Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU (because Game of Thrones just didn’t have enough fantasy drama for me)
Word count: 7.6k
Warnings: Angsty fluff, someone get’s punched but it’s not super dramatic
Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.
Notes: so the thing is right… I didn’t really mean to write this. It just sort of came out. Long story short. It’s an idea I had. If people like it, I’ll finish it. It will probably take 3-4 Parts to complete the story arc I have in mind. Each part about this long.
It wasn’t her banner or her looks that tipped Robb Stark off that she was (Y/n) Lannister. It was her being. The way she dismounted her horse while all of Winterfell still knelt before Robert Baratheon, as though everyone, even the King, was beneath her. The way she took her brother’s helping hand as if Lannister blood was the only thing worthy of touching her skin. The way her chin never dipped, always keeping her head up and her gaze held high. The way her feet glided over the ground with quick, sure steps that spoke of how little she wished to touch Northern soil. The way she never met the gaze of anyone, save her siblings, Robb’s father, and the King. (Y/n) Lannister could not have hidden her identity even if she tried, and she most certainly did not try.
She kept beside her brother as the King motioned for them to rise and greeted Robb’s father. Her eyes took the time to wander over the keep, and she kept her expression unreadably passive wherever they went. She made no acknowledgment that anything important was happening around her until her sister exited the carriage. (Y/n) released her brother’s arm and stepped forward to stand at the queen’s right hand.
“My queen,” Ned Stark said as he bent to kiss Cersei’s offered hand.
“My queen,” Catelyn echoed with a curtsy.
Cersei greeted both with a weary, but polite nod. “My sister,” Cersei stepped aside, positioning herself in front of Robb, and held out her hand for introductions, “(Y/n) Lannister, Lady of the Rock.”
"Oh, shit! No way. David Bowie. Y'all! We are so back."
"Wally came up with this. Makes us do it at every reunion."
School Spirits s02e06: Ghost Pointe Blank
Here we are, back again, fighting what’s in front of me.
summary: Despite being best friends for the past four years, you and Steve have never truly spent a Halloween together. Always at separate parties, separate dates. This year though, the two of you decide to keep it quiet both of you tired of the humiliation ritual that is dating.
The plans were simple: horror movies and pass out candy.
You’d be more excited if it wasn’t for the kiss the two of you shared drunk on a dare at Eddie Munson’s bonfire a week ago. A kiss the two of you have refused to talk about at all costs, A kiss you can’t seem to quit thinking about no matter how hard you try.
WC: 14k
warnings: 18+// Steve & reader are in their early to mid 20’s, stubborn idiots in love, classic we don’t want to ruin the friendship yearning, drinking, mentions of smoking, kissing, literally non stop tension, slight dry humping if you squint.
author’s note: This fic is inspired by Emily Henry’s People We Meet On Vacation, except for it’s in Hawkins with Steve, and revolves around their Halloweens over the years told between flash backs and current time. I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you have just as much fun reading it.
Halloween - now.
“Sour candy or chocolate?” Steve asks deep in thought, he’s standing in the brightly lit Halloween aisle of the local Piggly Wiggly with two different ‘Family Size’ bags of each in his equally big hands.
His eyebrows are pinched in the center of his forehead, marrying just below the swoop of hair that always fails to stay tucked behind his ear as he scans the shelves for a third, possibly better option with his full bottom lip tugged between perfect teeth.
This was peak Steve Harrington concentration.
“Sour candy, obviously.” You scoff, grabbing the neon Warheads bag out of his grasp, dumping it into the small cart that’s already full enough to make you regret not getting the large one Steve had suggested at the door.
It’s fine, you were supposed to be practicing self control tonight anyway, plus you would never tell him that he was right about something. Not unless you wanted to hear about it for the next week.
Self control is a new concept when it comes to Steve, but you are good at trying to practice it, refusing to meet his eyes as you brush past him, and again when you ignore the glimmer of electricity that’s sparked between the two of you since your friendship’s conception. It’s a lot harder to pretend now though, because touching him feels like sticking a wet hand to a power grid these days, all because of a childish dare to prove Eddie Munson wrong. A plan that backfired in your face pretty quickly after drunkenly locking lips with your best friend at the metal head’s bonfire last week, because neither one of you can back down from a challenge.
Or admit the truth.
Your friendship with Steve has always been a series of ‘what if’s’. An unspoken tension that everyone in the room could feel when the two of you were in it, but honestly Steve had chemistry with everyone. He was just one of those guys, and your bond only intensified it, at least that’s what you’ve told yourself over the years. Kissing him though? That was always the kind of ‘what if’ you’d only ever dared to think about in the dead of night - alone, in your room, before shoving it back deep down into the dark crevices of your mind. It always happened after a movie night that got a little too cozy under a shared blanket, wandering hands a little too daring in the dark, cinnamon and clove clinging to all the fabrics of your clothes.
Only now, it was a reality. One that hasn’t stopped playing on a loop since.
“I think we should get both.” Steve finally decides like it’s been something that’s kept him up at night, coming up behind you so close that his chest brushes against your back as he reaches around to dump the chocolate in the cart. His cologne tempts your senses like the devil trying to make a deal for your soul, and you wonder if holding your breath would be too dramatic.
”We’re going to have so much left over if we get both.” You argue with a smile twisting up the corners of your lips, but you make no effort to correct the situation. The uneven wheels squeak as you keep pushing the cart down the linoleum floors.
”Or we can be the best stop on the block, let these kids clean house.” He suggests as if he were a coach coming up with a play, pounding his fist into his open palm for the words ‘clean house’ before pushing the dark green sleeves of his Hawkins Community College sweater up his arms. A galaxy of freckles reveal themselves to you, clustering and spreading along his permanently sunkissed skin. They stand out even more under the fluorescents.
“I know you like winning, but I feel like I have to remind you that this isn’t a competition Harrington.” Grinning, you finally meet his amused eyes.
”Just getting into the Halloween spirit, that’s all honey.” Steve winks, pushing the wild strand back, just for it to fall across his face not even a second later. He ignores your protest when he bumps you to the side with his hip to take over pushing the cart. “Now the real question is what are we watching tonight?”
“I was thinking something along the lines of Army of Darkness, or Nightmare on Elm Street. Neither are very scary, I know how you get.” You couldn’t help but throw the little dig in retaliation for taking the cart from you, a giggle slipping past your lips at the side eye you get in return.
”I just don’t like being scared? Is that such a crime? You can go watch whatever you want with Eddie like the little weirdos you are.” He does a good job at keeping a straight face as the two of you get in line behind a family of five, but you catch a peek of his smirk when he leans over to put the divider on the black belt.
“Do I need to remind you that you invited yourself tonight? I should make you watch The Exorcist.”
It’s the genuine disbelief that paints his features that gets a full bellied laugh out of you, a big smile pushing up your glossed lips, and you can’t help notice how his gaze falls to them for a split second.
Self control.
”Sorry I want to spend my best friend’s favorite holiday with her, sue me.” Steve scoffs dramatically, setting the bags of candy on the moving belt first, the family ahead of you wrapping up.
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms stubbornly, cheeks burning hot at the smirk he gives you.
”Listen, I don’t actually care about what we watch, what I care about is that you’re going to let those pumpkins we carved finally see the light of day.” He pushes the now emptied cart ahead, leaning back against the wooden panel of the register, leaving just a few inches between you. An amused eyebrow arches at your annoyed groan in response.
”Steve, they are hideous.”
”Speak for yourself, I put my blood, sweat and tears into mine, he deserves his moment. He’s going outside.” He decides it with the kind of finality in his tone that you know means it’s going to be the first thing he does as soon as you get back.
”No one is going to come to the apartment, it will look like serial killers live there.”
“Or a couple of undiscovered artists. Who are also going to be the number one candy dealers on the block.” He argues, completely unphased by your protesting.
“Steve!” You whine, despite the smirk that creeps up your lips, and it makes Steve’s face split in two.
“Fine, but we’re watching whatever I want then.” You challenge, doing your best to ignore the flutter in your stomach when his foot brushes against yours and he keeps it there.
”Like within reason.” He succumbs with genuine concern, rubbing his palms nervously against his tight fitting light wash jeans at the thought of what you’re sure is the last movie Eddie made him sit through.
”I’m not a monster Harrington.” You wink, quietly thankful for the fact that the line starts to move, because like magnets you’d unconsciously migrated deeper between his spread legs.
Seizing the moment, you put some space between you just in time for Delores, or as her name tag reads to greet you both, popping the bubble you’d unknowingly trapped yourself in with him and bringing you back to reality.
Self Control.
Halloween - Three Years Ago.
“I really can’t believe you’re choosing to go to Eddie’s Halloween party over Tina’s.” Steve yells over Eddie Money’s ‘Take Me Home Tonight’ from his bathroom.
”And I can’t believe you’re going on a date with Brenda, again.” You retort, recalling the last time he tried to date her six months ago, and how he had to disconnect his landline after he ended things.
Granted he was breaking up with her because the new foreign exchange student at the time was showing interest, and he’d rather have a semester of fun with her than spend the winter playing boyfriend with Brenda. So you definitely understood where she was coming from, in fact you constantly reminded Steve you were on her side every time he’d try and complain about the mess he made. Messes he always seemed to make.
You ignored the unreasonable pit of jealousy that formed in your gut then, just like you are now, cause in no universe are you going to allow yourself to have a crush on your best friend. There was no way you were going to fall victim to the Harrington charm just like everyone else, you liked hanging out with him too much for that. It would be a cold day in hell if you ended up as one of Steve’s messes, because in an alternate reality where you gave in to the ‘what if’ and it didn’t work out, there’s no way you’d be able to go back to watching him do exactly what he’s doing right now.
You wouldn’t be able to have movie nights where maybe you both sit a little too close, laughing until your sides hurt and snacking on whatever is in front of you. No more late drives to lovers lake, just so you can get a better view of the moon when it's full, and staying out till sunrise, stopping at Denny’s to share a grand slam on your way home. No more talks about the future and how much the uncertainty of it all scares you both. No more having someone you can be completely yourself around. Someone who won’t judge you for your faults, someone who shows up when no one else will. Neither one of you could lose that.
”Look, it’s been a few months. She seems over it, besides it’s not like it’s anything serious.” He tries to reason, finally stepping out of his bathroom to give you the first look at his costume. ”What do you think?”
You never thought Indiana Jones was hot, even when he made you watch all three movies in preparation for this, but Steve as Indiana Jones was another story entirely.
His dark brown pants are tucked into black boots, fitting his waist perfectly with a chocolate colored belt wrapped around his hips only extenuating it more. The cream colored button up leaves little to the imagination since he only has the bottom two done, half hazardly tucked into the front of his pants. You notice the silver chain that you’d gotten him for Christmas last year hanging from his neck, the dog tag at the end of it getting lost in the thick thatch of hair on his chest and it leaves your body warm. He opts out of the fedora because according to him it would hide his “best asset” so that wild strand swoops across his forehead like it's on purpose.
Steve Harrington looked like a movie star.
Brenda didn’t know what was coming for her, and you have to swallow that sour taste in your mouth for the second time tonight.
“I’d say Stephen Spielberg needs to seriously consider recasting you as the lead instead of Harrison Ford.” You feed into his delusion, because that’s what best friends are for.
”Right? Right?” He spins around one more time, flashing that million dollar smile of his that devastates anyone he directs it at. You have to remind yourself of everything that you could lose again.
It’s Steve’s turn to take in your costume. Golden brown eyes sparkling with amusement and the kind of adoration that was hard to ignore. You’re a Venus fly trap from the Little Shop of Horrors, wrapped up in a dark green form fitting tube top dress that stops at the middle of your thighs with jagged cut ends you made yourself with a dull pair of kitchen scissors. The silk gloves that go up to your elbows are the same shade of emerald, along with the little paper mache fly trap heads that Robin helped you make sticking out of the top of your pinned up hair. Glitter covers every exposed inch of your chest, and shimmers in the corners of your eyes. You had felt confident enough to even reconsider going to Tina’s instead when you applied your red lipstick before leaving for Steve’s. His reaction only makes it soar.
”What do you think?” You smile, taking your turn to spin.
”Who are you trying to impress at this party again?” Steve quirks an eyebrow, a darkened gaze lingering over all the details of you, taking his time where a best friend shouldn’t and it makes you squirm.
”Jonathan’s friend that’s visiting from California. You know him, Argyle."
He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand before moving past you to grab his cologne from the top of his dresser.
”Him? Why? He’s only here for like two more days anyway.” He challenges with his back turned, and you know it’s on purpose.
”Okay? And?” You snap, his hypocrisy quickly snuffing out the jealousy that seemed to get comfortable in your gut and turning it into anger. You prefer it. So you lean into it. “You’re the only one who get’s to fuck around with no strings attached?”
”He’s a stoner pizza delivery man, I don’t really know what you’d see in that. Don’t lower your standards just to hook up with someone because you look cute tonight.”
Because you look cute tonight.
It’s your turn to scoff.
“You’re being a complete ass, Harrington. Like working at a video store is any better. He’s nice, and makes me laugh. We already hung out the other night. Then guess what? He walked me home and kissed me at my front door. I don’t think I need to impress anybody.” Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, hands balling into fists at your side. How dare he.
What makes you even more mad is that it feels like it’s Steve who’s jealous. Steve who’s getting ready to go on a date with someone else. Steve who didn’t ask you when you were always right here.
”Oh, so that’s why we didn’t hang out the other night, got it.” He raises his eyebrows, lips turning into a frown before nodding his head.
“We hang out almost every other night Steve, I don’t say anything to you when you go out on dates, and you go out on a ton of them. I think you’ve dated almost every girl in my Liberal Arts Class. I’m not appreciating this double standard, or you questioning my judgment.” Your words carry the kind of venom that stings, and you can see it all over his face. The worst part was how you immediately feel bad, frustrated tears threatening to spill over the shimmer that covers your cheeks.
Steve’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. He meets your eyes after a few seconds, soft and apologetic, traces of unmistakable regret in the dark pools of his irises.
”You’re right, I’m sorry.” He sighs, straightening up, shifting his belt buckle around. “I don’t know why I’m being so-, I just think, I just -“
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and decide if he really wants to say what’s trying to escape from the tip of his tongue.
”I just don’t think anyone’s good enough for you.”
You let his words sink it. They make the anger that fueled you cool down to a low simmer so that jealous pit can come back to reclaim its rightful throne.
”Well I could say the same thing for you too.” You mutter, refusing to meet his gaze, you weren’t ready to yet.
The silence that fills the space between you is full of those what if’s and half truths. It stays there just long enough for you to finally look at him with the mask you’re used to wearing.
”Apology accepted. The game plan then is for you to try and not to end up getting tied to Brenda’s bed, and I’ll try to make sure Eddie doesn’t burn his trailer to the ground.”
Steve stares at you for a while, like he knows the conversation needs to move on but he doesn’t want it too. Logic wins out no matter how forced it seems, because he follows your lead.
“He’ll need you, buddy needs to cool it with the lighter fluid. And for what it’s worth your costume looks amazing. You guys did great.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
He spots the whip at the end of his bed, playfully flicking the head of one of the fly traps with his fingers as he walks past, and you have to stop yourself from inhaling the cedar and honey that invades your senses from his cologne. It’s not the one with cinnamon that you love, the one he only wears in the fall, the one that he wears for you.
“Come on, I’ll drop you off on my way.”
Halloween - Now.
“So what’s the game plan chief?” Steve grins, leaning over your kitchen island, long fingers digging through the freshly filled candy bowl for a pack of Swedish fish.
”There’s no game plan, we hang out, kids walk up, they ring the door bell, then we give them candy and they walk away.” You swat his hand from the treats, but let him keep the gummy candy he searched so hard for. “No good supplier eats his stash Harrington, and I can’t believe I just had to explain the concept of trick or treating to you.”
You don’t tell him about the pile you already set aside to share later.
“What? I’m rusty! And, you gotta test the quality of the product honey, I’m a professional, I know what I’m doing.” He argues with his mouth full.
”Eww keep your mouth closed please and you can’t be rusty and a professional at the same time.”
He sticks his tongue out in response with a whole mini bag of half devoured Swedish fish on it.
”I hate you.”
”No you don’t.” He smirks, chewing the rest before pushing himself up right with a big gulp, letting you admire the cozy attire he changed into after you got back from the store.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone make grey sweatpants and a black crew neck sweater look so good. A sweater he made sure to tell you he wore just for you today, the only black top he owns.
“I’m still mad you didn’t get me any Halloween socks.” Steve points to the fuzzy black ones with jack o lanterns on your feet.
You’d opted for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, Steve’s oversized sweater actually, he’d left at your place almost a year ago and never bothered to reclaim it. The dark burnt orange color of it reminded you of fall, and for a while it smelt like him too. You’d never admit that last part to anyone, or that you were excited at the prospect of getting that smell back after tonight.
”You could have easily grabbed a pair at the store earlier, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to be festive.”
The roll of your eyes is hard, but the smile that twists at the corner of your lips is soft for him as you grab the bowls of candy, silently indicating for him to follow you to the living room.
”I’d like to think I’m pretty festive.” He scoffs, tube sock covered feet padding loudly against the old wood floors of your apartment. “This is the first year I’m not dressing up, actually.”
”Because you don’t have a girl you can do a couples costume with this year.” You retort, setting the candy down on the coffee table before lazily flinging yourself onto the blanket and pillow covered couch.
“One, I could have very easily gotten a date for Tina’s party tonight, let's not pretend that you and I don’t both know that. And two, that’s not true either, the year before last I didn’t have a date, I went with Robin as Mario and Luigi. You were the one that had a date that year, it was that douche bag Ryan from your English Lit class.” He snorts at the memory and the boy you’d almost forgotten about, but clearly your best friend hadn’t.
Dropping into the spot he always takes next to you, Steve lets himself melt into the familiar cushions. His knee bumps yours when he spreads his legs wide with an appreciative groan before leaning his head back against the headrest closing his eyes.
“Ryan was not a douche bag.” He was.
Steve opens one eye, a lopsided grin pulling up on your favorite cheek dotted with two moles.
“Yes, he was and you know it. He wrote you one poem and you were smitten, one shitty poem. I could’ve written you a better one.”
”Then why didn’t you.”
Steve’s eyes shine, but he doesn’t answer you, instead the two of you just sit there in silence smiling at each other in a silent dare that's always there. His knee presses into yours harder, and the butterflies that’d you’d done a good job at keeping dormant flutter back to life. Then you see his gaze flick down to your lips again.
Self control.
”L-lets start the movie.” You stutter, unable to tell if you yelled the words or if it really was just that quiet.
Leaning over, you grab the remote off the coffee table with a kind of quickness that would make you think there was a gun pointed to your head. Steve’s continued silence doesn’t help anything either, he just drapes both arms across the back of the couch, wiggling himself deeper into his spot. The movement has your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you press play, starting the VHS. You had finally settled on Nightmare on Elm street on the car ride back.
It’s second nature to lean over Steve to turn off the lamp, although after last week it feels taboo but it’s too late to stop by the time the realization dawns on you. The light disappears with a loud click leaving just the small one over the stove in the kitchen as your only source besides the TV and the porch light that bleeds through your blinds from outside.
Electricity sparks and fizzes in the air around you the moment the room succumbs to darkness, and your chest accidentally brushes with his as you plop back into your seat. Steve sucks in a sharp intake of breath from the unexpected contact, but still he doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up like he always does, long fingers wrapping around your knees to drape your legs over the top of his thighs.
Tucked under his arm like this, it’s easy to inhale him, bask in him and the warm cinnamon that mixes into his usual amber in the fall. He’s wearing your favorite. You nuzzle your cheek into his chest becoming greedy, the cozy scent calming your nerves, you get lost in it, and if he notices he doesn’t show it. He squeezes you closer, the top of his chin finding a new home on the crown of your head, while the pad of his thumb rubs circles on the sore muscle of your calf with pointed pressure.
Secretly, you always knew this moment, the one right here, was the cheat code every time you had ‘movie nights’ just the two of you. The excuse to let yourselves have this one thing. A silent agreement to never ruin the friendship by giving in just enough to keep the temptation at bay. An equal craving for the kind of affection that only feels good with someone you love, but as the years go by, the bolder both your touches get under the cloak of a dark room and a blanket, you wonder if it’s more than that. If there’s a world where he thinks about risking it all too.
Halloween - Two Years Ago.
You weren’t supposed to end up at Tina’s Halloween Party, but Ryan wanted to make an appearance after the two of you left Reefer Rick’s. He’d offered to be the DD, but three group shots of pickle bombs into it, you and everyone could tell he wasn’t having a good time. So since your apartment was walking distance from Tina’s, it made sense to end the night there or at least that’s how he explained it when he told you he wanted to leave.
The usual anxiety that tightens in your chest returns at the thought of seeing your best friend, somersaults in your stomach you refuse to call butterflies. In fact, you’ve done a good job at convincing yourself this is totally normal, because you can’t remember a time where it didn’t feel like this to see him.
Robin would be there too thankfully, because the two of them had entered Tina’s annual costume contest as Mario and Luigi. Costumes you watched them both make all week, sprawled out across Robin’s bedroom floor, pricking fingers till they bled trying to sew. The worst part about it though, was how cute Steve made the oversized mustache look. Some people really do have it all.
Ryan keeps you close to his side when the two of you enter the packed house dressed as Frankenstein and his bride. Monster Mash blares from the speakers so loud you wonder how much time you have left before Hopper comes knocking on the door to shut it down. You scan the crowd for the familiar red and green in a sea of witches, mermaids, and Top Gun characters, finding the two of them in the corner closest to the kitchen. Closest to the booze.
You can’t fight the way your face lights up when Steve’s gaze meets yours through the crowd, his own smile growing so big that half his mustache falls off. Suddenly coming to Tina’s was the best idea Ryan’s ever had. You tug at his arm, leading him towards the two Mario brothers that wave eagerly at you.
”Oh, great. Steve’s here.” Ryan mutters, sounding less than thrilled but you choose to ignore it, and the very obvious tension between the two men that’s existed since they met.
”Finally you come to the superior party!” Robin exclaims hugging you tight, before giving Ryan an awkward side one.
”She’s aliiiiive!” Steve who is clearly feeling very good yells over the music, before scooping you up in his arms.
He gives you the kind of hug that’s usually reserved for the long goodbye after a self indulgent movie night. The kind that has his big palms splayed across your back, pulling you flush against him, the thin material of your ripped white dress and his ramshackled overalls leaves little to the imagination. His lips find their way to the shell of your ear, tequila and lime warm on his breath, pebbling goosebumps along the back of your neck. He’s wearing your favorite cologne.
”You look beautiful, honey.”
He lets you go with that, and you catch the smug way he looks at Ryan over the top of your head. The smile on Robin’s face is awkward as you meet her gaze with a silent plea for help, you don’t know what exactly you want her to do, but your body is on fire and someone needs to put it out. You stare a little longer as if to communicate this delima to her telepathically even though you would never admit it to her with your words, only giving up on your dead end mission when you feel Ryan tug you back to his side by your hip.
”She does, doesn’t she.” Ryan agrees, fingers threatening to dig bruises in your side unknowingly. Steve always did this to him, but tonight the alcohol intensified it.
“Seriously, literally always so stunning.” Robin agrees on your beauty nervously, giving you an apologetic look that she couldn’t think of anything better.
”Let’s get some shots!” You try with mock excitement in a desperate attempt to remind Ryan why you came here and that it’s not to punch Steve’s teeth in with a squeeze of his hand. It’s a fruitless effort to try and ignore the growing heat that warms under your cheeks and churns deep in your gut where your body always seems to betray you.
”Great idea!” Robin exclaims doing her best to copy your tone, it seems to be enough to shake the boys out of their silent dick swinging contest.
”Tequila or rum?” You ask your date, laying a hand on his chest doing your best to ignore the heat of Steve’s stare on the back of your head.
“Tequila.” He answers, placing his palm on the top of your hand, bending down, his eyes flick towards your best friend before kissing you. Marking his territory.
You’d think it was hot if your body had any kind of reaction to him, but it’s still practically humming for the one behind you and you hate yourself for it.
”I’ll be right back.” You wink, giving Ryan’s fingers a squeeze before slipping through the crowd towards the kitchen without looking back.
It’s quieter in the yellow light of Tina’s kitchen, the music a low thump instead of overpowering all your senses at once. A shaky breath slips past your black painted lips, while uneasy hands half hazardly read the labels on the cheap bottles of liquor. The bold letters that spell Tequila finally catch your eye on the most generic looking bottle. You grimace at the thought of the hang over that seals your fate tomorrow, but then you remember the way the lime smelt on Steve’s breath.
“You look beautiful honey.”
Fuck it. You take one straight from the bottle for good measure. No salt, no lime, just regret.
“Your boyfriend’s a little insecure isn’t he?”
As if thinking about him makes him appear, Steve walks through the kitchen pointing a thumb over his shoulder towards the direction Ryan’s in.
“He’s not my boyfriend yet, and he won’t be because you keep egging him on, Harrington.” You sigh exasperated, ignoring the way he chuckles not taking you seriously at all before turning around to face him, your palms finding purchase on the kitchen counter behind you.
“Maybe, just a little.” He pinches his thumb and index finger together with a devious smirk that looks even more absurd in his costume. At least his oversized mustache must’ve been left with Robin. “I just don’t like him is all.”
“You don’t like anyone I’m interested in, Steve.”
You want to ask him why. The alcohol almost starts to make you brave enough to do it too. Why does he do this every time it’s your turn to date around? Why does he always have a list of issues on how they simply aren’t good enough? Why is it always a competition? Sometimes you wonder if it’d just be easier to hear him say it out loud instead of doing whatever this is.
“Well, that may be true, but you also have terrible taste.” He closes the space between you, mimicking your stance on the kitchen island across from where you face him. The tips of your shoes are close enough to touch.
“Who would you like me to date then?” Your question is supposed to sound snarky and mean, not quiet with weight wrapped around it like it does
The look in his glossy eyes steals the air from your lungs, like he’s daring you to say it.
You both know you won’t and he changes the subject.
“I can’t believe I caught you doing a tequila shot without salt and lime. Especially that tequila.” He tsks, pushing himself off the counter and invades what little is left of the space between you. You can smell the cinnamon again.
“Well I needed a quick stress reliever, no thanks to you.” You should be embarrassed by how breathy it comes out, but when he holds your gaze like this, like he wants to eat you alive, it’s hard to care.
It's just the liquor you tell yourself, Steve’s been drinking all night.
He mutters a ‘hmm’ under his breath, long fingers wrapping just tight enough around your wrist that you could pull away if you wanted too. You don’t though, instead you bite your bottom lip, too selfishly invested in what he might do next.
Steve reaches behind you, grabbing the salt shaker that dwarfs in his grasp, lifting your hand up to your mouth.
“Lick.” He smirks devilishly, and you realize you’re getting the full force of his charm.
“Steve.” You whisper, just barely audible over your heart thrumming out of your chest. You can feel it in your ears.
Thump, thump, thump, thump
“We’re gonna do a shot together, the right way.” He reasons like this is a completely normal interaction between two friends while the gold shimmering in his eyes darkens.
You don’t say anything, searching his face for any sign of this being some kind of prank just to see how you’d react. But the way he licks his lips tells you pretty quickly that it’s not.
So you do it. Holding his eyes the whole time, and you swear they turn onyx.
It’s his turn to stay silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he taps the shaker over the corner of your hand before doing the same to his own, and now it’s your turn to stare as his pink tongue licks a perfect straight line. All the stories you’ve heard about him flood to the forefront of your mind, the endless pillow talk about Steve Harrington that fills the college halls.
You hate that the motion has your thighs pressing together, especially with Ryan just outside waiting for your return, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to leave. Your eyes trace the veins in his neck, silently counting the freckles that explode across his skin as he pours up two shots.
“Here honey.” He whispers, like he’s scared for this bubble to pop too.
The two of you cheers, glass clinking loudly in the silence, eyes staying trained on each other like you need to memorize every detail of this moment. Like this was never going to happen again.
The tequila doesn’t taste as bad followed up with the salt and the lime. Steve does it like a pro, like a boy who’s been to every party this small town has to offer. He doesn’t even take that ‘this is disgusting’ suck of breath through his teeth, he just smiles at you setting the shot glass down.
“Hey, is everything okay? Do you need help? Oh.”
It’s only fitting that it’s Ryan who pops your carefully crafted bubble, and you know it will be another fight about Steve on the walk home. Another night to get buried with all the others just like this, and a night that has you and Steve avoid being alone together for a week.
Halloween - Now.
It’s hard to concentrate on Freddy terrorizing a young Johnny Depp when the tips of Steve’s fingers move from your calf to the top of your thigh, a motion he’s repeated for half the movie. A move that gets bolder, higher, pushing the boundaries with every swipe. He has to feel the way it makes you squirm, in fact, you think it’s spurring him on. Especially when he gets dangerously close to the soft outline of your underwear, a quiet gasp escaping past your lips.
Luckily, you're saved by the sound of your doorbell, the first trick or treaters of the night making you both jump.
“Finally!” Steve exclaims like he wasn’t just actively tempting you to cross the line for the second time this week, like he didn’t already know what your tongue tasted like.
The bonfire comes back in flashes, teeth scraping, nipping, the whistles that got drowned out when his hand came up to your cheek opening you up more when it was just supposed to be a peck.
”Hello? Are we just going to keep them waiting?” He snaps you back to reality, standing over you with his hands out for you to take. “I don’t really want to beat you at your own game.”
”Again Steve, this is not a sport, you can’t win at something when there’s no prize.” You groan, refusing to meet eyes but slide your hands into his.
“Sure you can.” He winks, letting you go the moment you get on your feet, extending his arm for you to lead the way.
His playful demeanor has you feeling like maybe you just imagined the last thirty minutes. Was he not affected the way you were? Has it always just been you? Did the kiss not make him question everything?
”Whatever you say Harrington.” Sighing, you try for the hundredth time this week to push the thoughts of your bottom lip between his teeth down where they can’t see the light of day.
So distracted by the man behind you, the lack of candy in your hands has you stopping dead in your tracks without thinking, the domino effect slams his hard chest right into your back.
”Foul ball.” Steve huffs, steadying you both with hands on your hips. The warmth of them bleeding through the thick fabric of your sweater. “I thought you said this wasn’t a game.”
What you hated most about Steve Harrington was that he always knew how to make you laugh even when you didn’t want to.
”Well if this were a game, we’d be losing.”
Genuine panic paints his features like a truly serious offense has occurred.
“We forgot the candy.”
He groans, running a hand through his hair that you wish was your own.
”Wow, total rookie mistake, we gotta get it together or we’re gonna get benched.” Clapping loudly he turns on his heel to grab both bowls, “I do not wanna get on the coach's bad side.”
”You don’t have to bring both.” You try your hardest to fight the smile that wants to twist up the corners of your lips. “And who’s the coach?”
”We’re not going to be under prepared this time sweetheart, and I need to see who picked the better candy, if they’re even still there!” Steve tutts with a shake of his head gliding past you. “And you’re the coach, duh.”
”Why do you always like to participate in competitions you know you’re going to lose?” Crossing your arms, you light up at his narrowed gaze, his long fingers wrapped around the door handle, “I mean, we might as well take a poll of the ugly pumpkins you made us put out too while we’re at it.
“Sounds like a great idea.” He grins smugly, “I love how much you lean into intimidation tactics when you know you won’t win by the way.” He doesn’t give you any time to respond, swinging the door open with the kind of excitement that would rival a kid on Christmas morning.
Then you watch it drain from his face almost instantly, quickly replaced by pure annoyance.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Steve, stacks one of the candy bowls on top of the other, leaning on your door with a hand on his hip.
”What does it look like we’re doing?” You hear Mike Wheeler’s voice before you see him, but when you meet Steve at the door, you realize it’s all four of his ‘children’ and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles past your lips because they’re all dressed as The Cone Heads.
“It looks like legal adults going to strangers' houses asking for candy, instead of being at a party, meeting girls. Will you’re excluded in that last part, obviously.” Your best friend runs another irritated hand through his hair.
“I’m not sure they’ll be able to chase tail dressed as Beldar Conehead, Steve.” You can’t stop giggling. “Just give them some candy.”
”Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Harrington.” Dustin antagonizes, shaking his empty pillow case in front of him. “Give us the sour candies and we’ll get out of your hair.”
”One, she’s not my girlfriend, dip shit, and two, what's wrong with Snickers?”
“Sour candy’s just better.” Lucas shrugs, “Now hand over the Warheads.”
She’s not my girlfriend.
It feels like an expected punch in the gut. The final nail in the coffin your last shred of hope lays in. You should have known better, but the kiss made everything fuzzy, the self control you prided yourself on waning in a way that you weren’t sure you could ever get back.
“You guys can have as much as you want.” You say ignoring Steve, snatching the bowls from his hand.
“Seriously? They can buy their own!” He groans, leaning his back on the door crossing his arms over his chest.
“She’s not your girlfriend, huh? You seemed pretty whipped to me,” Mike laughs knowing just how much this is getting under Steve’s skin.
You know it’s supposed to be somewhat of a compliment but it just adds salt to a wound that won’t stay closed.
”Shut up, that’s enough,” Steve smacks the back of Mike’s head hard enough to get an ‘Ouch! Asshole!’, the cone on top wobbling. “Get out of here and go to a god damn party.”
The boys take half the bowl of Warheads, walking away arguing about who can put the most in their mouth without spitting them out. They only took a few pieces of Steve’s chocolate, leaving you the clear winner this round, something you’d be more excited about rubbing in his face if you weren’t trying to actively avoid it. The taste of disappointment is bitter on your tongue, but you do your best to swallow it down. A hard lesson learned, but one your heart can’t bear to repeat again. All you know is that you can’t go back to being best friends with wandering hands in the dark.
Self control.
The Bon Fire - Last Week
Eddie Munson’s filter always disappeared when he was drunk, it was part of the fun of drinking with him. Except for when his unfiltered thoughts were about you.
”Oh give me a fucking break!” Eddie yells at you from across the flames that lick the night sky violently. The excessive amount of lighter fluid he’s sprayed into them should be illegal. A half smoked cigarette dangles from the side of his mouth, dangerously close to falling out as he finishes.
“The only reason you and Steve are still single is because the two of you refuse to acknowledge the fact that you’re clearly in love with each other!”
”Fuck. Off. Munson.” Steve glowers from the lawn chair next to you, taking a swig from his 5th beer of the night.
”What? ‘Fuck off’ because I got your ass?” Eddie adjusts in his seat, saving his cigarette, fully prepared for this debate like he’s been waiting for it all his life.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You argue weakly, following Steve’s lead and taking another “sip” of your empty beer.
The metal head guffaws.
“Please, I’ve been watching the two of you for the past four years. Steve scares off any guy you try to date and you let him, which makes me believe you feel the same way, and Steve only dates girls he knows he’ll never have a connection with!” Eddie claps his hands every few words to really drive his point home, and it leaves your argument a jumbled mess on the tip of your tongue.
The vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington.
”One, she dates horrible guys -“ Steve starts but immediately gets cut off by Eddie’s sarcastic “Sure!” And your “Hey!”
“Are you going to let me finish?” Your best friend narrows his eyes, polishing off his beer with an apologetic glance flashed briefly in your direction.
”You can if you want, but it’s not going to change my mind or anyone else’s at this party.” Eddie eggs him on more, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose like a bull. Taunting you both.
You look around the fire for help foolishly thinking your friends were going to be on your side only to realize literally everyone is avoiding your gaze, even Robin.
”Robin!” The gasp that escapes you shouldn’t sound so surprised. She spends the most time with both of you.
“What?! I’m not Eddie! Yell at him!” She exclaims defensively, but her eyes are still everywhere but yours.
”Then look at me.” You cross your arms, arching a brow with a tilt of your chin.
She mumbles something about killing Eddie under her breath, messing with the empty beer bottles next to her like she’s looking for something. She was procrastinating.
”Oh my god! Seriously?”
Eddie chuckles victoriously and you swear you hear Nancy giggle from the spot next to Robin. Sinking into the hard plastic of your chair, you dare to sneak a glance at Steve who’s face is entirely unreadable. This was worse than your worst nightmare, this was reality.
”Look,” Eddie starts again, leaning forward in his chair like some sort of evil mastermind from a bad action movie, “If it’s all in our heads like you keep saying it is. That she really does have terrible taste in men and that you’ve really just exhausted all your options in Hawkins. Kiss then.”
Robin gasps dramatically.
”Are you really doing this right now, Munson?” Steve glowers through gritted teeth before shooting Robin a look so harsh she covers her face.
”Why not? What’s it going to hurt? I’m sure you’ve both thought about it before.” He shrugs, a cheshire smile poking dimples into both his cheeks. “Unless you’re too scared to do it, which would then make me continue to believe everything I just said was true.”
God, Eddie Munson knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to press Steve’s buttons. He knew exactly how dug in both your heels were, holding up that invisible line that’s saved you for the past four years. And you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to kill him, and dump his body into the lake or be eternally grateful for someone finally ripping this old bandaid off. You just didn’t know if there was going to be a scar underneath.
”And why’s that?” You chime in finally finding your voice, snarky and rude. You’ve decided to lean into the anger, and ignore the heat of Steve’s stare warming the side of your face.
“Guys, this is getting a little weird.” Robin tries to intervene, the rasp in her voice uneasy, holding both her arms out like both boys might jump through the fire at each other soon.
”I dare you both to prove me wrong, and then I’ll let it go.” He sits back in his chair, a cigarette put out by his combat boots, and folds his hands in front of him. ”Just a peck.”
”Eddie, come on-“ Robin starts but Steve cuts her off.
”No, no, no it’s fine Rob.”
That’s when he does it, he turns to face you because Steve Harrington never backs down from a dare. Even if it means throwing a boulder at your glass house. Eddie was playing chess while Steve played checkers, and you start to believe all the drunken stories he told you about the campaigns he wrote for his DND club in high school. Your best friend will unfortunately always be an easy target.
“It’s fine, if this freak wants a little show to get off to later, we’re perfectly capable of a peck. My Mom gives out pecks like they’re candy! N-not like to me alone specifically,” He clears his throat awkwardly, “Like the rest of my family too.”
You grimace at the idea of Steve kissing you like his Mom and Eddie’s eyes sparkle.
”Okay,” Steve waves his hands, eyes closing tight in frustration, “This is coming out wrong! All I’m trying to say is, no big deal Munson, if it’ll get you to shut up, we’d love to prove you wrong, right?”
Wait, was Steve really agreeing to this? Were you really going to have your first kiss with him in front of all of your friends? A kiss you’ve shamefully thought about more than you should. Did he actually want to kiss you? Is he really doing this to shut Eddie up?
”Yeah, not a big deal. You’ll see, and then I’ll be expecting free weed for at least a month.” You try to over compensate with a brave face, but Eddie sees right through it.
”Sure.” He grins, utterly pleased with himself.
”Well what do I get?” Steve glares at his friend expectantly.
”You don’t get anything Harrington, shut up.”
“Wow, doesn’t seem fair, but whatever.” He mumbles, before finally focusing on you, and you aren’t sure you’re ready.
It feels kismet the moment your eyes meet, the sounds of the party fading around you, leaving only the crackling fire and your heart beating so loud it rings in your ears, and thumps through the tips of all ten of your fingers. The bubble you’ve carefully made together, the one that’s kept you safe for this long comes out like a shield. The last defense.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Steve licks his lips, eyes silently communicating with you to make sure this is really okay, that you guys were actually going to do this and all you can muster is a nod. He scoots his chair close enough for the sides of your hands to touch, amber and cinnamon wrapping around you like a spell.
”Just me and you okay?” He whispers loud enough for your ears only.
”Yeah,” you agree, hooking your pinky with his, “me and you.”
Steve smiles that smile he doesn’t give anyone else, and suddenly you don’t care about the answer to any of those questions swirling around loud in your brain. You want this. You want him. Even if it’s just for right now.
His nose brushes against yours, miller lite and mint hot on his breath. It makes your lashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks, your skin warming as if you were standing in front of the sun. It’s so gentle when his bottom lip connects with the top of yours, it almost tickles. He exhales a deep breath through his nose, mouth hovering for what feels like an eternity.
Thump, thump, tump, thump.
When the soft silk of his lips finally meets yours, you swear the earth shakes, and after a few seconds when he pulls away with that dazed look on his face you wonder if he felt it too. He blinks a few times, slow and bewildered, something shifting behind his brown eyes that you can’t figure out. Steve doesn’t give you much time to try before his lips are on yours again, that big hand of his finding your cheek, tilting your willing chin up just enough to open you up. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip asking for more and you give it to him without question tasting him for the first time.
Steve Harrington was kissing you, really kissing you.
“I hope those aren’t the kinda pecks your Mom’s handing out like candy, Harrington!” Eddie gloats loud enough to break through the haze, causing both of you to remember where you are.
Steve’s in no rush to pull away though, in fact, he takes his time, perfect teeth nipping gently at your bottom lip for good measure. He lingers like stopping this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. The tip of his nose runs along the length of yours, and for a second you think he might keep kissing you. His eyes are already fixated on yours when you meet his stare with fluttering lashes. He holds your gaze like he’s desperately trying to read your mind, the pad of his thumb swiping against your bottom lip not once but twice before finally letting you go.
”You happy now, Munson?” Steve huffs flopping back into his chair with rose colored cheeks. He leans down to grab his beer, running a hand through his untamable hair before taking a swig like that didn’t just change everything.
Oh no.
“Literally couldn’t be happier, Harrington. I think I’m going to start charging double for my eighths now, actually.” Eddie grins winking at you, only for his face to soften meeting your unreadable expression.
Frozen in your seat, your fingers press against your lips. You could still feel his teeth.
“What do you mean?” Steve interjects, refusing to look in your direction.
Oh no.
“What do you mean?” The metal head challenges, with a confused raise of his eyebrow. “There’s witnesses Harrington.”
He waves his ringed finger in a circular motion reminding you both of the still very much ongoing party around you. It’s hard to feel the familiar ache of disappointment when your bones won’t stop buzzing. They don’t get it, they don’t realize they bore witness to the kind of moment that moved tectonic plates for you. The kind of moment that you know is going to change everything no matter how hard you try.
”We did your dare, she gets free weed.” Steve continues like it’s obvious.
“Yeah, no. You two were practically eating each other alive. I actually think people started to feel awkward, that’s how insane it was.” Eddie’s disbelief furrows his brows together, head cocking to the side. “So, clearly, I was right.”
At least he’s got the balls to say it.
“When I win, I like to win big, okay?” Steve smirks with his kiss bitten lips, making the next thing he says sting even more. “You’d never let it go if it was just a peck.”
Oh no.
Your eyes meet Robin’s, and the expression on her face makes you wish you hadn’t.
”Right?” It takes you a minute to realize Steve is talking to you, in fact it’s not until you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder from the hand that was just cupping your cheek.
He’s asking you to agree that it meant nothing, that you both got Eddie, that you two are only everything you’ve ever said you were. Everyone stares at you, and for the second time tonight you wish this was a nightmare. You wonder if you should just pinch yourself to see.
”I’ll take my first free eighth tonight.” You finally manage, giving Eddie a weak smile.
Oh no.
Halloween - Now
Steve feels miles away on the other side of the couch, a conscious choice you made after his teenage children left, after he made it abundantly clear where he still stood with you. It’s a choice you’re going to dig your heels into no matter how much your body physically aches to be close to him, or how his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing almost three movies and a whole lot of trick or treaters later.
The clear pink digital clock on your mantle reads 12:18 AM in bright red numbers, A Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors lights up your TV and despite the distance, Steve still hasn’t left. You know he wants to ask why you’re so far away, why you’re not wrapped up in his arms like it doesn’t matter, like last week never happened but then he would have to talk about it. Acknowledge it.
You fucking hated, ‘It’, and maybe Eddie Munson too.
Shadows dance across Steve’s face, eyes intent on the TV with knitted brows that meet in the middle of his forehead. Those hands that had wandered your body under blankets woven with secrets and what if’s for the past four years sit propped behind his head as he leans back into the cushions. His legs are spread wide, in a position that looks uncomfortable, letting you know he’s lost in whatever argument he’s been having with himself since the second movie after you had grabbed your own blanket.
You were going to break the vicious cycle of you and Steve Harrington, right here, right now. While you still had a shred of willpower left.
“I-I think I saw a full moon out there earlier.” His voice breaks through everything like it always does, hoarse from its lack of use, he clears his throat turning his head to look at you biting his nail.
The warm red lighting from Freddy’s boiler room illuminates his features in a way that dares those butterflies to wake back up from the eternal rest you banished them to. His sharp jaw, those high cheek bones kissed with freckles and moles. The dark pools of his irises beg you for something, surrounded by sparkling brown and gold. You couldn’t look away even if you tried. Movie star.
”Yeah?” You manage, voice coming out quieter than intended, it softens his features almost instantly, like he missed the sound of it.
”Do you maybe wanna go for a drive?”
You make him wait for an answer to a question you could never say no to even if you tried, doing your best to hang onto your fleeting self control for just a little bit longer before giving in with a,
“Let's go.”
Steve was right, there was a full moon tonight. It sits half hidden in the clouds but it still manages to shine bright enough to coat the sleeping town of Hawkins in an incandescent opal. He cranks the heat all the way up so you can rest your head on propped up hands along the open passenger window. Strings of orange and violet bulbs wrap around trees, twinkling off fences and front doors, lighting the dark spots that the moon can’t kiss. Flames still flicker and dance inside jack o lantern mouths that sit on front doorsteps, and you can’t help but inhale the bitter crisp fall air that hits your face. It even smells like Halloween outside. You can faintly hear the sound of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ spill from his speakers, and it curves up the corners of your lips. Closing your eyes, you let yourself bask in this moment, including the unmistakable feeling of Steve’s gaze.
The thing about Steve’s car is that it feels like you’re completely surrounded by him when you’re in it, wrapped up in him, consumed by him. The warm leather underneath you always smells rich, especially in the summer after it bakes in the sun. It’s soft to the touch, freshly lotioned by him at least once a week to prevent cracks, while the amber of his cologne permanently clings to the threads in his carpets, and soft chenille lining of his doors. Some days, you’ll catch hints of that Farrah Faucet spray he used in high school, but that was usually after a date. Loose change jingles in his cup holder, along with the stick of gum you almost always inevitably steal from it, and despite the internal battle you’ve been having with yourself, tonight was still no exception. Steve’s car felt like home.
Neither one of you talk as he drives the familiar path towards your favorite spot by the lake. His headlights illuminate the fog that wraps up the base of the trees, crawling up slowly to the dying leaves in a way that makes everything look like magic as you pass town lines. Including the boy next to you. It takes you a few minutes to work up the courage to steal a glance in his direction, but when you do he’s already looking at you too. His soft laugh after you both get caught makes your cheeks ignite, the corners of your lips twitching.
”Eyes on the road, Harrington.” You manage, fighting the losing battle with your growing smile. You don’t look at him again, not until the BMW slowly rolls to a stop.
Still, you waste no time jumping out of the car parked on the secret cliff you’d both discovered lost on a drive a few summers ago. Wind hits you in a heavy gust, free from anything that can slow it down up here, pebbling goosebumps along your skin. The cold ground cracks underneath your slippers you didn’t bother to change out of, while cinnamon and crimson leaves flutter in the trees. Crickets chirp in the distance, creating a melody with the wind howling through the dense forest that feels fitting for the holiday. Your heart swells from the feeling of nostalgia, filling you with the kind of joy something that a party could never do.
“Spooky.” Steve whispers in your ear, coming up from behind you. The warmth of his spare jacket he keeps in the back seat drapes around your shoulders. It smells different than the one he wears regularly, but it's still him, so you selfishly pull it closer.
“Mmhmm.” You agree, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of his breath against the soft skin at the back of your neck before his arms wrap around your waist like they belong there.
Steve pulls you close, mumbling something about being cold too and how you need to share. The tip of his nose traces the shell of your ear before burying his face into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, openly, like an addict that’s been denied his favorite drug and he’s finally got his hands on it. So just as quickly as they were banished, the butterflies come migrating back and you don’t have the energy to stop them, or to practice that new concept of self control because this feels too good right now. Maybe you’re an addict too.
Thin clouds spread out in wisps along the dark night sky, messily painted there by an invisible brush, the stars twinkle around them, shimmering bright even underneath it all. Your gaze traces the invisible lines of the Big Dipper, and it reminds you of the time you’d spent nearly twenty minutes trying to get Steve to see the formation sprawled out on a blanket at this very spot. You would’ve spent the whole evening if you had to.
“Are you having a good Halloween?” He whispers, voice vibrating deep inside your bones while his cold fingertips trace along the waist band of your leggings under your sweater. You don’t remember when they got there.
You roll the answer around in your head with a thoughtful hum, admiring the orange glow of the town below. An owl calls out into the darkness and Steve’s lips curl into a grin pressing into your neck at the noise.
”Yeah, this is pretty perfect.” You start, thankful he can’t see your own smile that pushes up your cold cheeks, “Especially after getting the confirmation that I do have better taste in candy than you. I love when I’m right.”
He snorts loudly, and it vibrates against your skin making you giggle, his grip on you tightening playfully before pulling you deeper into his chest.
”I threw the game, I felt bad, you know, I didn’t want to outshine you on your favorite holiday. I purposely picked the candy no one would like.” His voice comes out right next to your ear, the baritone of it going straight to your legs threatening to turn them into jell-o.
“Mmmhmm.” You manage, voice cracking with nerves as the palm of his hand finds the plushness of your stomach and keeps it there. You wonder if he can feel the butterflies too. “Whatever you have to say to yourself to sleep better at night, Harrington.”
Steve laughs into your shoulder, the blunt end of his nails scratching lightly over the soft skin of your navel. Neither one of you try to fill the quiet after that, letting the million things that need to be said hang over you in the eerily beautiful silence of the canyon. They cling onto every swipe of his fingers, and the sighs that come from the back of your throat. The two of you stay wrapped up in each other like this for what feels like an hour, swaying back and forth, too scared to pop your favorite bubble. It’s not until a shiver runs up your spine, the frost in the air numbing the tip of your nose.
”We don’t have to leave, but we should at least sit in the car with the heater on for a while.” Steve breaks the silence with a slight chatter in his teeth, the pad of his thumb swiping against the smooth skin of your hip before untangling himself from your clothes. This was starting to feel like a sunrise kind of night.
”Yeah, that’s probably smart.” You clear your throat with a small smile, already missing the feeling of being surrounded by him, for once you don’t push it down.
You follow him to the car, letting your gaze greedily trace the outline of his shoulders in his crew neck sweater. His hair whips around wildly in the wind, the little product that was left in his hair standing no chance. He walks past the passenger door to open the back one instead of your usual spot in the front. The change makes you pause, you’d never really hung out in the backseat together, always using the center console as a barrier to stop you from doing the unthinkable. Everything always seems more romantic in the dead of night.
“I had an idea earlier when I saw it was going to be a full moon tonight, I- uh, brought us a blanket.” He explains before the question even has a chance to leave your mouth, pink dusting his cheeks that you aren’t entirely sure is just from the cold.
It almost goes over your head, but the bashful way he won’t meet your gaze catches your attention. This wasn’t just some coincidence he saw the full moon from your front door, he had already known, probably with the help of the very kids that showed up dressed as Coneheads.
Steve Harrington planned something for you.
”I uh, stole this blank tape from Henderson too and recorded the re-run of Radio Mystery Theater, Eddie had told me about. Thought it might be something you’d like.”
Your heart swells, threatening to burst in your chest with the unmistakable feeling of wanting to kiss him again.
“I can’t believe you did this Steve, I’ve always wanted to listen to an episode.” You practically beam, taking a few steps closer, looking up at him from under your lashes. “You remembered.”
The crimson that deepens in the apple of his cheeks this time is definitely not from the cold.
”We’ve had a lot of shitty solo Halloweens, and since this was our first one together, I just wanted, I- I guess I just wanted to make this one special. Maybe we can start a new tradition or something?” he shrugs, muttering the last part with a scratch at the back of his neck pretending to be nonchalant but you can always see right through him.
”Yeah, I’d like that.” Your admission is quiet, but the smile he bites back threatens to be megawatt before reaching out his hand, ushering you into the car and out of the two am chill
”I’m gonna go grab the blanket.”
He closes the door gently after making sure you’re comfortable, and you watch him with hungry eyes from the back window pull out a down comforter from the trunk. It’s the one from his bed, the fabric a deep plush deep burgundy with a black trimming around the edges, it looks so warm in his grasp as another chill rattles through your bones. He comes around to his side, opening the door to hand it to you with a grin that only grows wider when you snatch it eagerly before popping to the driver's seat to turn his car on. The heat starts to blow through the vents instantly, sending another shiver up your spine and a chatter of your teeth. Your gaze falls on the sliver of skin that reveals itself to you where his sweater rides up his back as he leans over the center console to grab the cassette tape from his glove compartment. Of course there’s another cluster of moles and freckles there that make you want to explore where the rest hide.
He pops it in with ease, pressing play and waits until he hears the opening crackle through the speakers, a quiet ‘yes’ slipping past his lips. A gust of cold air follows him when he opens the passenger door again as he slides into the leather seats next to you, knees knocking into yours before shutting it. He wastes no time finding you under the covers, torturing you with his cold hands by slipping them back underneath your sweater.
”Steve!” You jump, scolding him with a giggle without pushing him away, and he takes this opportunity to pull you back into the position you were in on your couch at home before you tried to find some semblance of boundaries.
He keeps his hands under your sweater, even when they’re warmed back up, the pad of his thumb rubbing soft circles along your rib cage. His cheek rests on your forehead, full lips tickling your skin when he talks. You can feel his heart beat against your palm, and how it speeds up every time your fingers curl into the cotton of his sweater whenever you laugh, instinctively pulling him closer. He doesn’t fight it, instead his grip tightens on the soft dough of your thighs draped over his knees, making sure every inch of you stays pressed firmly against him.
This doesn’t feel like best friends. This feels like something more, but it’s always felt like something more.
In fact you think you’ve known you were in love with Steve Harrington long before you ever admitted it yourself. Burying it so far deep, the fleeting idea just didn’t exist to you anymore, but tonight in the soft glow of the moon sitting in the back seat of his car, you were sure of it and its existence.
It feels like he can read your mind when his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. The stars twinkle in the gold of his auburn eyes like he plucked them from the sky and hung them there. So close, you can see those freckles you’d discovered the last time he looked at you just like this. That one badly behaved swoop of hair tickles the top of your forehead, and your fingers twitch to push it back for him. Movie star.
The tape stops with a loud click, leaving nothing but the low whistle of wind outside, and it mixes with your heavy breaths, electric currents stinging at your fingertips. His heart thumps wildly against your hand, like he was working himself up for something big. The notion sets a fire ablaze on every inch of your skin in anticipation.
”I want, I want to talk about something.” He says just barely above a whisper with a gaze so intense, it makes you want to look away. You don’t.
“What about?” Your voice comes out somehow even quieter, eyes falling to his lips on their own accord. He catches it, kicking his heart rate up even more.
Was he going to do the unthinkable? You try to push the thought down, but it fights back this time. Refusing the denial exile you’ve shoved it in for the past four years.
“Last week, at um, at Munson’s.” His eyebrows pinch together, visibly swallowing his nerves, as the tip of his nose dares to brush against yours. “God, I-I can’t stop thinking about it.”
The last part comes out like he’s being tortured by it. At least it’s not just you.
“If we’re being honest though,” He continues, his palm running up your thigh to squeeze at your hip, keeping you close, “I don’t think I ever stop thinking about you.”
His words crack your chest open, shining light on all the dark places that you’ve kept him in, just like the sunshine Steve Harrington is made of.
”Really?” You manage to say, after fighting with the words that keep getting tangled up on the edge of your tongue, desperately trying to give him more than a one word answer but failing miserably. Years of daydreaming about this moment in silent shame freezing you up.
He nods, pressing his forehead against yours, yearning eyes searching inside the dark pools of your pupils down the slope of his nose.
“You just, you brushed it off so easily, I thought -“ You start, replaying the way he’d rolled back into his seat, sipping his beer so casually like nothing happened. The confidence in his voice bragging about how Eddie got it wrong, that he wasn’t in love with you.
”What’d you think?” He encourages gently, the hand on your hip coming up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing along the bone.
”I just thought I was the only one.” You confess, that same defeated feeling from that night creeping back in despite the way his gaze softens all of your edges.
“That night at Eddie’s, I freaked out. Robin told me it was pretty obvious that I have feelings for you and it got me in my head that I was secretly making you uncomfortable because if she noticed it, surely you did too. So I completely overcompensated after I lost control at the bonfire, there was just no way I could stop kissing you, and then I panicked again earlier at your house-“
“Steve.” You say his name like it's something romantic, successfully ending his rambling with another brush of your nose against his. .
”Yeah?” He breathes, the tension leaving his shoulders like hearing your voice was enough.
You meet his heavy stare from underneath your lashes, the foggy glass of the windows creating a halo around his head from the soft glow of the moonlight.
“I dare you to kiss me again.” There’s confidence in your voice you don’t recognize, and the corner of his mouth quirks at it.
“What if I just wanted to kiss you because I wanted to?” Steve whispers, closing more of the little space that’s left between you.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
“Then, I’d say…” You brush your top lip against his bottom one, a low simmer starting to boil in the pit of your gut, spreading warmth between your thighs at his sharp intake of breath, “what are you waiting for, Harrington.”
His lips are curved into a smirk when he presses them to yours, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth to open you up just enough for him that your lips move like they were made for this, for him. He handles you differently in the back seat of his car than at the bonfire, he’s gentle, taking his time without prying eyes, savoring you. Your fingers curl into his sweater, pulling him closer because of it, like he can never be close enough, nose pressed into his cheek. He hums in response, and you can feel his smile return before his hand moves to the back of your neck, the pad of his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip begging you to finally let him in, and when you oblige, you both moan at the taste of each other.
It feels like Steve is everywhere, surrounding you with all of the little details of him embedded in every inch of his car. He’s in the leather underneath you that squeaks with your movements, in the amber and cinnamon that warm the air around you, comforting your nerves that threaten to fizz and burst like a live wire. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth like he’s hungry for it, like nothing else could satisfy him, massaging against your own in a way that earns a moan from the back of your throat. One you have no control over, but you’re starting to realize that maybe you never really had control when it came to Steve.
He breaks away just enough to whisper the word ‘perfect’ with a swipe of his nose against your own before pulling you onto his lap. You gasp at the feel of him as your knees press into the seat on either side of his hips. The effect you never really knew you had on him pressing into your heat with only the fabric of each other's pajama pants as a barrier, a feeling that only ever existed in your day dreams. But this was real, and he was closer to you than you’d ever allowed each other to be, dark wild eyes staring up at you like you were the one who painted the moon and the clouds in the sky. That swoop across his forehead has an extra curl to it from the sweat that beads at the top of his head, auburn hair turning into a wild untamable mess. His big hands grip the tops of your thighs, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to him.
”You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” He confesses with an exhausted laugh, as if carrying the burden of ‘what if’ had been weighing him down. “I’m going to be insufferable now, I hope you know.”
His teeth shimmer in the white glow as his kiss bitten lips pull up into the kind of smile that’s contagious, even getting a giggle from you that cuts through the tension like a knife making Steve pull you closer. The tips of his fingers return to their favorite place under your sweater where they trace like a whisper against the warm skin of your lower back, and it makes your eyelids grow heavy. You slump more of your weight into him burying your head into his neck, your own hands traveling up his sweater, finger nails scratching against the rough trail of hair there before your palms rest on the thick thatch on his chest. Your lips press a kiss the two moles that had been begging you to do it for four years just below his ear, and he hums squeezing you closer despite running out of room to physically be able to.
”I want to do this with you all the time,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against your ear, “not just tonight, not just this.”
Hearing Steve say it out loud, confess the one thing you always had to pretend didn’t exist blooms something deep in your chest that you didn’t know could grow there. Shining light on all the darkness and doubts that had made themselves a far too comfortable home. Why keep denying something you both clearly want so bad?
”D-do you feel the same? Please tell me you feel the same.” You can hear the doubt creep into his voice from your misperceived silence when he whispers the plea hot against your lips, begging you to turn your head and meet them.
You almost want to laugh at the idea that Steve Harrington had reservations that you might not feel the same way about him. Wasn’t it obvious?
”Listen, Harrington.” You sigh, meeting his gaze from under your lashes, his heart kicking back up against your palm, his fingers going still. “If you think you’re going to be insufferable, you clearly have no idea who I really am.”
It takes Steve a minute to absorb your words, but when he does, the deep bellied laugh it earns you vibrates against the windows of the car and wraps around your heart. He pulls one hand from under your sweater, fingers curling under your chin again to get to what both of you want more of. A lopsided grin pushes up the vampire bites on his cheek, full lips hovering just over yours and it feels like the first time all over again. Part of you thinks it might always feel this way with him.
“Don’t underestimate my capacity to yearn, baby.” His lips brush against yours with every word, a shiver running up your spine.
Baby.
“What if I dare you to show me?” You whisper, teeth nipping at his bottom lip enjoying the feeling of the blunt end of his nails digging into your back.
“Careful, you know I can’t say no to that.” He huffs with a grin, warm breath against your skin, silently offering up his own dare for you to close the rest of the distance and give in.
”I’m counting on it.”
You take the bait without giving him any time to respond, accepting his challenge by pressing your lips to his that match your energy almost immediately, meeting you hungry and ready. It’s easy to get lost in him again, and you let it consume you even when the soft pink glow of the sunrise shines through the fog on the windows like a kaleidoscope. Because finally, here, in the back seat of his car, you are in love with Steve Harrington, and it doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.
jealously, yearning, angstish, fluff, love confession
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Clark Joseph Kent had a scatter of freckles across his shoulders that only showed themselves in summer, rising to the surface when the sun deepened his tan. They reminded you of constellations — tiny, private stars that only you ever seemed to notice.
He preferred to write his drafts by hand before typing them, the looping script of his thoughts spilling across the page in uneven lines. You’d seen those pages before, ink smudged on the side of his hand, coffee rings on the corners. When he was trying not to cry, he sniffled twice. Always twice. As if the second one would undo the first.
You were sure, with every bone in your being, that you would know Clark Kent until the sun burned itself out and the Earth fell quiet.
But that was a truth you’d learned to tuck away, neat and small, living somewhere between your ribs. You brushed it under the rug the same way you always had — pretending it was normal. Because it was normal, wasn’t it?
You’d known him your entire life. Your childhood homes sat a mile apart, his surrounded by fields and open sky, yours tucked against a narrow gravel road that led nowhere in particular. You sat next to each other in third grade, shared the same torn bus seat in eighth, and posed for prom pictures so unbearably awkward that you still begged your mom to delete them whenever you visited home.
And yes, you knew he was Superman. You’d known long before the world ever did. He was thirteen when his heat vision first sparked — a startled yelp and a scorched hole clean through the back of the barn. Fourteen when his breath frosted over your bike on a July afternoon, the two of you staring at the ice-crusted handlebars in stunned silence before collapsing into laughter. And fifteen when he took you flying for the first time, soaring over the fields until the wind burned your eyes and your screams turned into laughter of your own. He laughed so hard he nearly dropped you into the pond by Walker Lane.
He was your best friend, the missing half of every thought you couldn’t quite finish on your own. And when he got his job in Metropolis, it didn’t even feel like a question, of course you followed. You packed your bags and found an apartment just three blocks away, telling yourself it was for convenience, for comfort — for anything but what it really was.
You’d lived with this feeling for as long as you could remember, keeping it neatly caged beneath years of habit and self-control. You were polite to his girlfriends, even friendly. You gave him dating advice when he asked, laughed when he complained, and smiled through the ache when he called someone else beautiful. You even introduced your own dates to him—trying to prove something, maybe to him, maybe to yourself. A show of friendship. A stamp of approval. Maybe even a quiet, sideways confession.
But that confession never came.
He stayed steady as ever—talking about sports and economics when the guy you were seeing tagged along for drinks, rubbing slow circles into your back when things inevitably fell apart. He never hinted, never slipped, never said anything that made you think he wanted more. Not even a whisper.
And for awhile, that was fine, until it wasn't.
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You admired Lois Lane.
She was a damn good reporter — sharp, fearless, the kind of woman who seemed to belong in every room she walked into. She was brilliant, confident, always two steps ahead of everyone else, and you respected that. You really did.
What you didn’t admire — what actually made your stomach twist — was the way Clark admired her too.
They went out often. He never called them dates, but you knew better. Anyone with two eyes knew better. The way he laughed when she teased him, how his voice softened when he said her name — it was enough to make your chest ache.
The bar was packed tonight, a low hum of chatter and clinking glasses pressing in from all sides. Shoulders bumped yours as you wove through the crowd, murmuring quick apologies, trying not to spill anyone’s drink or betray how much you didn’t want to be there.
You exhaled in relief when you spotted the booth in the back corner. Smushed inside were Jimmy, Cat, Lois — and, of course, Clark.
Clark’s face lit up the moment he saw you. That same bright, unguarded smile he’d been giving you your whole life. The one that used to feel like it belonged to you alone.
You slid into the booth beside Jimmy, forcing a grin as your knee bumped the table. Across from you, Clark and Lois sat side by side, his broad shoulders brushing hers every time he laughed.
You told yourself not to notice. Not to care. Not to stare at the space between them — or lack of one.
But you did.
“Look who finally made it!” Jimmy teased, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders.
You laughed, leaning into his touch for a moment before pulling back.
“Sorry — all my kids got picked up late,” you said with a tired smile.
“No worries!” Lois chimed in, swirling the straw in her drink with an easy grin. “I’m sure you had a long day.”
You winced — just slightly, but enough that you hoped no one noticed.
You weren’t a reporter, or a writer. Hell, you weren’t even an intern.
You worked at a daycare — lead teacher, twelve toddling one-year-olds who thought finger paint was a food group. You loved it, every sticky hug and crayon-streaked drawing. But sitting here, surrounded by the Daily Planet’s best and brightest, always made you feel smaller somehow. Like you’d stumbled into a world you weren’t built for — one Clark fit into perfectly.
You managed a smile anyway. “Things always get crazy on Fridays, but I manage.”
Lois nodded, the corner of her mouth quirking. “I bet. Daycare trenches sound terrifying.” She lifted her glass, brows raised in playful sympathy before taking a sip.
“I’m sure you’re great with them,” Clark said, and when you looked up, he was already smiling at you — that same easy, warm smile you’d known your whole life.
You tried to ignore the way your breath caught, how your chest seemed to tighten at the sound of his voice. You opened your mouth to respond, maybe to deflect with a joke, but Lois’s laugh cut in before you could.
She launched into a story about deadlines and Lex Luthor — fast, sharp, and confident — and just like that, the attention of the table shifted toward her. Clark leaned in slightly, listening, and you were left clutching your drink.
You laughed when everyone else did, though you couldn’t have repeated a word Lois had said if someone had asked. Her voice filled the space — confident, animated, magnetic — and you could see why people gravitated toward her. Why hedid.
Clark’s arm rested behind her on the booth, not quite touching but close enough to make your stomach twist. His eyes stayed on her as she spoke, the same look you’d once thought was yours — that quiet, undivided focus he gave when he really listened.
You stared down at your drink, watching the ice melt into thin ribbons of water. The sounds around you blurred — laughter, glass clinking, music thudding through the floorboards. It was all too much and not enough at once.
You told yourself you were being ridiculous. That this was fine. That you were happy for him, for them. You’d told yourself that same lie so many times it should’ve settled by now.
But it didn’t.
It burned — low, quiet, and constant — sitting heavy in your chest. You could almost feel the edges of it, sharp and hot, scraping against your ribs.
You looked up again, and Clark was laughing. Not the polite kind, but the full, unguarded kind — head tilted back, eyes soft, completely at ease. Lois touched his wrist as she said something else, and he didn’t pull away.
You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn settling deep in your chest as you pushed yourself up from the booth.
Jimmy’s arm slid off your shoulder, and even Cat looked up in surprise.
You hitched your bag higher on your arm, forcing a smile. “Sorry, guys — gotta go! I’ve got a conference in the morning.”
Jimmy blinked, then grinned. “Ah, damn. Don’t keep forgetting about us.” His smile softened a little, and he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “See you soon, okay?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, trying not to let your voice shake. “See you.”
“Want me to walk you home?” Clark asked, already half-standing, concern flickering across his face.
You backed up so fast you nearly bumped into the group of girls passing by. “No! No, I’m good. Totally fine. I’ll see you later.”
Clark frowned, his brows knitting together. “Are you sure? It’s late—”
“She’s a big girl, Kent,” Lois said, laughing as she nudged his shoulder with hers. “She’ll be okay.”
The sound of her laughter scraped against something raw inside you.
You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to say another word. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
And then you turned, before anyone could see your hands trembling or the way your throat tightened. You didn’t wait for his response — couldn’t.
The crowd swallowed you up as you pushed through the bar, the warmth and noise fading behind you until the cool night air hit your face like a shock. You exhaled shakily, gripping your bag tighter.
You told yourself you were just tired. That it wasn’t jealousy or heartbreak or anything messy like that. But as the door shut behind you, muffling the laughter that used to feel like home, you knew you were lying.
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The lighting in your apartment was low when you heard the lock turn.
You froze on the couch, your half-finished glass of wine sitting forgotten on the coffee table. The soft click of the door closing followed by the weight of footsteps on the floorboards made your stomach tighten.
“Hey,” his voice came quietly. “Are you okay?”
You didn’t look up until he was standing in front of you, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, concern knitting into the lines of his face.
“Just tired,” you said, eyes fixed somewhere near his collar.
Clark’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile. “You’ve never been a good liar.”
You scoffed, throwing off the blanket draped over your knees as you stood. The movement was too sharp, too practiced. “I’m not lying, Clark.”
You brushed past him, footsteps echoing as you carried your glass to the sink. The last of the wine splashed down the drain, dark red bleeding away under the stream of water.
Of course, he followed. He always did.
“You’ve been acting weird for weeks now,” he said, voice low but steady. “You barely come out with us anymore. You ignore half my calls.”
You kept your back to him, shrugging. “Busy.”
He sighed — that tired, familiar exhale that somehow managed to sound both patient and frustrated. “Busy with what? Lesson plans?”
You turned to face him, disbelief flashing across your features. “Just because I’m not chasing down Lex Luthor or catching falling buildings doesn’t mean I’m not busy, Kent.”
His brow furrowed. “You know that’s not what I meant—”
“Do I?” you snapped, cutting him off. “Because sometimes it feels like that’s exactly what you meant. Sorry if I don’t exactly fit into your circle of talent, Clark!”
“That’s not fair,” he said, stepping closer, voice low but firm. “You know I respect what you do.”
You shook your head, tears stinging behind your eyes. “Respect?” The word came out sharp, almost a laugh. “You pity me. You listen to my stories like I’m some kid showing you finger paint while you and Lois talk about saving the world.”
“Hey—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t.
“I get tired!” you shouted, the words ripping out before you could stop them. “I wipe noses and change diapers! I dry tears and hold hands and sing stupid songs, okay? I don’t save people! I don’t write columns or interview celebrities! My name isn’t on a front page, and I’m not some respected reporter!”
Your voice cracked, but you pressed on, your throat burning.
“You save people, Clark. You stop fires and fight aliens. Lois talks to politicians and has the mayor’s phone number.” You laughed then — short and bitter, a sound that didn’t feel like your own. “And me? I wipe noses.”
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could brush it away.
Clark didn’t move. He just stood there — eyes wide, hands hovering uselessly at his sides — while every buried insecurity, every swallowed word you’d carried for years, finally spilled out between you.
“Why do you keep talking about Lois?” he finally asked, voice quiet in that way you hated — soft and careful, like you were something fragile he had to protect.
Your shoulders shook, a sound escaping you that was half sob, half bitter laugh. “Doesn’t take a genius to see I don’t measure up to your girlfriend, Clark.”
His brows knit together instantly. “Girlfriend? She’s not my—”
“Give it up, Kal-El!” you snapped, his name tasting sharp on your tongue. His flinch was immediate, guilt flashing across his face.
“You’re with her every day,” you went on, voice rising. “You go on dates, you pick her up from work, you smile at her the way you used to smile at me! You look at her like—”
You stopped, chest heaving. The next words trembled out of you. “Like she’s your whole world.”
“That’s not true,” he said, stepping forward, hands out like he could calm you down with proximity alone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You took a step back. “Don’t I? I’ve known you my whole life, Clark. I know every tell, every habit, every look. I know what it means when you stop meeting my eyes, when you talk about her without realizing you’re smiling.”
His voice broke through, quieter now, rougher. “You think I wanted that?”
You blinked, stunned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been trying not to look at you like that my whole damn life,” he said, voice rising despite himself. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d show up again — smiling, laughing, brushing me off like I didn’t matter — and it’d all come back.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration pouring out in waves. “Lois was easy to talk to. She was safe. She didn’t make me feel like I was gonna lose my mind every time she said my name.”
You stared at him, every nerve in your body frozen. “You don’t get to say that. Not after all this time.”
“I do,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Because it’s true.”
The air between you cracked — hot, charged, silent.
Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You’re lying.”
“Then tell me to leave,” he said quietly. “Right now. Tell me you don’t feel it too.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“I like you,” he started, voice breaking around the words like he was afraid they might shatter. “I’ve always loved you.”
He stepped closer, words tumbling out faster now, desperate, raw.
“Because you cry when you watch those stupid shelter ads on TV. You bake cookies every Saturday, and you call my mom on Sundays — even when I forget to. You pick flowers off the sidewalk and smile at strangers in the grocery store.”
His breath caught, but he kept going, almost helplessly.
“You didn’t get scared when I almost burned down half of Kansas with my eyes,” he said, a shaky laugh slipping through. “When I started to learn to fly, you promised you’d catch me if I fell."
He took another step, close enough now that you could see the flicker of heat behind his eyes — not from his powers, but from something else entirely.
“You wipe noses,” he said softly, like it mattered more than anything. “You give one hundred percent of yourself every single day to a job that would take ten more people — or even Lois — to do half as well. You read stories, you teach them how to talk, how to walk, how to be brave. And you stay up late researching ways to make their tiny worlds brighter.”
Your throat tightened.
He exhaled, voice dropping to something almost reverent. “You see me. All of me. You see Clark, you see Superman, you see Kal-El — and you’ve never once flinched.”
He took a final step forward, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.
“I don’t want Lois,” he whispered. “I want you.”
You stood there, heart hammering in your chest, air heavy and thick between you.
And then — because if he said one more word you were certain you’d fall apart — you surged forward and kissed him.
It was messy, urgent, all teeth and tears and years of silence breaking open at once.
Clark froze for a second, like the world had stopped spinning. Then he exhaled, hands finding your face, and kissed you back — deep and desperate, like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime.
For a moment, everything stopped.
The world outside, the hum of the lights, the faint sounds of traffic — it all fell away. There was only him, only you, and the rush of everything you’d both been too afraid to say.
When you finally pulled back, your breath hitched. His hands lingered on your face like letting go would make you disappear.
Your throat tightened. “I’ve always seen you, you know,” you whispered, your breath ghosting over his lips.
“I know,” he murmured, tilting his head down toward you. “I’ve always known you.”
The words hung between you, heavy and soft at the same time, and before you could speak again, his lips found yours. This time, the kiss wasn’t desperate or frantic — it was steady, certain, feeling awfully like home.
fluff, pining, hidden feelings, angry love confession
──────── 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ────────
Theodore Nott had been your best friend since, well, forever.
You’d known him—and the rest of your small circle—since you were old enough to walk across polished floors and mumble polite greetings to people your parents wanted to impress. It came with the territory of being born into a pureblood family, something your parents valued far more than they ever valued you. To them, you weren’t a person so much as proof that the family line continued.
At least you hadn’t been alone in it. Theo and the others had grown up the same way, taught to sit straight, speak evenly, and never, ever show weakness. You’d all endured the same lectures, the same expectations, and the same cold kind of love that made you question what warmth was supposed to feel like.
But out of that shared misery came something real—him. Theodore Nott. Your quiet salvation in a world that demanded perfection.
Maybe that was why the sharp ache in your chest, the one that had been festering for days, burned hotter now as you watched him turn away from you, again.
A week. It had been a week of this. Dodged glances, clipped replies, and the kind of silence that felt deliberate. The easy rhythm you once shared had vanished, replaced by distance that felt crueler than any insult. His smiles had gone tight around the edges, his words polite but cold. And every time he slipped away without a word, it was as if the air left the room with him.
You swallowed hard, tightening your grip on your bag as you walked in step with Pansy down the corridor. The echo of your footsteps filled the quiet between you, bouncing off the stone walls.
“Pans?” you asked, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to.
She hummed absentmindedly, her hand buried in her bag as she muttered something about a quill—or maybe a notebook.
“Has Teddy said anything about me?”
That got her attention. Pansy glanced up, meeting your eyes just as you both stopped in front of the Slytherin common room entrance. The corridor around you was empty, the torches flickering low, throwing shadows that seemed to stretch with the silence. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying not to look as small as you felt.
“No,” she said finally, her brow creasing. “Why?”
You gave a weak shrug. “He hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s not exactly hard to notice that.”
Pansy snorted, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s Theo. He gets moody sometimes.”
“Not with me." The words came out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended.
Pansy paused at that, lips pressing together as she studied you. “Maybe he’s mad about Evan.”
“Evan?” Your eyebrows knitted together.
Evan Hawthorn. Ravenclaw Keeper. Same year as you all. The boy you’d been seeing regularly for the last month and a half. It wasn’t anything serious—not really—but it was nice. Easy. Simple.
“Why would Theo be mad about Evan?” you asked. “They get along.”
“Do they?” Pansy tilted her head slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flicked over you like she was two steps ahead in a game you hadn’t realized you were playing.
“Yes, they do,” you repeated, firmer this time.
Pansy exhaled then, the tension in her shoulders softening as she looked at you. It was that rare, gentle look she only ever gave in moments like this—when she dropped the sharp comments and actually seemed to care.
“I know the two of you are best friends,” she said carefully, her tone slower now, “but have you ever, you know… thought that it could be more?”
“More?” you repeated, as if saying the word might somehow make it make sense.
“More,” she echoed simply, watching you too closely.
You blinked—once, twice—trying to think of what to say.
Of course you’d thought about it. Not often, and never on purpose, but sometimes the idea slipped through the cracks when you weren’t paying attention. It crept in quietly, curling around the edges of your heart when Theo laughed a certain way, or when his shoulder brushed yours and neither of you moved away. It sat in your throat on long nights when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world felt far away.
But you always pushed it down. Because Theodore Nott was your best friend. Nothing more. He couldn’t be. If you let it be more—if you let yourself want more—you could lose the only person who had ever felt like home.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady. “Teddy doesn’t see me like that, Pansy.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes but not unkindly. “Think what you want,” she said, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder, “but don’t complain when he starts ignoring you. You can’t have it both ways.”
Before you could respond, she turned and stepped into the common room, the tall stone door swinging shut behind her with a deep, echoing thud.
──────── 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ────────
You had a plan.
Not a particularly good one—or even a fully thought-out one—but a plan nonetheless.
Slytherin had Quidditch practice tonight, and you knew it ended at eight. Theo, being captain, always stayed behind after everyone else had gone. He’d double-check the equipment, tidy up the lockers, sometimes just sit on the benches long after the lights dimmed.
That was your chance.
You blew a strand of hair out of your face and marched toward the Quidditch pitch, the chill of the evening air nipping at your cheeks. The sound of your shoes against the gravel path echoed softly, your heart thudding a little faster with each step.
He can’t ignore you when he’s cornered, you told yourself.
By the time you reached the locker rooms, most of the lights were already off. The faint scent of wet grass and broom polish hung in the air. Just as you were a few steps away, the final light flicked out—and the door opened.
Theo stepped into view, looking startled to find you there. His hair was damp with sweat, a few strands sticking to his forehead. His uniform was untucked and smeared with dirt, his knees stained from the field.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough, guarded.
“We need to talk,” you said firmly, planting your feet. There was no room for argument in your tone.
He blinked, glancing back toward the pitch as if hoping someone would rescue him. “Look, I really don’t have time—”
“Then make time, Teddy!” The words came out louder than you meant, sharp with frustration. “You’ve been ignoring me for days now!”
He scoffed, tossing his towel into his bag. “Just because I’ve been busy doesn’t mean you can act like a child.”
That stung. More than you wanted it to.
His eyebrows were drawn together, a crease cutting across his forehead, but the way his nose scrunched gave him away. You’d known him long enough to recognize when he was lying.
“You haven’t been busy,” you said quietly.
“Yes, I have—”
“No, you haven’t!” you interrupted, stepping closer. “Theodore, you have not been busy. You’ve been avoiding me. You barely look at me anymore, and when you do, it’s like you’d rather be anywhere else. I thought I was your best friend. Best friends don’t ignore each other and pretend like it’s fine!”
Your voice cracked at the end, the sound echoing faintly in the empty field.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy—filled with all the words you’d both been avoiding. Theo’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides, and you could see the conflict flicker across his face.
He wanted to say something. You just didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.
Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “You don’t get it,” he muttered.
“Then explain it to me,” you shot back. “Because I’m trying, Theo. I’m really trying, but you’re not making it easy.”
Lightning cracked across the sky—loud, angry, splitting the clouds open with a jagged flash.
You felt the first drops of rain hit your cheeks, cold against the heat rising in your face, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.
Theo stayed silent. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed anywhere but on you. The sound of rain began to build, tapping harder against the ground, soaking through your robes.
You laughed then, a sharp, bitter sound that didn’t feel like you at all. “Fine, Theodore. Don’t tell me. Don’t talk to me. Act like you don’t even know me for all I care.” You threw your hands up, the motion half-angry, half-exhausted. “I’m done.”
You turned, determined to walk away, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine as the rain began to pour in earnest. The sky roared overhead, and for a moment, all you could hear was the storm.
Then—
“You think this is easy for me?”
His voice cut through the rain like thunder, raw and loud enough to make you stop.
You turned back slowly, water dripping from your hair, eyes wide. “What?”
Theo stepped toward you, his boots splashing through the puddles. His hair clung to his forehead, raindrops catching on his lashes as his chest rose and fell fast. There was a tremor in his voice now, part anger, part desperation.
“You think I can just—just sit here and watch you be with him,” he said, his words tripping over each other, “while I’m fucking in love with you?”
The world seemed to stop. The storm, the rain, the trembling in your hands—everything froze around that one sentence.
You stood there, staring at him, your chest constricting so tightly you could barely breathe. “Teddy…” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.
But he shook his head, water flying from the ends of his hair. “You think it’s easy?” he demanded, his tone cracking under the weight of it. “Watching you laugh with him, hold his hand, pretend like he gets you? He doesn’t. He can’t. He doesn’t know you the way I do.”
His voice broke on the last word.
“I’ve been here,” he said quietly, eyes finally meeting yours, glassy with something more than rain. “For years. Just—here. And I’m so bloody tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
The thunder rolled again, softer this time, like the world itself was holding its breath for what came next.
Theo took another step closer, his shoulders tense, rainwater running down the side of his face.
“I tried to stop it,” he went on, voice rough. “Merlin knows I did. You were my best friend. The one person I didn’t want to mess things up with. But then you’d smile, or laugh at something stupid, and it was over. Every time, it was over. I kept thinking I could hide it, that it would fade, but it never did. It just got worse.”
You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.
“I thought if I stayed away, it would help. That maybe I’d get over it, or at least stop thinking about you all the damn time. But then I’d see you—” his voice broke again, hands curling at his sides, “—and all I could think about was how it wasn’t me making you smile like that.”
“Theo—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.
“I know you don’t feel the same. I know that. And I swear, I wasn’t going to say anything, I just—” His words were tumbling out now, fast and uneven. “I couldn’t keep watching you with him, like I’m invisible, like none of it mattered—like we don’t matter—”
You didn’t let him finish.
Before he could say another word, you stepped forward, closing the space between you and pressed your lips to his.
For a second, everything stilled. The rain, the thunder, the chaos in your chest—all of it fell away.
Theo froze, eyes wide, a small sound caught in his throat. Then he exhaled shakily against your mouth, his hands hovering before finally settling at your waist, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he held too tightly.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, rainwater dripping down your faces.
“That’s not what you think,” you whispered, voice trembling. “It’s never been easy for me either.”
Theo blinked, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. His lips parted, but no words came out—just another breath that sounded half like a laugh, half like disbelief.
He looked at you for a long moment, rain dripping from his lashes. Then he stepped closer, slow and hesitant this time. His hand lifted, fingertips brushing against your jaw, barely there—like he still wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. “And I will.”
You didn’t.
Instead, you leaned into his touch, eyes closing as the storm around you faded into something softer—something almost peaceful.
For the first time in weeks, maybe years, the silence between you didn’t feel heavy. It felt like relief.
There was an intimacy that lingered in the silence of never speaking to someone again.
It was almost frightening, the weight of knowing someone you would never exchange words with again. To pass them in a hallway, in a crowd, in the quiet corners of memory, and carry the knowledge of how they liked their tea, or how their body had once felt pressed warm and steady against your own. That kind of knowing wasn’t meant to vanish—it lived inside you, tucked behind your ribs where no one else could see.
Because you hadn’t just known Mattheo Riddle. You had seen him.
Seen the stories carved into his scars, kissed the bruises life had left behind, heard the sound of his laughter when he forgot for a fleeting second that joy was something forbidden to him. You had memorized the way his gaze softened when it fell on you, like you were something untainted, something pure.
But all relationships unravel eventually, don’t they? Especially the reckless ones born in adolescence. You weren’t even sure if you could pinpoint the exact moment the threads began to fray. Was it in the sharp edges of your arguments? Or in the silences that stretched? Or maybe the beginning of the end had been there from the very start, the first time his lips touched yours—destined to burn out because neither of you knew how to keep a fire without letting it consume.
When people asked, you had an answer rehearsed, easy enough to say without cracking: growing pains. That was what you called it. A tidy phrase, tucked behind a small smile. A year of deflection, of assuring your friends you were fine. People change, needs shift, and not all loves are meant to last. That’s what you told them. That’s what you told yourself.
The hallways felt narrower today, shadows stretching longer as the edge of winter crept into the stone. Your breath curled faintly in the cold air as you hurried from Potions, twisting through familiar corridors toward Transfiguration. If you didn’t make it soon, all the good seats would be gone.
This was one of the few classes you shared with the Slytherins—Mattheo among them.
By now, the two of you had perfected an unspoken ritual: polite avoidance at all costs. In the first weeks of term, his friends had snickered when you walked in, trading knowing looks that made your stomach twist. But as time passed and nothing ever happened—no words, no glances, no slip-ups—those smirks dulled into indifference. They stopped expecting anything. And so did you.
You slid into your usual place, third row from the front, offering your tablemate a soft smile before laying out your books and parchment. McGonagall swept to the front, robes trailing behind her as she launched into the lesson, her crisp voice carrying over the scrape of quills and rustle of pages.
But the words blurred together, background noise against the restless tap of your fingers on your quill. You were almost grateful for the haze of distraction—until McGonagall’s tone sharpened, commanding attention.
“A reminder, students. You will begin a project today. Partners have been pre-selected. You will have two weeks to complete it, and I expect nothing less than your best work.”
Your stomach dropped. Pre-picked partners. Two weeks. You drew in a sharp breath, silently bargaining with every god and ghost Hogwarts had ever housed. Surely there was a way out. Surely fate wouldn’t be so cruel.
“Nott and Greengrass.”
“Chang and Berkshire.”
“Riddle and Y/L/N.”
For half a second, the room felt weightless. You swore you felt every head in the vicinity turn just slightly, curiosity prickling the air. You didn’t dare look back.
The rest of the lesson seemed to pass as though spoken underwater. McGonagall’s voice had dissolved into a dull hum. Your head felt heavy, words sliding past your ears like static.
Maybe there was still a chance. You could ask McGonagall for mercy, couldn’t you? Beg for a new partner, promise her you’d work harder, study longer. A bit of groveling, maybe even a tear well-placed if it came to it. Surely she couldn’t expect you to survive two weeks partnered with him.
But the lesson ended before you had managed to come up with a plan. The scrape of chairs filled the room as students packed up, voices rising in chatter around you. You stayed rooted in your seat, staring at the wood grain of the desk as if focus alone might make it all go away.
“Hey.”
The single word cut through the noise.
Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to look up. His eyes met yours for the first time in months. The sight was jarring—so achingly familiar yet strange, like remembering the lyrics of a song you hadn’t heard in years.
“Hey,” you managed, the word too soft, too small, not at all the way you intended.
He exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. Something in between. “Meet me in the library after dinner?” His voice was low, careful. “We can knock a lot of this out in a few days. Make it, uh… less painless for the both of us.”
You swallowed, the faintest sting of nerves in your chest. His tone was steady enough, but there was something beneath it—something softer, frayed at the edges, like his chest had cracked open in the same place yours had.
You just nodded. "Sounds good."
His lips parted as if words were coming, but he thought better of it, shutting them tight before turning and leaving without pause.
You let out a breath.
One project, that's all.
──────── 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ────────
The library was quieter than usual that evening, firelight spilling low across the tables as you made your way to the back. You spotted him almost instantly—Mattheo had always had a way of filling a space even when he was trying not to. He was slouched over a stack of parchment, one arm draped over the chair beside him as though daring anyone else to sit there.
You hesitated before crossing the room.
“Thought you weren’t coming,” he said without looking up, voice flat but not sharp.
“I thought about it,” you admitted, sliding into the chair across from him. Your bag landed with a dull thump, and you busied yourself pulling out books so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of shuffling parchment and scratching quills. The silence was thick, awkward in all the places it used to be easy. Once, you’d filled silence with laughter, with stories that poured out until morning. Now it just pressed down, suffocating.
“So,” you said finally, flipping a page a little too hard. “We’re supposed to research transfiguration branches outside the standard curriculum. Which do you want?”
“You pick,” he muttered, quill tapping against the edge of the desk.
Your jaw tightened. “You can’t even pretend to care?”
His eyes flicked up then, sharp, steady. “Oh, I care. I just know you’ll do it properly.”
You hated the way the words landed, because they weren’t mocking—he meant them. And that was somehow worse.
You looked away quickly, focusing on the ink bleeding across your parchment. “Fine. Human-to-animal transfiguration, then. It’s harder, but…” you trailed off, biting your tongue before you filled the quiet with explanations he didn’t deserve.
He nodded once. “I’ll cover magical object conversions.”
Another stretch of silence. Quills scratched against parchment. Pages turned, faintly rustling in the quiet, and the library settled into its own hushed rhythm.
Then his voice cut through the bubble of quiet. “You still hum while you write.”
The low humming you hadn’t even realized you were doing stopped abruptly, leaving the sudden emptiness of sound ringing in your ears.
You swallowed, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. “And you,” you said, voice sharper than intended, “you still try to make yourself seem bigger than you are.”
He let out a light, almost careless laugh, eyebrows lifting just slightly as if your words amused him rather than stung.
“Never could skip around the truth, could you?” His tone was soft, breathy, like he’d exhaled some secret he’d been holding onto for far too long.
You bristled, heart thudding against your ribs. “Don’t pretend you still know me, Mattheo.”
A shadow crossed his expression for the briefest moment, then he leaned back just slightly, eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “I think I’ll spend my whole life knowing you.”
The words lingered between you, weighty and impossible. You wanted to laugh, to scoff, to shove the quill into your bag and run. But you didn’t. Instead, your fingers stilled on the parchment, and for a heartbeat, all the carefully built walls between you seemed to tremble.
He must’ve taken your silence as permission, because he didn’t stop.
“I know your favorite season is spring,” he said softly, voice low, deliberate, “because of the flowers, the colors, how everything feels alive again. You hate coffee,”—there was the faintest smirk—“and prefer tea, but only with far too much milk. That vinyl player in your room? It belonged to your mum. She got it in muggle London. You hiccup when you cry, which makes it even harder to hide, and you love the ocean, even if you hate how sand sticks to everything.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Your fingers tightened around the quill, knuckles whitening, but your eyes stayed locked on his, refusing to look away.
“You like to dance in the rain,” he said softly, “and roll around when it snows. Lilies are your favorite flower—”
“Tulips,” you interrupted, voice quiet, almost a whisper, letting the word hang in the space between you. His mouth snapped shut, and his eyes sharpened, locked on yours like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“I… prefer tulips now,” you added, heart hammering in your chest. “A lot can change in a year.”
He let a slow breath escape, leaning back just slightly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right,” he murmured. “A lot does change. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn you all over again.”
Cruel had never been a word you could place on Theodore Nott.
Cunning?
Brooding?
Bathed in scars and bone-deep sadness?
Absolutely.
You had properly met him last term, despite the years of whispers and rumors that trailed after him like shadows he could never quite shake. Theodore Nott was the boy everyone already thought they knew—the Slytherin loyalty, the heir to a name as heavy as stone. His silence was an armor, his sharp looks a weapon, and his solitude a punishment he seemed resigned to carry.
That might have been the end of it, had Professor Sinistra not handpicked partners for the constellation project. Fate—or perhaps just poor luck—had landed you with the Nott boy.
At first it was nothing more than civility. Shared parchment and neat, clipped exchanges across the table. Long hours tucked into forgotten corners of the library where you worked in silence, his quill scratching steadily while yours faltered in distraction. It was polite, academic, safe.
Until it wasn’t.
Until Theodore let the walls crack, just enough for you to slip through. And once you did, everything changed.
Suddenly he wasn’t the sole heir to a tainted name or the figurehead of a legacy you could never untangle. He wasn’t just sharp cheekbones and unblinking silences, or the Slytherin who made the air heavy around him.
He was Theo. Your Theo.
Theo, who held your hand steady as he traced constellations across the night sky with his wand. Theo, who charmed lanterns to glow softly above your bed so you wouldn’t wake to the suffocating dark. Theo, who leaned close during Charms class to whisper nonsense just to make you bite back a laugh. Theo, who slipped folded notes between the pages of your books—scribbled sketches of stars, bits of poetry, secrets he’d sworn to no one else.
For a while, you almost believed this was all he was—this boy who let you see him. This boy who wanted you to see him.
But some molds are carved too precisely, etched so deeply they leave scars you can’t escape. Some boys are born into legacies that stain everything they touch.
And Theodore Nott had grown right into his.
Into casual cruelty. That was where he had gone.
Into sharp words, into remarks spat with venom, and eyes that no longer softened at the sight of tears.
You weren’t a fool. A Ravenclaw through and through, you had always prided yourself on logic, on clarity, on seeing truths where others overlooked them. But nights beneath a bruised sky had blurred reason into something else entirely—had blurred friendship into something more, something less, something nameless and dangerous all at once.
You had let yourself believe that people could change, could grow beyond the shadows that clung to their names. You had let yourself believe that the boy he was with you—the boy who traced constellations onto your palms and whispered secrets like prayers—was the boy he was meant to be.
But belief withers when it is left too long in the cold.
And yours had died a slow, bitter death.
What remained of your friendship—if friendship was even the right word anymore—lived only behind your ribs now, tucked into the bruised place that stung each time you dared to breathe.
And now, cornered in the astronomy tower by the boy himself, the ache you had tried so carefully to smother twisted into something unbearable.
"You're avoiding me." His voice cut through the stillness of the astronomy tower, low and firm, each word shaped with precision.
You swallowed hard, but you didn’t look away. "You're not who I thought you were."
The slightest flicker crossed his expression—eyebrows raised, mouth tightening, as though your words were both accusation and revelation. "I'm not?"
"You're cruel, Theodore."
That made him falter. Just barely. His mask cracked, shoulders drawing in before he caught himself. For the smallest of moments, you almost let yourself believe he cared.
"Cruel?" he echoed, the word tasting foreign on his tongue.
You nodded, steady though your chest ached. "You tear people down. You laugh when someone cries. You act like breaking someone’s pride is just a day's fun. Yesterday, when Mattheo snapped that Hufflepuff’s wand—you just stood there and watched."
His jaw worked as if he had words, as if some retort hovered on his lips—something to justify it, or maybe to twist it into another of his half-truths.
"That’s cruelty, Nott."
The name landed like a blow. He flinched, a flash of something unguarded in his eyes before the mask slid back into place.
Nott. A name heavy with shadows, steeped in pain, stained by betrayal and broken loyalties.
One night by the Black Lake, he had whispered to you—quiet and bitter—that he despised it, that the Nott name had caged him since birth. You had believed him then.
But now that same name stood between you, higher and stronger than any wall.
And for the first time, you realized he might never climb over it.
He stepped forward, hesitantly, as though even the act of closing the space between you carried risk. His voice was low, strained, the first crack in his armor you’d heard in weeks. "I’m different with you. You know that."
A bitter laugh tore from your throat, sharp and humorless. It echoed in the hollow of the astronomy tower, sounding nothing like you. "Different?" you repeated, disbelief burning through your chest. "I’m not some exception, Theodore. Don’t you dare make me out to be one."
His jaw tightened, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.
"You can’t go around ruining people, tearing them down just because you’re carrying the weight of your own name. You don’t get to decide that cruelty is excusable simply because you—" your voice cracked, but you forced it out "—because you’re nice to me."
His eyes flickered, that same almost-slip you’d seen before, but you pressed on, refusing to falter.
"That’s not how it works, Theodore. And I’ll be damned if I let you anywhere near me again."
His brow furrowed, his mask slipping further, a sudden panic flashing in his eyes. "You don’t see it—Merlin, you don’t even realize. I can’t breathe when you’re not—" He cut himself off, exhaling shakily, shoulders rigid. "I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you."
Your chest tightened, but you refused to give in "You lost me when you chose this. You can't say I'm different-"
"You are!" The word tore out of him, louder this time, raw, desperate. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t dare. "You’re the only thing that doesn’t feel—" His voice cracked, breaking on the edges of something unspoken. "I can’t—don’t make me—"
You cut him off with a glare, "Enough, Nott.
He stared at you like you’d just taken the air from the room, and for the first time, Theodore Nott—untouchable, unreadable—looked small.
"I’m done, Theo." The words left you quieter than you intended, a whisper more than a declaration, but in the silence of the tower they seemed to echo back at you, bouncing off the stone walls until there was no space left between you where they didn’t exist.
He didn’t move. Didn’t step closer, didn’t reach for you the way you half-expected, half-feared he would. He just stood rooted to the floor, staring at you as though he could hold you there with his eyes alone.
For a moment you thought he might speak. His lips parted, the words trembling there, but nothing came.
He looked like he was drowning in things he didn’t know how to say, choking on words he didn’t mean, and you realized with a sharp twist of pain that maybe he never would.
And so you turned away, footsteps hitting the stone as you made your way down the stairs.
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