You'll always look stunning to me."

You felt your heartbeat speed up from inside your chest. Had he always looked at you like that? Like he was so deeply entranced by you? Like you held all the answers to the world's secrets inside of you?

You didn't know exactly what to say, where this was coming from. You looked at him deeply, trying to figure out just that. Instead, you let your eyes wander to each inch of his face, one that you've known for years and should've been fully acquainted with. But, you couldn't help but think, had Steve's eyes always shimmered so brightly? Did his hair always look so soft? His lips so pink? God, how could someone look so angelic in bathroom lighting?

"I don't know how you can say that with how I must look right now," you commented with a soft smile, suddenly insecure. You went to brush a piece of your hair back, but Steve caught your hand tenderly in his own.

"You look beautiful." A blush spread through your face and Steve's heart fluttered at the sight. "You're beautiful." He didn't know where this sudden surge of confidence was coming from, but he didn't want to let the moment pass.

You couldn't figure it out either, what had made him suddenly want to tell you all this. Deep inside you, you hoped that the reason was the same one that had you blushing under his gaze. The same reason you'd always felt a connection to him, one stronger than any other best friends you'd known. There was a reason your parents, as strict as they were, always kept Steve around. Did they see something more?

A feeling of hopefulness swelled deep in your chest. Hopfuless and curiosity.

"Steve," you asked quietly. He hummed in response. You were still close, Steve still holding your hand in his. You could count his lashes and the beauty marks on his face. You took a breath in.

"Is there any reason why you're telling me all this?"

Steve's features were unmoving, everything but his eyes that seemed to dilate and swirl like pools of chocolate and honey. He slightly shook his head as his lips tried to form an answer.

"Because I think you need to hear it."

His answer was sweet, so genuine that you ached because you knew Steve was too good for you, too good for this world. But your heart still ached for another answer, one that you were too scared to voice yourself. But, when else would the opportunity come?

"Are you sure there's no other reason?"

Steve looked at you, eyes trying to read yours with a sense of desperation strong enough to have the corners of his eyes creasing. Did he understand what you were asking? He gave your wrist a squeeze, like he was looking for the courage to answer from the very point where your bodies met.

"No," he said. "I'm not sure." He interlaced the fingers of both your hands. "I just," he tucked his bottom lip beneath his top nervously. "I don't know if you'd want to hear the other reason."

Your heartbeat was fast enough that you were sure he could hear it. Could feel it, pulsing from your chest to the hands that he held. You were both pouring your hearts out with hidden messages and disguised confessions. You hoped with all of your heart that Steve meant what you thought he did.

"I think," you squeezed his hand, "I think I do want to hear the other reason. I think I really, really do."

Steve leaned forward so that your foreheads met. It reminded you of nights spent together as kids, pinky promises, and shared secrets. This secret would be the biggest of them all.

"I'm just scared that the reason might scare you off. That ... that it might not be what you want to hear. That it isn't what you think it is."

As you stared into his eyes with your own, you realized you hadn't been more sure of anything else in your life. Even if it was cliche, even if you both probably should've stopped doing this years ago, you held up your pinky finger. "Trust me, it's what I want to hear."

Steve noticed your finger, meekly held out in the air waiting for a response. Even if the tradition was old, too old, he raised his pinky and interlocked it with yours. He grinned.

"Okay good, 'cause I don't know how much longer I could've hidden it." He looked down at your interlocked fingers, and then back at you. "You're not just my best friend. You haven't been, for too long for me to admit." He gripped your hand in his, interlocked hands and pinky fingers squeezing. "You're the girl I fell in love with."

Your heart swelled. "And you, Steve Harrington," you breathed, "are the boy that I fell in love with. Hard. And I've truly been an idiot for trying to keep that a secret."

Steve smiled, an adorable gleam in his eye.

"What'd I tell you about calling yourself an idiot?" You grinned back.

"Well, that's one pinky promise I might have to break."

You both laughed with love-filled smiles, and when your heads came closer together, an explosion of emotions melted into every inch of your body. Somehow, the distance never closed. You were about to frown, but Steve rested his head on yours again.

"I want this, so bad that it hurts. Trust me." He fondly smiled down at you, brushing a piece of hair out of your face to behind your ear. "You don't know how long I've thought about this moment. How many times I've imagined it. Which is why, I'd prefer if we were both completely sober when I kiss my best friend for the first time. I want us both to remember every detail." He laughed softly under his breath. "And maybe not nauseous. That'd help."

You wanted to be upset, but then you broke out into a fit of laughter, eyes squinting enough so hard that you couldn't even see Steve's relieved and laughing face. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you in his arms as you both laughed warmly to each other on the floor of a stranger's bathroom.

You were sure you smelled of alcohol and nausea, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to, anymore. You knew, just knew, that this is where you want to be. Right here, in the arms of Steve, the boy you fell for, hard. You could promise it.

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shewrites7 · 2 years

Text

Three Things I’ll Never Understand

ron weasley x fem!reader

summary - Valentine's Day has never been your favorite holiday. In fact, it was at the bottom of your list. You've never understood it. Just like how you've never understood Ron Weasley, a boy who'd once been one of your friends. Now, it's like he can't even look at you. What happened, those years ago? Will today, Valentine's Day, of all days, be when you finally find out? Do you really want to know?

type - one shot

word count [4.7k]

tags: Ron Weasley x f!reader, friends to strangers?? to lovers, confrontation, idiots in love, valentine’s day, arguing in the rain and a rain kiss. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: none

add. - originally posted to my ao3 on 6/25/22. enjoy!

No matter what anybody says, I've never understood the world's love for rain. For rainy weather. To have water droplets pelting down on you randomly while going about your day, with no warning except the gray tint of the day's clouds. All that rain has ever done for me is wet my clothes and leave me walking home with squelching socks. Again, I've never understood the appeal.

That was why just the thought of Lavender Brown's rant about the romantic flair of rain from earlier had set my feet ablaze as I quicken my pace into the Three Broomsticks, water splashing by my feet. The eagerly darkening sky had been practically taunting me all day, about to pour its rain all over Hogsmeade any second. Finally, just when I'd had enough of today, seeing couples left and right, it had.

The door opens with a heavy swoosh as I throw it open, already in a bad mood from the events of the day. How everyone at this school manages to constantly find love within Hogwarts' walls never fails to amaze me. Lavender Brown has been gushing all over this Hufflepuff seventh-year who she has plans with all week. Seamus Finnigan found a new love in a Ravenclaw girl I'd yet to know the name of. And, though she hasn't told me who with, Hermione most definitely has plans with a certain someone this Valentine's Day. Even Harry mustered up the courage to ask out Cho Chang, who he's clearly been fancying for almost a year now.

I'm happy for them; I always am. But that doesn't make the fact that I'm utterly alone any less unbearable.

As I stomp into the Three Broomsticks, my feet make a cringe-worthy gushing sound against the aged wood of the floor. I frustratedly wipe my wet hair from my face, allowing me to spot some of the names I'd mentioned before. Sitting at a booth farther down inside the inn, sits Harry, Hermione, and lastly, Ron, who looks utterly stressed, his hands gripping his hair as he speaks to the two across from him.

Now that I think about it, I haven't heard any mention of Ron having a date this Valentine's Day, but it isn't as if Ron is the type of person to talk to me about his romantic relationships anyway. Rather, talk to me about most things. He's always been more distant around me than any of the others. Whenever I sit with them, it's like Ron goes silent, as if some tension I'm painfully unaware of fills the air. The same thing happens now as I near the trio's booth.

"No, Hermione, I can't just-"

Ron's words die from his lips when he notices me. I just know that Hermione and Harry give him a confused look before they both turn around to spot me coming toward them. Hermione greets me with a kind smile.

"Y/n!" she calls, waving me over.

"Hey, you three," I say, mustering up as much of a happy tone as I can, feeling the way I am. Harry waves at me from inside the booth next to Hermione.

"Y/n," he says cheerfully. I greet him back and turn to Ron to greet him in the same way, and he offers a rather stiff nod and a tug of his lips in response. Nothing out of the ordinary from Ron, so I try not to mention it at all.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Hermione says, something playful sparkling in her eye in a very un-Hermione way. I chew on my bottom lip to keep from sighing.

"Yea, er-, Happy Valentine's Day."

Looking between the two of them, Harry and Hermione, I remember their supposed dates. "Aren't you two supposed to be off with your dates by now?" I can't keep the grim tone out of my voice. Harry and Hermione share a look I can't decipher before turning back to me.

"Yea," Harry replies, "We just took a pit stop to speak with Ron here." He gestures to the second-youngest Weasley, who still hasn't met my eyes. He looks to the two across from him, and they all seem to have a silent conversation amongst themselves. My awful mood today might have had an effect on my ability to pick up signals. Or maybe it's the rainwater still in my eyes that I still haven't blinked away.

"You're right," begins Hermione, "Harry and I should probably get going off to our, erm, dates." Hermione can't help but blush in an achingly adorable way that whoever she's seeing today must swoon over.

"Yea," I say, the hint of a smirk creeping up on my features. "Wouldn't want to leave Cho waiting, Harry."

A matching blush grows on Harry's face before he shoves me a little, scooting out from the booth behind Hermione. He turns to Ron one last time, who sits firmly in his seat still.

"We'll see you soon, alright mate?"

The redhead looks at him and nods tiredly, waving him off. Hermione shrugs on her coat.

"Try to have some fun in the meantime, Ron," pleads Hermione softly. "It's Valentine's Day, remember?"

Ron rolls his eyes dismissively. "Trust me, I remember."

Hermione looks as if she wants to say something more, but doesn't. Instead, she pats me on the shoulder affectionately before turning to leave. Harry follows her through the door.

Not knowing if I'd make this even weirder if I continue to stand, I decide to slide into the booth across from Ron. My soaked clothes squish from underneath me and I make a mess of the wooden bench I sit on. Merlin, help me.

"Sorry for the mess," I add if only to break the silence. "I'm completely soaked from the rain. I'd cast a drying spell but I left my wand back at the castle."

Ron replies, his eyes trained on my wet sleeves resting on the table rather than my face.

"I er... I left mine too."

I let out a chuckle that lacks genuineness. "Seems like a great day for both of us so far, right?"

Ron doesn't even allow for the hint of a smile to cross his face. He lets a breath out through his nose, toying with the hem of his sleeve. A beat of silence overtakes us before he finally meets my eyes for the first time in the conversation.

"Shouldn't you be off on some date like everyone else?"

I blink at the abruptness of his question. His tone was cold, almost detached. I don't even know how to respond.

"I ... I don't have a date."

He lets a breath out through his nose that almost sounds like laughter, clicking his tongue and shaking his head slightly like my loneliness was amusing. The nerve.

"Well it doesn't look like you've managed to find a date either, Weasley, if it's that amusing to you."

Whatever had gone through his mind at that moment was rich, considering the fact that it wasn't only me sitting here alone on Valentine's Day. He was here too.

Ron looks at me like I've snapped him back into reality. Maybe he didn't even realize I could see his amusement. It didn't matter though. My words were sharp, sharper than I meant.

"I-I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean that." Merlin, was this conversation draining. "I'm just in a cruddy mood today, that's all. This bloody holiday is... well you know how it is."

Even with my attempt to relate to him, to apologize, Ron doesn't seem able to find any desire to carry on the conversation. His eyes are trained on the wooden table still, regarding it as if he found more interest in the pattern of the wood than our conversation.

I let out a sigh before I leave my seat to sit in the chair in front of the inn's fireplace. My soaked clothes could use the heat and it doesn't seem like Ron would mind the loss of company.

I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands together for the warmth that the fire can't provide. Today hasn't been my day; Valentine's Day never has been. And maybe it was just the gloominess of the weather outside, or the bad mood that the holiday has put me in, but Ron's permanent grudge against me has been annoying me more than ever.

The fire crackles in front of me, sparking like the frustration that begins to bubble inside of me as I imagine all the times Ron's acted this way around me. He has to know just how awful it feels to be ignored like this, to feel as if you're the reason for the end of a conversation, for words dying on people's lips whenever you came around.

My spiraling thoughts come to a stop at the sound of nearing footsteps, inching closer and closer before coming to a stop by my side. I notice Ron's red hair before anything else.

He sits down on the stool next to mine wordlessly. I want to ask what the purpose of him following me to the fireplace is, but it seems as if he doesn't know the answer to that question himself.

It feels like years go by before either of us breaks the silence. He stares into the fire, eyes flickering around as if he's deep in thought. I've never wanted to get inside a person's head so badly.

"What makes you hate Valentine's Day so much?"

His words come out so quietly that I'm not sure I'm even hearing him right. If I thought I knew what Ron might have been thinking before, now I know that I truly don't have a sliver of an idea.

"I don't ..." I trail off, deciding if I even know the answer to his question myself.

"I don't suppose I hate Valentine's Day as much as I just ... don't understand it. I mean, why should you have to use an official holiday as an excuse to be romantic? Can't people just appreciate love on any regular day? We all chase to find love on a single day of the year and you end up feeling like crap if you don't find any. It feels like I'm having everyone's relationship stuffed down my throat. Godric, I sound depressing. I swear I don't hate romance, I just-"

My rampage fades away once I realize how much I must be boring the boy beside me with the contents of my mind.

"Sorry," I say, internally cringing. "I'm sure you didn't need that much of an explanation, I-"

"Y/n, bloody hell," interrupts Ron. He manages to meet my eyes again. "Would you quit apologizing?"

I don't know what surprises me more: Ron's words, or the way he suddenly looks at me, determination lying behind shining eyes that seem to flicker with the shadow from the fireplace.

"Excuse me?" I ask, making sure I heard him right.

He runs a hand through his fiery hair. "I mean, seriously, Y/n, you've apologized to me at least three times in the past five minutes."

I let out a small scoff. "Well is it really so shocking that I feel the need to constantly be apologizing to you, Ronald?"

I can tell that my temper is especially fragile on a day like today. Ron's freckled face goes paler than it already is. "What- what do you mean?"

"With the way you act around me, you'd think I killed your mum or something."

"Killed my..." Ron mumbled to himself in disbelief, looking completely and utterly lost. "Killed my mum?"

"No, I didn't kill your- Gods, we're steering away from the point here. What I'm saying is, I don't know what I did to make you act the way you do around me. To make you suddenly dislike me so much."

Ron's brows are furrowed, his lips slightly separated as he looks at me. His tone is laced with what sounds like genuine confusion and concern.

"Dislike you?"

I let out a puff of air. "Yes, dislike me. Is it really that far of a stretch?"

Ron shakes his head slowly, some color spreading back into his face. When a few seconds pass without him saying anything, I think he isn't going to say anything at all.

"I could never dislike you."

The sound of Ron's voice proves me wrong. His face is filled with sincerity, saying the words casually enough to make them seem like they lack any deep meaning at all. In reality, they leave me fumbling for an explanation.

"It's never seemed that way, Ron." I shift my body on my stool to face him. "You avoid me like a plague. When I come around, you clearly wish I were anywhere else, or that you could be anywhere else. Worst of all, Weasley, I don't even know what I did."

I breathy laugh escapes me, exasperatedly.

"The funny thing is, I can remember a time when you didn't act like this around me. A time when we'd both laugh together like normal friends, the same way I would with Harry or Hermione. But after third year it was like we'd never even known each other. I don't know what I did after that to cause this rift to form between us, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'm bloody sorry."

I'm practically out of breath by the time I finish. Surely I'm drawing attention to the two of us in the inn, but that doesn't phase me as I speak to Ron. Clearly, something's bothering him, though. He doesn't even make a move to face me.

"Well," I say, my voice beginning to grow louder. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Seconds go by.

"Anything?"

Even if Ron wanted to say something to me, I'm losing the patience to sit here and beg for him to utter strings of words to me. If it's that hard to talk to me, I'll put him out of his misery.

I stand from my seat. All the time I spent warming by the fire threatens to go to waste as I go to march right back towards the pouring rain, wandless with no umbrella in sight.

I turn to look back at the red-haired boy one final time to see if he was going to make any move to give me an explanation or even just say anything to me, but when I see him sitting on the stool still, his crimson locks covering his eyes as his head still hangs, I know there's no use.

I push the door open, rain instantly whipping onto my clothes.

"Happy bloody Valentine's Day, Ron."’

I've never thought of myself as a lonely person, but today I most definitely do seem like a bit of a loner.

Ever since my conversation with Ron, if you can even call it that, I've been going around Hogsmeade by myself for the rest of the trip, trying to avoid a certain redhead at all costs. I've been pretty successful, too.

That is until I leave Honeydukes and notice three full heads of red hair standing in front of Zonko's—an overwhelming sight for someone trying to avoid a certain ginger at all costs.

Ron stands in conversation with his two older brothers, Fred and George, or George and Fred, (I still can't tell them apart), leaning against the brick wall of the shop under the safety of the roof's overhang, protected from the rain that still hadn't settled completely. His head is hung low as the two speak vivaciously in front of him, hand gestures and all.

My heart practically stills for a moment as one of the twins spots me in the distance, stopping his rant with wide eyes and nudging his younger brother on the shoulder. I stupidly freeze in place as Ron turns to look at me, giving time for my eyes to meet with his, a fountain of emotion stored behind them threatening to spill over.

His cheeks flush almost as red as the hair on his head, and the sight of his twins shoving him a little in my direction sends my legs pushing themselves into the crowd of Hogsmeade as I head in the opposite direction.

What am I doing?

I don't even have an answer to that question as I bustle through the many people in the rainy street, trying to go anywhere that wasn't next to Ron.

Do I really want to speak to him again?

Is finding answers to my questions as important as I thought it to be?

Why do I care so much about what Ron thinks of me?

As much as I tell myself I don't know the answer to a single one of these questions, deep down, something tells me I do.

"Y/n!"

I heard Ron's voice calling my name over the ocean of voices between us. He was far enough away in the crowd that, if I truly wanted to, I could make a run for it and not have to face him and whatever he had to say to me. The next question I had to consider was, did I really want to do that?

"Y/n!" He calls again, this time his voice closer. I turn around to face him, seeing him shoulder through people at both sides to reach me.

That feeling deep down inside of me, the one that gave me an inkling as to what I truly wanted, was the same one that makes my feet slowly stop moving, finally stopping my steps. I dip my head down, building up the courage to turn around. Sure enough, Ron is behind me, much closer this time.

When he reaches me, he's practically out of breath. This time, I won't let it be me that has to speak first.

Some seconds go by with the only noises heard being the droplets of rain still falling and the voices of people passing by as they head inside to avoid the rainstorm approaching.

"Y/n," he breaths finally. "Can we talk?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" My tone is sour, and I feel bad. But I have to remind myself he's only ever treated me the same way.

"Don't you want to head inside?" Ron asks sheepishly, gesturing to the shops on either side of us. I shake my head.

"Not really."

Ron frowns. "It's clearly gonna storm in a few minutes, Y/n, c'mon." He begins to walk toward one of the shops, but I don't follow.

"I'm sorry if I don't want to sit down and share a conversation with you right now, Ron."

Instead of reacting how I thought he would, Ron begins to shake his head and chuckle under his breath. I cross my arms, both in confusion and because of the chilly weather.

"What's so funny?"

He looks up with a very much Weasley grin, with something meaningful behind his smile.

"Still, with the apologizing, Y/n."

I give Ron a warning look, but fight to hold back a smile. Something about Ron used to always leave this warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. That is, before he decided to freeze me out the way he did.

"Gods," I say, shaking my head. I remind myself that everything can't just be okay with a single flash of a smile—not when this conversation has been years in the making. I hide the traces of a smile that I once had on my face before I address the boy in front of me again.

"We..." I begin, finding my ground. "We need to finish our conversation from before. But this time, you need to actually talk to me, Ron."

The humor leaves Ron's face, and he clears his throat. "I- I know. I know I do. I've never been good at ... at talking to you, Y/n." He flushes. "I always say the wrong things."

"Well, you've had almost three years to get better at doing just that. But you've never made any effort to talk to me until now."

Ron fidgets with the sleeve of his jumper. "You're right and ... I'm sorry. I should have apologized before and-"

"An apology isn't what I've wanted. I've just missed my friend."

Ron stops his fidgeting, looking down at me through slightly wet hair, damp from the rain that patters lightly on the two of us.

"I need to tell you, Y/n," begins Ron. He glances at my face with purpose. "You and I ... we could never be friends."

My lips part, brows pinching together in complete and utter confusion at the statement that just came out of Ron's mouth.

"We could never be friends?" I repeat slowly, in disbelief. Ron, looking at me with an almost hopeful smile, nods. His words were like a painful slap in the face.

"What the hell, Ron?"

I turn around, beginning to stalk off angrily. Who in their right mind tells someone that? If he didn't want me around this whole time, he could've just said so from the beginning and saved all of us the trouble.

I don't hear Ron's footsteps following me for a few seconds before he's chasing after me.

"Y/n!" he hollers. "Wait! I- I didn't mean it like that!"

I don't turn around, confused and completely over the conversation. The corner of the road approaches, but I feel a tug on my wrist before I can turn, whirling me around despite its light hold. A fiery warmth spreads through my arm from his touch for a reason I can't explain or make out and, when I meet his eyes, Ron's looking at me in an almost pleading way.

"You've gotta give me a second," he says, breathing heavily. "You just ... you make me so nervous."

My heart's rhythm feels heavier in my chest. Ron laughs under his breath. "I told you I always say the wrong things." He cracks his knuckles after he releases his light grasp on my wrist, a habit of his I've noticed that makes me cringe inwardly at the sound. The rain begins to fall faster, heavier. Neither of us moves.

"Just," he pauses, thinking, "tell me what you want from me. Tell me what I can do."

I begin speaking without thinking. "I just want an explanation. Something to make it clear to me why you just totally iced me out without a single warning." Ron lowers his eyes, but I continue.

"I mean, I get we've grown to be different people and all that but, when I see you with Harry and Mione, you're the same Ron I've always known. When you're with me, you're colder. Distant. It's a god-awful feeling, Ron. It's like you're a different person around me."

"I feel like a different person around you," Ron fumbles. "I can't speak around you ... it's like I can't even form a single sentence to explain myself without blubbering like an idiot."

My face doesn't mask my hurt well enough. "That doesn't explain why you just stopped being there for me after third year."

Ron must see the wounded look in my eyes, the one that reveals just how much I care about what his next words will be. He swallows.

"I guess I just ... I guess I just couldn't be around you anymore."

"What?" I ask. Nothing about this makes any sense. "Why not?" I look at him pleadingly for a clear answer. "What did I do?"

"Nothing!" He says, hands out in front of him like he's scared I'd run off again. "You didn't do anything."

My head spins with the words I know haven't been said, trying to think of what they may be—I have no idea.

"I don't understand it."

Ron frowns, confused as if everything he's been saying has been perfectly clear, even if it's been anything but. "Don't understand what?"

"You, Ron. I don't understand you." I run a hand through my hair. "You're the most confusing person I've ever met. Merlin, if I could just know what's going on inside your brain, everything would make sense."

Ron takes hold of the sleeve of my sweater, holding it like it was his lifeline. His words are rich, full with desperation. "You want to know what's going on inside my head?"

My heart beats fast, and my cheeks are flushed. The only thing keeping me sane is the cool rain pouring down on us, the very rain that I despised this morning. It picks up its intensity, but I manage to block it out and focus on Ron's waiting gaze behind wet hair. It's as if I nod subconsciously.

"Every day," Ron starts, letting out a breath, "I think about you. I think about this barrier between us and why I put it in place to begin with and, even though the reason is foolish and definitely isn't good enough, it's all the truth that I can say."

Ron takes a breath, preparing himself. "When I told you we could never be friends, I was telling the truth. I iced you out because I couldn't be around you without driving myself crazy. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't falling for you. That ... that you weren't the most stunning girl I'd ever seen."

We're standing close enough that I'm sure Ron can hear my heart beating out of my chest, even over the sound of the rain beating against the ground, and against us. Neither of us seem to care.

"Sometimes I- I can't even look into your eyes, Y/n, just look at your face for too long because I know that I won't be able to resist the urge to just ..."

Ron doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off, but he doesn't need to. Even if he tries not to, his eyes keep flickering down to where my lips are, drenched from the rain like the rest of my body. Heavy breaths escape them.

Even with my soaked hair hanging in my eyes, I can't help but feel like I've never seen Ron this clearly before. And, as I stare into his eyes, I can't help but think my thoughts aren't that different than his. The rain hitting my skin feels like boiling water, overheating me and making me dizzy. I swallow.

"Y/n?" Ron asks, breaking the silence I hadn't even noticed form.

"Sorry," I say, so soft I'm not even sure he can hear. "It's just..."

I look up right at him. This is the longest he's ever looked at me. And it's certainly never been in this way before, with the meaningful look he has behind his eyes.

"Why did u ever feel like you had to resist? Why didn't u ever just tell me?"

Ron laughs breathily, and the sound is like honey. "Isn't it obvious?" He asks, meaning all things. "You'd never feel the same."

Now it's my turn to laugh.

"Ron, you bloody idiot."

I tug on his jumper, standing on my toes to be level with the tall boy. Time freezes for a single moment that feels like dozens, as the sounds of rain and distant chatter fade out, and the only sound that reaches my ears is our breathing, in time with each other, and the heavy beating of my own heart.

With the courage that only Godric could have given me, I close the distance between me and Ron with an extra tug on the neck of his jumper. Our lips connect in a way that makes my head spin in every direction and my stomach flutter with butterflies that feel too real to be true.

Already addicted to the feeling of his lips on mine, a feeling so soft and sweet it almost aches, I run my other hand through Ron's bright hair, tugging slightly at the root. I can feel him grin that utterly Weasley grin against my lips as he kisses me, cupping his hand behind my neck affectionately. With the way he holds me so close, it's like he can't stand for a single inch of space to be left between us any longer. I absolutely love the feeling.

Is this why everyone loves Valentine's Day so much? If it is, I can say with confidence that now, without a doubt, I understand it completely.

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shewrites7 · 2 years

Text

Spilled Secrets

johnny cade x fem!reader

summary: Everyone can't help but notice the signs--Johnny's been blushing more often than usual. He's more quiet around y/n than he usually is. Plus, the boys are clearly hiding something. All signs point to ... no, they couldn't. They can't, right?

type - one shot

word count [4.2k]

tags: Johnny Cade x female!reader, friends to lovers, achingly cute Johnny, shyness, poorly kept secrets and an accidental love confession. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: some swearing, outdated views on women, mentions of death, implied mention of sex

add. - i wrote this a couple months ago + it was originally posted on my ao3 and i haven’t proofread it since so just a heads up but enjoy my first one shot! :)

"If you could make one wish, what would it be?" The thought popped into my mind randomly, spurring up another height in the conversation between the whole gang. We're all lying around the Curtis living room like we usually do during those nights when we've got nowhere better to be. And for once, Dally isn't off somewhere with some girl or snatching stuff from some corner store with Two-Bit. It's all eight of us here, sitting spread around the room, laying on couches or leaning against walls, even lying on the floor, but we make it work.

"Easy," Two-Bit replied, chugging down some pop and crushing the can. "I'd wish for a lifetime's supply of hot babes and any food I want, anytime I want it." He let out a loud belch to match his obvious response, and Soda chuckles like a young kid.

"Really, Two?" I reply. "You'd ask for girls and food?"

"Why not?" He shrugs with a grin. My hand goes to my face, and I hear Johnny let out a snort.

"That's fuckin' stupid, Two," interrupts Dallas, to the gang's surprise. "Why not just ask for unlimited money and seal the deal? The broads'll be chasing after you with no problem, and you don't even gotta worry about the food."

Two-Bit's face lights up at his response. "Ah, shoot, Dally. You're spot on!"

I find myself looking over at Johnny from where I stand, leaning against the wall. He's on the floor next to Two-Bit, by Dally's feet from where he's spread on the couch. He looks at me amusedly and shrugs. It's impossible to control Dallas Winston, especially when Two-Bit's involved, cheering him on like he does. Johnny knows this all too well.

I roll my eyes. "What a thoughtful response, Dal."

He winks and clicks his tongue in that cocky, Dallas way. "Thanks, hun."

Two-Bit snorts out laughter. "Fine then, shortcake," he begins with a grin and raised, expectant eyebrows. "What would you ask for then, Mother Mary?"

I glare at him and his ridiculously thick sideburns. "I don't know, but it wouldn't be a bunch of hot guys and a shit-load of money," I smirk. He guffaws. "Maybe," I start, "I'd ask for peace on Earth or something like that. Something to knock some sense into this stupid world."

"Ha!" He laughs out. "'Course, angel face here would pick world peace. What else's on your mind, Mary Sue?"

I send him a glare to leave him running.

"Calm down," he relents, "only joking." Yea, right.

"Well," I say, moving on. "What about you, Steve?"

He's sitting in the recliner Darry usually sits in, the oldest Curtis off behind the kitchen counter doing who knows what.

"Same thing as Two," he says, shuffling a deck of cards to play with Soda. "Broads and money sounds pretty sick to me. What else could you want?"

Ponyboy lets out a snort from where he sits, too, in between Dally and Soda on the couch. His nose has been ten feet deep in a book for most of our conversation.

"Alright," I start. "So you, Two-Bit, and Dally, all choose girls and money?" They all nod. "Okay... and me, I choose peace on Earth, a sensible wish, mind you-"

The gang of restless teen boys scoff and boo at me.

"Anyways," I stop them. "Would anyone else here wish for something different? Ponyboy?"

He looks up from his book again thoughtfully and shrugs after a moment, looking down at the pages of his book quietly.

"I, uh," he stutters. "I'd probably just wish for my mom and dad to come back, you know?"

The muttering of the rest of the gang comes to a steady silence, us having all heard him, even if he spoke softly. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis's deaths are still a fresh wound, even to the rest of us.

"Yea, me too," mutters Soda quietly, stopping his game of cards.

Darry comes over from the kitchen island and leans against the back of the couch, his two hands on Ponyboy's shoulders in support. "I would, too, kid."

No one speaks for a moment, but we all know how sensitive the subject is. It was stupid of me to ask something like that, anyway.

"Shoot, Pony," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright, y/n," he waves a hand. "Don't worry 'bout it." He looks up at me and nods assuringly, though it really should be me trying to comfort him.

"If it makes it any better," starts Two-Bit, "I'd wish for them to come back too, now that I think of it."

Ponyboy smiles, slightly. "Even over your hot babes?"

Two-Bit scratches his red-haired head with a laugh. "'Course, Pony. Even over my hot babes."

Ponyboy laughs, and Soda grins, and with his brilliant, movie star smile, things brighten up instantly.

"Hey," Two-Bit begins with that hint of mischief underlying his tone. "We all know what Johnny here would wish for, ain't that right, Johnnyboy?" He nudges him with his elbow a little bit, smirking at him like he knows something real funny. Johnny stiffens, piquing my interest.

"Huh," I butt in. "And what'd that be?"

"Nothing!" interjects Johnny, quickly. He realizes his loud tone and flushes pink. "It's, it's uh, nothin'."

The rest of the gang starts snickering like they know something good, too. Even Ponyboy's hiding a smile in the pages of his book and looking on with interest.

"Really?" I ask, not believing Johnny's hasty reply. "You wouldn't wish for anything, Johnny?" Two-Bit looks at him expectantly entertained.

"Sure I would," he gulps. "I'd, uh, I'd wish for a ton of money, like, um, like Dally." Two-Bit claps loudly with booming laughter.

"Pfft! Come on! We all know what you really want." He chuckles at me. "Well, maybe not all of us."

"What are you on about, Two?" I question.

"I'm sayin'," he gestures, "what he really wants is for- hEy!"

Johnny hurriedly shoves his hand in front of Two-Bit's mouth, making his voice come out all muffled as Two-Bit struggles out of his surprisingly firm grip. They're wriggling all over the floor like seaweed in the ocean, acting ridiculous, per usual.

"Ay! Knock it off you two!" Orders Darry from behind the couch, snapping at them like the responsible guardian he is. Two-Bit's reaction to Johnny trampling him is more amused than anything. He pushes the rather thin boy off of him with an easy shove, and both of their hair is messed up by the time they're back in their spots. Johnny's glaring up a storm at him from under his raven bangs.

"Alright, alright, sorry kid," Two-Bit agrees, putting up his hands in surrender. His sly face really says how sorry he is. "It's you diggin' your our own grave then, Johnny."

Johnny's eyes widen to show the black pupils that remind me of puppy-dog eyes so much, and he looks down at his worn-in sneakers, before looking back up and catching my eye. I wanna kick myself for having been laughing, just a tad, at the whole thing. He's flushing like crazy.

"Sorry 'bout all of uh, all that, y/n," says Johnny. I bite back a giggle.

"It's alright, Johnny. Don't worry 'bout it."

It's silent for a second if you don't count Sodapop and Steve's snickering from behind their hands. Darry sighs.

"Alright guys, I think we've had enough for tonight. Let's head off to bed, yea?"

Dally rolls his eyes. "It's not even midnight yet, Curtis. Who are ya, an old lady?" The gang snickers, but Darry isn't having any of it.

"No, Dal, I'm a responsible older brother who wants all of your asses to wake up for school tomorrow without me having to drag you out of bed, that's who."

Dally scoffs and mumbles under his breath quietly while getting up from the couch, and we all relent and start to do the same. "Don't even go to school..." he mumbles.

"Me neither," replies Soda, annoyed. But whatever Dally says, it goes, at least in this house.

The rest of us gather up our stuff, mostly just crushed up cans of pop and candy rappers, cigs, and other stuff like that. I let out a hand to Johnny to where he sits on the ground still. He doesn't notice at first, but when he does, he gives me a small smile and grabs it, hoisting himself up.

"Thanks," he says quietly. I nod in response with a sweet smile.

"Hey," Steve says, breaking through the noise of rustling, tired feet. "How're we supposed to fit everyone? We only got two rooms."

Soda shrugs. "Don't know. We'll make it work, 'always do."

Darry walks around to the hall and opens the closet, pulling out a couple of thick blankets and pillows. "We share, that's how." He nods to the pile. "Take 'em.'

We make a move for the pile, and he continues.

"Soda and Pony can sleep on the couch here, right guys?" He looks over at them and they shoot him a thumbs up. "Good. I can sleep on the recliner here, Two and Steve can get the main bedroom and sort out who's goin' on the floor, Dally and Johnny can figure out some space in the smaller room, and..." he looks around at the rest of us, or, as it really is, just me.

"Well, I'm not really sure how you wanna go about this, y/n, so, uh, it's up to you."

Ah yes, the awkward times when being the only girl gets in the way of me doing normal stuff with the guys. The boys look at me like I'm some two-headed alien, and Two-Bit starts chuckling, perfectly in character.

'I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind lettin' y/n over here crawl into bed with him, right?" He nudges Johnny's arm, and his ears go red.

"Well, I, uh..."

"Don't be silly," I cut in. "I can just sleep over here on the floor, it's no problem." Johnny shakes his head quickly.

"No, y/n. You don't gotta sleep on the floor, you're just a girl."

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he hesitates. "... What I... what I mean is, we can figure out another way, can't we?"

"Hm, like what?"

"Well," he begins, playing with his fingers. "I could always just sleep at my own place, if it really is-"

"No," most of us cut in. Dallas shoves his shoulder.

"Don't be dumb, Johnny." Dally's tone is softer than it usually is, and I'd be surprised if he was talking to anyone other than Johnny, who he's always had a soft spot for.

"Yea, Johnny," I respond. "Don't be ridiculous. You're sleeping here."

He furrows his eyebrows. "Well," he starts, "then you're not sleeping on the floor."

I don't miss the look Soda and Two-Bit pass to each other from behind Johnny. I huff.

"There's no other way, alright? It's fine-"

"No y/n, you-"

"Shut up, the both of you, will ya?" Asks Dally. He takes the last cigarette of the night out of his mouth, and I have the urge to cough. Smoking's never been my thing.

"I can sleep on the floor out here, and you two can sleep together alone in the room."

Johnny blinks at him, and I spot the hint of a smirk creeping upon Dally's features. "There, problem solved."

The blinking continues, along with a wolf whistle or two from Two-Bit and co.

'N-no, you don't gotta do that, really," urges Johnny. Dallas isn't listening to any of it. He pats him on the back.

"Don't worry, Johnnykins," he winks. "It's my pleasure."

Two-Bit snorts, and then the hollering starts, with more whistles and hoots and whoops, and other animal-like noises coming from everyone else. Darry sighs.

"Alright you guys, that's enough of torturing Johnny and y/n. Time for bed."

Dally clicks his tongue. "Y'know what? I'm gonna go get some more cigs." He grabs his brown leather jacket and heads out the door before Darry can say much more. With a tip of his head, Dally fades into the night. So much for Darry trying to control Dallas. He snaps his head to the side.

"Nope-" Darry says, looking over at Soda who's walking towards the door too. "Get to bed, Soda. All of you!" He starts clapping his hands together like a school teacher.

"Yea, yea," Two-Bit says tiredly. Then he turns towards me and Johnny grins. "Don't have too much fun in there, alright?"

"Did ya hear what I said, Matthews?!" Darry starts pushing him out of the room and motions us towards the hallway.

"'Night, you two," he says to just the two of us, with something glimmering in his eyes.

I nod. "Night Darry."

Even when we all start heading off to bed, Two-Bit manages to get one last remark in.

"And don't forget to use protection!"

Johnny starts coughing from behind me, at that, breaking out into a choking fit in the middle of the hall. I try and pat his back a bit, but he's still coughing a bit.

"You alright?" I ask shakily. He almost looks green, standing on wobbly legs.

"I," he starts slowly. "I think I just need to use the bathroom for a sec."

He looks at me quickly, stretching the collar of his shirt away from his neck. I shake my head in understanding and move to help him to the bathroom, but he practically jumps.

"I'm, uh, I'm alright. Th-thanks y/n."

He blindly searches for the doorknob leading to the bathroom before wobbling in and shutting the door quickly behind him. Sighing, I turn around, and the guys are all staring and holding back laughs. I give them dirty looks, but they just won't stop.

"You leave him alone, alright!" I tell them. "I don't know what's wrong with of you guys tonight, but if that's what's making Johnny act so sick and all, then you should cut it out. Seriously, I mean, I've never seen Johnny like this before!"

Ponyboy just shrugs. "Well to be fair, you don't notice a couple a' things about Johnny."

I frown. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Soda elbows him in the ribs. "Nothin'," he says through a gritted-toothed smile. Pony recoils and rubs at his side.

"Yeah well, I've been getting a lot of 'nothin's' lately from the lot of you." I tap my foot. "Just tell me what you're hiding."

When I look at them expecting something, Ponyboy's eyes widen, Sodapop and Darry clear their throats, Steve's jaw slacks, and Two-Bit just starts plain chuckling.

"What ... what do ya mean?" Asks Soda. He rubs at the back of his neck.

"I ain't an idiot," I say. "So what aren't you guys telling me? Am I missing something? Did somethin' happen?"

Steve starts laughing and scoffing like I've said something ridiculous. "'Course not. Hell, what could we possibly be hiding?"

"I swear, Steve if you're lying to me right now I-"

"Geez y/n," cuts in Two-Bit. "You're actin' like we're keeping something crazy from you! What could we be hiding? Nothing! Exactly! It ain't ... it ain't like Johnny's in love with ya or anything..." Two-Bit yells, exasperatedly laughing, wiping at his forehead. The rest of the guys turn to him with pure panic in their eyes. Suddenly, everything clicks. I swallow.

"Johnny's ... Johnny's in love with me?"

Their eyes snap to mine in an instant. It's like everything that's gone on between me and Johnny for the past few months playback in my mind. All the blushing, all the teasing from the rest of the guys. How could I have not realized it?

"How couldn't I have caught on?" I ask, almost yelling. Soda takes a step closer to me with his hands out like he's approaching something dangerous. When his eyes snap to something behind me, the same time as the other boys, I don't even notice, at the moment.

"How could nobody tell me?" I grab my hair, a hand on my forehead. "How could nobody tell me that Johnny's been in love with me?!"

A creaking sound makes its way to my ears, and I finally realize what everyone turned around at so fast.

Johnny's standing in the doorway to the bathroom, his jean jacket, which I assume he'd been holding in his hand, laying on the floor next to him. He's staring at me like I've just killed Pony or something, jaw slacked and eyes wider than I've ever seen 'em before. We make eye contact, and my heart drops low into my chest.

He licks his lips, thinking of something to say.

"Y/n..." he says softly. I don't even know how to respond.

"Johnny..."

Two-Bit sucks in a breath from behind me, and that's when Johnny turns from me to him, glaring at him like he wants to smack him over the head.

"I'm real, real, sorry Johnny, I swear it was an accident, I-"

Two-Bit stops talking when he realizes his rambling's no use. He looks at me for a second, tipping an invisible hat, and scrambling towards the door.

"Good luck!" He shouts. And he's gone, out the door just like that.

The rest of the gang looks over at us too, and then at the door that Two-Bit left from just a second ago. Then they're running outside the house, too, a tangle of limbs trying to escape whatever mess just started in the Curtis living room.

"See ya!" Soda yells over his shoulder, saluting the two of us and jogging away. Steve shrugs and follows, Ponyboy smiles meekly at me and does the same, and Darry, last of all, snaps his fingers at us and leaves too.

Now, it's just me and Johnny. Great.

No love confession I see in the movies ever looks like this. On the big screen, everyone starts trying to kiss each other and usually, the girl even sheds some tears. Right now, though, Johnny can't even lift his head to look at me, and we're both too scared to say anything. Real romantic, if you ask me.

I let out a puff of air from my lips. Nothing breaks the heavy silence. Not until Johnny clears his throat and looks up at me, starting to say something, but it's like the words die on his lips. I take a breath in.

"Johnny I-"

"Y/n-"

We both start speaking at the same time. I stop, and so does he, and then we're both chuckling under our breaths. The laughter makes this a little bit easier.

"Y/n..." he starts again, taking a sudden interest in his shoes. "I know how crappy this looks right now, alright? Sorry if I embarrassed you in front of the guys-

"Johnny stop-," I try to interrupt, but he puts up a hand determinedly.

"No, y/n. Let me just say this, okay? You don't gotta say anything, y/n. I already know what you're thinking and it's okay if you just think of me as some kid brother but I... I really need to just get all this off my chest 'cause it's been killing me, okay?"

He looks at me, waiting for an answer. I nod, and he takes a breath in.

"Okay well um..."

He pauses, shoves his hands in his pockets, and then sighs outwardly at himself.

"I can't think of a good way to say this, so here it goes. Y/n, I've ... I really like you. Yea ... I really, really, like you. I like everything about you. Your smile, your hair, you..., yea, just, you. And um, well, I've probably went and screwed up everything between us and our relationship and all, not that we're in a relationship, you know, but uh ... yeah, I uhm... yeah. I really like you and I just can't hold it in anymore.

"The guys only caught on a few weeks ago and it's been killing me that I couldn't tell you, but I just wasn't ready. Hell, I'm not even ready now. I don't know what the hell I've been talkin' about to you for the past minute and, shit, I really love you for not making fun of me- uh... not that I love you. I don't love you, wait, yea I do. Wait! Stop it, golly, I'm so-"

He stops. Well, he stopped cause I kissed him on the cheek, completely out of character for me. But I couldn't help it. He was rambling ... a lot. A blushing mess and everything with his fiddling fingers, I just couldn't help it. Johnny, yes, Johnny Cade, is damn adorable.

I have to stand up on my toes just to reach his cheek, but, I find, I really don't mind it. His puppy dog eyes go into shock when I pull away, and I have the urge to just wrap my arms around him right then and there.

He touches the spot where I laid a kiss on his cheek and looks down at his fingers as if something would be there. Then he looks down at me, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. I shrink into myself a little.

"Sorry, um, I don't know what got into me."

He laughs, calmer than I've seen him all night, but then he tenses up again and chews on his bottom lip.

"... Y/n?" he asks me.

"Yea Johnny?"

He shifts from foot to foot. On an impulse, I take his hand in mine. Surprisingly, he seems to calm down from it. He clears his throat and continues.

"You, uh, you wanted Two-Bit to tell you what my one wish would be, right?"

I laugh a little. That seems like it happened over an hour ago when it's really only been a handful of minutes.

"Yea, I guess, but it don't matter that much Johnny, trust me it's-"

"No-, just ... can I show you?"

I'm a little surprised by that.

"Show me?"

Johnny stammers a tad.

"Uh ... yea."

Looking up into his eyes, I notice that our hands are lightly clasping each other's. His eyes are like a pool of black, like the night sky. No wonder he likes looking at the stars with Pony so much. I grin softly.

"Sure Johnny. I'd like that."

He sighs a bit in relief and looks down at our hands, and then back at me. Leaning in ever so slowly, it seems like time slows for a few seconds, as he's nearing me, and then he stops. Our faces are so close, I can feel the soft, raven locks of hair on his forehead brushing the top of my head.

I give his hand a squeeze in reassurance and close the distance for him, pulling him in by his collar with more confidence than I've ever felt before. With parted lips, both of ours meet.

They move in a soft dance, back and forth. The kiss with him is gentle and sweet, the kind of kiss you'd expect from Johnny, without the awkwardness of it all. After a few seconds, he's the one pulling me in, lightly putting his hands on my waist.

My hands tangle in his hair, and it feels like I could get lost in this moment forever. I almost do. I almost do, that is, until I hear a dreadingly familiar whooping and hollering from outside.

Jonny and I pull apart quickly, snapping our heads towards the window where, of course, the gang is all spread out, clapping and yelling with their hands to their mouths. They notice us looking, and yell even louder.

"Get some, Johnny!" comes the muffled voice of Two-Bit from outside the window. Having forgotten the fact that Johnny's supposed to be mad at him for spilling his secret, he's shooting overexcited thumbs-up at him.

Sodapop winks my way. "Atta girl," he says with a smirk. Now, I'm the blushing mess, a pile of mush in Johnny's arms. He's blushing madly too, like always, but this time, I have the pleasure of knowing why. Boy, this is a weird feeling.

The rest of the gang keeps clapping and cheering, and even Pony's laughing at me during some of the fun. He's always had a soft spot for making me embarrassed at times like these. This time, though, as I'm staring up at Johnny and his adorably bashful face, I don't think I mind.

A slam comes from the backdoor, shocking me and Johnny out of our momentary trances. And, perfectly on time, here comes Dallas Winston.

"Got the cigs," he nods curtly. When he sees how close Jonny and I are standing, he stops in his tracks.

"Woah..." he says. Then he notices the screeching laughter of the gang out front and the embarrassingly noticeable reenactment of me and Johnny's kiss that Two-Bit seems to be doing on the lawn.

His head snaps to us, quicker than I've ever seen it. Concerned, Dally?

He rubs his slack-jaw with his hand.

"What the hell did I miss?"

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