â Love Again - Haunted by a traumatic past and powers that bend reality, she was once Lex Luthorâs most dangerous weaponâuntil Clark Kent saw something human in her. Torn between redemption and self-destruction, she must face the truth about what she was made for⊠and who she might become. When betrayal shatters what little trust remains, their paths collide in a storm of secrets, scars, and impossible choices. In a city that worships heroes, can the girl built for chaos ever be more than a shadow of her pastâor is love just another illusion she was never meant to touch? (1.6k)
âĄLove, Krypto - When an overworked new hire at the Daily Planet agrees to watch a small white dog in a Superman cape, she doesnât expect laser eyes, levitationâor the unraveling of Clark Kentâs biggest secret. As Krypto, the superpowered pup, brings chaos and unexpected comfort into her life, she discovers that the quiet, kind reporter sheâs been crushing on might just be the most powerful man in the world (1K)
â âĄShattered Vows Masterlist (ongoing/on hold)- When Lex Luthor traps Superman in a kryptonite-laced prison, he exploits a hidden connectionâan ordinary woman who once helped him to his feet. She becomes the perfect bait. But when she falls, everything Clark Kent thought he could endure shatters. (3.3k)
â Force Fields and Fault Lines - In a city where secrets weigh heavier than steel, sheâs buried her past to protect her future. When a devastating attack shatters the fragile peace, the line between civilian and hero blurs once more. Amidst chaos and hidden truths, two lives collideâeach carrying wounds deeper than the eye can see. As shadows close in, the choices they make could heal or break them forever. (3.3k)
â âĄThings That Break Between Plans Masterlist(Ongoing) - In the chaos of Hawkinsâ latest nightmare, secrets crack under pressure. Trapped between monsters, military lockdowns, and a plan that barely holds, you're forced to confront the truth about what you mean to Mike Wheelerâand what you refuse to be anymore. When survival gives way to honesty, words cut deeper than any creature ever could. Some fights save your life. Others finally make you choose yourself. (3.3k)
âĄLate Nights and Stolen Moments - When a bike accident forces you into an unexpected favor, you find yourself alone with Mike Wheelerâjust the two of you, the quiet night, and a drive that changes everything. Between whispered confessions, stolen kisses, and the chaos of everyday life, you navigate the thin line between friendship and something more. And sometimes, the safest place isnât homeâitâs in each otherâs arms. (2.9K)
âĄUnder Hawkins Stars - Coming home from college feels strangeâuntil a little league game, makeshift pom-poms, and an unexpected reunion with Mike Wheeler pull you back into everything you thought youâd outgrown. What starts as cheering on your little brother turns into late-night laughter, stolen moments, and long-buried feelings resurfacing under the stars. As Hawkins reminds you of who you were, Mike helps you realize who you could beâtogether, this time, without missed chances. (6.0K)
â âĄâ€ïžI Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do Masterlist- Collections and oneshots over the timespan of (Y/N) and Finn's relationship!
â âĄâ€ïž Smart , Arrangements and Rules-If someone told 15 year old you that you not only would be acting off broadway but also were about to book a film with the one and only Finn Wolfhard you would have told them to shut up. Only now you're here and that exact statement is your reality only Finn isn't exactly as you imagined him..... in a good way.
âĄTake Two, Off Script- As an Ex Broadway star you have made it clear under no circumstances will you ever step into the limelight again. But after a meet and greet at comic con and an unexpected friendship you find that maybe stepping back into the world of Hollywood isn't so bad. Especially because of a certain Canadian.
Summary:After years of surviving the impossible, youâve learned to keep your head down, do your job, and never ask too many questions. But strange things have a way of finding you. From uncovering the secrets hidden in the aftermath of Spider-Manâs battles, to searching for answers among the forgotten dead, every discovery pulls you closer to a past youâve tried to bury. And just when you think you can handle anything, Peter Parker asks you to celebrate his birthday. (5.2k)
Tags: Some cursing, Tiny (if you squint) BND spoilers in this chapter but there will be some in future chapters, gore, mentions of past violence, kidnapping, magic, spiderman is awkward, Reader falls right back into Peters web, PTSD mentions, mentions of death/murder, angst, Mutant hatred
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**********
Damage Control prided itself on taking the bad and turning it into something good.
At least, that was what they told the public.
The glossy commercials talked about rebuilding neighborhoods, recovering dangerous technology, and keeping civilians safe after every superhero battle. They made it sound nobleâlike every employee was personally helping make the world a better place.
You weren't naĂŻve enough to believe all of it.
There were too many locked doors, too many restricted files, and too many conversations that stopped the moment someone without the proper clearance walked into the room. Whatever happened on the upper floors of the facility, it was well above your pay grade.
Not that anyone planned on telling you.
Instead, you spent your days tucked away in one of the lower-level laboratories, cataloging and analyzing whatever oddity the field teams managed to recover. Most weeks, that meant running tests on melted fragments of alien alloys, unidentified biological samples, or whatever mysterious goo happened to be left behind after the latest superhero disaster.
It wasn't exactly glamorous. But every now and then⊠every now and then, you actually got to use the degree you'd worked so hard to earn.
Your teachers had been right. You were smart.
Turns out it was a lot easier to excel when you weren't spending every evening taking care of your little brother, cleaning up after your father, or wondering whether the lights would still be on when you got home. Back then, every parent-teacher conference ended the same way.
"Your daughter has incredible potential."
"She just needs support at home."
Your father, usually several beers deep before he even walked into the school, would nod absentmindedly through the meeting before dragging you home and assigning twice as many chores for "making him waste his afternoon."
You'd stopped expecting anyone to notice after a while.
Funny how different life looked now.
You blinked, pulling yourself out of the memory as you adjusted the focus on your microscope.
"I seriously don't know how you do it." Ellie's voice cut through your thoughts.
You looked up.
She was perched on the edge of one of the stainless-steel lab tables, absentmindedly spinning a pen between her fingers.
"Do what?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You tuned me out again."
"What? No, I was just..."
"Thinking about work?"
"Maybe."
Ellie laughed.
"I knew it."
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the microscope. "So what were you saying?"
"I was saying," Ellie continued dramatically, hopping off the table, "that I don't understand how you always find the coolest specimens."
You frowned. "I don't."
"You absolutely do." She pointed an accusing finger at you.
"Every single field assignment we go on, everyone else comes back with broken concrete or bent rebar." She counted on her fingers. "You? Mutated DNA, weird alien pollen, experimental technology, and that chunk of metal from that Spider-Man fight that turned out to be some incredibly rare alloy."
"That happened once."
"Once recently."
She folded her arms. "I could keep going."
A reluctant smile tugged at your lips. "Guess I'm just lucky."
Ellie snorted. "Either lucky..." She leaned in conspiratorially. "or you've got an insider."
You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Spider-Man."
You laughed. "I wish."
"Think about it." She spread her hands dramatically. "You always end up exactly where the interesting stuff is."
"I end up where the paperwork tells me to go."
"Sounds exactly like something someone covering for Spider-Man would say."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "If Spider-Man actually wanted an inside scientist, I think he'd pick someone way cooler."
"You have a degree in biophysics."
"So do plenty of people."
"Not with your track record."
You shrugged. "I just like solving puzzles."
Ellie grinned. "See? That's what I mean." She gestured toward the microscope. "You see impossible science, I see a reason to leave work on time."
You laughed quietly. "I don't believe that for a second."
Ellie sighed dramatically as she began organizing her own slides. "You know what your real problem is?"
You didn't even look up. "I feel like you're about to tell me anyway."
"You have no life outside this building."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I run."
"Exercise doesn't count."
"I read."
"You read research journals."
"They're books."
"They're textbooks."Â
You paused. "Still books."
Ellie pointed triumphantly. "Exactly."
You tried not to smile. "I have hobbies."
"Name three."
"...Running."
"Already said that."
"...Reading."
"Nope."
You stared at the ceiling for a moment. "...Cooking?"
Ellie blinked. "You meal prep."
"That's basically cooking."
She laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter. "I rest my case."
You crossed your arms. "I have a perfectly balanced life."
"You went home yesterday and reorganized your apartment because you were stressed."
"How did you know that?"
"You texted me a picture asking which direction your couch looked more 'emotionally stable.'"Â
Your face immediately warmed. "I was tired."
"You labeled the options 'existential' and 'slightly less existential.'"
"I forgot I sent that."
"I didn't."
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I tolerate you."
"There it is."
Ellie pointed again. "That's the closest thing to affection I've gotten out of you all week."
Before you could come up with a response, Henry's booming voice echoed across the lab.
"Alright, everyone, listen up!"
Conversations immediately died down. Henry strode through the room carrying a tablet tucked beneath one arm.
"We've got a fresh cleanup assignment."
A collective groan spread through the lab. Henry ignored it.
"Spider-Man just got into a fight with someone using experimental tech downtown." He glanced down at the tablet. "Orders came from upstairs, they want every fragment recovered before anyone else gets to it."
You stood, stretching your arms above your head. "Looks like your favorite part of the week."
Ellie bumped your shoulder with hers. "This conversation isn't over."
You sighed dramatically as you grabbed your field bag.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
**********
The scene looked almost identical to every other cleanup assignment you'd been sent on. Police officers milled about behind yellow barricade tape, taking witness statements and loading another unlucky supervillain into the back of an armored transport. EMTs checked over civilians with varying degrees of patience while reporters fought one another for the best camera angles.
Just another Tuesday in New York. You silently hoped it wasn't Scorpion again. Honestly, the man deserved points for persistence. Not intelligence, certainly.
But persistence?
Absolutely.
At this point, you were convinced he viewed getting punched through buildings as a hobby. Henry gathered everyone into a loose circle, tablet in hand.
"Standard procedure," he called over the noise. "Spread out in teams of two. I want the immediate area cataloged first, then work outward. If you find anything unusual, don't touch it until you've photographed it."
A chorus of half-hearted acknowledgements answered him. You nodded along, though you barely registered a word. Your attention had already wandered. About thirty yards away, a figure clad in red and blue stood speaking with one of the detectives.
Spider-Man.
Even from a distance, he never seemed to stop moving. One hand gestured animatedly while the other rested on his hip, his head tilting every few seconds as though he couldn't decide whether to stay put or swing away immediately.
You couldn't hear the conversation. Only the cadence of his voice. Animated. Apologetic. Almost... nervous. It was strange. The city treated Spider-Man like this untouchable legend, but every time you caught glimpses of him, he just seemed like...
A guy.
An incredibly weird guy.
Still.
You shook yourself out of it. You weren't here to people-watch. You were here to collect samples.
Or...
More accurately...
You were here to collect the samples everyone else missed.
You waited until Ellie and the others had become absorbed in arguing over whose turn it was to carry the equipment cases before quietly slipping away from the main scene. The interesting evidence was rarely where everyone expected it to be. Fragments were thrown by explosions. Organic residue traveled farther than debris. If there was anything worth finding, it was probably outside the police perimeter. You walked another block, scanning rooftops and storm drains as you went.
Nothing.
A discarded soda cup. A bent parking sign. Half a traffic cone.
Disappointing.
Thwip.
You stopped walking.
Your head tilted upward.
"What?"
Another soft thwip echoed somewhere above you. Before you could pinpoint the source, a voice landed directly in front of you.
"Hey!"
You jumped hard enough to nearly drop your evidence bag.
"What the-"
Spider-Man stood less than three feet away. Apparently he'd landed so quietly you hadn't heard him.
"Whoa! Sorry!"
He immediately raised both hands.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
His words tumbled over one another.
"I justâŠuhâŠit isn't exactly safe over here right now."
He gestured vaguely toward the destroyed intersection behind him.
"I literally finished fighting someone like... five minutes ago."
You blinked.
"I know."
He waited.
You waited.
Finally, you pointed toward the Damage Control logo on your jacket.
"I'm with Damage Control."
His mask tilted. "Right."
A beat.
"Oh!" He pointed enthusiastically. "Right! I knew that."
"Did you?"
"No."
You couldn't help the tiny smile threatening the corner of your mouth.
Spider-Man cleared his throat awkwardly. "I just meant..." He pointed back toward the cleanup crews. "They're mostly working over there."
"I'm checking the outskirts."
"Oh."
"Looking for overlooked evidence."
"Oh."
"It's my job."
"Oh."
The conversation died an awkward death. You studied him for a second. Ellie's voice echoed through your head.
"You always end up where Spider-Man is."
"Maybe you've got an insider."
You almost laughed. Then, entirely against your will, your scientific curiosity kicked in. Interesting. He was favoring his left leg. Subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't notice. But it was there. His left shoulder also sat slightly lower than the right.
An injury.
Fresh.
You found yourself wondering how quickly someone with spider-based abilities healed. Real spiders could regenerate lost limbs over multiple molts. Obviously humans couldn't molt. Probably. So where exactly did the biology overlap? Could enhanced cellular regenerationâ
"You okay?"
Spider-Man waved a hand in front of your face.
"You've kinda got the thousand-yard stare going."
You blinked.
"Oh."
"Sorry."
"I was thinking."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if you're secretly participating in a long-term medical study."
Spider-Man laughed.
"I don't think I am."
"You'd probably know."
"I'd hope so."
Silence settled again. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other."WellâŠI should probably get going."
You nodded.
"So should I."
He hesitated.
"Just..." His voice softened slightly. "Be careful, okay?"
You looked at him for a long moment before answering. "I'm more worried about you."
His head tilted. "What?"
"You've been limping since you landed."
His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. "...I have?"
"A little." You pointed toward his left side. "You keep favoring it."
He looked down instinctively. "Huh." Then he laughed a little too loudly. "Guess I should work on my superhero posture."
You folded your arms. "Probably."
"Noted."
He raised one hand in a small wave. "Stay safe."
"You too."
He lifted his wrist. A web shot toward a nearby building.
"See ya!"
The web attached. Unfortunately it attached much closer than he'd anticipated.
"Oh." The realization hit him exactly one second too late.
Instead of a graceful launch, he was yanked forward with enough force to send him hurtling straight toward the brick wall.
"Uh-oh."
At the last possible second, he twisted in midair, planting both feet against the building before vaulting upward in a much more controlled swing. A second web caught properly this time. Within moments, he disappeared between the skyscrapers. You stood there for another second, staring after him. Then, despite yourself...
You laughed.
"So much for the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
Still smiling, you adjusted the strap of your evidence bag and continued searching the outskirts of the scene, wondering whether every conversation with the city's most famous hero was destined to be that painfully awkward.
**********
The walk to the cemetery wasn't long.
It was one of New York's newer burial grounds, small, quiet, and still mostly empty compared to the older cemeteries scattered throughout the city. Rows of fresh headstones gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, the silence only interrupted by birdsong and the distant hum of traffic.
You followed the winding path toward the center of the grounds before stepping off the pavement and onto the soft grass. No one paid you much attention.
Good.
You preferred it that way. Once you were certain you were alone, you lowered yourself onto your knees. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the amulet resting against your chest. The familiar warmth pulsed beneath your fingertips. You closed your eyes. The world around you faded. The breeze. The birds. The city.
Everything became distant as you focused instead on the earth beneath you. You reached outward, not with your hands, but with whatever strange piece of power had become woven into your soul. The ground answered. Slowly, you opened your eyes.
"Hello?" you called softly.
Only silence greeted you. You waited. Then a low groan drifted through the still air. Your shoulders relaxed.
"There you are."
Several feet away, the earth shifted. Wet soil rolled aside as skeletal fingers clawed their way toward the surface. A man slowly pulled himself free.
Time had not been kind to him.
Half of his face had decayed away, exposing yellowed bone beneath weathered flesh. His clothes had long since rotted into little more than stained fabric hanging from his frame, and his cloudy eyes wandered across the cemetery as though he were seeing the world for the first time again.
Most people would have screamed. Children probably would have run. You simply offered him a small smile.
"I hope I didn't wake you too abruptly."
The corpse turned toward your voice. Recognition slowly settled across his weathered features. Not recognition of you. Recognition of the magic. Of the goddess.
"I was wondering..." you began gently, "...would you happen to be one of the oldest spirits buried here?"
The corpse gave a slow nod. His neck creaked with the movement. "Thank you."
You hesitated before asking your next question. "Were you... a mutant?"
The corpse's expression fell.
Slowly, he shook his head.
"I figured." You smiled apologetically.
"Do you know someone who was?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the corpse nodded. Relief washed over you.
"Would you mind showing me?"
Without another sound, he turned and began shuffling deeper into the cemetery. You followed at a respectful distance. The farther you walked, the fewer polished headstones remained. Granite gave way to simple wooden markers. Then even those disappeared. Many of the graves had no names at all. Just weathered stakes driven into the ground. Some had numbers. Others had nothing.
People no one had come to claim. People no one wanted to remember. Mutants labeled monsters. The forgotten. The abandoned. The feared.
Eventually, the corpse stopped. He turned toward a patch of earth with no marker whatsoever. Only freshly settled soil. He let out another low groan before looking back at you.
"I understand." You knelt beside the grave. "Thank you."
You lifted your hand in a small wave.
The old man returned the gesture with surprising gentleness before his body slowly dissolved back into the earth, the soil closing over him as though he had never been there. Silence returned once more.
You settled onto your knees again. The amulet pulsed warmly beneath your palm. You focused. The earth trembled. A soft crack split the ground before delicate fingers emerged from the dirt.
Your breath caught. She couldn't have been older than ten. Her pink sundress was caked in dried mud. Faded ribbons still tied her pigtails together. Her neck rested at an unnatural angle, clearly broken long before she had been buried. Slowly, she climbed from the grave, wide frightened eyes fixed entirely on you.
"It's okay," you whispered.
She immediately shrank backward. Tiny hands reached toward the dirt as though she intended to bury herself again.
"No." Your voice remained gentle. "I'm not here to hurt you."
She hesitated. Carefully, you reached out your hand.
"You don't have to be afraid."
After several long moments, she cautiously placed her cold fingers into yours. They felt impossibly small. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.
"Were you... a mutant?"
The little girl looked down. Then she nodded.
Your heart broke. "And..." You struggled to finish the question. "...Is that why you're here?"
Another tiny nod. You closed your eyes for just a second. Sometimes you hated being right. When you looked back at her, your voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'm so sorry."
The little girl simply stared at you. She didn't seem angry. Just...confused. As though she didn't understand why any of it had happened. You took a slow breath.
"I need to ask you something."Â
She tilted her head.
"It might sound strange." Another pause. "I'm trying to help people like you."
You glanced briefly toward the grave. "I want to understand why some mutations become unstable... and maybe find a way to stop other children from ending up here."
Your fingers tightened around the amulet.
"But I need DNA to do that."
The words felt heavy.
"I was wondering..."
Your voice almost cracked.
"...if you'd be willing to let me take a sample."
The little girl blinked. She looked down at herself. Then, after only a moment's thought, she reached up to one of the faded bows tied into her hair. With a soft, sickening crack, she pulled it free. A small piece of scalp came with it. You flinched despite yourself.
She held the ribbon out proudly. Waiting. Like a child showing a parent a drawing. Asking if she'd done a good job. Your vision blurred.
"You did." Your voice shook. "You did wonderfully."
Very carefully, you accepted the ribbon.Â
"Thank you."
The little girl smiled. It wasn't a frightening smile. Just an ordinary child's smile. One she should have had the chance to wear for decades longer. You returned the smile through watery eyes. With a gentle wave of your hand, the magic released her. Her body slowly dissolved back into the earth, disappearing beneath the soil as peacefully as she'd arrived.
The cemetery fell silent once again.
You sat there for another minute, clutching the faded pink ribbon in your hands. Children. There were always children. Too many. Far too many.
You carefully placed the ribbon inside a sterile evidence bag before slipping it into your satchel.
"I'll help you," you whispered to the empty grave.
"I promise."
Whether you were speaking to her, or every child buried around her, you weren't entirely sure. After wiping the moisture from your eyes, you stood and made your way back toward the cleanup site.
The sounds of sirens and conversation gradually returned as the cemetery faded behind you. The moment Ellie spotted you, she hurried over with an eager grin.
"Well?" she asked. "Find anything interesting?"
You looked at the evidence bag tucked safely inside your satchel. Then back at your friend. After a long pause, you forced a small shrug.
"Nope."
You offered an easy smile.
"Nothing at all."
**********
You didn't know what being kidnapped was supposed to feel like. Movies always made it seem obvious. Dark basements. Cold concrete floors. Rusted chains bolted to the wall. A single flickering light hanging from the ceiling. Instead, you woke in what looked more like an expensive hotel room.
Soft sheets covered the bed beneath you, and warm sunlight poured through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking rolling green hills. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and snow-capped mountains stretched across the horizon like something ripped straight from one of those Swiss tourism commercials that always played between reruns of old sitcoms.
For a brief, disorienting second, you wondered if you'd dreamed the whole thing. Then the pounding ache in the back of your head reminded you otherwise.
"Youâre awake."
The deep voice came from the doorway. You startled, your gaze snapping toward the man standing there.
He looked ordinary. Well-dressed. Calm. Far too calm.
"That's good," he said, offering a small smile. "Very good."
Your heart hammered against your ribs.
"Where am I?" Your voice came out rough, your throat painfully dry. "Who are you?"
"My name is Arthur." He stepped into the room with measured confidence.
"And for now," he continued, "all you need to know is that you're safe."
A bitter laugh escaped you. "Safe?" You stared at him in disbelief. "You kidnapped me."
He inclined his head. "We did."
He didn't even try to deny it.
"I'll admit," he said almost thoughtfully, "it wasn't my preferred method." His cane clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he walked farther into the room. "But we've been waiting for you for a very long time."
Your stomach twisted. Waiting? For you?
"I..." Your voice cracked. "I have to go home."
Arthur stopped walking. "Home?" He regarded you almost sympathetically. "Home to what?" His words were quiet. Controlled. "A mother who's already gone. A father who drinks until he forgets he has children. A little brother forced to rely on his older sister because he has no one else."
Each sentence struck harder than the last.
"A home built on survival instead of love."
Silence filled the room. You hated that you couldn't argue. Because none of it was untrue. You loved your mother. You loved your little brother more than anything.
But there had been nights...
Far too many nights...
When you'd wondered what life might have been like if your mother had lived. If your father had stayed sober. If you'd been allowed to be a child instead of another parent. Arthur watched the realization settle over you.
"So tell me," he asked gently. "Why return to a life that has only ever hurt you?" He took another step closer. "You could become so much more."
His eyes drifted toward your chest. "May I see it?"
You frowned. "See what?"
"The necklace."
Instinctively, your hand flew to the pendant resting against your collarbone.
You took a step backward. "No."
His expression remained patient. "I won't take it."
"It's all I have left of my mom." Your voice shook despite your best efforts. "I'm not giving it to you."
Arthur smiled faintly. "I merely wish to examine it."
Slowly, he reached out. His fingertips brushed the edge of the pendant. The world exploded.
An invisible force slammed into him with enough strength to launch him across the room. His body crashed into the far wall before collapsing to the floor. You screamed. Your back hit the wall as panic flooded your body.
"What was that?!"
Arthur slowly pushed himself upright. Instead of looking frightened...he looked pleased. Satisfied. As though something had just confirmed a theory.
You looked wildly around the room. The wooden floor beneath your feet groaned. Then cracked. Thin fractures raced across the floorboards. One by one, skeletal hands burst through the splintered wood. Gray fingers clawed desperately toward the surface. Rotting arms followed. Then faces. Empty eye sockets. Broken jaws. Bodies dragging themselves upward from beneath the earth.
 You screamed. Your eyes slammed shut. Your fingers wrapped desperately around the necklace.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Your mother had always prayed when she was afraid. You didn't know if anyone was listening. But you prayed anyway. The room fell silent.
Slowly...
Carefully...
You opened your eyes. The floor was whole again. No cracks. No bodies. No hands. Nothing. Only Arthur. Still standing. Still watching you.
"I just want to go home."
The words came out barely louder than a whisper. Tears blurred your vision.
Arthur sighed. "I have a proposal."
"No." You rushed toward the door."I don't want a proposal. I want to leave. I want to go home."
"You need help."
"I don't."
"You do." His voice remained unnervingly calm. "I can teach you to control whatever just happened."
You stopped walking. Only because part of you already knew he was right.
"You would only need to help my cause in return."
You turned slowly to face him. "I said..." Your voice hardened. "I want to go home."
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, almost as though you were an exceptionally stubborn student.
"Tell me." He leaned slightly on his cane. "Were you a sickly child?"
Every muscle in your body tightened. "How do you know that?"
"It fits."
"Fits what?"
"Your predicament."
You frowned. "My... predicament?"
Arthur blinked. Then something almost resembling surprise crossed his face. "You don't know."
Your heartbeat quickened. "Know what?"
He studied you for several long seconds before speaking again. "Let me guess. You were constantly ill as a child. The doctors never found a cause. Your parents worried endlessly."
You couldn't breathe.
"Then one day..." He pointed toward the pendant still clutched tightly in your hand. "Your mother gave you that necklace. You recovered. And not long afterward..." His voice softened. "Your mother became sick."
Your vision blurred.Â
"No."
"There was no explanation."
"No."
"No treatment."
"No."
"And she couldn't wear the necklace." Arthur's eyes met yours. "Because you already had it."
The room suddenly felt too small. You remembered. Your mother fastening the chain around your neck. Her smile. Her tired eyes. How she'd insisted everything would be okay.
How you'd started getting better.
How she'd started getting worse.
"No..."
The word barely escaped your lips.
Arthur nodded once. "That..." He gestured toward the amulet. "...is not simply a family heirloom."
"It is the only thing keeping you alive." He let the silence settle before delivering the final blow. "The women in your mother's family have been cursed for generations."
His cane tapped softly against the floor.
"And that..." He pointed once more to the pendant resting against your chest."...is the cure."
**********
You swallowed hard as memories of your first night with Arthur faded back into the recesses of your mind. It always happened like this. One thought became another. One memory unraveled the next until you were reliving moments you'd spent years trying to bury. By the time you reached your apartment building, your chest felt tight.
You stepped into the lobby, offering the night security guard a distracted nod before pressing the elevator button. The familiar hum of the ancient elevator filled the silence. You leaned against the wall, rubbing tired circles into your temples as you waited. Today had been... a lot. Spider-Man. The cemetery. The little girl. The DNA sample tucked safely in your satchel. You closed your eyes.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open. You stepped inside, pressing the button for your floor before resting your forehead briefly against the cool metal wall. Maybe tonight you'd actually sleep. The thought alone almost made you laugh. When the elevator finally stopped, you shuffled down the hallway toward your apartment, keys already in hand. Thenâ
Thud.
"...Ow."
A muffled curse echoed through the hall. Your head snapped up. Peter stood outside his apartment, one hand fumbling with his keys while the other pressed against the doorframe for support. Something immediately looked... off.
His hair was messier than usual. His hoodie was torn near the shoulder. A thin trail of dried blood ran from a split in his eyebrow down the side of his face. And unless you were imagining it he was favoring his left side.
"Peter?"
He looked up so quickly that he immediately winced.
"Oh." He forced a smile. "Hey!"
His voice came out just a little too cheerful. "What's up?"
You walked a few steps closer, your eyes scanning him. "Are you okay?"
"What?" He laughed nervously. "Yeah! Of course! I'm great." His voice climbed an octave by the end of the sentence.
You stared at him. "You're bleeding."
His hand instinctively flew to his eyebrow. "Oh. That."
"And you're limping."
"I am?"
"Yes."
"Huh." He glanced down at himself as if hoping the injury had somehow disappeared.
You folded your arms. "What happened?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I...Fell down the stairs."
You blinked. "The stairs."
"Yep."
"And the stairs split your eyebrow open."
"They were... aggressive stairs."
You couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped you.
Peter looked relieved. "So you don't believe me."
"Not even a little."
"Fair."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your gaze drifted back to the cut on his forehead. Without thinking, your hand lifted slightly, instinct urging you to check how deep it was. You caught yourself just before your fingers touched his skin. The movement didn't go unnoticed.
Peter glanced briefly at your hand before meeting your eyes again. "I'm okay," he said more quietly this time.
You nodded. "If you say so."
You knew better than to push. Everyone had secrets. You of all people understood that. With one last glance toward him, you turned and unlocked your own apartment door. You'd almost made it inside when his voice stopped you.
"Hey?"
You looked back over your shoulder.
Peter was still standing outside his apartment, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. He looked...nervous.
"This is probably going to sound weird," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. "But..." He hesitated. "Do you have any plans tonight?"
You frowned."Why?"
Your guard immediately shot back up. You'd promised yourself you wouldn't fall back into whatever strange orbit Peter Parker seemed to have over your life. Not again.
Peter looked down at the floor. "It's just..." He laughed softly to himself. "Today's my birthday."Â
The words were almost embarrassingly quiet. "And..." He shrugged. "I don't really have anyone to celebrate with."
Something inside your chest twisted.Â
He looked up quickly, clearly trying to play it off. "I figured maybe..." He gestured vaguely between your apartments. "birthday cake might make up for the whole keeping-you-awake-all-night thing."
Another awkward laugh. "So...kind of a peace offering? Win-win?"
Silence settled between you. You really looked at him then. Not the smile. Not the jokes. Not the awkward attempts at conversation. You looked past all of that. The exhaustion hidden beneath his bright expression. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The fresh cuts he clearly hadn't bothered treating. The loneliness.Â
It was impossible to miss once you knew where to look.
And for just a moment...he reminded you of yourself. Trying so hard to convince everyone else you were fine that you'd almost started believing it. Almost.
You sighed. "Well..." A small smile tugged at your lips. "I happen to have a personal rule."
Peter tilted his head.
"No one spends their birthday alone."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
You nodded. "I'll be over in twenty minutes."
For a second, he simply stared at you. Like he genuinely hadn't expected you to say yes. Then his face broke into the brightest smile you'd seen from him yet.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He fumbled with his keys so badly that he dropped them onto the hallway carpet. "Oh." He bent down to grab them before immediately regretting the movement. "Ow."
You couldn't help smiling.
He finally unlocked his apartment and looked back at you.
"Great. Yeah. I'll..." He pointed toward his door. "...I'll see you in twenty."
"You will."
You stepped into your apartment, gently closing the door behind you. The smile lingered on your face for another few seconds before you realized it was there. You immediately shook your head.
Summary: All you wanted was one peaceful night of sleep. Instead, you got a noise complaint, an awkward hallway encounter, and the worst possible surprise: the man living across the hall is Peter Parker. The boy you knew. The boy you never forgot. The boy who doesnât remember you. As you try to ignore the impossible coincidence, memories of the last time you saw him begin to resurface. Apparently, surviving the past was easier than living next door to it. (4.8k)
Tags: Some cursing, No BND spoilers in this chapter but there will be some in future chapters, reader has ptsd, reader is a hopeless romantic, violence, Peter and cats don't get along, reader does some questionable things, they both just need a friend.
< Prologue | Next Chapter >
**********
You really couldn't blame anyone else. You certainly couldn't blame Peter.
After that awkward, painfully strained interaction in the hallway, he had actually kept his word. The banging had stopped almost immediately, and for the first time in weeks, the apartment across the hall had fallen completely silent.
Which meant the sleepless night that followed was entirely your own fault.
Fantastic.
The only silver lining was that it was Friday, which meant you didn't have to drag yourself into the lab after surviving on barely three hours of sleep.No Tiffany hovering over your shoulder, criticizing the way you organized the specimen vials because apparently there was a "correct" way to arrange things that only she understood.
No Henry wandering into the lab thirty seconds before his first meeting, looking around helplessly until someone produced his coffee. You were almost positive that was supposed to be his intern's responsibility, but Henry had somehow decided that making his own nephew walk three blocks for a latte was an unacceptable use of company resources.
Not your problem today.
Instead of wallowing in self-loathing at work, you got to do it from the comfort of your own apartment.
Amazing.
Wonderful.
Thrilling, really.
By eleven in the morning, you had reorganized your furniture fifteen separate times. The couch had migrated from one wall to another and then back again. The bookshelf had briefly become a room divider before you realized it looked ridiculous. Your coffee table had somehow ended up in the kitchen for nearly twenty minutes before you admitted defeat. You were fairly certain your downstairs neighbors hated you now.
If they hadn't before, they definitely did after hearing what must have sounded like an elephant repeatedly redecorating.
Unfortunately, they weren't the only neighbors you had likely annoyed.
At one point, convinced your apartment felt "dusty," you had decided to clean the ceiling. That had lasted all of three minutes.
Turns out using a Swiffer above your head was significantly harder than the commercials made it look. Instead of gently sweeping away dust, you'd spent most of the time smacking the ceiling loud enough to make whoever lived upstairs stomp back in retaliation.
You had quietly apologized to the ceiling. It did not forgive you. That really only left the people on your floor.
Normally, that wouldn't bother you.
Except your hallway was... memorable.
There was Old Man Jack, who somehow smelled like mothballs, expired cheese, and cigarettes no matter the season. Then there was Karen. Everyone called her Cat Lady Karen, though you secretly admired her. She somehow managed to keep eightâmaybe nine at this pointâcats in a one-bedroom apartment that was cleaner than yours had ever been.
The place never smelled. The cats never made noise. Frankly, you were convinced she was some sort of wizard.
And then...
Peter.
Fucking.
Parker.
You groaned, dropping your head against the back of the couch.
"No."
You pointed a finger toward the ceiling as if scolding your own brain.
"We are not thinking about Peter Parker."
Your brain, predictably, ignored you. Because of course it did. With an irritated sigh, you leaned over the arm of the couch and grabbed your laptop from the floor before carrying it over to the tiny kitchen table.
The old thing groaned as you opened it.
The glowing Empire State University logo appeared on the screen, and you couldn't help but stare at it for a second longer than necessary.
It wasn't your laptop. Never had been. The girl who originally owned it had left it unattended in the public library during finals week three years ago. You had desperately needed a computer. She had desperately needed to pay more attention to her backpack.
You already knew the login credentials for the university rental system, and disabling the tracking software had taken less than fifteen minutes. You assumed she had eventually gotten another one. Judging by the designer backpack and expensive clothes she'd been wearing that day, replacing it probably hadn't been the end of the world.Unlike you.
You pushed the thought away and opened your email. Advertisements. Work announcements. A reminder about mandatory safety training. Another notice confirming your court date had been scheduled for next week.
Your stomach twisted.
Another chance for someone in a suit to tell you that despite having a degree, a stable apartment, and a full-time job, you still weren't enough.
You closed the email before you could dwell on it.
Maybe a movie.
Old Man Jack had accidentally left every streaming password imaginable written on a sticky note by the mailboxes a few months ago when he'd asked you to help set up his television. He still hadn't realized the mysterious "Settings" profile on every service wasn't actually part of the app.
You probably should have felt guilty.
You didn't.
You clicked open your browser. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, almost against your own will, they began typing.
Peter Parker.
You stared at the search bar.
"What do I even know about you anymore?" you muttered.
Back in high school, the answer would have been easy. Peter was smart. Always late. Always carrying too many books. Best friends with Ned Leeds. Living with his Aunt May. Hopelessly, painfully in love with Liz Allan. And always, always kind.
"So..." you sighed.
"Nothing."
Your eyes drifted back to the screen.
Ned.
You remembered seeing his social media once while doom-scrolling through your phone during one particularly noisy night.
His profile popped up almost instantly. You clicked. Video after video. MIT campus tours. Engineering projects. Photos with...
Michelle Jones?
"Huh."
That was unexpected.Â
You kept scrolling. First semester. Second semester. Trips. Group photos. Old classmates. Nothing. No Peter. Not once.
Your brows furrowed.
Had they stopped being friends? That didn't seem right. You backed out.
Okay.
AuntâŠwhat was her name again? June? No. It was a month. April? July?
"May." You quickly typed it in. "There we go."
You clicked the first result. Your smile disappeared. An obituary.
The smiling face of May Parker looked back at you from the funeral home's website. You froze.
No...
She hadn't been old enough. Maybe she'd been sick. You scanned the page desperately. Looking for Peter. Looking for anything. There was nothing. No mention of a beloved nephew. No surviving family. Nothing.
A strange unease settled into your stomach. You slowly returned to the search bar.Â
Peter Parker.
Search. You waited. Results loaded. Nothing. Well...not nothing. There were dozens of Peter Parkers.
A retired dentist in Ohio. A fourteen-year-old baseball player. Three different obituaries. An accountant. A history professor. None of them were him.
Your face scrunched in confusion.
"What..."
You leaned back in your chair. This was one of the very few times you regretted leaving London so suddenly. If you'd packed that damn yearbook instead of abandoning half your belongings, you'd at least have proof that you weren't losing your mind. Because the man across the hall existed. Didn't he?
You blinked. That thought sounded ridiculous. Of course he existed. You'd spoken to him. He'd apologized. He'd smiled. So why couldn't you find a single trace of him?
Your thoughts began racing. Maybe he'd changed his name. Maybe he didn't use social media. But you knew one thing for sure, he simply didn't remember you.Your jaw tightened.
"Asshole," you muttered.
You immediately winced. That wasn't fair. He wasn't an asshole. Not really. Maybe a little oblivious. Maybe painfully awkward. But not cruel. StillâŠ
He had looked directly at you. Talked to you. Smiled at you. Without the slightest flicker of recognition. Not for the girl who had shared classes with him. Not for the girl who had quietly admired him from afar. Not for the girl whose entire life had changed after the last time she'd seen him. Before your thoughts could finish that sentence, you slammed the laptop shut. The sharp crack echoed through the apartment.
You stumbled back to the couch, collapsed face-first into one of the cushions, and let out a muffled scream into the pillow. The sound was swallowed almost instantly. After a long moment of silence, your voice came out quietly.
"Maybe I should've gone to work today."
**********
You knew you weren't the most popular person at Midtown High. Far from it.
But according to all those old '80s sitcom reruns that seemed to be the only thing ever recorded on your television, high school was supposed to be a fresh start. A place where you could reinvent yourself. Leave middle school behind.
So, every morning, you did your best. You plastered on a smile sharp enough to convince people you weren't falling apart. You wore oversized sweaters and hoodies to hide the bruises and the too-prominent bones that had made you an easy target for years. You made sure your little brother ate the last granola bar, even if your own stomach growled loud enough to complain. Then you walked through the front doors of Midtown High with your head held high.
At least...
Until you left the lobby.
The principal loved greeting students at the entrance, and as long as he was nearby, everyone behaved themselves. The moment you turned into the main hallway, all bets were off.
"Move, bitch!"
A hard shove hit you square between the shoulder blades. You stumbled forward, slamming hip-first into a row of lockers before crumpling to one knee. Pain shot through your side. You sucked in a sharp breath, one hand instinctively clutching your ribs. Laughter erupted around you.
Of course.
You looked up just in time to find a phone camera inches from your face.
"And here we have..." Flash Thompson announced dramatically, spinning the camera toward himself like he was filming some nature documentary. "...Skelly!"
More laughter. He turned the camera back toward you. "Midtown's resident waste of space."
A beat.
"And dead last in the class rankings."
You frowned.
"I'm notâ"
"What's that, Skelly?" Flash interrupted, cupping a hand around his ear. "Sorry, I can't hear you all the way down there."
He glanced you up and down dramatically.
"In the rankings and physically."
A few of his friends snorted. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet, wincing.
"That doesn't even make sense."
Flash's smug grin faltered for half a second.
"Whatever."
He rolled his eyes before motioning for his friends to follow.
"C'mon."
The group disappeared down the hallway, laughing amongst themselves. You brushed the dust off your sweater with an exhausted sigh.
Skelly.
God, you hated that nickname.It had started back in elementary school after you'd gone through an admittedly intense skeleton phase. You'd loved Halloween. Loved museums. Loved anatomy books. Apparently, that had been enough for Flash to decide your entire personality revolved around looking like one. Seven years later...
He still hadn't let it go.
Honestly, it was more embarrassing for him than it was for you.
"Hey."
You jumped. A familiar voice had somehow appeared beside you without you noticing.
"You okay?" You blinked.Â
Peter Parker stood there looking genuinely concerned.
"I mean..." He gestured toward the locker you'd just bounced off of. "You hit that pretty hard."
Your brain immediately stopped functioning. "Whaâ"
"I asked if you're okay."
He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder.
"You looked like that hurt."
Every coherent thought promptly evacuated your brain. Peter Parker was touching you. Your face immediately felt about a thousand degrees hotter.
"No!"
You practically shouted.
"I meanâyes!"
Smooth.
"I'm fine!"
You attempted to lean casually against the lockers. Completely missed. Your shoulder slid off the metal, forcing you to awkwardly catch yourself before you toppled over again.
"One hundred percent fine."
Peter raised an eyebrow.
"You don't really seem fine."
"I am."
"You just walked into a locker."
"I meant to."
"Why?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Exercise?"
Peter stared. You stared back. Neither of you spoke. Then, to your complete horror, he took a small step closer. "I think you might've hit your head."
His hand lifted toward your forehead. You froze. Every muscle in your body locked. He was so close.
Close enough that you noticed the tiny freckles scattered across his nose.Close enough that you could smell laundry detergent on his hoodie.Close enough that your heart felt like it might actually explode.
"Nope!"
You practically leaped backward.
"No. Definitely not."
Peter blinked.
"I'm just..."
You gestured vaguely at yourself.
"Like this."
"Like what?"
"Flushed."
You motioned toward your face.
"And... clumsy."
You paused.
"Generally."
A painful silence settled between the two of you.
Congratulations.
You had officially become the weirdest person Peter Parker had spoken to all week. He opened his mouth, clearly trying to think of something reassuring to say.Thankfully, or unfortunately, a voice echoed down the hallway before he could.
"Peter!"
You both turned.
Ned Leeds stood halfway down the corridor, pointing dramatically at the clock on the wall.
"We're gonna be late again!"
Peter sighed. He looked back at you.
"You should probably stop by the nurse's office, just to be safe."
"I'm okay."
"You sure?"
You nodded so enthusiastically your ponytail smacked you in the face.
"I'm great."
Before Peter could question that incredibly unconvincing answer. Ned's voice carried through the hallway.
"Peter Benjamin Parker!"
Peter laughed sheepishly.
"Sorry."
He gave you an apologetic smile.
"I've gotta go."
Then he took off at a jog, nearly colliding with three students before Ned caught up with him. You couldn't help but laugh.
Peter Parker.
Peter.
Fucking.
Parker.
Your own personal knight in a slightly-too-big hoodie. The boy who had unknowingly made every terrible school day just a little easier since freshman year. The boy you absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent did not know an embarrassing amount about.Your hand drifted to your warm cheek before instinctively finding the necklace beneath your sweater. Your fingers wrapped around it, tracing the familiar worn edges.
It always calmed you.
Eventually, you shook yourself out of your daydream and turned toward your classroom.Your foot struck something lying on the floor. You frowned.
Looking down, you spotted a black-and-white composition notebook resting against one of the lockers.
Curious, you bent to pick it up. Please don't be Flash's. You silently offered a quick prayer. If it belonged to Flash, you were seriously considering using it as kindling the next time your apartment got too cold. You flipped it over.
Your breath caught.
Property of Peter Parker.
Your eyes widened.Peter's notebook. You looked down the hallway where he'd disappeared only moments before. Then back at the notebook. A grin slowly spread across your face.
"Thank you," you whispered to whichever god happened to be listening.
You shoved the notebook into your backpack and immediately turned away from your classroom. Today was the day. This was fate.
You'd find Peter. You'd return his notebook. He'd be incredibly grateful. He'd ask how he could ever repay you. You'd laugh modestly and tell him it wasn't necessary. He'd insist. Obviously. The two of you would grab lunch. Somewhere inexpensive, because there was absolutely no way you could afford anything fancy.
Actually...
He'd probably insist on paying. Then he'd realize, through the sheer power of your kindness and undeniable charm, that he had secretly been in love with you all along. He'd confess. You'd confess. There might even be dramatic music. You'd live happily ever after.
First, thoughâŠYou had to find him.
Easy. Right?
**********
You forced yourself out of the memory with a groan, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion.
"Nope."
The pillow, unfortunately, offered no advice. With one last dramatic sigh, you pushed yourself upright and shuffled toward your closet.
If you couldn't stop thinking, you could at least exhaust yourself enough to sleep tonight.
You slid the closet door open and reached for your running clothes. Within a few minutes, you'd changed into a pair of worn leggings, an oversized T-shirt, and the same running shoes that had somehow survived nearly four years of abuse.
You grabbed your keys off the kitchen counter. As someone âprobably not wise, but definitely inspirationalâ had once said:
"You can run from your problems... if you run fast enough."
Maybe that wasn't the exact quote. Either way, it had worked surprisingly well for you over the years. Running couldn't solve your problems. But for forty-five minutes you only had to think about breathing. You stepped into the hallway and pulled your apartment door shut behind you.
The key slid into the lock. You turned it.
Click.
Nothing. You frowned and tried again.
Click.
Still nothing.
"Seriously?"
You jiggled the handle. Nothing. The ancient lock had apparently decided today was the day it wanted to retire. You let out an exaggerated groan before lightly smacking the door with your fist.
"Fine," you muttered under your breath "Be like that. It's not like anyone breaking in would find anything worth stealing anyway."
You turned around and immediately walked straight into something solid.
"Oh!"
Strong hands caught your arms before you could lose your balance. For one very confusing second, your sleep-deprived brain supplied the only logical explanation.
Walls have arms now?
Then you looked up. Brown eyes. Messy hair. A familiar sheepish smile. Of course.
Peter Parker.
"Ohâsorry!" he laughed, taking a quick step backward. "Wow... twice in one day."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were stalking me."
He smiled, clearly expecting you to laugh. Instead, your stomach dropped.
"Haha." Your laugh sounded painfully fake. "Yeah."
You gently pulled your arm free before hurrying toward the elevator without another word. Please don't follow me. Please don'tâ
Footsteps echoed behind you. Of course they did. You glanced over your shoulder. Peter was walking the exact same direction. He caught you looking and offered another friendly smile. You quickly faced forward again.
Maybe he was going upstairs. Maybe he'd take the stairs. He looked athletic enough. The footsteps kept getting closer. You jabbed the elevator button a little harder than necessary. The doors slid open almost immediately. You stepped inside. Peter stepped in right after you.
The doors began to close. You looked at him. Then at the empty hallway. Then back at him. "Are you following me?"
Peter blinked. "What?"
"You've been behind me since I left my apartment."
His eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed. "No!" He paused. "Wait."
He looked at your completely serious expression. "Oh. You actually think I'm following you."
You crossed your arms. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again.
"Fuck."
It was the exact same nervous habit he'd had the night before.
You hated that you'd noticed.
"No," he said, looking down at the floor. "I'm just... going to grab some food."
Your face immediately warmed. Right. Of course. Why would he be following you? You were an idiot.
You stared very intently at the elevator buttons as if they had suddenly become fascinating. To avoid making eye contact, you pulled out your phone and opened the first social media app you saw. Mindless scrolling was infinitely preferable to acknowledging your own embarrassment.
The silence stretched for several seconds before Peter spoke again.
"Uh..."
You looked up.
"About last night."
His hands were shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his hoodie. "I really am sorry. I honestly didn't realize how loud I was. I wasn't trying to keep you awake."
You nodded without looking at him. "It's fine."
He studied you for a moment. "It doesn't really seem fine."
"It is."
"You've looked terrified of me since I opened the door."
"I said it's fine."
Peter let out a small, frustrated laugh. "I swear, I'm not secretly some supervillain."
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth almost twitched. Almost.
Your hand drifted instinctively toward the necklace hidden beneath your shirt. Your thumb traced its familiar shape as the gentle pulse beneath your fingertips grounded you.
"Just..." You swallowed. "Drop it, okay?"
Peter's expression softened. "Okay."
The elevator dinged. The lobby. The doors slid open.
Peter hesitated before speaking again. "It's just..."
He shifted awkwardly. "We're neighbors, and I'd really rather we didn't get off on the wrongâ"
You stepped out before he could finish. "Have a great day, Peter."
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Behind you, everything went silent. Peter stood perfectly still inside the elevator. His brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. "Wait."
He stepped out after you. "What did you just say?"
You didn't answer. Didn't even look back. You pushed through the front doors of the apartment building, determined to keep walking. You never saw the expression on his face. The flicker of confusion. The strange, almost painful spark of hope. Because somehow...
Somehow, you knew his name.
Peter quickened his pace. "Hey!"
Before he could catch upâ
"HISSSSS!"
He stopped dead. A very angry tabby cat stood directly in his path, tail puffed to twice its normal size. The cat glared at him with the intensity of someone holding a decade-long grudge. Peter slowly raised both hands.
"Nice kitty?"
The cat hissed louder. Then launched itself at him.
"Oh, come on!"
Peter barely had time to react before another pair of hands scooped the cat out of the air.
"No, Whiskers!"
Karen's voice echoed through the lobby. She cradled the furious tabby against her chest like nothing had happened. The cat continued glaring at Peter over her shoulder.
Peter blinked. "Thanks, Karen."
"Oh, don't thank me." Karen kissed the top of Whiskers' head.
"The landlord said one more attack and we're both out of here." She smiled sweetly. "I couldn't waste his last strike on you."
Without another word, she turned and disappeared up the stairs, humming happily while Whiskers continued growling at Peter. Peter watched her go.
"What?"
He stood there for another second, trying to process whatever had just happened. Then his eyes snapped back toward the street. You were gone. Not even a glimpse. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
"Shit."
**********
Peter Parker was surprisingly difficult to find. You'd checked the cafeteria during lunch. Nothing. You'd lingered outside English longer than necessary. Nothing. You'd even wandered by the decathlon room, fully expecting to find him there arguing with Ned over some obscure physics question. Nothing.
It was almost impressive.
How one person could disappear so completely inside a school filled with nearly two thousand students was beyond you.
So, here you were.
School had long since let out, and you sat alone on one of the benches near the front entrance, waiting for your little brother to finish detention so you could walk over and pick him up from middle school.
Peter's notebook rested safely in your lap. You traced your thumb along the black-and-white cover. Tomorrow. You'd just give it back tomorrow. One extra day wasn't going to ruin your imaginary love story. Probably.
A loud bang echoed from somewhere down the hallway. Your head snapped up. There. Walking toward the front doors with his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder was the very person you'd been searching for all day.
Peter.
Your heartbeat immediately sped up. You tightened your grip on the notebook.
"It's now or never," you whispered to yourself.
Taking one steadying breath, you lifted your hand and gave him a small wave. "Peter?"
He looked around in confusion before spotting you. His eyebrows lifted slightly, as though he was surprised you were talking to him. Then, with that same easy smile he'd always worn, he started walking over.
"Hey."
Your mouth suddenly felt dry.
"Uh..."
You held up the notebook.
"You leftâ"
Your words died in your throat. Peter wasn't looking at you anymore. His eyes had drifted over your shoulder, fixed on something farther down the hallway.
You frowned. "Peter?"
"Huh?" He blinked."Oh. Sorry."
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Just... one second."
Before you could respond, he was already walking past you. Confused, you turned to see who had stolen his attention so completely.
Liz Allan.
Of course.
She was standing near the front doors talking with a group of friends, sunlight spilling through the glass behind her like something out of a movie.
She was beautiful. Effortlessly beautiful. The kind of beautiful people wrote songs about. The kind of beautiful magazines put on covers. The kind of beautiful that made everyone else feel slightly invisible just by standing nearby.
You couldn't even blame Peter.
How could you?
You watched him stop in front of her. The notebook grew heavier in your hands. You couldn't hear everything they were saying from where you sat. Only bits and pieces.
"homecoming..."
"would you maybe..."
Peter shifted nervously.
"...go with me?"
Your heart sank. Liz smiled. A real smile. Then she nodded. You didn't hear her answer. You didn't need to. The way Peter's face lit up told you everything. For just a second, your silly little fantasy tried to hold on.
Maybe he'd still come back. Maybe he'd thank you for finding his notebook. Maybeâ
No.
You closed your eyes. It hurt. God, it hurt. But deep down, you knew it shouldn't. Peter had always been kind to you. That was all. He smiled at everyone. Checked if people were okay. Held doors open. Asked if you were hurt.
He wasn't treating you differently. He wasn't secretly falling in love with you because you'd found his notebook. That story only happened on television. Not to girls like you. Not to girls everyone called Skelly.
You let out a slow breath. "Get over yourself." The words barely came out above a whisper.
You carefully placed Peter's notebook on the bench beside you. He'd come back eventually. He'd find it. You didn't think you could stand there smiling while he excitedly talked about Liz accepting his invitation. So you quietly stood and walked toward the front doors.
The cool afternoon air greeted you as you stepped outside. You glanced down at your phone. Scott's detention should be over by now. Even if he wasn't waiting outside yet, you could always meet him at his school. You adjusted your backpack and started down the sidewalk. Your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. Trying very hard not to cry. Trying even harder to convince yourself that this wasn't as big of a deal as it felt.
You never saw the van pull up beside the curb. Never noticed the side door sliding open. Never saw the two men step out.
For someone born and raised in New York...
For someone who'd spent her whole life looking over her shoulder...
It was almost embarrassing.Â
You didn't notice them until something hard slammed into the back of your head. Pain exploded across your skull. Your vision blurred. Strong hands grabbed your arms before you could hit the pavement.
You tried to scream. A hand clamped over your mouth. The world tilted violently as they dragged you into darkness. The van door slammed shut. Then...Nothing.
**********
You came back to yourself with a sharp gasp. Your feet stumbled as you stopped running, nearly collapsing onto the gravel path. Your lungs burned. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Every joint in your body ached as if the memory itself had reached through time and grabbed hold of you.
Six years.
It had been six years.
And you still remembered every second.
Every sound.
Every word.
You bent forward, hands braced against your knees, trying to catch your breath. It wasn't supposed to feel this real anymore. Slowly, you lifted your head. The evening sky stretched above the park, painted in soft shades of orange and purple. For a brief moment, you simply stared.
Then movement caught your eye. Near the base of an old oak tree. The earth shifted. A small mound rose from the ground. Then another. Cracks splintered through the dirt like fractured glass.
Your stomach dropped.
"No..."
The ground continued to split. Your hand flew instinctively to the necklace resting against your chest. Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Your thumb rubbed over the familiar metal. The necklace answered with its gentle, rhythmic pulse. Steady. Constant. Safe.
You focused only on that feeling. The warmth. The heartbeat. The reminder that you were here. Not there. Not six years ago.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the park was quiet. The earth lay perfectly flat. No cracks. Only grass swaying gently in the evening breeze. You let out a slow, shaky breath. Your fingers lingered around the necklace for one last moment before finally falling away.
You turned toward home. Toward your apartment. Toward the neighbor you desperately wished would stop occupying every corner of your mind. As your footsteps echoed softly along the path, you sent one final prayer skyward.
Summary: For years, you have learned to survive the quiet hours of the night, staring out your window and wondering when life will finally give you a break. But lately, the sleepless nights have gained a new enemy: the constant banging coming from the apartment across the hall. After weeks of telling yourself you can tolerate it, you finally reach your breaking point. You expect an apology. You do not expect the door to open and reveal a face you thought you would never see again.
Tags: Some cursing, No BND spoilers in this chapter but there will be some in future chapters, reader hates confrontation, Peter Parker is a shit neighbor, someone give reader some financial help so she can get some head phones.
Next Chapter >
**********
Sleep barely came to you anymore.
Most nights were spent sitting by the window of your small apartment, tracing your eyes along the outline of the moon and stars painted across the New York sky. You had always found something comforting about looking up there. When you were younger, you used to believe that if you prayed hard enough, if you wished enough, something would eventually change.
Someone would hear you.
Someone would answer.
Now, at twenty-one, you knew better.
You still looked at the sky anyway. Old habits died harder than hope.
The past few years had been nothing but one hit after another. Every time you thought you had finally managed to crawl your way out of whatever hole life had shoved you into, something else came along and pushed you right back down.
Another rejection.
Another closed door.
Another reminder that no matter how hard you fought, the world always seemed determined to win.
It felt cruel, almost laughable, that the very gods you had once trusted seemed to ignore every prayer you sent their way. After everything you had endured, after everything you had survived, you would have thought you had earned just a little bit of peace.
Apparently, that was too much to ask.
And honestly?
You could handle the sleepless nights. You could handle the nightmares. You could handle the constant feeling that something was waiting just beyond the corner, ready to take away whatever small piece of stability you had managed to build.
What you could not handle was the endless banging coming from across the hall every single night since your new neighbor moved in.
You were twenty-one now.
Not a child anymore.
Despite the fact that sometimes, especially during moments like this, you still felt like that scared fifteen-year-old girl who had no idea what was happening and no one to turn to.
You were an adult. A functioning one, technically. You had a job. You had an apartment. You had built a life for yourself from absolutely nothing. There was no reason to be afraid of confronting your neighbor.
Even if he was incredibly attractive. Even if he had a habit of looking like he had not slept in weeks. Even if something about him made your instincts scream that there was more to him than he let people see.
You had never been good at confrontation.
That was the problem.
Every night, without fail, you would hear another crash from across the hall. You would sit up in bed, already annoyed, throw off your blankets, put on your robe, and march toward your front door with a fury in your steps that would have rivaled your fatherâs.
Then you would stop.
Every single time.
Because suddenly your mind would remind you that anger did not pay rent. That replacement furniture cost money. That you were already stretching every paycheck thin.
So instead of knocking on his door, you would turn around, grab your phone, and retreat to the kitchen to make yourself herbal tea while searching for affordable noise-canceling headphones.
Unfortunately, affordable and noise-canceling rarely existed in the same sentence. The decent ones cost almost half of your grocery budget for the week. And that was not exactly an expense you could justify.
So tonight was different.
Tonight, you had reached your limit.
Tonight, you were going to do it.
You were going to march across the hall and knock on his door.
You were going to have an adult conversation.
You were going to politely explain that some people actually enjoyed sleeping at two in the morning and that whatever construction project he seemed to be conducting every night needed to stop.
You were going to do this.
You stood slowly, reaching for the green robe hanging from the back of your desk chair. The fabric was old and slightly worn, but it was comfortable, and comfort was something you valued these days.
You slipped it on before sliding your feet into the same pair of slippers you had owned for the last two years.
Then you walked toward the door. You closed your eyes as you approached it. Not because you were scared. That was what you told yourself.
You simply knew that if you looked at the door too long, you would start thinking about your bank account, your schedule, your responsibilities, and every possible reason why this was a bad idea.
You did not account for the fact that walking blindly through your apartment was also a terrible idea.
Your hip collided directly with the edge of your couch.
âFuck!â
Your voice came out hoarse and far louder than intended.
Your eyes snapped open as you grabbed your hip, blinking through the sudden pain.
âGreat,â you muttered. âVery intimidating. Terrifying, even.â
You glared at the couch as if it had personally betrayed you before rubbing your side and continuing toward the door. After a few shaky steps, you finally reached it. You unlocked the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the hallway.
The first thing that hit you was the smell.
The hallway always carried a faint mustiness, but tonight it felt stronger. It was a sharp contrast to your apartment, where you constantly burned floral candles and kept everything smelling clean because it was the one place in the world you could control.
You immediately scrunched your nose.
Then you took a deep breath.
You could do this.
It was a door.
It was a neighbor.
It was not a monster.
You raised your fist and knocked once. Nothing. You waited. Maybe he had fallen asleep. Maybe the noise had stopped.
You sighed.
âHello?â
Silence.
You raised your hand again and knocked twice. That was when a loud crash came from behind the door.
You froze.
The sound was sudden enough that your entire body reacted before your brain could catch up.
A few minutes passed before the door finally swung open.
And there he was.
The source of all your frustration for the last several weeks.
You had seen him before.
Of course you had.
You had passed him in the hallway, caught glimpses of him leaving early in the morning or returning late at night.
But this was the first time you had truly looked at him.
Really looked.
Moonlight streamed through the small window at the end of the hallway, catching the sharp line of his jaw and making it look almost unreal. His hair was messy, like he had run his hands through it too many times, and his eyes immediately caught your attention.
Tired. Guarded. But alert.
Like he was always waiting for something to happen. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there staring at each other.
Then he broke the silence.
âUh⊠can I help you?â
His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
You quickly looked away, suddenly embarrassed that you had been staring.
âShit. Uh, yeah. Iâm sorry, I justâ I can hear you banging andâŠâ
Your words died in your throat. Because suddenly you knew.
The face.
The voice.
The smile.
Your mind connected every piece before you wanted it to. His expression softened with embarrassment. âGod, Iâm sorry. I thought I was being quiet.â He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. âThin walls, I guess. But you get what you pay for, right?â
You stared at him. He didnât remember. Of course he didnât. Why would he?
You swallowed, forcing yourself to respond.
âYeah. Sure.â
Your voice sounded wrong. Too shaky. Too fragile.
âAnything else?â he asked, giving you a confused little smile.
You looked at him.
At the boy who had once been the only person in school who was kind to you. The boy you had thought might have seen you. The boy you had spent years trying to forget.
âNo.â
You forced yourself to step back.
âNo, thatâs it. Have a great night⊠or morning, I guess.â
A quiet laugh escaped him.
âYeah. You too.â
Then he closed the door.
And you just stood there. Frozen.
Because you knew that face. You knew that laugh. You knew him.
Your hand slowly lifted to the necklace resting against your chest, fingers wrapping around it out of instinct. The familiar warmth pulsed beneath your touch, soothing you the same way it always had.
A reminder of where you came from. A reminder of everything you survived.
You had always known the gods could be cruel.
But this?
This was something else.
Because after everything you had endured, after years of running from your past, after finally building a life where you could pretend you were someone newâŠ
The universe had decided to place him directly across the hall.
Summary: The Stranger Things cast revisits season one, sharing behind-the-scenes anecdotes and reactions to iconic scenes.
Warnings/Tags: They can't not touch each other, your honor they are in love, they are not slick, Finn can't help himself, the people are onto them, little bit of Joe and reader, duffers did reader dirty in season 1
*****************
The camera fades in on you sitting alone on a wide, cream-colored couch, a soft throw blanket bunched beside you. The studio lighting is warm, relaxed, more like a living room than a set.
On the screen in front of you, a paused frame of Season 1 flickers.
You lean forward slightly, squinting at it, then laugh under your breath.
âAww⊠I was so cute.â
You tilt your head, smiling at your younger self for a second longer before glancing back toward the camera.
âOkayâget ready for a scene from Season 1, Chapter 1: The Vanishing of Will Byers.â
The screen cuts to static for a split second and then snaps back.
Now youâre no longer alone.
Youâre wedged comfortably on the couch between Finn and Gaten, with Caleb sitting on the other side of Gaten. Your body is angled slightly into Finn, his arm naturally resting around your shoulders like itâs second nature. Your head leans lightly against him as everyone settles in.
On screen, the familiar opening scene begins, the boys gathered around the table, deep into their D&D campaign.
Gaten immediately perks up, pointing at the screen.
âThis was the first day of filming.â
Caleb leans forward, grinning. âNo way.â
âYeah,â Gaten nods proudly.
Caleb watches the screen for a second longer before suddenly groaning. âAlsoâcan we talk about how I said Demogorgon?â
He mimics his younger voice, exaggerating it. âDeh-MO-go-gon.â
Gaten bursts out laughing. âBro, what was that?â
You laugh too, your shoulders shaking slightly as you press closer into Finn without really thinking about it.
âThatâs actually so bad,â you say, covering your mouth.
On screen, your younger self appears, glasses slightly oversized, hair⊠questionably styled.
You squint at it, then groan.
âOh my god. Why did they do that to me?â
Caleb smirks. âThey really said letâs give her the worst haircut possible.â
âAnd the glasses!â you add, gesturing dramatically. âThose are criminal.â
Finn glances down at you, smiling softly. âI liked it.â
You turn your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow. âYouâre lying.â
âIâm not,â he insists, a little too quickly.
Gaten immediately jumps in. âYeah, heâs the only one.â
You gasp, mock-offended, and reach across Finn to try and smack Gaten.
âHey!â
He leans back, dodging you easily. âViolence! On camera!â
Finn laughs quietly beside you, tightening his arm around your shoulders just slightly as you settle back into place.
On screen, the D&D scene continues.
Gaten watches it fondly before turning to the group. âHave any of you guys actually played D&D? Like, for real?â
You shake your head. âNope.â
âSame,â Caleb adds.
Gaten looks almost offended. âWhat? Itâs literally perfect for actors.â
You tilt your head. âHow?â
âItâs all improv,â he says, gesturing like it should be obvious. âYouâre playing characters, making choices, building a storyââ
Finn nods. âHeâs right, actually.â
You shift slightly, tucking yourself a little closer into Finnâs side, your head resting more comfortably against him now.
âSo weâve basically been training for it our whole lives,â you say.
âExactly,â Gaten points at you. âFinally! Someone gets it.â
You grin, then suddenly burst into laughter again.
Everyone looks at you.
âWhat?â Caleb asks.
You point at the paused screen, Finnâs younger self frozen mid-expression.
âFinnâyour face.â
Finn leans forward to look, squinting.
âOh no.â
âItâs like you just realized taxes exist,â you add, laughing harder.
Gaten snorts. âThatâs the exact moment his childhood ended.â
Finn shakes his head, smiling despite himself, while youâre still laughing, leaning into him like you might fall over.
The room feels easy. Familiar. Like no time has passed at all.
The scene rolls on for a moment longer before the camera cuts back to the four of you on the couch.
Finn shifts slightly, glancing between the screen and the others. âI think at that age it was just really fun⊠meeting people, you know?â
Gaten nods immediately. âYeah kids are just good at making friends fast. Like, you donât overthink anything.â
He turns to Caleb with a grin. âWe literally met and just started wrestling.â
Finn snorts. âYou guys still wrestle.â
You burst out laughing at that, the sound coming out louder than you expect.
Gaten points at Finn like heâs been exposed. âOkay but back then we were really into it.â
âPlay fighting constantly,â Finn adds.
âWe never actually got into a fight though,â Gaten says quickly.
Caleb nods, then smirks. âWe used to smack each other before scenes.â
You shoot upright instantly. âOh my god they had to tell you to stop, didnât they?â
Gaten groans. âYes. Because apparently our faces were getting too red.â
Caleb leans back, crossing his arms. âBoth of our faces.â
That sends all of you laughing again.
You drop forward, half hiding your face in Finnâs neck as you laugh, your shoulders shaking. Finn laughs too, instinctively tightening his arm around you, pulling you a little closer as if to steady you.
On screen, the scene continues in the background.
Gaten gestures toward it. âI still play D&D, by the way.â
Then he turns to Finn and immediately rolls his eyes. âUnfortunately, so does this guy.â
Finn shrugs. âIâve played like⊠two small campaigns.â
âThat counts,â Gaten insists.
Finn smiles a little. âHonestly, if youâre not the DM, itâs fun. You just have to stay committed to the bit.â
âExactly!â Gaten says. âItâs literally just playing pretend. Itâs so fun.â
The episode plays on, the sound filling the room softly.
Finn glances over at Caleb. âDo you remember your stomach was messed up this day?â
As he talks, your hand absentmindedly drifts down, fingers lightly playing with his, tracing over his knuckles without even realizing it.
Caleb groans. âYes. I remember.â
Gaten immediately cuts in, deadpan. âWhatâs new?â
âShut up,â Caleb shoots back, but heâs smiling.
He leans forward slightly, watching the screen. âSeason 1 was just crazy.â
Gaten nods, then adds, âCaleb always had stomach issues.â
Finn laughs softly. âWe were all just nervous.â
Gaten leans back into the couch, smirking. âYeah, this is exactly the commentary people were hoping for.â
You lift your head slightly from Finnâs shoulder, still smiling, the easy, chaotic energy of it all settling comfortably around you as the episode continues to play.
*****************
The screen fades and cuts back to you alone on the couch again.
Youâre curled slightly into the corner now, one leg tucked under you as a new scene plays, Carly sitting at her desk, scribbling in her journal, rambling about how Mike's the best boyfriend and maybe, just maybe, heâll ask her to the Snow Ball.
You smile instantly when you see it.
âOh my god⊠I loved this era of Carly.â
Your eyes stay on the screen, soft with nostalgia.
âMy parents were really into theatre when I was growing up,â you continue, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. âThey tried so hard to get me into it and I just⊠I was not a stage actor.â
You laugh a little at yourself.
âSo then they were like, okay, letâs try screen acting instead. And I just loved it.â
You glance briefly toward the camera, smiling.
âI was ten when I got the role,â you add. âAnd then I turned eleven toward the end of filming Season 1.â
Your smile grows a little more genuine, a little more personal.
âI remember the boys threw me this tiny surprise party on set,â you say. âAnd they got me, like⊠little jewelry from Claireâs.â
You laugh softly, shaking your head.
âThey were, like, twelve and thirteen. It was very on brand.â
On screen, Carly keeps writing, completely absorbed in her thoughts.
You watch her for a second before speaking again, quieter now.
âI love that she was literally just a girl who liked a boy in Season 1.â
You tilt your head slightly.
âIt felt really real. Like⊠genuine.â
A small smile tugs at your lips.
âBecause at that age, I was the exact same.â
You pause, then squint at the screen again.
ââŠMy hair was better though.â
*****************
The screen flickers again before cutting to a new setup.
Now youâre sitting beside Joe, both of you angled toward the screen as a heavier scene begins to play: Season 1, Chapter 4: The Body.
On screen, Steve is yelling, his voice sharp and uneven, like heâs trying to keep control but canât quite hold it together. Thereâs fear underneath the anger, but it comes out wrong, too loud, too harsh. Carly stands near her bed, shoulders hunched, tears already streaming down her face as she tries to get words out between shaky breaths. The room feels small, tense. Steve paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair, knocking into things without really meaning to, books shifting, something clattering to the floor, as his frustration spills over. Carly keeps trying to explain, her voice cracking, stepping forward like she wants him to understand, but every attempt just seems to make him louder, more overwhelmed, until it all crashes together in a messy, emotional spiral.
âWillâs dead,â she says, voice breaking. âThey found his body.â
Steve stops.
But he doesnât apologize.
He just leaves.
The clip ends, and thereâs a brief silence before you exhale softly.
âThat was one of the scenes I was most excited for as a kid,â you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips.
Joe turns to you, surprised. âReally?â
You nod. âYeah. I thought if I was likeâ you gesture dramatically, âlook at me, I can screen cry the Duffers would be so impressed.â
Joe laughs, shaking his head. âThatâs so funny, because I was dreading it.â
You glance at him. âYou were?â
âYeah,â he says. âI did not want to yell at you. You were like⊠a baby.â
You scoff, nudging him lightly. âOkay.â
âNo, seriously,â he insists. âYou were ten. And tiny.â
You laugh a little, but nod. âThatâs fair.â
He leans back slightly, thinking. âAnd we didnât even really know each other yet.â
âYeah,â you agree. âWe had met at the table read, but that was it.â
You glance back at the screen. âThat was the first scene we ever shot together.â
Joe winces a little. âGreat introduction, me just screaming at you.â
You grin. âSet the tone.â
He shakes his head again, more thoughtful now. âSteve was such an ass in Season 1.â
You nod, softer this time. âCarly was really naive, though.â
Thereâs a small pause before you add, âBut it makes their development so much better.â
Joe hums in agreement, then says, âFor someone who didnât get much real love from his parents⊠he shouldâve taken what he could get from Carly.â
You glance at him, expression softening a little at that.
âYeah,â you say quietly. âHe shouldâve.â
*****************
The camera fades back in a little later, and this time itâs just you and Finn on the couch again.
The setup feels quieter than before. No teasing from Gaten, no side comments from Caleb, just the low hum of the studio lights and the soft sound of the episode playing through the speakers.
Youâre curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, while Finn sits beside you with one arm stretched along the back cushion behind your shoulders. The two of you look comfortable in that effortless way that only comes from years of knowing each other.
On screen, Willâs funeral is unfolding.
Everyone is dressed in black, Hawkins draped in grief. Rain clouds hang heavy overhead, and the whole town feels muted, slowed down by loss.
The camera follows the Wheelers moving through the crowd, Karenâs hand resting lightly on Mikeâs shoulder as they make their way toward the service.
Then the scene shifts.
Carly spots Mike standing a little apart from everyone else, shoulders tense, eyes distant. He looks exhausted in that quiet way grief makes people look, like heâs somewhere else entirely.
You watch your younger self cross the grass slowly, expression soft but conflicted.
Carlyâs hands twist together nervously before she speaks.
âI justâŠâ she starts, voice barely above a whisper. âI think I know now.â
Mike turns to her, confused. âKnow what?â
Carly swallows hard, blinking back tears that have been threatening since she walked over.
âThat you donât really like me anymore.â
The words land softly, but they still hit hard.
Mikeâs face falls immediately.
âNo! Carly, thatâs notââ
He steps toward her, trying to explain, already panicking in that earnest middle school way where everything feels like the end of the world.
But before he can say much more, Mrs. Wheeler turns sharply from where sheâs standing nearby.
âMichael,â she says in a low, warning voice. âNot now.â
The scene freezes there, Mike caught mid-protest, Carly trying not to cry, funeral guests blurred in the background.
For a second, neither you nor Finn say anything.
Then Finn lets out a quiet laugh under his breath and shakes his head.
âThat was Mikeâs first heartbreak.â
You turn to him slowly, eyebrows lifting in disbelief before you break into a laugh.
âPlease,â you say, smiling. âIt was a middle school relationship, not like a ten-year marriage.â
Finn looks at you like youâve just deeply insulted him.
âThat doesnât matter.â
His tone is so sincere it makes you laugh harder.
âYou are so dramatic,â you tell him.
âAnd youâre heartless.â
You grin, settling more comfortably into the couch as you glance back at the screen.
âMike was in love with El at that point anyway,â you say. âI bet he didnât even care that much.â
Finn immediately nudges your side with his elbow, offended on Mikeâs behalf.
âOh, he cared,â he says.
You look over at him, amused. âYouâre taking this really personally.â
âBecause you dumped him at his best friendâs funeral.â
That gets you laughing again.
âOkay, but we knew Will wasnât dead,â you say, gesturing toward the paused screen.
Finn gives you a look that says absolutely not.
âThat doesnât make it better,â he says, fighting a smile. âImagine being Nancy. Or Mikeâs mom. You have no clue whatâs actually happening, your family is grieving, and then suddenly you overhear Mike getting dumped by his middle school girlfriend during the funeral.â
You stare at him for a second as the image fully forms in your head.
The sheer absurdity of it hits you all at once.
You completely lose it.
A startled laugh bursts out of you so suddenly you double over, nearly sliding off the couch entirely. You clutch at Finnâs arm on instinct, your whole body shaking as the laughter takes over.
âOh my god,â you gasp, breathless. âThatâs so horrible.â
Finn finally starts laughing too, though heâs trying to keep his composure.
âIâm just saying,â he says, deadpan through a smile. âPretty brutal move.â
That only makes it worse.
You fall fully into him this time, collapsing against his side as you laugh into his shoulder. Your forehead presses into the fabric of his shirt while you try and fail to pull yourself together.
Finnâs arm comes around you automatically, steadying you without even thinking about it. His hand slides over your upper arm in a slow, absentminded motion, thumb brushing lightly back and forth.
âYouâre awful,â you mumble into his shoulder, still laughing.
He glances down at you, amused. âYou did it.â
âThat was Carly.â
âThat was still you.â
You lift your head just enough to glare at him, though youâre smiling too hard for it to land.
âShe was going through something.â
Finn nods solemnly. âClearly.â
On screen, little Mikeâs devastated face is still frozen in place, somehow making the whole thing even funnier.
You catch sight of it again and immediately break, laughter spilling out all over again as you drop your face back into Finnâs shoulder.
Finn just shakes his head, smiling to himself as he keeps you tucked against him, the two of you dissolving into the kind of easy laughter that only comes from remembering something ridiculous years later.
*****************
The screen fades to black before the camera cuts back in.
This time, itâs just you.
Youâre sitting alone again, curled into the same corner of the couch, but the energy feels quieter now. More reflective. The studio lights cast a soft glow across the room, and for a second, you donât say anything, you just watch the screen.
On it, Carly is breaking down.
Sheâs sitting on the edge of her bed, shoulders shaking as tears spill over faster than she can wipe them away. Itâs not the kind of crying where someone tries to stay composed, itâs full-body, messy sobbing, the kind that comes when everything youâve been holding in finally catches up with you.
Her hands are covering her face, breath hitching between every attempt to calm down, and thereâs something painfully young about it. She looks overwhelmed in a way that feels achingly real.
You watch for a second, then let out a small laugh through your nose.
âThat crying was real, by the way.â
You glance at the camera, already smiling a little at the memory.
âI had a really bad day that day.â
You shake your head fondly.
âAnd Gaten had made fun of my costume glasses right before this scene.â
You laugh properly now, covering your mouth for a second.
âSo I was already upset. Then we started filming, and I just⊠lost it.â
You gesture toward the screen where little Carly is still crying hard.
âAnd everyone was like, âwow, sheâs so talented.ââ
You grin, a little sheepish.
âBut really, I was just very sad.â
You pause, then shrug lightly.
âIt was okay, though.â
A softer smile crosses your face.
âFinn and the boys got me an ice pop after because Calebâs mom had brought some to set.â
You laugh at the memory.
âThey were all so confused why I was still crying after they called cut.â
You mimic a concerned voice. ââWait⊠are you okay?ââ
That makes you smile wider.
âThey were so sweet.â
Your eyes drift back to the screen.
âHonestly, season one was nothing.â
You shake your head slowly.
âCarly shouldâve been thankful all she had was brother problems and boy problems.â
You let out a breath, half amused.
âShe had no idea what was coming. No monsters. No near-death experiences. No killer alternate dimension stuff.â
A small smile tugs at your mouth.
âNo Vecna trauma. Just heartbreak and family issues.â
You grow quieter then, your gaze lingering on the scene.
âI think this breakdown was really about her realizing what love was supposed to look like.â
You glance at the screen again, watching young Carly cry.
âShe saw how much Nancy cared about Mike. How hard Jonathan was searching for Will. How much siblings were willing to do for each other.â
You tuck your knees in a little closer.
âAnd I think it hit her that SteveâŠâ you trail off, smiling faintly in disbelief. âSteve probably wouldnât have done the same for her then.â
You shake your head, somewhere between amused and exasperated.
âFreaking Steve.â
The camera lingers on your face for a beat, fond, nostalgic, a little emotional, before the screen cuts to black again.
*****************
A second later, it fades back in.
This time, youâre back on the couch with Finn.
The two of you are sitting close again, shoulders brushing as the final stretch of the season plays out on the screen in front of you. The room is dimmer now, lit mostly by the glow of the episode.
On screen, everything is chaos.
The school hallway is wrecked, lights flickering overhead as Eleven stands facing the Demogorgon. Mike is yelling for her, panic and heartbreak all over his face.
You watch for a second before your lips twitch.
Then, in a dramatic voice, you lean forward and mimic young Mike perfectly.
âEL! WHERE ARE YOU?!â
You immediately break into a grin and add, under your breath, âin another lifeâŠâ
Finn stares at you in disbelief for half a second before he starts trying, and failing, not to laugh.
âOh my god,â he mutters, shaking his head.
Youâre already giggling, clearly too pleased with yourself.
âThat TikTok ruined this scene for me forever.â
Finn lets out a helpless laugh and, without warning, reaches over and covers your mouth with his hand.
âStop,â he says, smiling despite himself. âYouâre evil.â
Muffled against his palm, you let out an offended noise.
He raises an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. âDonât.â
Naturally, you do the first thing that comes to mind.
You lick his hand.
Finn jerks back like heâs been electrocuted.
He stares at you, genuinely shocked.
You sit there looking unbearably smug.
âOh my god,â he says, wiping his hand on his jeans dramatically. âWhat is wrong with you?â
You shrug, grinning. âYou started it.â
He just shakes his head, still laughing under his breath as he looks back at the screen.
The scene plays on, Eleven disappearing, Mike devastated, the boys stunned into silence.
Your smile softens a little.
âThat was actually really sad to film,â you say quietly.
Finn glances over at you.
You tuck one leg up beneath you, gaze still fixed on the screen.
âNone of us knew if we were coming back,â you admit. âOr if anyone would even watch it. We had no idea it was going to become what it became.â
The room goes still for a second.
You look at the younger versions of yourselves on the screen, so small, so earnest, completely unaware of what was ahead.
âIt kind of felt like goodbye,â you say softly.
Finnâs expression shifts, something fond and teasing creeping in.
âAww,â he says. âThatâs cute. You were gonna miss me so much.â
You turn to him slowly, eyebrows lifting.
âWho said you?â
Finn gives you a flat look.
A beat passes.
Then you crack.
âKidding, kidding.â
You hold your hands up in surrender before glancing at the camera and giving it a quick wink.
Finn shakes his head, trying not to smile.
âYouâre unbelievable.â
As the final scene wraps up and the credits begin to roll, you sit back against the couch with an exaggerated sigh.
Then, with full commitment to the bit, you lift your hand and pretend to wipe a tear from your eye.
âWhat a beautiful, devastating masterpiece,â you say solemnly.
Finn snorts beside you.
The camera lingers on the two of you for one last second, you looking fake emotional, Finn smiling like he knows you too well, before the video fades out for good.
20,453 Comments
hawkinshellfireclub the hand lick took me OUT đ finnâs face was priceless
Thedufferscamera someone give the editor a raise because this whole rewatch special was PERFECT
finnswolf they are so obviously together and somehow still not confirming it. i feel insane.
demogorgon_defeated joe saying she was âa babyâ during that screaming scene đ„ș my heart
mikewheelerslawyer NOT HER BREAKING UP WITH MIKE AT WILLâS FUNERAL AND LAUGHING ABOUT IT YEARS LATER
wheelerbasement this is the kind of cast chemistry you literally cannot fake
steddiesleftsock finn defending mikeâs first heartbreak like it was a divorce settlement đ
eggosandicedpops the ice pop story after her real crying scene⊠stop thatâs so sweet
scoopsahoyemployee joe and her talking about steve/carly development actually made me emotional
Hey there! Iâve never requested anything before so Idk how this really goes đ .
I really enjoy your I do I do I do Finn series and would love to see more of it!! Could you write more of the earlier years of their relationship or maybe there wedding (perhaps both.. đ)?
The reader and Sadieâs dynamic is so great and I just adore the way you write her and Finn.
Thanks xx
Wedding fic is in progress! But here is a fic from the earlier years of their relationship (around season 3)!
Summary: Stars of Stranger Things 3 Finn Wolfhard and (Y/N) (L/N) join NYT Cooking to bake a cake
Warnings/Tags: They can't not touch each other, your honor they are in love, they are not slick, Finn can't help himself, the people are onto them
*****************
The studio kitchen carried that polished, almost artificial sweetness, like powdered sugar dusted over lemon zest, something bright and sharp sitting underneath the warmth. The counters gleamed under the overhead lights, every surface spotless enough to reflect movement. Bowls were arranged just a little too perfectly, ingredients pre-measured in neat glass dishes. It didnât feel like a kitchen people actually used, it felt like a version of one, carefully built for watching.
Very New York Times Cooking.
You stood just off-center of the island, turning the apron over in your hands for the third time without really realizing it. The fabric was stiff, freshly pressed. Everything about this place felt stiff. Controlled.
Then Finn walked in beside you.
And just like that, the room felt smaller.
Your heartbeat picked up instantly, sharp, quick, like your body had decided something important was happening before your brain could catch up. You kept your eyes down, pretending to focus on the apron, smoothing a wrinkle that wasnât there.
He bumped his shoulder lightly into yours, casual as anything. âYou look nervous.â
âIâm not nervous,â you said immediately, too fast, too defensive.
There was a beat.
Then that grin spread across his face. That specific grin, the one that always meant heâd noticed something you hadnât meant for him to.
âYouâre terrible at lying.â
You nudged him back, softer this time, more instinct than reaction. âShut up.â
Across the set, a voice cut through the low hum of crew chatter.
âAlright guys, weâre rolling in thirty!â
Something shifted between you instantly.
It was subtle, so subtle no one else would catch it, but it was there. Shoulders straightened. Expressions softened into something more neutral, more practiced. Not distant, never that, but contained. Like stepping into roles you both knew by heart.
The version of you that laughed easily, teased lightly, never lingered too long.
Even if your pinky brushed his for half a second as you both reached for the same spot on the counter.
Even if his eyes stayed on you just a beat longer than they should have.
âReady?â he asked, quieter now.
You looked at him then, really looked, just for a second. His expression had shifted too, something softer tucked behind the ease.
âYeah,â you said.
A pause stretched between you.
Then, under your breathâ
âDonât do anything stupid.â
His smile widened, slow and deliberate. âNo promises.â
âHi, Iâm Finnââ
âAnd Iâmââ
You both stopped at the exact same moment, voices overlapping, timing completely off.
There was a split second of silence then you both laughed.
Real laughter. Unplanned.
âSorry go,â Finn said, gesturing toward you, stepping back half a pace.
You shook your head, still smiling as you glanced toward the camera. âNo, no, you had it.â
âOkay,â he said, resetting with a small inhale, posture straightening just enough. âHi, Iâm Finn Wolfhard.â
âAnd Iâm (Y/N) (L/N),â you added smoothly, turning toward the counter like you hadnât just tripped over each other. âAnd today weâre baking a cake with New York Times Cooking.â
âWhich,â Finn said, picking up his apron and holding it up like it might betray him, âwe are definitely qualified to do.â
You snorted softly. âSpeak for yourself.â
âWow,â he said, hand coming to his chest in mock offense. âNo faith in me at all.â
âNone,â you replied sweetly, not even looking at him.
Somewhere off to the side, a camera operator let out a quiet chuckle.
You slipped your apron over your head, the motion easy, familiar. The fabric fell into place without a second thought, and you reached behind your back, tying the strings in one quick, practiced motion.
Done.
You glanced over and immediately paused.
Finn was⊠struggling.
The strings were uneven, one hanging longer than the other, twisted around themselves in a way that made absolutely no sense. He turned slightly to one side, then the other, like the solution might reveal itself if he just looked at it from a different angle.
It didnât.
âFinn,â you said, laughter slipping into your voice despite yourself. âWhat are you doing?â
âIâve got it,â he insisted.
He did not have it.
You gave him exactly two more seconds before stepping closer. âYou do not have it.â
âI do...okay, wait...hold onââ
âStop moving,â you said, already reaching for the strings. âJust turn around.â
He did.
Immediately.
Too immediately.
Like it wasnât even a question. Like his body already knew what to do before he thought about it.
Like this had happened before.
You stepped in behind him, closer than youâd meant to at first, your fingers brushing lightly against the small of his back as you gathered the strings. For a split second, just a fraction, your hands stilled.
Then you forced them to move again, looping the fabric together, pulling it into place.
âHold still,â you murmured.
âI am holding still,â he replied.
âYouâre swaying.â
âIâm not swaying.â
âYouâre literally leaning into me.â
âIâm notââ
He cut himself off.
Because he felt it.
Because he realized.
He was leaning into you.
Not subtly, either. His weight had shifted back completely, like heâd forgotten the cameras, the crew, the lights, like heâd slipped into something automatic. Comfortable. Familiar.
Like this wasnât a set.
Like this was private.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the knot.
âFinn,â you hissed under your breath.
âRight sorryââ he started.
But instead of stepping forward he leaned back more.
Fully.
All his weight dropping against you without warning.
You let out a sharp yelp, completely caught off guard. âFinnâ!â
âSorry!â he laughed, the sound bright and completely unapologetic, even as he stayed there for half a second longer than necessary, clearly fighting a grin.
âGet OFFââ
âIâm just testing the knotââ
âYOU ARE NOTââ
Finally, he pushed himself upright again, turning to face you with an expression that was far too innocent to be believable.
His eyes gave him away instantly, bright, amused, thrilled with himself.
You shoved his shoulder, a laugh breaking through before you could stop it. âYouâre so annoying.â
âYou said help,â he shrugged, like that explained anything.
âI did not say body slam me on camera!â
He leaned in slightly then, just enough to close the space between you again, his voice dropping low, quiet enough that it didnât carry past you.
âYou liked it.â
Heat rushed to your face immediately, quick and impossible to hide.
âI hate you,â you shot back.
He didnât even hesitate.
âMm,â he hummed, eyes still on yours, something softer threading through the teasing now. âNo you donât.â
*****************
âAlright,â you said, clapping your hands together lightly as you turned back toward the counter, the sound sharp in the bright, controlled quiet of the set. âFirst step weâre making the batter.â
The words came out smooth, practiced, like you hadnât just been shoved, like your heart hadnât done that stupid little jump a second ago.
Beside you, Finn reached for an egg.
And then, without any warning at all, he tossed it a few inches into the air.
A small, clean arc.
Effortless.
You didnât even flinch.
He caught it perfectly, of course, fingers closing around it like heâd done it a thousand times, and turned his head toward you, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction. Approval. Surprise. Something.
You just stared at him.
Flat.
Completely unimpressed.
ââŠwhat?â he said, brows lifting.
You blinked once. Slowly.
He let out a scoff, shaking his head as he cracked the egg against the side of the bowl. âMy talents are constantly taken for granted.â
âThose are not talents,â you said, already reaching for a measuring cup, your tone calm and dismissive.
âThey absolutely are.â
âTheyâre not useful.â
âTheyâre cool.â
âTheyâre notââ
âGuys,â someone off camera cut in, laughter threading through their voice, âweâre gonna start questions.â
The shift was immediate.
Not dramatic, never dramatic, but precise. You both straightened just slightly, shoulders easing into something more open, expressions settling into that familiar balance: relaxed, engaged, just the right amount of playful.
Camera-ready.
âFirst question,â another voice called. âWhat were some difficulties taking on the new character arcs this season?â
Finn picked up another egg, pointing it vaguely in your direction. âDo you want toââ
âYou go,â you said easily, already turning back to the ingredients, giving him the floor without even looking up.
âAlright,â he shrugged, tapping the egg against the bowl and cracking it open. âUm yeah, I think for me it was just kind of hard switching from playing Mike as, like, the usual sarcastic, kinda sassy version of himself to someone whoâs a lot more⊠I donât know terrified? And protective.â
His voice slipped into something more thoughtful as he spoke, less performative, more real.
While he talked, you glanced up toward the shelving behind the counter.
The cake pan sat on the top shelf.
Of course it did.
You stepped closer, rising up onto your toes, fingers stretching toward it. Your fingertips brushed the edge.
Not enough.
Finnâs voice continued in the background, steady, mid-thoughtâuh, and I think that shift wasââ
He glanced over.
Paused.
âuh, one secââ
Before you could even process what he meant, his hands landed on your hips.
Warm. Firm. Familiar.
And then he lifted.
Not high, not dramatic, just enough. A quick, easy boost that brought you the extra few inches you needed.
You grabbed the pan immediately. âGot it! Thank youââ
You set it down on the counter, already turning back like nothing had happened.
Except he didnât move.
At all.
His hands were still there.
Resting lightly at your hips, like that was the most natural place for them to be. Like he hadnât even thought about it.
âAnd yeah,â he continued, seamlessly picking his sentence back up as if nothing was out of the ordinary, âit was also really fun getting to explore a lighter version of Mike again like, he actually gets to have fun this season.â
You blinked once, staring straight ahead for half a second before letting out a quiet scoff, glancing sideways at him.
âMike Wheeler? Having fun?â
He laughed, the sound quick and genuine, and finally his hands dropped as he nudged your shoulder. âOkay, wow rude.â
âAm I wrong?â you shot back, arching a brow.
âYes,â he said immediately. âYou are.â
âDebatable.â
You stepped aside, gesturing toward the bowl with a small flick of your hand. âGo ahead, mix away.â
âThank you,â he said, overly formal, like youâd just granted him some incredible honor, already reaching for the whisk.
You leaned back against the counter slightly, arms loosening at your sides as the next question came through.
âAnd what about you?â the interviewer asked. âWhat was it like for your character this season?â
You nodded once, thinking for a moment, your fingers absentmindedly scooping flour into a measuring cup.
âYeah so, Carly goes through⊠a lot this season.â
Finnâs mixing slowed just slightly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough that you did.
âI feel like everyone else kind of gets that two or three-episode stretch where theyâre all just having fun and being kids again,â you continued, leveling off the flour carefully. âAnd Carly⊠does not get that.â
A ripple of quiet laughter passed through the crew.
You smiled faintly, but it didnât quite reach your eyes this time.
âSheâs kind of constantly dealing with the consequences of her own choices,â you added, your voice softening, more thoughtful now. âAnd I think that was the hardest part, playing someone who is the cause of her own problems but refuses to acknowledge it.â
The whisk moved slower.
More deliberate.
âAnd also just being so isolated from everyone else,â you said, pouring the flour into the bowl. âBecause her arc kind of separates her from the group for a while, and that was... yeah, that was tough.â
There was a brief pause as you exhaled, shaking your head slightly, brushing it off.
âBut it was really fun,â you added quickly. âJust⊠emotionally exhausting.â
âYeah,â Finn said quietly beside you, not joking this time, not playing anything up. Just⊠honest. âYou had a rough season.â
You glanced at him, a small smile formingâsofter than before.
âI really did.â
For a second, everything stilled.
No jokes.
No performance.
Just something quieter sitting between you.
Thenâ
Tap.
You felt it before you saw it.
You turned your head slightly.
Finn was closer now, whisk still in one hand and a small streak of batter on his finger.
Your eyes narrowed immediately.
âFinn.â
He smiled.
Slow. Predictable. Dangerous.
And before you could even lift a hand to stop him he tapped the batter right onto the tip of your nose.
You froze.
Completely still.
ââŠdid you justââ
Behind the camera, someone groaned. âOh no.â
Finn was already stepping back, shoulders shaking as he triedâand completely failed, not to laugh.
You stared at him for exactly one second.
Then reached into the bowl.
Two fingers.
A small scoop of batter.
âDonât,â he warned, though the grin on his face made it clear he had no intention of actually stopping you.
You stepped forward anyway.
âDonâtââ
Too late.
You dabbed it right onto his cheek.
Right under his eye.
There was a beat.
A single, perfect second of silence.
âChildren, noââ someone called from behind the camera.
And that was it.
You both broke.
Completely.
Laughter hit all at once, loud, uncontrollable, shoulders shaking, the kind that made it impossible to stand still. Finn wiped at his cheek, smearing it worse, laughing harder because of it.
âYou started it!â he managed between breaths.
âYou literally put it on my face first!â
âYeah, butââ
âYouâre so annoyingââ
âWorth it,â he shot back instantly, grinning like he meant it.
And for a second , just a second you didnât think about the cameras.
Or the crew.
Or the way you were supposed to act.
You just looked at him and forgot to be careful.
*****************
âAlright,â you said, brushing a loose strand of hair back behind your ear as you stepped toward the counter again, the warmth from the oven still lingering in the air. âThe cake is finally out of the ovenââ
The pan sat in front of you, golden and slightly uneven on top, the edges just a little darker than the center. Not perfect, but real. Something youâd actually made, not just assembled.
Finn leaned in beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched as he bent slightly to look at it, like he was inspecting a masterpiece. âand now weâre gonna decorate the best Stranger Things cake ever made.â
You let out a short laugh under your breath. âOkay, first of all, we are not putting Mike Wheeler on a cake.â
He blinked at you, genuinely taken aback. âWhat? Why not?â
âThat is rude to whoever gets that slice.â
Finnâs head snapped toward you, hand coming to his chest like youâd personally attacked him. âWow.â
âIâm just saying,â you shrugged, reaching for the frosting bags lined up neatly beside the cake. âThey donât deserve that.â
âUnbelievable,â he muttered and then, without warning, his arm hooked around you, pulling you sharply into his side.
âFinnâ!â
Before you could even react, his fingers dug into your sides.
Tickling.
Relentless.
âStopâstopâ!â you burst out, laughter hitting instantly as you twisted, trying to pry his hands away. âFinn, I swearâ!â
âYouâre disrespecting Mikeâ!â he shot back, completely committed, laughing as you tried to squirm free.
âI stand by itâ!â
You shoved at his chest, finally breaking his grip, stumbling back a step as you caught your breath, glaring at him through a grin you couldnât quite hide.
âYouâre the worst.â
He didnât even try to defend himself.
Just stood there, grinning, entirely too proud.
You grabbed a frosting bag with a little more force than necessary, turning back to the cake.
From somewhere behind the cameras, a voice called out, âOkay, next question. Whatâs it like growing up with your costars?â
Your hands stilled for just a second.
The shift was quieter this time.
Less obvious.
You glanced at Finn briefly, just a quick look, before answering.
âItâsâŠâ you started, your voice softer now, less performative, as you handed him one of the frosting bags without quite meeting his eyes. âItâs kind of like youâre hired to work with built-in best friends.â
Finn took it from you, his expression changing, subtle, but real. The teasing edge softened into something more thoughtful.
You turned back to the cake, focusing on the edge as you began piping a careful line of frosting along the border, steadying your hand.
âI mean...these are my people,â you continued. âIâve met my best friends on this show.â
Your voice carried something warmer now, something that didnât need exaggeration.
âSadieâs gonna be the maid of honor at my wedding someday,â you said with a small smile, eyes on the cake, âand the future aunt to my kids. And I literally canât imagine my life without Gatenâs stupid jokes, or the impossible situations Noah gets himself into, or Millieâs advice, or Calebâs like over-the-top laughââ
Your hand slowed slightly.
Just for a second.
ââŠor Finn.â
The word hung there.
Light.
But not insignificant.
There was a brief pause.
Then Finn let out a quiet laugh beside you, just enough to break it. âOh just me? No specific trait or anything?â
You shot him a look, immediate, grounding yourself again. âYouâre pushing it.â
He grinned, leaning a little closer as you reached over to take the frosting bag back from him, your fingers brushing his for half a second.
âWow,â he said. âThatâs all I get?â
âYouâre lucky you got mentioned,â you muttered, turning back to the cake, focusing a little harder than necessary on smoothing out a line of frosting.
He shook his head, still smiling, but when he glanced toward the camera again, his tone shifted.
âI think itâs just⊠really nice,â Finn said, quieter now, more grounded. âHaving people around you who actually understand what youâre going through every day.â
He rested his hand on the counter near yours, close but not touching.
âLike balancing work and life, and all the stress that comes with it,â he continued. âAnd also just⊠having people to hang out with when it gets to be a lot.â
You glanced at him then, softer.
âYeah,â you said.
A small pause settled in, comfortable, not empty.
Then, casuallyâ
âWhoâs your favorite person to hang out with?â
Finn didnât even hesitate.
âGaten.â
You slowly turned your head.
Very slowly.
Your expression flattened as you lifted the frosting bag in your hand holding it up like a weapon.
âFinn.â
His eyes widened instantly, the realization hitting all at once. âokay, okay you, obviously you!â
You narrowed your eyes, unmoving.
âItâs you,â he said quickly, hands lifting in surrender, laughter slipping into his voice. âItâs always you.â
You held his gaze for another second.
Measuring.
Then lowered the bag.
âGood answer.â
He let out a dramatic exhale, dropping his hands. âThat was a test, wasnât it?â
âMm,â you hummed, already turning back to the cake, continuing your work like nothing had happened.
For a moment, he just watched you.
Quiet.
A small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, softer than before.
Then he leaned in slightly, just enough that only you could hearâ
âI'm still putting Mike on the cake.â
You didnât even look at him. âTouch that frosting and I will end you.â
A beat.
Then, under his breathâ
ââŠworth it.â
*****************
You stepped back from the counter, exhaling softly as you took in the finished cake.
It wasnât perfectâone side of the frosting was slightly thicker than the other, and the piping along the edge wavered in one cornerâbut it looked good. Real. Yours.
A small, satisfied nod tilted your head.
âOkay,â you said, clapping your hands once, the sound light but decisive. âThe cake is officially doneââ
Finn leaned in beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours as he squinted at it like he was about to deliver a professional critique. His head tilted slightly, lips pressing together in exaggerated concentration.
âItâsâŠâ he paused, dragging it out just enough to be annoying, ââŠactually kind of impressive.â
You didnât even try to hide your smile. âI know.â
A beat.
âI carried.â
He turned his head slowly, blinking at you. âWow.â
âAnd now,â you continued smoothly, already reaching for a fork, âitâs time for the taste test.â
âFinally,â Finn muttered under his breath, grabbing his own fork like heâd been waiting for this part the entire time.
From behind the camera, the interviewer jumped in, voice bright. âAlright, last question. Where do you want to see your characters after this season?â
You didnât hesitate.
âHappy.â
It came out immediate. Simple.
Finn glanced at you.
You shrugged slightly, already cutting into the cake, the fork sliding through the soft center. âLike just⊠happy and not stressed for five minutes,â you added. âThat would be nice.â
There was something honest in it, something that didnât need to be dressed up.
He nodded beside you. âYeah.â
A small pause.
âI think I want Mike to spend more time with the bros.â
You froze.
Your fork hovered mid-air.
Then you quickly looked down, pressing your lips together as a laugh tried to escape.
The interviewer caught it instantly. âThe bros?â
Finn nodded, completely serious. âYeah.â
That did it.
A small, choked sound slipped out of you as you turned slightly away, shoulders tightening as you tried, and failed, to keep it together.
âCan you clarify what you mean by that?â the interviewer asked, already amused.
Finn opened his mouth and paused.
You looked at each other.
And then, perfectly in syncâ
ââŠno.â
The word landed at the exact same time.
You shook your head, smiling now, giving in. âWe canât.â
âYeah,â Finn added, nodding once like it was completely reasonable. âSpoilers.â
A ripple of laughter passed through the crew.
You scooped up a bite of cake onto your fork, the frosting catching slightly on the edge and without thinking you leaned a little toward Finn, holding it out.
It wasnât planned.
Wasnât for the camera.
Just instinct.
Easy. Familiar.
Something youâd done a hundred times without realizing it.
At the exact same moment Finn lifted his own fork and took a bite.
You froze.
Completely still.
Your arm still extended.
Fork hovering in the space between you.
Your mouth slowly dropped open.
He chewed, glancing over at you like nothing was wrong. âWhat?â
You didnât say anything.
Just stared.
Then his eyes flicked down.
To your hand.
To the fork.
Paused.
âOh, waitââ
Realization hit all at once.
He swallowed quickly. âWait... was that... was that for me?â
Silence.
You kept staring at him, expression flat. Unimpressed. Devastatingly so.
âWait! No! Hold onââ he scrambled immediately, already turning back toward the cake, cutting into it too fast. âIâll get another biteââ
âNope,â you said instantly, pulling your fork back toward yourself.
âCome onââ
âNope. No, Iâm done.â
âI didnât know!â
âYou should have known,â you shot back, already lifting the fork and eating the bite yourself, pointedly.
He groaned, half-laughing. âThat was another test, wasnât it?â
You didnât even answer.
Just turned, already stepping away from the counter, shaking your headâbut smiling anyway.
âWait! No!â Finn hurried after you immediately. âIâm sorry! I didnât realize!â
âToo late!â
âIâll redo it! We can redo itâ!â
âYou had one chance!â
Laughter broke out behind you, crew members fully giving up on staying quiet now as the two of you moved off your marks.
â(Y/N)! seriously!â he called, trying to catch up, one hand still holding the fork like that might somehow fix things.
You didnât turn around.
Didnât slow down.
The smile on your face gave you away anyway.
The screen cut to black mid-chase, his voice fading out behind youâ
âIâll feed you cake this time!â
300,783 Comments
Byersbasement.mp4 y/n: heartfelt speech about friendship Finn: GATEN
Finnslonglegs NOT HIM LEANING INTO HER LIKE THAT WAS MUSCLE MEMORY???
hawkinsfilmclub âitâs always youâ SIR?????
Ynsupremacy HER FACE DROPPING??? I FELT THAT
Someonesgettingfired mike wheeler catching strays the entire video
Iknewitiknewitiknewit the way they touch each other is NOT platonic iâm sorry
Strangerthingsedits_ THAT WAS THEIR ONE ROMCOM MOMENT AND HE FUMBLED
Offcameramoments HIM CHASING HER OFF SET IM DEAD
Justfriendsyeahok idc what anyone says they are NOT just friends
Viralvidvault HANDS. ON. HIPS. IN A NYT VIDEO?????
Norecoveryfromthis the way he IMMEDIATELY put his hands on her hips⊠yeah okay theyâre not beating the allegations
Maxmayfieldsleftshoe SADIE MAID OF HONOR?? FUTURE AUNT?? THATâS SO CUTE
Fumbledthecake the âiâll feed YOU cake this timeâ??? SIR?????
Summary: Normally you'd be there at every concert Finn has. However seeing as you are literally halfway across the country it's almost impossible for you to get back for this one. Or is it?
Warnings/Tags: Finn Wolfhard is a simp, fluff, they are in love, Sadie and Reader are besties, bros before hoes, Finn has separation anxiety, reader doesn't fold easy.
*****************
Sadieâs apartment in New York was somehow both spotless and completely lived-in at the same time, like sheâd cleaned in a panic five minutes before chaos settled back in.
The counters were clear, the floors practically shiningâbut the coffee table told the truth. Scripts were fanned out in messy stacks, pages bent and highlighted, sticky notes peeking out at odd angles. A half-finished iced coffee sat dangerously close to the edge, condensation dripping slowly onto a pile of handwritten notes, the ink already starting to blur.
From the bedroom, her laptop echoed faintly, muffled voices, the rhythm of an interview in progress, Sadieâs voice occasionally cutting through, bright and polished in that way she only sounded when she was âon.â
You, meanwhile, were very much off.
Cross-legged on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, you stared down at your phone with a growing smile as it buzzed nonstop in your grip.
Finn đ:
youâre seriously not coming??
You huffed out a quiet laugh, already typing back.
You:
finn, i told you already đ iâm staying here for sadieâs showyouâre gonna do amazing, i promise
You barely had time to reread it before the typing bubble popped up again.
Finn đ:
itâs not the same if youâre not here
Your smile softened a little at that but then another message came through.
And another.
And another.
Your phone buzzed so fast it practically vibrated in your hands.
You opened it without thinking and immediately burst out laughing, your head tipping back against the couch.
Pickles was a blur. Mid-spin, paws scrambling against the hardwood, his entire body twisted in a chaotic circle like heâd fully committed to something he no longer understood.
You:
PLEASE đđ heâs still doing that??
Finn đ:
heâs been at it for 5 minutes straighti think he forgot why he started
You could practically hear his voice in it, equal parts concerned and entertained.
Another buzz.
You tapped it open and froze.
Finn stood in front of a mirror, shirtless, hair a mess like heâd run his hands through it one too many times. The lighting was definitely intentional, the angle just right, his expression caught somewhere between casual and very much not.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Finn đ:
come home early?
You stared at it for half a second longer than you meant to then snorted, shaking your head as you sat up a little straighter.
âOh, absolutely not,â you muttered to yourself.
You flipped your camera, pulling your hood up a little more, keeping your expression completely flat as you raised your middle finger and snapped a picture.
You:
no â€ïž
The reply came so fast it made you laugh again.
Finn đ:
thatâs so meaniâm being vulnerable
You rolled your eyes, smiling anyway, thumbs hovering like you might say something softer but the bedroom door creaked open before you could.
Sadie stumbled out like sheâd just survived something, headset half falling off her neck, her expression somewhere between exhausted and amused.
Without a word, she made a beeline for you and collapsed directly on top of you.
âHi,â she groaned into your shoulder, all of her weight suddenly yours.
âOofâhi,â you laughed, shifting just enough to keep your phone from getting knocked out of your hand. âYou good?â
âNo,â she mumbled. âIâve answered the same question twelve different ways.â
You smiled, adjusting slightly so she could settle more comfortably. âThatâs showbiz, Sades.â
She huffed something that mightâve been a laugh, then squinted one eye open, peering lazily at your phone.
âIs that Finn?â
âYeah,â you said, glancing back at the screen. âHeâs being dramatic because Iâm not in Vancouver.â
Sadie lifted her head just enough to give you a flat look. âHeâll survive,â she said. âIâm literally carrying a Broadway show on my back right now.â
You grinned. âI told him heâd do great.â
âGood,â she muttered, already sinking back down into you like a weighted blanket. âBecause he will.â
There was a pause.
Then she shifted slightly, turning her head to look up at you, suddenly serious despite the exhaustion.
âImportant question.â
You raised an eyebrow. âYeah?â
âCan we order takeout before my next interview?â
You didnât even hesitate. âYes. Absolutely.â
Her eyes lit up just a little. âSomething greasy. Emotional support food.â
You were already unlocking your phone again. âSay less.â
She let out a satisfied hum, closing her eyes again as you scrolled through options, your shoulder pressed comfortably against hers.
Your phone buzzed.
You glanced down.
Finn đ:
i miss you
That one hit differently.
Your smile softened, something quieter settling in as your thumbs slowed.
You:
i miss you toonow go rehearse before pickles steals your spotlight
You hit send, lingering on the screen for just a second longer than you needed to.
Across the country, you could picture it, the way his mouth would tilt into that small, private smile, the way heâd shake his head a little like he always did when you got the last word.
Outside, the city moved like it never stopped, distant horns, muffled voices, the low hum of New York threading through everything.
The city still buzzed outside, even from the quiet of the car parked along the curb.
New York never really stopped, it just softened around the edges. The sharpness of the day dulled into something warmer, neon signs glowing instead of glaring, conversations blending into a steady hum that filtered faintly through the glass. Streetlights stretched in long reflections across the window beside you, blurring every time a car passed.
You sank into the backseat, legs tucked slightly to the side, still riding that lingering, electric high that came after watching something that good.
Sadie had been unreal.
It was still sitting in your chest, the way the audience had gone completely silent at certain moments, the way she held the stage like it belonged to her, like it always had. You could still hear her voice if you thought about it hard enough.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you back.
The screen lit up.
Finn đ:
did it finish??how was she??did you cry??
You smiled instantly, thumbs already moving.
You:
yesyesand maybe đ
You hovered for a second, debating whether to say more. Something about how proud you were, how he wouldâve loved it, how she owned that stage but before you could type another word, the car door swung open.
Cold air rushed in for half a second before Sadie slid into the seat beside you, breathless, glowing, alive in a way that only came after a performance like that. Her hair was slightly out of place, makeup still perfect but softened, like the night had worn into it just a little.
You immediately sat up, turning toward her fully.
âYou were insane,â you said, the words coming out fast and genuine. âLike actually insane. That was incredible.â
She smirked, not even pretending to be modest as she shut the door behind her. âI know.â
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. âNo, Iâm seriousâŠSadie, that last scene? Iââ
But she didnât let you finish.
Instead, she reached into her bag and, without ceremony, tossed two folded pieces of paper straight into your lap.
They hit you lightly, barely making a sound.
You blinked, thrown off. âUh⊠what?â
You picked them up slowly and everything in you stalled.
ââŠSadie.â
She leaned back into the seat like she hadnât just casually dropped a bomb into your night, one arm draped over the backrest, completely at ease. âYeah?â
You looked up at her, then back down at the papers, then back at her again.
âThese are plane tickets.â
âMmhm.â
You flipped one over like maybe it would say something different on the back. It didnât.
âTo Vancouver.â
âCorrect.â
You stared at her, your brain trying, and failing, to catch up. âYou have a show tomorrow.â
She waved a hand dismissively, like that detail meant absolutely nothing. âCancelled.â
You let out a confused laugh. âWhat? Why??â
âThey want to repaint the walls or something,â she said with a shrug, like she hadnât even bothered to question it. âThe theaterâs being dramatic.â
You narrowed your eyes slowly, turning toward her fully now. âSadieâŠâ
She sighed, dragging a hand down her face like sheâd been expecting this reaction. âOkay, fine.â
There it was.
She reached for her phone, unlocking it and scrolling for a second before turning the screen toward you.
âHe literally texted meââ she cleared her throat slightly, reading with exaggerated seriousness, ââplease release her, iâm suffering.ââ
She looked up at you, completely deadpan.
âHis words.â
You stared at her for half a second and then laughed, the sound breaking out of you before you could stop it.
âThat is so dramatic,â you said, shaking your head, even as your chest warmed at the thought.
âExactly,â Sadie said, locking her phone again and tossing it back into her bag. âSo.â
She gestured lazily toward the tickets still in your hands.
âI decided we should just go. We pop into Vancouver, you watch his show, he stops whining, everyone wins.â
You blinked again, still not fully grounded in reality. âSadieâŠâ
âHmm?â
âDoes he know?â
Her grin shiftedâsomething a little sharper, a little more mischievous.
âNope.â
You stared at her. âSadieââ
But she was already leaning forward, tapping lightly on the divider between you and the driver.
âAirport, please.â
The driver nodded immediately, no questions asked, and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the late-night traffic like this was just another routine stop.
You sat there for a second, the movement barely registering.
The tickets were still in your hands.
Vancouver.
Finn.
Your heart started to pick upâslow at first, then faster, something bright and giddy building in your chest.
ââŠHeâs going to lose his mind,â you muttered, more to yourself than anything.
Sadie settled back into her seat again, completely satisfied, arms crossed loosely as she watched your reaction.
âGood,â she said. âThatâs the goal.â
Your phone buzzed again.
You glanced down.
Finn đ:
iâm serious i might actually die if you donât come
You stared at the message for a moment longer this time.
Then you looked up, out the window, watching the city blur pastâlights streaking, people moving, everything shifting as you were suddenly, very literally, on your way out of it.
A slow grin spread across your face.
You (typing):
youâll live
You hit send, biting back a laugh as you locked your phone and leaned your head back against the seat.
Beside you, Sadie was already half-watching you, clearly pleased with herself.
And somewhere across the country he had absolutely no idea what was coming.
If only he knew.
*****************
The second you and Sadie stepped off the plane in Vancouver, you were already laughing.
It started as a quiet thing, just a shared look, a barely-contained grin, but the second you caught sight of each other in the reflection of the airport windows, it was over.
Because you both looked ridiculous.
Oversized hoodies swallowed your frames, sunglasses sat firmly on your faces despite the thick gray clouds overhead, and your face coverings were pulled up just enough to make it obvious you were trying not to be obvious.
You tugged at your hood, lowering your voice as you glanced around. âThis is so unnecessary.â
Sadie didnât even look at you. âNo,â she said calmly, adjusting her own sunglasses like she was on a runway. âThis is commitment to the bit.â
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling anyway, biting back another laugh as you followed her through the terminal.
It didnât take long to grab your bags, and once you stepped outside, the cool Vancouver air hit your face, grounding you just enough to remind you.
You were actually here.
Your heart gave a small, anticipatory flip.
You pulled out your phone, dialing quickly.
Your driver picked up almost immediately.
âHeyââ he started.
âWe need a ride,â you cut in, keeping your tone casual, like this was completely normal.
There was a pause. âYouâreâŠwhat?â
You bit your lip, glancing at Sadie, who was watching you with a grin.
âJust send the car,â you added quickly. âPlease.â
Another pause.
Then, slowly, ââŠokay?â
You hung up before he could ask anything else.
Sadie raised an eyebrow. âSubtle.â
âShut up,â you muttered, but you were already smiling again.
Your regular driver didnât question it, he never did. Twenty minutes later, you were sliding into the backseat, the doors closing with a soft thud as the city began to move around you.
Vancouver at night felt different than New York.
Quieter. Cooler. The lights werenât as overwhelming, but they stretched wider, reflecting off glass and pavement in long, calm streaks as the car moved through the streets.
You leaned your head lightly against the window, watching it all blur past, your excitement building in slow, steady waves.
âDo you think heâs nervous?â you asked after a minute, voice softer now.
Sadie shrugged beside you, completely at ease. âHeâs always nervous.â
You huffed a small laugh. âTrue.â
âThatâs why this is gonna be fun,â she added, glancing at you.
You turned your head, meeting her look and grinned.
She wasnât wrong.
By the time the car pulled up near the venue, your heart was beating a little faster. The familiar sight of it, the lights, the people gathered outside, the low hum of anticipation, made everything feel suddenly very real.
You reached for the door and Sadie stopped you, catching your sleeve.
âWait.â
You looked at her. âWhat?â
She nodded toward a bar right next door.
âPre-show drink.â
You blinked. âSadieââ
âTrust me.â
You hesitated for half a second.
Then sighed. âFine.â
Five minutes later, you were both walking back out, drinks in hand, already laughing again. Something about the absurdity of the situation making everything feel lighter, easier.
Instead of heading around back like you normally would, Sadie steered you straight toward the front entrance.
Right into the crowd.
You pulled your hood down a little more instinctively, but no one was really paying attention. To everyone else, you were just two girls heading into a show.
Almost.
The security guard stepped forward immediately, hand lifting slightly. âHey, Iâm gonna needââ
You pulled your face covering down.
There was a split second where his brain clearly tried to catch up.
Recognition hit.
And then he broke into a laugh.
âOh my god go ahead,â he said, stepping aside quickly. âDidnât see anything.â
âThank you,â you grinned, already pulling your covering back up as you slipped past.
Inside, the venue buzzed with energy.
It wrapped around you instantly, voices overlapping, laughter, the low hum of music filtering through the speakers. That pre-show electricity sat in the air, thick and buzzing, like everything was just waiting to snap into place.
You didnât hesitate.
Neither of you did.
You made your way straight through the crowd, weaving between people until you reached the front right up near the stage, close enough that you could see every detail.
Perfect.
âThis is so much better than backstage,â Sadie whispered, leaning in.
âWay better,â you agreed, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes already scanning the stage.
Everything was set.
Instruments in place. Lights dimmed just enough.
Your heart started to race again faster now, sharper.
Sadie bumped your shoulder lightly. âYouâre excited.â
âIâm always excited,â you shot back automatically.
She laughed, looping her arm through yours, her shoulder pressing warmly against yours as you both leaned into the barrier.
Time passed in that easy, giddy way, conversation drifting in and out, laughing over nothing, watching people filter in around you. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your phone, instinctively checking it and every time, youâd stop yourself.
No texting him.
No ruining it.
At one point, Sadie leaned closer, her voice lower now, more conspiratorial.
âWhen he sees you,â she said, âheâs actually going to short-circuit.â
You didnât look at her.
Your eyes stayed fixed on the stage, your smile small but steady.
âGood,â you said softly.
The lights shifted slightly.
It was subtle but you felt it immediately.
The energy in the room tightened, conversations dimming just a little, attention pulling forward like a collective breath being held.
You straightened without thinking, your fingers tightening slightly around your cup.
Your heartbeat synced with the anticipation, quick and bright in your chest.
Any second now.
Any second.Â
And he had absolutely no idea.
*****************
The lights hit, the crowd roared and then he walked out.
It was instant.
That shift in the room, the way the energy snapped tight and then exploded all at once, the sound of hundreds of voices rising up around you, and there he was, stepping into it like he belonged there.
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
Finn looked exactly how you knew he would, like heâd been pacing backstage five minutes ago, like heâd almost talked himself into being calm and then failed halfway through. His guitar hung easily over his shoulder, his fingers already adjusting against the strings out of habit. His hair fell into his eyes just slightly, messy in that way that meant heâd run his hands through it too many times instead of actually fixing it.
Familiar.
Comforting.
Your chest tightened a little at the sight of him.
Sadie leaned into you, already grinning. âThere he is.â
âShh,â you whispered, even though you were smiling just as much, your eyes not leaving him for a second.
The first song kicked in, loud, fast, electric.
The crowd surged with it instantly, bodies moving, voices rising, the energy bouncing right back to him like it always did. And he caught it, settled into it, the nerves still there but blending into something else, something alive.
You stayed right where you were at the barrier, half dancing when the rhythm pulled you into it, half just⊠watching him.
Every little thing.
The way his shoulders loosened as the song went on. The way he stepped closer to the mic without thinking. The way he smiled, quick, almost accidental, when the crowd got louder in the chorus.
You hadnât realized how much youâd missed it until you were standing here again.
Second song.
The energy shifted just a little, still loud, still bright, but smoother now. You took a sip of your drink without looking away, your heart still beating a little too fast.
Still nothing.
Sadie bumped into you, laughing as she swayed along, fully committed now, her movements just exaggerated enough to make you roll your eyes.
âCarefulââ you started, glancing at her hat as it tilted.Â
Too late.
It slipped right off, disappearing somewhere behind you.
You both froze.
Just for a second.
Onstage, Finn glanced out into the crowd and then did a double take.
You saw it happen in real time.
The split-second confusion.
The pause.
Recognition hitting like a spark.
His eyes locked onto Sadie first.
Of course they did.
And then they moved, quick, searching, scanning the space around her like he already knew, like he had to know.Â
You instinctively ducked your head a little, even though it was completely useless. You were right there. Front row. No hiding.
His gaze found you.
And everything shifted.
Just for a second, so fast no one else wouldâve noticed, but you did.
The nerves disappeared.
His expression softened, something almost disbelieving flickering across his face, like his brain hadnât quite caught up with what he was seeing.
You felt your breath hitch again.
And then he looked away.
Just like that.
Finishing the song like nothing had happened, like he hadnât just spotted you in the crowd when you were supposed to be across the country.
âUh oh,â Sadie whispered beside you, barely holding in her laughter.
âYouâre the worst,â you muttered under your breath, even as your smile gave you away.
By the time the third song ended, the energy in the room had only built higher, people louder, closer, completely locked in.
Finn stepped up to the mic during the break, adjusting it slightly, his fingers tapping lightly against the stand.
There was a small, knowing smile pulling at his lips now.
âSoââ he started, glancing back out into the crowd.
Your stomach flipped.
âI think weâve got some very special guests here tonight.â
Your grip tightened around your cup without you realizing it.
He lifted a hand, pointing lightly. âSadie, I see you.â
The reaction was immediate.
The crowd shifted, heads turning, people craning to figure out where she was, murmurs rippling outward.
She pulled her disguise off completely, sunglasses gone, hood down, giving an exaggerated little wave like sheâd been waiting her entire life for this exact moment.
You shook your head, already laughing and then before you could react, she reached over and yanked your hat clean off your head.
âSadieâ!â
Too late.
The attention snapped to you just as quickly.
You barely had time to process it before Finn placed a hand over his chest, feigning shock.
âOhâ(Y/N)âs here too?â
You covered your face for a second, laughing despite yourself, the heat rushing up your neck.
âTheyâreâuh,â he continued, clearly trying to sound casual and failing miserably, âtheyâre my costars.â
The crowd didnât care.
They cheered anyway, louder, if anything.
You dropped your hand, shaking your head, smiling helplessly while Sadie leaned into you, entirely too pleased with herself.
Then Finn moved.
He crossed the stage slowly, like it was nothing, like this wasnât deliberate at all, and sat down right at the edge, close enough that you could see the small details again. The way his fingers adjusted on the guitar. The way his foot tapped lightly against the stage.
Close enough that it felt like everything else faded back.
His leg brushed against your arm.
It was small.
Barely anything.
But it grounded you instantly.
Your breath caught again, softer this time, as you looked up at him.
He glanced down, quick, subtle, And there it was.
That look.
Soft. Steady. Entirely yours.
Like the rest of the room didnât exist for a second.
Then he looked back out, adjusting his grip on the guitar slightly.
âThis oneâs⊠new,â he said.
The shift was immediate.
The first notes were quieter. Slower. Different.
You recognized it instantly.
Not because youâd heard it before, but because you hadnât.
Because you knew him well enough to hear what it was anyway.
Your chest tightened.
Beside you, Sadie went completely still, her earlier energy settling into something quieter, like even she understood this wasnât a moment to interrupt.
Finn kept his focus forward, eyes mostly on the crowd, but his leg stayed where it was, lightly pressed against your arm.
Constant.
Grounding.
Like he needed the contact just as much as you did.
No one else noticed.
To them, it was just another song.
A softer one. A new one.
But to you, it was everything.
Every late-night call. Every âI miss you.â Every quiet moment stretched across time zones. Every piece of distance that had felt too big until now.
He was singing it out into a room full of people but it was yours.
And you couldnât stop smiling, even as your eyes burned a little, your vision blurring just slightly because somehow, impossibly, heâd taken missing you and turned it into something this beautiful.
And now you were right here to hear it.
*****************
Backstage was chaos in the best way, crew members weaving past each other with practiced urgency, someone calling out cues that didnât matter anymore now that the show was over, laughter spilling out in bursts from different corners. The air felt warm, thick with adrenaline and sweat and that post-performance high that hadnât settled yet.
It wrapped around you the second you stepped past the curtain.
You barely got your bearings, barely took two stepsâ
âHeyââ
And then he was there.
It wasnât even a hesitation.
Finn crossed the space like heâd been waiting for this exact moment since he walked offstage, like the second he was allowed to move, he did, and he didnât slow down when he reached you.
His arms wrapped around you instantly, lifting you clean off the ground before you could react.
A full, tight, breath-stealing bear hug.
You let out a surprised laugh that got cut off halfway as he squeezed you closer, your feet leaving the floor as he buried his face into your neck, holding you there like he needed to feel you, like seeing you hadnât been enough.
âYouâre hereââ he breathed, the words rushed, disbelieving, warm against your skin.
You didnât even get the chance to answer.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still on you, like he wasnât risking letting go, his eyes scanning your face quickly, searching, making sure.
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
Immediate.
There was no buildup, no hesitation, just everything at once. Weeks of missing you, late-night calls that ended too soon, messages that didnât quite cover it, every bit of it poured straight into that kiss.
You kissed him back just as fast, your hands fisting into his shirt, grounding yourself in something solid as the noise around you faded into nothing but background blur.
For a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room.
Behind youâ
âUgh. Disgusting.â
Sadieâs voice cut straight through it, loud and perfectly timed.
Finn didnât even flinch.
Didnât pull away.
Didnât acknowledge her in the slightest.
He just lifted one hand blindly behind him and flipped her off without breaking the kiss.
You laughed against his mouth, the sound soft and breathless, which only made him chase your lips again, this time slower, but somehow just as intense, like he was making up for lost time.
âIâm getting you a drink,â Sadie continued, already walking off like sheâd said her piece. âYouâre literally a sweaty mess.â
He made a vague sound of acknowledgment that didnât resemble actual words, still very much focused on you.
âFinnââ you tried, laughing as you pressed a hand lightly to his chest, attempting to create even an inch of space.
âNo,â he mumbled immediately, like the idea itself offended him.
He dropped his forehead against your shoulder again, arms tightening around you like a reflex.
âAbsolutely not,â he added, voice muffled. âYou donât just show up out of nowhere and expect me to be normal about it.â
You smiled into his hair, your fingers automatically slipping into it, brushing it back gently. âYou seemed pretty normal on stage.â
âThat was survival,â he said without missing a beat. âThis is a crisis.â
You huffed out a laugh. âYouâre ridiculous.â
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his hands still resting at your waist, like even this small distance was pushing it.
âHow are you here?â he asked, softer now, but no less intense. âLikeâactually how?â
You tilted your head slightly, nodding toward the direction Sadie had disappeared in. âThat would be her.â
His expression shifted, eyes narrowing just a little as realization set in, slow and inevitable.
ââŠSo,â he said carefully, âmaybe I shouldâve been nicer to her.â
Right on cueâ
Splash.
Finn jolted as an ice-cold bottle of water hit his chest, the impact making him flinch back a step.
âYeah,â Sadie said flatly, reappearing like sheâd been summoned. âYou shouldâve.â
You laughed immediately as he looked down at himself, then back up at her, genuinely offended. âThat was aggressive.â
She ignored him completely, stepping right past him and hooking an arm around yours, pulling you snugly into her side.
âYouâre lucky I shared,â she added, giving him a pointed look.
Sadie didnât even blink. âDoesnât matter. Sheâs my best friend first.â
You snorted, caught between them, your head tipping slightly toward her shoulder.
Finn just shook his head, dragging a hand through his already messy hair, somehow making it worse. âIâm gonna go clean up before I pass out,â he muttered, though his eyes were still on you.
He stepped forward again almost immediately, like he couldnât quite help himself, and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
Softer this time.
Slower.
But it lingered, just for a second longer than it needed to.
âDonât go anywhere,â he added quietly, his voice dipping just enough that it felt like it was meant only for you.
You smiled. âWouldnât dream of it.â
âWait in the car,â he said, like he needed to hear you agree, like he needed the promise.
Before you could even answer, Sadie groaned loudly. âOh my god, okay, lover boy, go shower.â
She grabbed your arm without hesitation and started pulling you backward.
Finn immediately reached for you again. âHeyââ
âNope,â Sadie said firmly, already dragging you toward the exit. âYou smell like regret and stage lights. Fix it.â
You laughed, letting yourself be pulled along, twisting just enough to look back over your shoulder.
He was still standing there.
Watching you go.
A little dazed.
A little breathless.
And smiling in that soft, completely undone way that made your chest tighten all over again. Like youâd just flipped his entire world upside down in the best possible way.
Mike Wheeler x Reader, Max Mayfield x ExBestFriend! Reader(platonic)
Summary: Three years ago, life felt easier because fear, pain, and laughter were shared among friends. Now, a year after drifting apart from Max, distance and silence have replaced what used to feel effortless. At a Fourth of July gathering, youâre forced back into her presence, surrounded by fireworks, noise, and familiar faces. Overheard conversations and small interactions reveal old misunderstandings and unspoken tension, leaving you unsure how to act. When Max notices somethingâs missing between you, the air shifts, charged with questions neither of you knows how to answer. The past year of assumptions suddenly feels fragile and uncertain. (6.7K)
Warnings/tags: friendship angst, reader and max are shit at communication, Lucas is caught in the crossfire, mike and reader have a past that is vaguely mentioned, mike and reader are cute, reader is a hard ass, max tries, holly is a cutie pie, fire works, both of them miss their friendship, everyone needs to stop being hard asses.
Part 1!
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
The sliding door shuts behind Max with a sharp, hollow sound that cuts through the laughter like something misplaced.
It doesnât belong with the music, or the easy chatter, or the clatter of plastic forks against paper plates. It lingers for a second longer than it shouldâjust long enough to make a few people glance toward the house before the moment dissolves and everything resumes.
You donât look up.
You keep your eyes on your plate, on the smear of dressing youâve been absentmindedly pushing around with your fork. The food has gone cold. You hadnât really tasted any of it to begin with.
Beside you, Mike shifts slightly, his arm still hooked along the back of your chair. Itâs a familiar weight, steady and grounding on any other day. Tonight it just makes you feel⊠pinned. Like if you stay here much longer, the pressure in your chest is going to crack something open in front of everyone.
For a few seconds, the table is quieter than it should be.
Then Dustin clears his throat loudly, like he physically cannot tolerate silence.
âAnyway,â he says, gesturing dramatically with his fork, âas I was sayingââ
Conversation stutters back to life.
Steve rolls his eyes, Nancy smiles politely, Holly starts asking someone about fireworks again. The world keeps moving.
But you donât.
Because now the house feels like itâs pulling at you.
You donât even realize youâve stopped fidgeting until Mike nudges your shoulder lightly.
âYou okay?â he murmurs.
You nod too quickly.
âYeah. Justââ Your voice feels too loud, so you drop it. âGonna throw this out.â
You donât wait for him to respond. If you do, you might stay. And if you stay, you might keep pretending everything is fine.
The grass is cool under your shoes as you step away from the table, the sounds of the party fading just slightly with each step. The closer you get to the house, the more the air changesâthe smell of charcoal replaced by something softer, cleaner, like dish soap and lemonade and the faint trace of whatever candle Mrs. Wheeler burned earlier.
The sliding door handle is cool under your fingers.
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then you pull it open.
The noise from outside spills in with youâmusic, laughter, the distant crackle of someone testing fireworks too earlyâbut it dulls the second the door slides shut behind you.
Inside, itâs quieter.
Not silent, but muted. Like the walls are holding everything at armâs length.
The kitchen light hums faintly overhead. The counter is clutteredâhalf-empty bowls, crumpled napkins, condensation rings from forgotten cups. A stack of plates leans precariously near the sink, and the trash can is already overflowing with red-white-and-blue paper scraps.
You step forward, your movements slower now, more careful. The plastic plate in your hands crinkles softly when your grip tightens.
Then... voices.
Not from the kitchen.
From just beyond it.
You freeze mid-step.
ââŠyou didnât have to do that,â Lucas is saying, his voice low, but it carries in the quiet space. Thereâs tension in itâcontrolled, but there. âYou couldâve just let it go.â
Max laughs, but thereâs no humor in it. Itâs short, sharp, like something breaking instead of something funny.
âLet it go?â she echoes. âYeah, because thatâs worked out so well so far.â
The sound of her voice does something immediate and visceral to you.
Itâs been a year.
A year of silence, of secondhand information, of pretending her name doesnât hit differently than everyone elseâs.
And stillâyour body reacts before your brain can catch up. Your chest tightens, your pulse stumbles, your fingers curl harder into the edge of the plate.
You donât move.
You should.
You should make noise, step forward, announce yourself like a normal person.
Instead, you stay exactly where you are. Half-shadowed in the kitchen, just out of sight from the hallway where their voices are coming from.
âNo reason?â Max continues, and now thereâs something underneath the wordsâsomething raw, something that hasnât been sanded down by time the way you thought it might be. âShe quit something that mattered to her and no one thought to tell me. How is that not a reason?â
Your breath catches.
Lucas exhales slowly, like heâs choosing his words carefully.
âMaxâŠâ
âNo, seriously,â she presses, and you can hear movement nowâpacing, maybe, or her shifting her weight restlessly. âHow long has it been? A year? And I donât know anything. Not that, notâanything.â
Each word lands heavier than the last.
âEveryone else does,â she says. âYou do. Mike does. And Iâm justâwhat? The last one to find out everything?â
âThatâs not fair,â Lucas says, softer now.
âIsnât it?â
The question hangs there, unanswered.
You stare at the edge of the counter, at a tiny crack in the laminate that youâve never noticed before. Your focus narrows to it like it might anchor you in place.
Because if you let yourself think about what sheâs sayingâabout the fact that she sounds upset, not indifferent, not distantâ
Youâre not sure what that means for everything youâve been telling yourself.
âShe didnât tell us either,â Lucas says after a moment. âNot really. We just⊠figured it out.â
Max huffs out a breath. You can picture it without seeingâarms crossed, jaw tight, eyes flashing.
âGreat,â she mutters. âSo Iâm not just out of the loop, Iâm completely irrelevant. Awesome.â
Something twists painfully in your chest.
âThatâs not what Iâm saying.â
âItâs what it feels like.â
There it is again.
That word.
Feels.
Not logic. Not anger. Something softer underneath all of it. Something you havenât let yourself consider in a long time.
You swallow, your throat dry.
Lucas shiftsâthereâs a faint creak of the floorboards.
âThen talk to her,â he says.
Simple.
Too simple.
The sentence echoes in the small space between them.
You feel it echo in you, too.
Max lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath.
âYeah,â she says. âBecause sheâd love that.â
âShe might.â
âShe wonât.â
Thereâs no pause. No hesitation. The certainty in her voice is immediate.
And it hits you harder than anything else so far.
Lucas doesnât back down.
âYou donât know that.â
âI do.â
âYou donât.â
A beat.
You can almost feel the tension stretching, tightening, threatening to snap.
âShe moved her chair away from me, Lucas,â Max says, her voice dropping lower now. Quieter. Not as sharpâbut somehow worse. âShe wonât even look at me half the time. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?â
Heat rushes to your face.
You hadnât thoughtâ
No, thatâs a lie.
You had thought about it. You just hadnât thought about how it looked from her side.
Lucasâs voice softens.
âMaybe she thinks you donât want her to.â
Thereâs a pause.
A real one this time.
Long enough that your heart starts beating louder again, filling the silence.
âThatâs notââ
Max cuts herself off.
The unfinished sentence hangs in the air like something fragile and exposed.
You shift your weight slightly, and the floor beneath you creaks.
Your entire body goes rigid.
The voices stop.
For one terrifying second, you think they heard you.
You donât breathe.
You donât move.
âShe doesnât want me to,â Max says finally.
Her voice is quieter now.
Not sharp.
Not defensive.
Just⊠certain.
But itâs different than before.
Thinner. Like something sheâs holding onto instead of something she fully believes.
Lucas exhales slowly.
âYou donât know that.â
Max doesnât answer right away.
When she does, her voice is even softer.
âIâm not doing this again.â
The words land heavy.
âIâm not gonna go up to her just so she can shut me down,â she continues. âIâm notââ She stops, like the rest of the sentence gets stuck somewhere on the way out. âIâm not putting myself out there like that if sheâs just gonna⊠walk away.â
Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts.
Because thatâs it.
Thatâs the exact same thought thatâs been sitting in the back of your mind all night.
All year.
A long silence follows.
Then Lucas, quiet and honest:
âYouâre both doing the same thing.â
Max lets out a small, tired laugh.
âYeah,â she says. âWell. Thatâs working out great for us, isnât it?â
Neither of them sound like they find it funny.
The quiet stretches again.
It feels heavier now. Settled. Like everything that needed to be said has been saidâbut none of it fixed anything.
You take a slow step back.
Then another.
Your hands feel unsteady as you lower the plate into the trash can, easing it in carefully so it doesnât make noise. The plastic crinkles anyway, too loud in your ears.
You pause.
For a second, just one, you think about stepping forward.
About turning the corner.
About saying something.
Anything.
But your feet stay rooted.
Because if you step into that hallway, this stops being something overheard and becomes something real.
And youâre not ready for that.
Not when everything you thought you understood just shifted.
Not when her voice doesnât match the version of her youâve been holding onto for a year.
You turn instead.
Quietly. Carefully.
You cross the kitchen, your steps light against the tile, and reach for the sliding door again.
The moment it opens, the outside rushes back in.
Music. Laughter. The hum of voices layered over each other. The distant pop of a firework somewhere too early in the night.
Itâs almost jarring.
Like stepping into a different world.
You let the door slide shut behind you, sealing the quiet back inside.
For a moment, you donât move.
You just stand there on the edge of the deck, the warm air wrapping around you, the glow of string lights blurring slightly as your eyes lose focus.
Your mind is still inside.
Still caught on her words.
She thinks you donât want her to talk to you.
You think she doesnât want you to.
And somehow, in the space between those two things, an entire year slipped by.
You swallow hard, forcing your expression back into something manageable before turning toward the table again.
The party looks the same.
Feels the same.
No one knows anything shifted.
But it did.
You almost stepped into that conversation.
Almost said her name.
Almost changed something.
Instead, you walked away.
Again.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
By the time the sky deepens into that rich, in-between blueâwhere the last traces of sunlight bleed out and the first real stars start to showâthe backyard has transformed completely.
The table has been abandoned in favor of the grass. Lawn chairs are dragged into uneven rows, blankets spread out in soft, overlapping patches, corners pinned down with sneakers and coolers and whatever else people can find. The string lights overhead hum faintly, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that makes the whole yard feel smaller, closer, like the world has shrunk down to just this space for the night.
Thereâs a restless anticipation in the air.
People talk, but not fully. Conversations drift, break off halfway through, pick up somewhere else. Every few seconds someone glances up at the sky like they might miss something if they donât.
You hover at the edge of the deck for a moment, arms loosely crossed, watching it all settle into place. The noise from earlier has softenedânot quieter, exactly, but more contained. Focused.
Your mind, unfortunately, is not.
Itâs still caught on the kitchen. On everything you heard. On the way Maxâs voice had soundedâfrustrated, yes, but underneath that⊠something else.
Something that doesnât fit the version of this youâve been holding onto.
You donât have time to spiral.
âHey!â
Holly barrels into you before you can react, small hands grabbing onto your wrist and tugging with absolute confidence.
âCome sit with me,â she insists, already pulling you off the deck. âWe need the best spot or we wonât see anything!â
âI think the sky is kind of⊠everywhere,â you try, but thereâs no real resistance behind it.
Holly ignores you completely.
âThis oneâs the best,â she declares, dragging you toward a blanket spread right in the middle of the yardâclose enough to the house that the porch light still spills over the edge, but open enough for a clear view of the sky.
You let her pull you down, settling onto the blanket with a quiet exhale. The grass underneath is uneven, slightly cool through the thin fabric, grounding in a way you didnât realize you needed.
Holly doesnât sit next to you.
She climbs directly into your lap.
âOkay,â she says, like sheâs organizing something very serious, adjusting herself so sheâs facing forward, back pressed comfortably against your chest. âNow we can see everything.â
You blink down at her.
ââŠYou just wanted a better seat.â
She tilts her head back to look at you, completely unashamed. âObviously.â
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your mouth.
âOf course.â
You wrap one arm loosely around her middle to steady her, the other resting against the blanket beside you. Sheâs warm, solid, grounding in a way that keeps you from drifting too far into your own head.
For a second, itâs enough.
âOh, good. You found a spot.â
Mike drops down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He leans back on one hand, stretching his legs out in front of him, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who definitely just orchestrated something.
You narrow your eyes at him.
He doesnât look at you.
âHi,â you say slowly.
âHi,â he replies, just as casual.
You open your mouth to question itâ
âMax!â
Hollyâs voice rings out, bright and unstoppable.
Your entire body goes still.
âCome sit here!â she calls, twisting slightly in your lap so she can wave her arms dramatically. âThereâs room!â
There isnât.
Not really.
But thatâs never stopped Holly before.
You donât turn.
You donât need to.
You hear the footsteps in the grass. Slower than everyone elseâs. Measured.
Your heartbeat picks up immediately, loud and uneven in your chest.
Thereâs a pause just behind you. A hesitation that stretches for a second too long.
Then the blanket dips.
Max sits down on your other side.
Closer than before. Closer than at the table. Close enough that Hollyâs leg brushes lightly against her knee, close enough that the space between you is no longer really space at all.
Holly beams, satisfied.
âSee?â she says proudly. âPerfect.â
Perfect.
You stare straight ahead.
Mike shifts slightly beside you, subtle but deliberate. His arm stretches out behind you again, resting along the back edge of the blanket, not quite touching you but close enough to box you in.
Itâs not obvious.
But you feel it.
Youâre not moving.
âFireworks should start any minute,â he says, glancing up at the sky.
You donât respond.
Because all of your attention is pulled sharply to the left.
Max adjusts slightly beside you, settling her weight, her hand brushing briefly against the blanket near your thigh before pulling back. The movement is small, almost nothing, but it sends a ripple of awareness straight through you.
You donât look at her.
But you know exactly where she is.
The line of her shoulder. The way she sits a little stiffly, like sheâs aware of the distanceâor lack of itâjust as much as you are. The faint, familiar scent of her, something clean and sharp and unmistakably her, drifting just close enough to make your chest tighten.
Holly chatters happily in your lap, pointing up at the sky, completely oblivious.
âDo you think theyâll do the big ones first or last?â she asks, craning her neck.
âLast,â Mike says. âThey always save the best for the end.â
âThatâs what I think too,â Holly agrees, like this is a very serious discussion.
You hum softly in acknowledgment, your voice quieter than usual.
Beside you, Max doesnât say anything.
The silence stretches.
Not empty.
Just⊠charged.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air.
Everyone looks up.
A firework explodes across the sky.
Bright gold, blooming outward in a sudden burst of light that washes over the yard in flickering color.
Holly gasps, grabbing onto your arm with both hands. âDid you see that?!â
âYeah,â you murmur, your voice soft.
Another whistle follows.
Another explosion louder this time. Closer.
The sound echoes through your chest, sharp and sudden.
Beside you, Max tenses.
Itâs subtle, but you feel it immediately. The way her shoulder stiffens, the slight hitch in her breathing.
A much louder crack splits the air.
Closer than the others. Sudden enough to make the ground itself seem to flinch.
And Max reacts before she can stop herself.
Her hand finds you.
Itâs not hesitant.
Not careful.
Itâs instinct.
Her fingers close around your wrist, firm and immediate, like theyâve done it a hundred times before.
Your breath catches sharply in your throat.
For a second, everything else drops away.
The noise. The lights. The people around you.
Itâs just her hand gripping yours.
Warm. Familiar. Real.
Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, a reflex buried deep enough that it doesnât need permission. Your fingers twitch slightly under her grip, not pulling away, not moving toward her either just⊠there.
Like they remember.
Another firework bursts overhead, painting everything in streaks of red and blue. The light flickers across your joined hands, across the space between you.
Then Max realizes.
You feel it in the way her grip falters.
In the sudden stillness that replaces instinct.
Her hand loosens.
Not all at once. Slowly. Like sheâs just become aware of what sheâs doing and doesnât know how to undo it without making it worse.
Her fingers slide back from your wrist.
The absence is immediate.
Cold, almost.
She pulls her hand back into her lap, curling her fingers into her palm like sheâs trying to hide the movement, like sheâs trying to erase it.
You donât look at her.
You canât.
Your pulse is too loud, your thoughts too tangled.
Because for that one second she didnât hesitate.
She didnât think about the fight, or the silence, or the year between you.
She just reached for you.
Like she always used to.
Another firework explodes overhead, bright and loud and impossible to ignore.
Holly claps in your lap, bouncing slightly against you. âThat one was even better!â
Mike laughs softly beside you. âYou say that every time.â
âBecause they are!â
You swallow, your throat tight.
Beside you, Max shifts.
This time itâs more controlled. More deliberate. She leans back on her hands, putting just a fraction more space between you, her posture carefully neutral.
Like nothing happened.
Like her hand didnât just find yours without thinking.
But you felt it.
You still feel it.
You keep your eyes on the sky.
Itâs easier than looking at her.
Easier than acknowledging what that moment meansâwhat it could mean.
Because after everythingâŠafter a year of silence and distance and carefully built walls your first instinct hadnât been to pull away.
And neither had hers.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
The last firework fades slower than the rest.
It lingers in the sky in a soft scatter of gold, like it canât quite decide whether to disappear or hold on a little longer. For a moment, everything goes quietâno whistles, no cracks, just the distant echo of something already over.
Then the noise comes rushing back in.
Voices overlap, chairs scrape against the grass, people start standing, stretching, talking all at once like theyâve been holding it in. Someone laughs too loud. Someone else immediately starts arguing about which one was the best. The spell breaks.
Holly squirms in your lap, already halfway turned around. âIâm gonna go see if thereâs any more cupcakes,â she announces, like this is urgent, slipping out of your arms before you can respond.
âHey! Donât run,â you call after her automatically.
Sheâs already gone.
The space she leaves behind feels bigger than it should.
For a second, you just sit there, hands resting awkwardly in your lap where she used to be, the warmth already fading. The blanket shifts as people move around you, the edges lifting, folding, being dragged away piece by piece.
Mike stands, brushing grass off his jeans. âIâm gonna grab drinks,â he says, glancing down at you.
You nod, not really thinking about it.
âWant anything?â
âNo, Iâm good.â
He hesitates for half a secondâjust enough to notice, just enough to make it feel intentionalâthen gives a small nod and heads toward the house.
And just like that itâs quieter.
Not completely silent, but quieter than before. The kind of quiet that settles in the spaces between people, in the edges of things.
You donât realize how alone you are until you feel it.
Until you feel her still sitting beside you.
Max hasnât moved.
The awareness of her comes back all at once, sharp and immediate. The space between you is still small, though not as small as it was before. Careful now. Controlled.
You could leave.
You should probably leave.
Instead, you stay.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
The air feels heavier out here, away from the center of the yard. The sounds from the others drift over in fragmentsâlaughter, muffled voices, the slam of the back door opening and closingâbut they feel distant. Like theyâre happening somewhere else.
You stare out at the now-empty sky, still faintly hazy from smoke.
âHey.â
Her voice is quiet.
Closer than you expect.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to look at her.
Max is already looking at you.
âHey,â you echo.
Itâs awkward immediately.
Not hostile. Not cold.
Just⊠unfamiliar.
Like youâre both trying to remember how this works.
Max looks away first, her gaze dropping to her hands where they rest in her lap. She picks at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket, pulling it, wrapping it around her finger, unwrapping it again.
âIââ she starts, then stops.
You wait.
She exhales softly through her nose, like sheâs frustrated with herself. âI didnât know you quit.â
The words land heavier than they should.
You blink once. âCheer?â
She nods, still not looking at you. âYeah.â
Thereâs a beat.
âYou werenât supposed to.â
It comes out before you can stop it.
Not sharp. Not exactly.
But not soft either.
Maxâs head lifts at that, her eyes snapping back to yours. âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
You shrug, even though it doesnât quite match the feeling in your chest. âNothing. Justââ
You trail off, shaking your head slightly.
She frowns. âNo, just what?â
You let out a quiet breath, glancing away for a second before looking back at her. âItâs just complicated, it doesn't even really make sense.â
Her expression tightens. âYeah, well, a lot of things donât make sense.â
Thereâs something under that.
Something closer to the surface than either of you are ready for.
She shifts slightly, her hand brushing against the blanket between you. âYou liked it.â
âI know,â You say quickly.
âThen whyââ
âI just did, okay?â You cut in, sharper this time.
The words hang there, abrupt and unfinished.
You stare at her for a second, searching her face, but sheâs already looking away again, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
Itâs not about cheer.
You both know itâs not about cheer.
The silence stretches again, thinner this time. More fragile.
Max exhales, slower now, like sheâs trying to recalibrate.
âI asked about you,â she says after a moment, quieter.
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
âI asked,â she repeats, glancing at you briefly. âLucas. Dustin. Mike sometimes. Iââ She stops, swallowing slightly. âI didnât just⊠not care.â
Something in your chest twists.
You look down at your hands. âThatâs not the same.â
The words come out softer than before, but they hit harder.
Maxâs head turns toward you again, her brows pulling together. âWhat?â
âThatâs not the same,â you repeat, a little steadier this time. âAs actually talking to me.â
âIââ she starts, then falters.
For a second, it looks like she doesnât have a response. Like she wasnât expecting that.
âI didnât think you wanted me to,â she says finally.
Your head lifts. âWhy wouldnât Iââ
âYou left,â she cuts in, not loud, but firm. âYou justâstopped.â
The words land between you, heavy and immediate.
You stare at her, something sharp rising up in your chest. âYou told me to.â
Max freezes.
For a second, neither of you breathes.
âI didnâtââ she starts, but itâs weak. Uncertain.
âYou did,â you say, not angry, but not backing down either. âYou told me to go. So I did.â
Her eyes flicker, something shifting thereâconfusion, maybe. Or doubt.
âThatâs notââ She shakes her head, like sheâs trying to piece something together. âThatâs not what I meant.â
âOkay,â you say, but it doesnât sound like agreement. âThen what did you mean?â
She opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
âI justââ Her voice catches slightly, frustration bleeding through. âI thought youâd come back.â
The admission hangs there, fragile and raw.
Something in your chest tightens painfully.
âWell,â you say, quieter now. âI guess you were wrongââ
âHey!â
The voice cuts through everything.
Loud. Bright. Too close.
You both flinch slightly as Dustin comes jogging over, a half-eaten popsicle in his hand, completely oblivious to the tension heâs just walked into.
âOkay, serious question,â he starts, dropping down onto the edge of the blanket like nothingâs happening. âDo we think the third one was better than the fifth one, or are we all just blinded by recency bias?â
You blink at him.
Max leans back slightly, the space between you widening just enough to break whatever had been building.
Dustin looks between the two of you, finally registering something. âWhat?â
âNothing,â you say quickly.
âNothing,â Max echoes at the same time.
He squints. âUh-huh.â
The moment is gone.
Completely.
Whatever fragile thread youâd been pulling atâwhatever almost-understanding you were circlingâsnaps clean in two.
You look away first this time, your gaze drifting back toward the yard, toward the noise and the movement and anything that isnât this.
Beside you, Max shifts again, her hands folding tightly in her lap.
Neither of you tries to pick it back up.
But the words are still there.
Hanging between you.
Unfinished.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
The porch light hums softly above you, a steady, quiet contrast to the fading noise of the backyard.
Out here, everything feels a little more distant.
The laughter is still there, but dulled. The music, quieter. Even the air feels cooler, like itâs trying to settle things down after everything that just happened.
You lean against the railing, arms folded tight across your chest, eyes fixed somewhere out in the dark where the yard meets the trees. Itâs easier than looking back. Easier than thinking too hard about the conversation you didnât finish.
About the things she said.
About the things you didnât.
The screen door creaks.
You donât turn.
Footsteps followâfamiliar, unhurried. They stop a few feet behind you, close enough to feel, not close enough to crowd.
Thereâs a pause.
âYou wanna tell me what that was?â
Mikeâs voice isnât loud.
But itâs not casual either.
You exhale slowly through your nose. âI donât know what you mean.â
âYeah,â he says flatly. âYou do.â
You shift your weight, jaw tightening slightly. âIt was nothing.â
Thereâs a beat.
Then a short, disbelieving breath from behind you.
âRight. Because thatââhe gestures vaguely toward the yardââlooked like nothing.â
You finally turn, just enough to glance at him.
Mikeâs already watching you.
Arms crossed. Expression set. Not angry, exactlyâbut thereâs something firm in it. Something that isnât going to let this slide.
You look away again almost immediately.
âIâm fine,â you say.
âNo, youâre not.â
The response is instant.
Sure.
You let out a quiet huff, more tired than anything. âI said Iâm fine, Mike.â
âAnd I said youâre not,â he shoots back, stepping a little closer now. âAnd Iâm kinda done pretending like I donât see it.â
Your shoulders tense.
âSee what?â
He lets out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair like heâs trying to decide how to say this without making it worse.
Fails.
âYouâre acting like she doesnât care,â he says, looking straight at you. âLike none of this matters to her.â
You blink, caught off guard by how direct that is.
âThatâs notââ
âIt is,â he cuts in. âEvery time sheâs around, you shut down. You wonât look at her, you wonât talk to her, and then you go around acting like sheâs the one who checked out.â
Your chest tightens.
âIâm not acting like anything,â you say, sharper now.
Mike tilts his head slightly, unimpressed. âYou donât get to decide that for her.â
The words hit harder than you expect.
You straighten a little, turning toward him fully now. âIâm not deciding anything. She made it pretty clear.â
âOh my god,â he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
âWhat?â you snap.
âYouâre both being idiots.â
The bluntness of it lands like a slap.
You stare at him. âExcuse me?â
âIâm serious,â he says, not backing off. âThis whole thing? Itâs stupid. Youâre both stuck in your own heads, making assumptions, and itâsââ He gestures between you, frustrated. âItâs exhausting to watch.â
Something defensive flares up immediately.
âShe told me to leave,â you say, the words coming out fast, like youâve been holding onto them for too long. âShe meant it.â
Mike doesnât even hesitate.
âYeah,â he says.
The agreement throws you off for half a second.Â
âAnd you stayed gone.â
It lands clean.
No edge. No raised voice.
Just the truth.
You go still.
Mike watches you carefully now, not as sharp, but just as steady. âYou donât get to act like this is all on her,â he adds, quieter. âItâs not.â
Your throat feels tight.
âI did what she asked,â you say, but thereâs less bite in it now. Less certainty.
Mike shakes his head. âNo. You did what was easier.â
That stings.
Your brows pull together. âThatâs notââ
âYou couldâve come back,â he says, cutting you off again, but softer this time. âYou couldâve checked. You couldâve asked what she meant instead of just⊠deciding for both of you what it was.â
You donât have an answer for that.
Because you remember.
The way it felt. The way it hurt. The way leaving felt like the only option that didnât make things worse.
The way you never went back.
Mike exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. âLook,â he says, quieter now. âI get it. You were hurt. She was too. Nobody handled it great.â
A beat.
âBut you donât get to keep punishing each other for it forever.â
The words settle heavily between you.
From inside, the muffled sound of laughter drifts through the door again. Someone calls Dustinâs name. A burst of noise, then quiet.
Out here, it feels like a different world.
You look down at your hands, flexing your fingers slightly without thinking.
You can still feel it.
Her hand around your wrist.
Instinct.
Not hesitation.
Not distance.
Mike follows your gaze, then looks back up at you.
âShe cares,â he says, more gently now. âItâs obvious.â
Your jaw tightens.
âYou donât know that.â
âI do,â he replies simply. âAnd deep down? You do too.â
Silence stretches.
Not tense.
Not loud.
Just⊠full.
Mike steps back after a moment, giving you space again.
âIâm not saying you have to fix it tonight,â he adds. âBut you should probably stop pretending thereâs nothing to fix.â
He turns toward the door, then pauses, glancing back at you one last time.
âJust⊠donât wait another year, okay?â
Then heâs gone.
The screen door creaks shut behind him, the noise of the house swallowing him back up.
Youâre left on the porch.
Alone again.
But not the same kind of alone as before.
Your grip tightens slightly on the railing as you stare out into the dark.
Because the worst part isnât what he said.
Itâs that you donât know how to argue with it.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
The basement feels warmer than the rest of the house.
Not by muchâbut enough.
Enough that the air is a little thicker, a little closer, like all the leftover energy from the night has settled down here instead of drifting off with everyone else. The low ceiling traps the noise, soft laughter and overlapping conversations bouncing gently off the walls. Someone turned on a lamp in the corner, casting everything in a dim, golden glow that makes the space feel smaller than it is.
Familiar. Safe.
You sit on the arm of the couch, one foot hooked on the cushion, the other resting against the floor. Someoneâprobably Dustinâhas dragged down a pile of blankets that are now half-used, half-forgotten across the room. Steve is slouched in a chair that looks too small for him, Nancy tucked beside Jonathan on the other end of the couch, Lucas leaning back against the wall like he hasnât fully relaxed all night.
Max is across the room.
Not far.
Close enough that youâre aware of her without trying.
Far enough that it still feels intentional.
Dustin is in the middle of the room, because of course he is.
âIâm just saying,â he insists, waving a folded piece of paper in the air like itâs evidence in a courtroom, âthere was absolutely no reason to call me an idiot. That was unprovoked.â
Thereâs a ripple of laughter around the room.
Max, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back against the couch, rolls her eyes without any real bite behind it. âYou are an idiot.â
âSee?â Dustin throws his hands up. âAgain! Completely unnecessary!â
âIt was one time,â she shoots back.
âIt was in writing,â he argues, shaking the letter slightly. âThat makes it permanent.â
âThat makes it accurate,â Steve mutters from his chair.
Another round of laughter.
Even Lucas cracks a small smile.
For a second it feels normal.
Like something easy and familiar you almost recognize.
You donât realize youâve relaxed until Hollyâs voice cuts through the room.
âWait,â she says, sitting cross-legged on the floor near you, looking between everyone with wide, curious eyes. âWhat letter?â
Dustin immediately perks up, delighted to have a new audience. âOh! Okay, so Max wrote all of us lettersââ
Max groans softly. âCan we notââ
ââand in mine,â Dustin continues loudly, ignoring her completely, âshe specifically included a section where she insults my intelligence.â
âI did not include a section,â Max says, exasperated.
âYou called me an idiot three separate times!â
âThatâs not a section, thatâs a theme.â
Holly giggles.
âWhyâd you write letters?â she asks, tilting her head.
Thereâs a shift.
Small. Subtle.
But itâs there.
You feel it in the way the room quiets just slightly.
In the way Dustinâs grin falters for half a second.
In the way Lucasâs gaze drops.
Max doesnât answer right away.
She just shrugs one shoulder, casual on the surface. âJust in case,â she says.
Holly seems to accept that immediately.
âCan I see yours?â she asks Dustin.
âNo,â he says instantly, clutching it to his chest. âAbsolutely not.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause itâs private.â
âYou just told everyone what it said.â
âThatâs different.â
Holly frowns, clearly unconvinced.
Then, like her brain has already moved on to the next thingâ
âWhat did everybody elseâs letters say?â she asks, looking around at everyone else.
Nancy smiles faintly. âSomething nice.â
Steve shrugs. âMine was mostly bossy.â
âIt was not bossy,â Max mutters.
âIt told me to âget my life together,ââ Steve counters.
âBecause you should.â
âThatâs subjective.â
Thereâs another soft ripple of laughter.
Holly turns again.
âWhat did yours say?â
The question lands lightly.
Innocently.
But it hits like something heavier.
The room doesnât react right away.
Not out loud.
But you feel it.
The slight pause.
The almost-shift in attention.
Itâs not a secret.
Everyone here knows.
You donât look at Max.
You keep your gaze on Holly, offering a small shrug like itâs nothing. Like it doesnât matter.
âI didnât get one,â you say.
Simple.
Easy.
The words fall into the room without weight.
Except they donât stay that way.
Because across from you Max goes still.
Itâs immediate.
You feel it before you even look.
The way the air changes.
The way something tightens.
Sheâs already staring at you.
Not confused.
Not questioning.
Just still.
ââŠWhat?â she says.
The word is quiet.
But it cuts clean through the room.
Holly looks between you, confused. âWhat?â
âYou didnâtââ Max sits up a little straighter, her brows pulling together. âWhat do you mean you didnât get one?â
Your stomach twists slightly.
You shrug again, but it feels different this time. Less casual. More⊠guarded.
âI mean I didnât get one,â you repeat.
A beat.
Max shakes her head once, like sheâs trying to correct something. âNo, Iââ she stops, frowning. âI wrote you one.â
The words land heavier this time.
You feel the shift ripple through the room.
Dustin goes quiet.
Lucas looks up.
Steve straightens slightly in his chair.
You donât move.
âI didnât get it,â you say.
Max stares at you.
Like that answer doesnât fit.
Like it doesnât make sense in a way she canât immediately fix.
âThatâs notââ she shakes her head again, more firmly now. âI wrote it. I remember writing it.â
Something in your chest tightens.
Silence settles.
Heavier this time.
Maxâs expression shiftsâconfusion bleeding into something sharper. Something unsettled.
Lucas straightens slightly. âIââ he hesitates. âI gave everyone theirs.â
Everyone.
The word hangs there.
You donât say anything.
You donât need to.
Maxâs jaw tightens slightly, her gaze flicking away for half a second before snapping back to you.
âI wrote it,â she says again, softer now. Not defensive. Not sharp. Just⊠certain.
You believe her.
Thatâs the problem.
Because if she wrote it and you didnât get it then something went wrong.
âI thought you found it,â she says.
The words are quieter now.
Careful.
Your chest tightens.
âI thought you didnât write one,â you admit.
That lands.
Harder than anything else so far.
Because now thereâs no anger in it.
No accusation.
Just the truth.
Maxâs expression flickers.
Something cracks through the certainty.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
Around you, the room has gone completely still.
No one interrupts.
No one jokes.
No one moves.
Because this is different.
âThat day,â you say, your voice slower now, like youâre walking through it as you speak. âAt the hospital. Lucas handed them out. He got to the end andââ you swallow slightly. âThere wasnât one left.â.
Max exhales slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor for a second before lifting back to you.
âI didnât just⊠not write you one,â she says.
And thereâs something in her voice now something raw.
Something that wasnât there before.
Your chest tightens again.
For a year you thought you had your answer.
You thought you understood what that silence meant.
The space between you feels different now.
Not smaller.
Not easier.
Just⊠altered.
Unsteady.
Like the ground beneath it isnât as solid as you thought.
You look at her.
Sheâs already looking at you.
Thereâs too much there now.
Too many questions.
Too many missing pieces.
Because if the letter existed then everything you built on its absence everything you told yourself might not be true.
Maxâs gaze flickers, just slightly, like sheâs about to say something.
I am finally free from the shackles of work and school for a week!!! Going to try and get all the requests done as well as some part twos!!! If you have ideas please request and I will try and get them done soon!!!
Mike Wheeler x Reader, Max Mayfield x ExBestFriend! Reader(platonic)
Summary: Three years ago, despite monsters and constant danger, life felt easier because fear and pain were shared among friends. Now, a year after a devastating fight with Max, youâve both avoided each other, leaving a painful void where your friendship once was. At a Fourth of July gathering, youâre forced back into her presence, reopening old wounds. Memories of your falling-out and the guilt of not being there when Max was hospitalized weigh heavily on you. As tensions rise during the party, small interactions reveal lingering hurt, unresolved feelings, and the fragile possibility that things between you might not be completely broken. (6.2K)
Warnings/tags: friendship angst, reader and max are shit at communication, Lucas is caught in the crossfire, mike and reader have a past that is vaguely mentioned, mike and reader are cute, reader is a hard ass, max tries, holly is a buffer
Part 2!
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
Three years ago everything had been easier.
Which sounded ridiculous when you really thought about it. Three years ago there had been monsters, gates ripping open in the earth, and a man so cruel and relentless that every waking moment had felt like borrowed time. An evil man who had wanted you all dead. Who had hunted you like prey. Who had turned your town into a nightmare.
And somehow⊠somehow that had been easier than this.
Because back then the pain had been shared. The fear had been shared. Every terrible moment had been faced together in the flickering light of Mike Wheelerâs basement, surrounded by mismatched chairs, soda cans, and the familiar scatter of dice across the table.
Back then you hadnât been alone.
Now the basement lights glowed just as warmly as they always had, but sitting here felt like balancing on broken glass.
It had been a year since you and Max had spoken properly. A year of carefully avoiding the same rooms, the same gatherings, the same awkward silences that hung heavy whenever your names were mentioned in the same sentence. A year of pretending you didnât care.
Pretending you didnât miss your best friend.
Pretending it didnât hurt like hell to hear updates about Max secondhand.
âLucas said she started physical therapy again,â Mike had told you once, standing awkwardly at the edge of your bedroom window after climbing in like he always did these days. âHe thinks itâs helping.â
You had nodded like that information didnât feel like a knife slowly twisting in your ribs.
Like you hadnât once been the person Max told everything to.
Now the chain went Lucas to Mike⊠and Mike to you.
Maxâs recovery filtered through two middlemen like gossip instead of something sacred.
You hated it.
You hated that you were too stubborn to fix it.
Skipping D&D had been easier than sitting at the table pretending everything was normal. Easier than imagining Max across from you, dice in hand, acting like you didnât exist.
Or worseâlooking at you like you were a stranger.
So you stopped coming.
The boys complained at first.
Dustin had shown up at your door dramatically claiming the campaign would collapse without your character. Will had quietly asked if you were okay. Lucas had tried not to pick sides. Mike had tried the hardest of all.
When you wouldnât come to the basement anymore, he started coming to you.
Sneaking through your window late at night with contraband snacks and stories from the latest sessions. Sitting on the floor of your room while the two of you talked about everything and nothing.
It wasnât the same.
But it was something.
Which was why you trusted him.
Which was why this felt like betrayal.
Because Mike Wheeler had absolutely lied to you.
âYou sure no one else is gonna be there?â you had asked earlier that afternoon while he leaned against his bike outside your house.
âPositive,â Mike said instantly. Too instantly. âMy parents are out, Nancyâs working, Jonathanâs with her, and Lucas and Dustin are busy. Itâll just be us. Same as always.â
âThen why do I have to come to your house?â
âBecause Holly wants to hang out,â he shrugged. âSheâs bored.â
You had rolled your eyes but agreed.
Holly was harmless.
Holly asked questions about everything but at least Holly didnât come with emotional landmines.
But the moment you stepped into the Wheeler kitchen you knew.
There were dishes everywhere.
Premade casseroles, trays of pasta salad, bowls wrapped in plastic. A mountain of burger buns stacked beside aluminum foil pans.
Red, white, and blue streamers hung from the cabinets. Paper flags stuck out of cups. Through the sliding glass door you could see the deck covered in decorations.
Fourth of July decorations.
The kind you only put up when people are coming over.
Your stomach dropped.
You turned slowly toward Mike.
âYou lied.â
Mike had the decency to look guilty.
âItâs not that badââ
âMichaelââ
âPlease donât leave,â he said quickly, stepping in front of the door like a human barricade. âJust give it a chance. Everyone misses you.â
Everyone.
That word echoed ominously.
Before you could respond, the back door slid open and Dustinâs voice burst into the kitchen.
âOkay but burgers are objectively superior to hotdogs and I will die on this hill.â
Too late.
You had already been seen.
So now you were here.
Sitting in Mike Wheelerâs basement for the first time in a year.
Exactly where you had been trying not to be.
The familiar couch felt foreign under your hands as you sat stiffly between Will and Mike. Will offered you a small, sympathetic smile like he understood exactly how uncomfortable you felt.
Mike, on the other hand, looked like he was trying not to breathe too loudly.
Across the room Dustin was pacing dramatically while Steve leaned against a chair, arms crossed in amusement.
âHotdogs are mystery meat!â Dustin declared, gesturing wildly. âYou donât even know whatâs in them!â
âTheyâre delicious mystery meat,â Steve countered.
âBurgers have structure, okay? They have integrity.â
âYouâre comparing grilled meat like itâs architecture.â
Normally you would have laughed.
Normally you would have jumped into the argument immediately.
Now your heart was hammering so loudly you wondered if everyone could hear it.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
For a moment you almost convince yourself they arenât coming.
Maybe Lucas and Max had other plans tonight. Maybe Mike had only invited the others. Maybe the party upstairs was just for neighbors and random family friends. Maybeâjust maybeâyou hadnât been completely tricked into walking into the exact situation you had spent the last year avoiding.
It helps that Mike keeps sending you apologetic glances.
Every time you look at him, he looks like a kid who knows heâs in serious trouble but is hoping if he acts normal long enough maybe you wonât yell at him later.
Itâs not working.
Your heart is still beating way too fast.
Dustin is in the middle of a dramatic rant about hotdogs when the basement door opens upstairs.
The sound freezes you in place.
Lucasâs voice drifts down first.
âHello? Anyone down there?â
Dustin spins toward the stairs like heâs been personally summoned. âIf youâre bringing hotdogs, donât bother!â
Lucas appears halfway down the steps a second later, laughing under his breath.
âYou are so dramatic.â
He reaches the bottom of the stairs and glances around the room.
Then he sees you.
His expression flickers in surprise for just a secondâbut it softens quickly, the way someone does when theyâre hoping things might finally be okay again.
âHey,â he says.
Not awkward. Not tense. Just⊠hopeful.
You manage a quiet, âHi.â
Lucas gives you a small smile before greeting the others.
Dustin immediately points at him. âSettle an argument. Burgers or hotdogs.â
Lucas groans. âIâm not getting involved in that.â
You barely hear any of it.
Because someone else is coming down the stairs.
You donât have to look to know who it is.
Max follows a step behind Lucas.
You catch the flash of red hair first, bright even in the dim basement light. She looks almost the same as you rememberâjeans, sneakers, that casual posture like she doesnât care what anyone thinks.
Except she moves a little slower now.
Carefully.
Your stomach twists.
Max steps off the last stair and glances around the room, offering quiet greetings.
And then she looks at you.
She freezes.
The entire room seems to go still.
Her eyes widen just slightly, like she didnât expect to see you here any more than you expected to see her.
Her mouth opens like sheâs about to speak.
Like sheâs about to say your name.
Your chest tightens painfully.
You canât do this.
âIâuhââ
Your voice sounds strained even to your own ears.
âI need to go to the bathroom. Iâll be back.â
The words come out too fast.
You stand before anyone can respond, before Max can say anything, before Mike can stop you.
You head for the stairs as quickly as you can without technically running.
You can feel eyes on your back the whole way up.
The hallway bathroom door closes behind you with a soft click.
And the second it does, your legs give out.
You slide down the wall until youâre sitting on the cool tile floor.
Your head drops into your hands.
God.
Your heart is pounding like you just sprinted across Hawkins.
Seeing her felt like getting the air knocked out of you.
A whole year.
A whole year of avoiding this exact moment.
You stay like that for a long time.
Long enough for the noise from downstairs to fade back into muffled voices through the floorboards. Long enough for your breathing to slow a little.
Then thereâs a knock on the door.
Three soft taps.
âMike,â you call through the door, your voice tired, âgo away.â
Thereâs a pause.
Then a smaller voice answers.
âItâs not Mike.â
You blink.
âHolly?â
âYeah.â
Of course itâs Holly.
Mikeâs little sister always seems to show up exactly when things are falling apart.
You push yourself up slowly, leaning against the sink.
âWhatâs up?â you ask through the door.
You hear her shifting her weight outside.
Then she says, a little shy but hopeful, âCan you help me braid ribbon into my hair?â
You frown slightly. âRibbon?â
âThe red and blue one,â Holly explains proudly. âMom said it would look festive but she doesnât braid good.â
Despite everything, a small smile pulls at the corner of your mouth.
Holly has always trusted you with very serious responsibilities.
âGive me a minute,â you say.
âOkay.â
You turn on the faucet and splash cold water on your face.
It helps.
You look up at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks are a little pale, your eyes a little wide, but at least you donât look like youâre about to completely fall apart.
Good enough.
You dry your face quickly before opening the door.
Holly stands in the hallway clutching two bright ribbons, looking very determined.
She immediately grabs your hand.
âCome on,â she says, tugging you down the hallway. âWe need the good chair.â
You let her pull you along.
As you get closer to the basement stairs, your stomach starts twisting again.
Everyone is still down there.
Including Max.
Holly doesnât seem to notice your hesitation at all.
âLucas says fireworks are later,â she chatters as she leads you down the steps. âAnd Dustin says hotdogs are gross but I like them.â
You huff a quiet laugh.
âYeah,â you murmur.
The basement comes into view again.
Voices quiet slightly when you walk through.
Holly marches straight through the basement door onto the deck and plops down on a chair like a queen preparing for royal hairstyling.
âOkay,â she announces, holding up the ribbons. âMake it look cool.â
You step behind her slowly.
You donât look around.
Not yet.
But you can feel it immediately.
You donât need to see her to know Max is watching you.
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
You try to focus on Hollyâs hair.
The red and blue ribbons sit looped around your fingers as you carefully separate sections of her blonde hair, twisting and weaving the strands the way she asked. The process should be easy. Youâve braided Hollyâs hair dozens of times beforeâbefore school concerts, birthday parties, random afternoons when she decided she needed âa cool style.â
Normally your hands move automatically.
Tonight they wonât stop shaking.
The backyard buzzes with noise around you. The Fourth of July barbecue has spilled outside now, the air filled with the smell of charcoal and grilled meat. Someoneâprobably Dustinâis still arguing loudly about food preferences near the deck. Laughter bursts out every few seconds from somewhere near the table of drinks.
But all of it feels distant.
Because you can feel it.
You can feel her staring at you.
You donât have to look to know where Max is standing. Your body is painfully aware of her presence, like some invisible thread pulling your attention toward her whether you want it or not.
ââand then she told Mrs. Carter that frogs are amphibians but technically theyâre also like reptiles sometimes which is weird,â Holly rambles happily, completely unaware of the storm happening inside your head. âBut then Sarah said frogs canât be reptiles because reptiles have scales and frogs are slimyââ
âUh-huh,â you murmur automatically.
You braid another section.
Try not to think about Max standing somewhere behind you.
Try not to imagine the expression on her face.
Try not to remember the last time the two of you actually spoke.
But your mind betrays you.
Because the memory is still sharp.
Still painful
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
It had started like any other night.
You had shown up at Maxâs house after dinner, letting yourself in the way you always did.
The TV had been on but muted, the glow flickering across the living room walls. Max had been curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket around her shoulders even though it wasnât cold.
You remembered thinking she looked smaller somehow.
Like the weight of everything that had happened had folded her inward.
âHey,â you had said, dropping your bag near the door.
Max had glanced up briefly.
âHey.â
You had hesitated for a second before sitting down on the edge of the coffee table across from her.
âSo,â you said carefully, âLucas has a game tonight.â
Max didnât respond.
You pushed forward anyway.
âI was thinking maybe we could go.â
Still nothing.
âIt might be good to get out for a bit, you know? Just for a couple hours.â
Maxâs jaw tightened slightly.
âI donât want to go.â
You leaned forward, trying to sound encouraging instead of pushy.
âCome on, itâll be fun. Everyone will be there.â
Her eyes snapped up to yours.
âI said I donât want to go.â
The sharpness in her voice made you pause.
You tried again, softer this time.
âMax, youâve barely left the house in weeks. I just thought maybeââ
âStop.â
The word cut through the room like glass.
âWhat?â
Max suddenly pushed the blanket off and stood up.
Her movements were jerky, restless.
âIâm so sick of you doing this.â
Your stomach dropped.
âDoing what?â
âLooking at me like that.â
You frowned.
âLike what?â
âLike Iâm broken!â
The words exploded out of her.
You flinched.
âI donâtâMax, Iâm notââ
âYes you are!â she snapped. âYouâre always hovering around me, trying to fix everything like Iâm some project.â
Your chest tightened.
âIâm not trying to fix you,â you said quickly. âI just want to help.â
Max laughed bitterly.
âOf course you do.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âIt means,â she said, her voice shaking now, âthat once again this is about you.â
You stared at her.
âWhat?â
âYou helping. You trying. You being the good friend.â
Your confusion twisted into hurt.
âMaxââ
âDo you know how exhausting that is?â she continued, pacing across the room now. âYou constantly acting like youâre doing me some huge favor by sticking around.â
âI never said that.â
âYou donât have to say it!â
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
You stood slowly.
âThatâs not fair.â
Max turned on you instantly.
âFair?â she scoffed. âYou want to talk about fair?â
Her eyes were blazing now.
âThe whole friendship was an act.â
The words hit you like a punch.
ââŠWhat?â
âA way for you to feel good about yourself,â Max said harshly. âLook at you, being friends with the messed up girl. Look at you being so patient and supportive.â
Your mouth opened in shock.
âThatâs not true.â
âIsnât it?â
âNo,â you said firmly, your voice cracking. âMax, thatâs insane.â
You took a step toward her.
âYouâre my best friend.â
âDonât.â
The single word stopped you cold.
Maxâs face had gone completely closed off.
Like a wall had slammed down between you.
âDonât say that.â
You swallowed hard.
âMax, you donât mean this.â
âYeah,â she said flatly. âI do.â
You shook your head helplessly.
âPlease just listenââ
âNo.â
Her voice was ice now.
âIâm done listening.â
You tried again.
âMaxââ
âDonât speak to me again.â
The words landed like stones.
Your chest tightened painfully.
ââŠWhat?â
âLeave me alone.â
You stood there frozen.
Max pointed toward the door.
âGet out.â
You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
âMaxââ
âGo.â
Your throat burned.
But you turned anyway.
Because the look on her face told you she meant it.
And that night was the last time you had spoken to her.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
âIs it supposed to be crooked?â
Hollyâs voice snaps you back to the present.
You blink down at the braid in your hands.
Your fingers had paused halfway through.
âSorry,â you murmur quickly, adjusting the ribbon.
You finish weaving the strands together and tie the end carefully.
âThere.â
Holly beams.
âItâs perfect!â
She hops down from the chair and runs inside to find a mirror.
You straighten slowly.
For a moment you consider going back in with her.
Escaping.
But instead you stay where you are.
Standing on the edge of the Wheelerâs deck.
The summer air is warm against your skin.
And across the yardâ
Max is still looking at you.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Youâre still staring out across the yard when Holly bursts back through the sliding door.
For a second you think sheâs just excited about the braid.
Then the music starts.
A crackly speaker somewhere near the picnic table suddenly fills the yard with bright, unmistakable piano notes.
And then the opening line of Dancing Queen.
Holly lets out the loudest squeal youâve ever heard.
âOh my gosh I love this song!â
Before you can react she bolts across the grass, ribbons bouncing wildly in her newly braided hair.
You blink, watching her sprint straight toward Nancy Wheeler, whoâs standing near the cooler talking to Jonathan.
âNancy!â Holly shouts, grabbing her hand. âDance with me!â
Nancy startles, laughing in surprise as Holly immediately starts spinning her in a circle.
âHollyâwaitâ!â
But Holly is relentless.
âCome on! Come on!â
Nancy finally gives in, laughing harder as she lets Holly twirl her around the middle of the yard while the music swells around them.
You canât help it.
A small laugh escapes you.
Itâs quick and quiet, but real.
Holly looks ridiculous and joyful all at once, ribbons flying everywhere as she jumps around Nancy like a tiny disco ball of energy.
For a secondâjust one secondâyou forget everything else.
Then you look up.
And meet Maxâs eyes.
Sheâs standing near the edge of the yard with Lucas, a paper cup in her hand. The music is loud enough that everyone else seems caught up in the momentâSteve clapping along to the beat, Dustin loudly declaring that ABBA is âobjectively a masterpiece.â
But Max isnât looking at any of them.
Sheâs looking at you.
The moment your eyes meet her gaze drops slightly, like she hadnât expected you to notice.
Your stomach twists.
You look away immediately.
You focus back on the yard insteadâon Holly dancing wildly with Nancy, on the glow of the string lights Mikeâs parents hung across the deck, on the smell of grilled burgers still lingering in the warm night air.
Anything except Max.
Footsteps crunch softly in the grass beside you.
You donât have to look to know who it is.
Mike stops next to you, shoving his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his shorts.
For a moment neither of you say anything.
He clears his throat.
ââŠYou okay?â
You let out a quiet breath.
âNo.â
He winces slightly at the honesty.
You glance at him.
âI donât like being blindsided, Mike.â
His shoulders sink a little.
âI know.â
âYou told me no one was coming.â
âI know.â
You fold your arms across your chest.
âYou lied.â
Mike rubs the back of his neck, staring out at the yard instead of meeting your eyes.
âIâm sorry.â
You huff softly.
âNo youâre not.â
He glances at you.
ââŠYouâre right.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âIâm not.â
That makes you look at him properly.
Mike looks uncomfortable, but determined.
âI meanâI am sorry youâre upset,â he says quickly. âBut Iâm not sorry I tried.â
You stare at him.
âTried what?â
He gestures vaguely at the yard.
âAt this.â
 The party.
The people laughing and talking and dancing under cheap Fourth of July decorations.
âAt everyone being together again.â
Your chest tightens.
Mike exhales slowly.
âI just wanted things to go back to how they were.â
A dry laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
âOh yeah?â you mutter. âYou really want to go back to being hunted by a super-powered homicidal maniac again?â
Mike groans.
âYou know thatâs not what I mean.â
âDo I?â
âYou know I mean before all this,â he says, quieter now. âBefore⊠everything got weird.â
You follow his gaze across the yard without meaning to.
Max is still there.
Still standing with Lucas.
Still very clearly aware that youâre here.
Your stomach twists again.
Mike notices.
âYou should talk to her,â he says gently.
Your head snaps toward him.
âNo.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause she doesnât want me to.â
Mike frowns.
âHow do you know that?â
You stare at the grass.
âBecause she told me.â
âYeah,â he says carefully, âa really long time ago.â
âThat doesnât exactly expire.â
Mike sighs.
âShe asks about you, you know.â
You look up sharply.
âWhat?â
âSometimes,â he says. âNot a lot. But she does.â
Your chest tightens.
âThatâs just⊠courtesy.â
Mike blinks.
âWhat?â
âItâs polite,â you say quickly, shrugging like it doesnât matter. âPeople ask about people they used to know all the time.â
âThatâs not what it feels like.â
âWell it is.â
Mike studies your face.
âHow do you know?â
You look away again.
âBecause I just do.â
Your voice is quieter now.
Certain in that sad, stubborn way that makes Mikeâs shoulders slump.
Across the yard the chorus of Dancing Queen explodes from the speakers as Holly drags Dustin into the middle of the grass next.
Everyone laughs.
Everyone cheers.
The music and laughter blur together around you.
Someone cheers when Dustin attempts an overly dramatic disco spin with Holly. Steve claps along to the beat. The smell of charcoal and fireworks drifts through the warm summer air.
But the sound fades the longer you stand there.
Because suddenly all you can think about is the last time you saw Max somewhere like this.
Not tonight.
The hospital.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
You hadnât even known something was wrong.
Not really.
There had been rumors, sure. Hawkins always had rumors. People disappearing. Weird accidents. Another tragedy attached to the long list of tragedies the town had been collecting for years.
But you had stopped paying attention to most of it.
After the fight with Max, the world had gotten very small. It had shrunk down to your bedroom, your headphones, the occasional late-night dinners with your parents.
You avoided everyone else as much as possible.
It was easier that way.
You didnât ask about Max.
And no one pushed you too hard to talk about her.
So when Dustin showed up at your house that morning looking pale and frantic, you hadnât been expecting the words that came out of his mouth.
âI need you to come with me,â he said quickly. âPlease.â
That was all it took.
Hawkins Memorial Hospital smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee.
The waiting room lights were too bright.
Your hands had started shaking before you even reached the hallway.
Because you recognized everyone sitting there.
Lucas.
Mike.
Will.
Nancy and Jonathan standing near the window.
Steve pacing like he didnât know what to do with himself.
Everyone looked exhausted.
Everyone looked scared.
Your brain struggled to process it.
Because none of this made sense.
âWhat happened?â you asked the moment you stepped into the room.
Your voice came out breathless.
Lucas looked up first.
His eyes were red.
âHey,â he said quietly.
âWhat happened?â you repeated.
No one answered right away.
They just looked at each other like they didnât know where to start.
Thatâs when Dustin stepped forward.
And slowlyâhaltinglyâhe explained.
Vecna.
The victims.
Chrissy.
Fred.
Patrick.
Max.
The Upside Down again.
Another fight.
Another nightmare you hadnât even known was happening.
You stood there frozen while he talked.
Each new piece of information felt like the floor shifting beneath your feet.
âEl⊠she stopped him,â Dustin finished quietly. âBut Max⊠Max got hurt really bad.â
Your ears rang.
Your brain snagged on one single sentence.
Max.
Vecna.
Victim.
ââŠIs she awake?â you whispered.
Lucas shook his head.
And suddenly the room tilted.
Because the truth slammed into you all at once.
All those nights you had spent lying in bed replaying that fight in your head.
All the time you wasted being angry.
All the days you spent drowning in your own hurt feelings.
While somewhere in this town Max had been fighting something alone.
You hadnât been there.
You hadnât even known.
The guilt was crushing.
âI need to see her,â you said.
Lucas hesitated.
Then he nodded.
She looked small in the hospital bed.
Smaller than you had ever seen her.
Machines surrounded her, quietly beeping and humming. Her arms were covered in bruises and IV lines. A cast wrapped around one of her wrists.
But the worst part was how still she was.
Max never sat still.
Not really.
Even when she was quiet there had always been movementâher foot tapping, her fingers drumming, her eyes flicking around the room.
Now she looked frozen.
Like someone had pressed pause.
The sight of it broke something inside you.
You didnât even realize you were crying until your vision blurred.
You stumbled forward.
âMaxâŠâ
Your voice cracked on the name.
Lucas stood near the foot of the bed, his face hollow and tired.
âI keep thinking sheâs gonna wake up,â he said quietly.
You reached out before you could stop yourself, gently touching her hand.
Her skin felt warm.
Real.
âHey,â you whispered shakily. âYouâre⊠youâre supposed to yell at me for coming here.â
Nothing.
The machines kept beeping.
Your throat tightened painfully.
Behind you, someone moved.
And suddenly arms wrapped around your shoulders.
You hadnât even realized Mike had followed you in.
But he pulled you back against his chest as the sob finally broke out of you.
You clutched the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
âI didnât know,â you gasped. âI didnât knowââ
âI know,â Mike murmured softly.
âI shouldâve been here,â you cried. âI shouldâveââ
âHey,â he said gently, tightening his arms around you. âHey, itâs okay.â
It wasnât okay.
None of it was okay.
But he held you anyway.
Mike Wheeler.
The same boy who had looked you straight in the eye the year before and said you would always just be his friend.
And yet here he was, holding you together while your world cracked open.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
You didnât leave the hospital for two days.
Not really.
Lucas refused to go home.
So you didnât either.
The two of you stayed in that room like leaving might somehow make things worse.
Lucas sat beside the bed most of the time, holding Maxâs hand.
Sometimes he talked to her.
Sometimes he just sat there in silence.
You stayed on the other side of the room in a stiff plastic chair, watching the rise and fall of her chest.
Mike brought food.
Dustin brought comic books.
Will sat quietly with you during the long hours when Lucas fell asleep in the chair.
People came and went.
But the room always circled back to the same thing.
Max lying there.
Still.
Waiting.
On the third day, the whole group was there again.
The air felt heavy.
Lucas looked like he hadnât slept at all.
He had been staring at the floor for a long time before he suddenly sat up straight.
ââŠHer letters,â he said.
Everyone looked at him.
âWhat?â Dustin asked.
Lucas rubbed his face.
âBefore everything happened⊠she wrote letters.â
Your chest tightened.
Lucas reached into his bag.
âShe said they were for⊠in case something happened.â
The room went silent.
He pulled out a stack of folded envelopes.
Your stomach twisted.
Lucas stood slowly.
âI guess⊠I should give them out.â
One by one he passed them around the room.
A letter for Dustin.
One for Will.
One for Mike.
One for Nancy.
One for Steve.
Each person took theirs carefully, like the paper might break.
You stood near the wall, watching.
Waiting.
Lucas reached the bottom of the stack.
Then he stopped.
The room felt suddenly too quiet.
You realized his hands were empty.
No one said anything.
No one looked at you directly.
And in that moment you understood.
Max had written letters for everyone she cared about.
Everyone she thought would care if she was gone.
But not you.
The realization landed strangely.
Not like a sharp stab.
More like something heavy settling into your chest.
You didnât cry.
You didnât ask questions.
You didnât say anything at all.
Because the answer had already been given to you a year ago.
Donât speak to me again.
Leave me alone.
Max had meant it.
Even now.
Even after everything.
You nodded once to yourself.
Then you turned and walked out of the room.
No one stopped you.
And you never went back to the hospital again.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Eventually the smell of grilled food becomes too much to ignore.
Steve finally announces that everything is done with the dramatic pride of someone who believes they deserve a medal for surviving the grill.
âAlright, children,â he calls loudly, flipping the tongs onto the tray with a loud clank. âFood is officially ready. Form a line. No pushing.â
Dustin immediately pushes past him.
âThis is a historic moment,â he says, grabbing a plate. âI have successfully bullied Steve Harrington into cooking burgers instead of hotdogs.â
Steve rolls his eyes. âYou literally watched me grill both.â
âDetails.â
The group begins drifting toward the long folding table Karen Wheeler set up in the yard earlier. Paper plates, bowls of chips, pasta salad, watermelon slices, and trays of buns cover nearly every inch of space.
It feels⊠normal.
Almost.
You hover at the edge of the deck for a second, unsure if you want to join them.
Mike notices immediately.
âStay here,â he says quietly.
Before you can question it, he jogs over to the table.
You watch him weave through everyone, grabbing a plate and quickly assembling food with surprising efficiency. Burger, chips, pasta salad. He pauses, glances back at you like heâs checking something, then grabs a second burger before returning.
âHere,â he says, handing the plate to you.
âThank you,â you murmur.
He nods and gestures toward the table.
âCâmon.â
The two of you sit side by side near the middle of the table. The rest of the group slowly fills in around youâDustin arguing loudly with Steve again, Will and Jonathan talking quietly, Nancy helping Holly climb onto a chair.
You settle in your seat, picking up your plastic fork.
Across from you Lucas sits down, leaning back slightly as he balances his plate.
For a moment everything feels manageable.
Normal conversation hums around the table
Steve is mid-story about something that happened at Family Video when you glance over at him.
And immediately snort.
âOh my god.â
Steve stops talking.
âWhat?â
You point lazily with your fork.
âYour hair.â
He frowns.
âWhat about it?â
You lean back in your chair slightly, examining him like a scientist observing a strange specimen.
âIâm just saying,â you say casually, âI think your hair alone could qualify as toxic waste with the amount of hairspray you use.â
Dustin bursts out laughing immediately.
Steve looks offended.
âIt is not toxic.â
âYou could probably light it on fire and it would keep burning for a week,â you continue thoughtfully.
âItâs called volume,â Steve argues.
âItâs called a chemical hazard.â
âJealousy isnât cute.â
âIâm not jealous,â you scoff. âIâm concerned for the environment.â
More laughter ripples around the table.
You feel Mike bump your shoulder slightly as he chuckles beside you.
And for a second it almost feels like old times again.
âYouâre right.â
Your body goes rigid.
The voice comes from directly beside you.
You hadnât even noticed when she sat down.
Max slides into the chair next to yours so close that your elbows brush against each other.
Your stomach drops instantly.
Across the table, Lucas freezes mid-bite.
He shoots Max a confused look.
But he doesnât say anything.
Your brain feels like itâs short-circuiting.
You keep your eyes firmly on your plate.
Steve groans dramatically.
âOh come on! â
Max shrugs, reaching for a chip.
âIâm just saying,â she says casually, âif the government ever needs a new chemical weapon they should just bottle whatever Harrington sprays in his hair every morning.â
Dustin nearly chokes laughing.
Steve throws his hands up.
âThis is slander.â
You donât laugh.
You can feel Maxâs arm barely an inch from yours.
Close enough that the warmth of her skin brushes against your elbow.
Your chest tightens.
Instinctively, you shift away.
Scooting your chair a little closer to Mike.
He glances at you, confused.
But he doesnât question it.
Instead he casually drapes his arm around the back of your chair, pulling you a little closer to his side like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
The movement creates space between you and Max.
You donât look at her.
But you feel the shift beside you.
And when you finally glance up for just a second Max is staring at you.
Her expression flickers.
Something hurt flashes across her face before she quickly looks back down at her plate.
She doesnât comment.
She just starts eating.
The table falls back into normal conversation after that.
Mostly.
You focus on your food, chewing slowly even though your appetite has disappeared.
Holly, however, is still very focused on everything happening around her.
She swings her legs under the table before suddenly looking at you.
âHey!â
You glance over.
âYeah?â
Her eyes are bright with excitement.
âAre you still doing cheerleading?â
You blink.
The question catches you off guard.
âUmâŠâ
Holly keeps going before you can answer.
âBecause I told Mom I wanna try it when Iâm older and she said you used to do it and you could show me how to do flips and stuff.â
Around the table a few people look up.
Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth.
âIâm not on the team anymore,â you say quietly.
âOh.â
Holly frowns slightly, disappointed.
âYouâre not?â
You shake your head gently.
âNope.â
Next to you Max stops eating.
âWhat?â
Her voice cuts through the conversation.
You feel your stomach drop.
You keep your eyes on your plate.
âWhat do you mean youâre not on the team?â Max asks.
Before you can answer, Mike speaks up casually.
âShe quit back in sophomore year.â
Max turns toward him sharply.
âWhat?â
Mike shrugs slightly.
âYeah. She justâstopped.â
Maxâs eyes snap back to you.
âWhy did no one tell me that?â
The question hangs in the air.
Everyone at the table suddenly looks very interested in their food.
You take a slow bite of your burger.
Swallow.
Then you speak without looking at her.
âIt wasnât important.â
Max stares at you like you just said something ridiculous.
âOf course itâs important.â
You shrug lightly.
âIt wasnât.â
Max leans forward slightly.
âItâs important to me.â
Thatâs the first time you look at her.
Really look at her.
Her expression is intense. Frustrated. Something else underneath it you donât quite want to name.
Your chest tightens.
You break eye contact first.
You shrug again and stab at your pasta salad.
âOkay.â
Then you go back to eating.
Maxâs mouth opens slightly in disbelief.
She exhales sharply through her nose.
âUnbelievable.â
No one says anything.
Max suddenly pushes her chair back.
âIâll be right back.â
She stands quickly and heads toward the house.
Lucas watches her go, clearly alarmed.
âMaxââ
But sheâs already inside.
Lucas sighs and stands up, tossing his napkin on the table.
âIâll go check on her.â
He hurries after her.
The sliding door shuts behind them.
The table falls into a strange, heavy silence.
You stare down at your plate.
Your appetite is gone.
You start poking at the food with your fork instead.
Mike watches the door for a second, then looks back at you.
His jaw tightens slightly.
He looks⊠frustrated.
Not at you.
At the situation.
But he doesnât say anything.
He just leaves his arm around your shoulders while the quiet settles over the table.
Mike Wheeler x Reader/Max Mayfield x platonic!reader
Summary: A year after the fall of Vecna, Hawkins is trying to heal, but some wounds never closed. Once inseparable best friends, you and Max havenât spoken since the night she pushed you away for good. When she left letters for everyone except you, you took it as proof she meant what she said and kept your distance, even if it hurt. Now Max wants to fix the friendship she broke, Lucas feels caught in the middle, and Mike Wheelerâthe same boy who broke your heart the year beforeârefuses to let you disappear quietly. At the Wheelersâ Fourth of July barbecue, old feelings, buried truths, and one missing letter finally force everything into the open
Summary: Stepping back into Hollywood is nerve racking but luckily you have Finn to help the transition seem a little less daunting. (4.7K)
Part One
Warnings/Tags: Hell of a summer, readers first on screen role, kissing, confessions, fluff, finn lowk yearning for a bit, reader teases finn.
................................................
Finnâs trailer smells faintly like coffee, fake fog machine smoke, and the pine-scented air freshener someone hung from the cabinet handle weeks ago. The scent has settled into everythingâthe couch cushions, the scripts scattered across the small table, even the cheap curtains covering the narrow window. Itâs the kind of smell that instantly tells you youâre on a film set, a strange mix of caffeine, equipment, and too many people working long hours in tight spaces.
The trailer itself is cramped in the way all production trailers are. Thereâs technically enough space for everything you need, but only barely. A small couch is pushed up against the wall, a narrow table is stacked with scripts, highlighters, and a half-empty coffee cup, and the mirror near the door is framed by bright bulbs that make everything look ten times more dramatic than it actually is. Someone taped a few pages of notes around the edges of the mirror earlier in the week, and they flutter slightly whenever someone opens the door.
Youâre sitting cross-legged on the couch in costume, flipping through your script even though you know the scene by heart at this point. The pages are slightly bent from how many times youâve handled them over the past few weeks. Your fingers idly trace the edge of one page as you scan the dialogue again, mostly out of habit.
Outside the thin trailer walls, the set buzzes constantly with activity. Crew members shout directions to each other, equipment clatters against metal carts, and somewhere nearby a generator hums steadily in the background. Every now and then you hear someone laugh or call for a lighting adjustment. The sounds blend together into the familiar rhythm of a film set in motion.
A year ago you were reading the script for the first time on your bedroom floor, sitting cross-legged with your laptop open beside you and your sister practically climbing over your shoulder to read along. You remember the exact moment you finished itâthe weird mix of excitement and disbelief that you were even considering doing something like this again.
Now youâre here.
On set.
Actually filming it.
Your sister still hasnât recovered from that fact. She texts you at least once a day asking what happened during filming, and every time you mention something mundaneâlike wardrobe fittings or rehearsal blockingâshe reacts like youâve just casually dropped the biggest piece of gossip in Hollywood.
Across the small trailer, Finn is leaning against the counter near the coffee machine, scrolling through something on his phone. His hair is slightly messy from wardrobe running their hands through it earlier, and heâs still half in costume, jacket hanging loosely over his shoulders.
After a moment he glances up and notices you staring at the script again.
âYouâre studying that like thereâs going to be a pop quiz,â he says, raising an eyebrow.
You donât look up from the page.
âThere might be,â you reply casually.
Finn snorts quietly and pushes himself away from the counter.
âItâs literally three lines,â he says, walking closer.
You flip the page with exaggerated seriousness, scanning it again like youâre preparing for the most important performance of your life.
âPreparation is key,â you say.
Finn lets out an amused huff and tosses his phone onto the table before grabbing his own copy of the script. He flips it open, squinting down at the page like heâs double-checking something.
âYou know what the funniest part is?â he says after a moment.
You glance up at him.
âWhat?â
He gestures toward you with the script.
âYouâre still pretending like you regret saying yes.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âI never said I regretted it.â
âYou implied it.â
âI teased it,â you correct.
Finn points at you accusingly, like heâs caught you in a lie.
âExactly.â
You grin at him, leaning back against the couch cushion.
For a second he just watches you, shaking his head slightly like he still canât quite believe youâre actually here. Itâs the same look heâs given you a few times since filming startedâhalf amused, half amazed.
You catch the expression immediately.
âWhat?â you ask.
He shrugs, glancing down at the script again.
âNothing.â
âFinn.â
He exhales through his nose, clearly debating whether to explain.
âItâs just funny,â he says finally.
âWhat is?â
âThat you almost didnât do this.â
You glance down at the script resting in your lap, your fingers absently smoothing the page.
âYeah,â you admit quietly.
For a moment neither of you say anything.
Then you flip forward a few pages and hold the script up between you.
âOh look,â you say casually. âThe kiss scene.â
Finn groans immediately, dropping his head back toward the ceiling.
âOh my god.â
You grin wider.
âI always knew this was your plan.â
His head snaps back toward you.
âMy plan?â
âYou just wanted an excuse to make out with me.â
Finn nearly chokes on his coffee, coughing slightly as he sets the cup down on the counter.
âThat is not why itâs in the script.â
You raise an eyebrow skeptically.
âSure.â
âI didnât even write that part,â he insists.
âConvenient.â
âIâm serious!â
You tilt your head, studying him like a detective examining a suspicious witness.
âMhm.â
Finn throws his hands up in frustration.
âI swear.â
âYouâre very passionate about defending this,â you say.
âBecause youâre accusing me of being manipulative!â
âYouâre a director,â you reply sweetly. âItâs literally your job.â
Finn glares at you for a moment, though the corners of his mouth are already starting to betray him.
âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd yet you cast me.â
âBiggest mistake of my life.â
You gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest.
âHow dare you.â
Without warning you grab one of the couch pillows and toss it at him.
Finn catches it easily.
âOh thatâs it,â he says, narrowing his eyes.
You immediately narrow yours back.
âWhat.â
He tosses the pillow aside and suddenly lunges forward.
Before you can react he grabs you around the waist and starts tickling you mercilessly.
You immediately collapse backward onto the couch, laughter bursting out before you can stop it.
âFinnâstopâ!â
âYou started it!â
âI was kidding!â
âSure you were!â
You try to shove him away but he just laughs and keeps going, fingers digging into your sides as you squirm helplessly against the cushions.
âOkay okay okay I surrender!â you gasp between laughs.
Finn finally stops, still leaning over you slightly.
âYouâre lucky Iâm nice.â
âDebatable.â
He points at you again.
âSee? This is why youâre getting tickled.â
You shove his shoulder lightly as you sit back up, still laughing.
âI said I was kidding!â
âMhm,â he says skeptically.
âI was!â
âSure.â
You roll your eyes, but youâre smiling.
For a moment neither of you move.
Youâre sitting closer than before now, knees almost touching, the small trailer suddenly feeling much smaller than it did five minutes ago. The noise from outside seems quieter somehow, like the space between you has its own little bubble of silence.
Thenâ
A sharp knock hits the trailer door.
Both of you jump slightly.
âFinn?â a voice calls from outside. âWeâre ready for you guys.â
You glance down at the script still resting in your lap.
The page with the kiss scene.
You slowly close it.
âWell,â you say.
Finn exhales through his nose.
âWell.â
You both stand at the same time.
He opens the trailer door and the noise of the set floods in immediatelyâcrew members moving lights across the clearing, someone adjusting a camera rig near the water, assistants carrying prop crates past the path leading down to the dock.
You step out beside him into the cooler evening air.
An assistant spots you both and waves you over.
âAlright guys,â they call. âLetâs set up for the lake scene.â
You exchange one quick glance with Finn.
The lake scene.
The kiss scene.
He rubs the back of his neck.
âReady?â
You shrug like itâs no big deal.
âRelax, Wolfhard.â
He raises an eyebrow.
âYouâre not nervous?â
You start walking toward the set.
âPlease.â
But as you pass him, he briefly rests a hand against the middle of your back to guide you around a thick cable snaking across the ground.
And suddenly youâre very aware of everything again.
The cameras.
The crew.
The scene youâre about to film.
You clear your throat slightly.
âLetâs just get it over with.â
Finn laughs quietly beside you as the two of you step onto your marks near the edge of the dock.
The scene begins with you standing at the edge of the wooden dock, staring out across the lake.
The water reflects the orange glow of the setting sun, rippling gently whenever a breeze moves across the surface. Tall trees surround the shoreline, their leaves rustling softly in the background.
Your character is supposed to look thoughtful here. A little overwhelmed. The kind of quiet moment that happens after chaos.
You donât have to fake much of it.
You hear Finnâs footsteps approach on the dock behind you.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Exactly like they rehearsed earlier that afternoon.
Your shoulders tense slightlyânot entirely acting.
He stops beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence even before you turn.
For a moment neither of you speak.
Just the sound of water moving gently against the dock posts and the distant hum of equipment somewhere behind the cameras.
Then Finn delivers his line.
âYouâre really thinking about leaving, arenât you?â
His voice is softer than usual.
Not nervous.
Just⊠real.
You turn slowly to face him.
âMaybe.â
The script says your character shrugs here, so you do.
âI mean⊠someone has to survive this nightmare summer.â
Finn lets out a quiet laugh.
That part wasnât scripted.
But it fits perfectly.
The camera shifts slightly closer along the track.
Finn looks at you like heâs trying to figure something out.
âWhat?â you ask.
âNothing.â
âThat was definitely a âsomething.ââ
He rubs the back of his neckâthe same small gesture he makes whenever heâs embarrassed off camera too.
âYouâre just⊠different.â
Your character raises an eyebrow.
âDifferent good or different bad?â
He hesitates.
âDifferent⊠confusing.â
You smile faintly.
âThat sounds like a you problem.â
Another pause settles between you.
Then Finn says the next line.
âYou ever think maybe I donât want you to leave?â
The air between you shifts.
Even the crew behind the camera seems to go quieter.
Your heart thumps once in your chest.
You know what comes next.
Youâve read the scene a hundred times.
Stillâ
You glance down briefly, exactly like the script says.
âYouâll survive,â you say softly.
âI did before you showed up.â
Finn takes half a step closer.
Close enough now that your shoulders almost brush.
âYeah,â he says.
âBut it was way less fun.â
The line lands softer than it did during rehearsal.
Less comedic.
More honest.
You look back up at him.
And suddenly the scene feels very small.
Just the two of you standing on a dock.
The lake glowing behind you.
Finn studies your face for a moment.
Then he says the line that leads into the kiss.
âSo what happens now?â
You hesitate.
Your line comes out quieter than expected.
âI guess⊠we find out.â
Thereâs a pause written into the script here.
Three seconds.
The camera moves closer.
Your pulse suddenly sounds very loud in your ears.
Finnâs gaze flicks briefly down to your lips.
Then back to your eyes.
And the next part isnât dialogue.
Itâs the moment.
The one everyoneâs waiting for.
He steps forward slowly.
One hand lifts slightly, hovering near your arm like heâs not sure if he should touch you.
Your brain suddenly supplies a hundred unhelpful thoughts at once.
There are thirty people watching.
This is professional.
Donât mess up the blocking.
Why is he looking at you like thatâ
His fingers finally rest lightly against your wrist.
Warm.
Steady.
You inhale without meaning to.
He leans closer.
You can feel his breath now.
Thereâs a split second where both of you hover there, right on the edge of the moment.
Not quite touching yet.
Thenâ
You close the distance.
The kiss is soft.
Careful.
Not rushed.
Your hand comes up instinctively, fingers curling slightly into the front of his jacket as if to steady yourself.
Finnâs other hand settles gently at your waist.
The moment lasts maybe two seconds.
Three at most.
Just long enough to feel real.
Then you pull back slightly, exactly the way the scene requires.
Your foreheads nearly touch as you separate.
Both characters are supposed to look surprised.
That part, at least, isnât hard.
Finn exhales a quiet laugh.
âWell,â he says.
âThat happened.â
You smile slightly.
âYeah.â
The moment hangs there for another beat.
Then a voice cuts through the quiet.
âCut!â
The entire crew immediately comes back to life.
Someone lowers the boom mic.
Another person checks playback on the monitor.
An assistant claps once.
âNice, nice.â
You and Finn step apart almost immediately.
Not awkward.
Just⊠aware.
A makeup artist rushes forward.
âSorry! Lipstick transfer,â she says, gently dabbing the corner of Finnâs mouth with a tissue.
You cover your mouth with your hand to hide a laugh.
Finn glances at you.
You glance back.
Neither of you say anything for a second.
Then he mutters quietly under his breath.
ââŠthat was actually really good.â
You nudge his arm lightly.
âProfessional, Wolfhard.â
âRight,â he says, straightening.
But heâs still smiling a little.
Behind the monitor someone calls out again.
âAlright, letâs reset! That was great, but I want one more for safety.â
Crew members begin repositioning the camera and adjusting the lighting.
An assistant waves you both back toward the dock.
You start walking toward your marks again.
Finn falls into step beside you.
For a moment neither of you speak.
Then he leans slightly closer and murmurs quietlyâ
âSo⊠still think I wrote that scene just to make out with you?â
You bump your shoulder into his.
âDonât push your luck.â
He grins.
And the two of you step back onto the dock as the sun sinks lower behind the trees.
................................................
The set begins to wind down in that gradual, almost sleepy way that happens after a long filming day. The energy that had filled the lake earlierâcrew rushing around, assistants calling cues, the camera team adjusting anglesâslowly dissolves into the steady rhythm of pack-up.
Crew members wheel lighting rigs back toward the trucks parked beyond the tree line, the metal stands clinking softly as theyâre folded down. Long black cables snake across the ground as someone kneels to coil them carefully, looping them over their arm in practiced motions. Nearby, two production assistants carry padded camera cases toward the equipment van, talking quietly as they walk.
The golden sunset that had painted the lake in warm light during the scene fades slowly into a cooler evening blue. The surface of the water darkens, reflecting the silhouettes of trees along the shore. Without the bright filming lights, the place suddenly feels calmerâalmost like a real summer camp instead of a movie set.
You sit on the edge of the dock with your legs dangling over the side, sneakers hanging just above the rippling water. The wood beneath you is still slightly warm from the dayâs sun, though the air around you has begun to cool.
A production assistant approaches, holding two plastic water bottles. They hand one to you with a small smile before passing the other down the dock to someone else.
âThanks,â you say, twisting the cap off.
âNo problem,â they reply before heading back toward the bustle of the crew.
You take a long sip, the cold water cutting through the lingering warmth of the day. When you lower the bottle, your eyes drift across the set.
Finn stands several feet away with his co director and the cinematographer, the three of them gathered around a monitor balanced on a small folding table. The screen plays back footage from the scene you just filmed, the glowing reflection of the lake flickering across their faces.
Finn gestures occasionally as they talk, pointing toward the water or mimicking a small movement from the scene. Every now and then, though, his attention drifts.
His eyes flick briefly toward you.
You notice.
You try very hard not to.
You fail completely.
Eventually the conversation wraps up. The director claps Finn lightly on the shoulder before walking away toward the camera crew, and the cinematographer heads off to check something with the lighting team.
Finn lingers for a second, glancing down the dock again.
Then he walks over and lowers himself beside you, the wooden planks creaking faintly under his weight.
He twists open his water bottle and takes a sip before exhaling quietly.
âWell,â he says.
You glance at him briefly before looking back at the lake.
âWell,â you echo.
You both sit there for a moment, the quiet stretching comfortably between you as the sounds of the set continue behind your backs.
You take another sip of water, letting your gaze drift across the surface of the lake. The breeze ripples the reflection of the sky, turning the water into shifting streaks of blue and silver.
Neither of you mention the kiss scene.
Not the carefully blocked version you just filmed.
Not the way the moment had lingered slightly longer than expected.
Not the strange feeling that, somewhere in the middle of it, it had stopped feeling entirely like acting.
Finn kicks lightly at the wooden support post beneath the dock, the heel of his shoe knocking gently against it.
âThat went⊠pretty smoothly,â he says after a moment.
You nod slowly.
âYeah,â you agree.
Another quiet pause settles in.
Then he glances sideways at you.
âYou were really good, by the way.â
You turn slightly and bump your shoulder into his.
âRelax, Wolfhard,â you say with a faint grin. âItâs almost like I used to do this for a living.â
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head a little.
âRight,â he says. âForgot about that.â
The silence that follows is easy, not awkward in the slightest. You both stare out at the lake while the sky deepens into evening, the fading sunlight catching on the water in soft streaks.
After a few minutes, footsteps approach along the dock.
A production assistant walks toward you, holding a clipboard.
âHey Finn,â they call. âYour rideâs here.â
He nods and stands, stretching his arms slightly after sitting for so long.
âCool. Thanks.â
The assistant glances over at you.
âYou need a ride too, right?â
You push yourself up from the dock.
âYeah,â you say. âBack to the hotel.â
âPerfect,â they reply. âSame car.â
Finn glances down at you with a small grin.
âGuess weâre carpooling.â
You hop down from the dock beside him, brushing your hands off lightly.
âVery glamorous,â you say.
................................................
The ride back to the hotel is quieter than you expect.
Not awkward.
Just⊠calm.
The car moves steadily through the evening traffic, headlights reflecting in long streaks across the windows as the city slowly comes into view again. Outside, streetlights flicker on one by one, casting warm pools of light along the sidewalks.
Inside the car, the driver plays low music through the speakersâsome mellow indie track you vaguely recognize but canât quite place.
You sit beside Finn in the back seat, angled slightly toward the window. His arm rests casually along the door, fingers tapping faintly in rhythm with the music.
Every once in a while the car turns a corner or rolls over a small bump in the road, and your shoulders brush lightly.
Neither of you moves away.
After a few minutes, Finn glances over at you.
âYou tired?â he asks.
You tilt your head slightly, considering the question.
âA little,â you admit.
âYou did a full emotional arc and a dramatic lake kiss today,â he says. âThatâs exhausting.â
You smirk faintly.
âYouâre the one who had to confess his feelings dramatically.â
âHey,â he says, feigning offense, âthat was written that way.â
âSure it was.â
He narrows his eyes at you slightly.
âYouâre still going to hold that over me, arenât you?â
You look back out the window, smiling.
âForever.â
He laughs quietly, the sound soft in the dim car.
A few minutes later the vehicle pulls up in front of the hotel, the bright lobby lights spilling out across the sidewalk.
You thank the driver as you step out of the car, the evening air brushing coolly against your skin. A light breeze moves through the street, carrying the faint sounds of distant traffic and late-night conversation.
Finn walks beside you as you head through the glass doors into the lobby.
The hotel is quieter now than it had been earlier in the day. A few guests linger near the front desk, and someone sits in the lounge area with a laptop open on their knees.
You and Finn cross the marble floor toward the elevators.
The ride up is short.
You lean lightly against the wall of the elevator, arms folded loosely across your chest while the numbers tick upward above the door. Finn stands beside you, his gaze drifting between the floor indicator and the mirrored wall opposite you.
Neither of you speaks.
The elevator dings softly.
Your floor.
You step out first, walking down the quiet hallway toward your room while Finn follows a few steps behind. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you reach your door.
You slide the keycard into the slot.
The small light flashes green with a quiet beep.
You push the door open and step halfway inside before turning back toward him.
âThanks for the ride,â you say.
âNo problem,â he replies.
Thereâs a brief pause as you stand in the doorway.
Youâre about to step inside and close the door when his voice stops you.
âHey.â
You pause and glance back at him.
âWhat?â
He shifts slightly in the hallway, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His posture suddenly looks less relaxed than it did a moment ago.
âI⊠uh⊠I need to tell you something.â
Your eyebrows lift slightly.
âOkay.â
He hesitates for half a second before speaking again.
âCan I come in?â
You blink once in mild surprise.
Then you step back and pull the door open wider.
âSure.â
................................................
The hotel room is softly lit when you step inside.
The lamps beside the couch cast a warm yellow glow across the space, and the curtains are half-drawn over the windows, letting in faint traces of city light from outside.
Itâs quietâunusually quiet.
Your sister is still out with friends from earlier, which leaves the room feeling strangely peaceful compared to its usual chaotic energy.
You kick off your shoes near the door before wandering toward the couch, dropping down onto one side of it with a soft sigh.
Behind you, Finn closes the door gently and walks over before sitting down on the other end of the couch, leaving a small stretch of space between you.
For a moment neither of you says anything.
You lean back into the cushions, studying him with mild curiosity as he rubs the back of his neckâsomething he always seems to do when heâs nervous.
âSo,â you say eventually.
âSo,â he echoes.
You tilt your head slightly.
âThis feels serious.â
âYeah,â he admits.
âShould I be worried?â
âNo.â
You nod thoughtfully.
âOkay good.â
Another quiet pause passes.
Then Finn exhales slowly and shifts forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
âAlright,â he says. âIâm just going to say this before I lose the nerve.â
You sit up slightly straighter.
âOkay.â
He glances down at his hands for a moment before continuing.
âSo⊠when we met at Comic Con,â he begins slowly, âI thought you were cool.â
A grin tugs at your mouth.
âHigh praise.â
âIâm serious,â he says, looking back up at you. âAnd then we started texting and hanging out and it was just⊠easy.â
You nod faintly.
âI noticed that too.â
âAnd then you agreed to do the movie,â he continues, shaking his head slightly like he still canât believe it. âWhich I still think was the best day of my life.â
You laugh quietly.
âYou had a cheering section.â
âThey deserved it.â
His smile softens slightly before fading into something more thoughtful.
âBut somewhere along the way,â he says carefully, âit stopped just being fun.â
You tilt your head.
âWhat do you mean?â
He meets your eyes directly now.
âI mean⊠I started liking you.â
Your heart gives a small, unexpected jump.
âI like you too,â you say automatically.
He shakes his head gently.
âNo,â he says softly. âI mean⊠like liking you.â
Oh.
Your chest warms.
Finn keeps talking, the words coming faster now that heâs started.
âAnd I know filming together probably makes things weird,â he continues. âAnd we literally just filmed a kiss scene today which is probably terrible timing to bring this up, and I donât want you to feel pressured or anythingââ
You reach over and gently grab his wrist.
âFinn.â
He stops mid-sentence.
âWhat?â
âYouâre spiraling.â
âYeah,â he admits with a quiet laugh.
You smile.
He takes a breath before finishing.
âI just wanted to be honest,â he says. âBecause if I didnât say it, Iâd keep overthinking everything. And if you donât feel the same way thatâs completely okay. Seriously. I get it. I justââ
You lean forward and kiss him.
The movement interrupts the sentence instantly.
His words cut off into a surprised breath as your lips brush his.
The kiss is briefâonly a second longâbefore you pull back slightly.
Finn stares at you, blinking.
ââŠokay,â he says slowly.
You laugh softly.
âThat was my answer.â
He processes that for a moment.
Then he starts laughing too.
âOkay,â he says, shaking his head. âThatâs⊠a pretty good answer.â
You grin.
âGlad you approve.â
âI just gave this whole emotional speech and you shut me up with a kiss.â
âYou were rambling.â
âFair.â
He looks at you again, his expression softer now.
âCan IâŠ?â
You lean forward again before he finishes the question.
The second kiss is slower.
More certain.
Finnâs hand slides gently to your waist as he pulls you closer across the couch cushions, while your fingers curl lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
Halfway through the kiss you both start smiling.
Which makes the whole thing slightly messy.
Which makes both of you laugh.
âOkay,â he murmurs between laughs, leaning his forehead against yours.
âOkay,â you echo.
Then you kiss him again.
The couch cushions shift beneath you as you both slide further back, laughing quietly when you almost lose your balance.
Finn falls back against the couch first, pulling you with him.
You land halfway on top of him, still laughing.
âThis is very smooth,â you say.
âExtremely smooth.â
âProfessional.â
âVery.â
You kiss him again.
Then again.
Your laughter blends with the quiet hum of the hotel room and the distant city sounds drifting through the window.
Eventually you both settle into the cushions, tangled together comfortably, still smiling.
Summary: As an Ex Broadway star you have made it clear under no circumstances will you ever step into the limelight again. But after a meet and greet at comic con and an unexpected friendship you find that maybe stepping back into the world of Hollywood isn't so bad. Especially because of a certain Canadian. (7.5K)
Part two
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, creepy director, reader's parents and manager are assholes, readers sister is a stranger things fan, Sadie and Gaten are broadway fanatics, Finn knows a thing or two about broadway.
................................................
The convention center smells faintly like popcorn, Sharpies, and the kind of warm, crowded air that only happens when thousands of people pack into one place with too much excitement and nowhere else to put it. Every few seconds the scent shifts slightly as someone nearby opens a fresh box of merch or walks past carrying a tray of food from one of the snack stands.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, leaning your shoulder against a thick concrete pillar near the entrance. The cool surface presses through the fabric of your hoodie as you watch a group of teenagers rush past in full cosplay. Their capes and plastic swords swish dangerously close to your knees as they hurry toward the doors like theyâre racing to save the world instead of waiting for a panel to start.
Beside you, your sister bounces impatiently on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with excitement.
âCome on, come on, come on,â she groans under her breath, her voice full of barely contained energy. The way sheâs moving makes it look like she might physically combust if the doors donât open in the next thirty seconds.
You glance down at her, amused by the intensity of it all.
âYou know theyâre not going to start without you, right?â you say casually.
She shoots you an exaggerated look of annoyance, like youâve just made the most offensive joke imaginable.
âVery funny.â
A grin pulls at the corner of your mouth.
Your sister clutches the laminated VIP badge hanging around her neck like itâs the most valuable thing she owns. She keeps checking it every few seconds, as if it might magically disappear if she doesnât confirm itâs still there.
You glance down at your own matching badge. The plastic feels cool against your fingers as you tap it absentmindedly, the little lanyard swinging slightly when you move.
VIP.
Front row access.
Meet-and-greet eligible.
All thanks to you.
Or, more specifically, thanks to the person you used to be.
You still arenât totally used to thinking about it that way.
Just a year ago, crowds like this would have been waiting for you.
The thought drifts through your mind quietly, not bitter, just⊠strange.
Your sister suddenly tugs on your sleeve, breaking the moment.
âLook at that Eddie cosplay.â
You follow the direction sheâs pointing and spot a guy a few feet away dramatically pretending to shred an invisible guitar while someone films him on their phone. The wig heâs wearing looks like it lost a very aggressive fight with a hairdryerâwild curls sticking out in every direction.
You snort before you can stop yourself.
âHonestly,â you say, shaking your head slightly, âthat wig deserves an award for commitment.â
Your sister beams like she personally styled it.
You lean your head back against the concrete pillar again, letting your gaze wander across the chaotic swirl of Comic Con around you.
Itâs loud.
Bright.
Chaotic in that energetic, slightly overwhelming way.
People move everywhereâcosplayers posing for photos, fans comparing merch, groups of friends laughing loudly as they debate which panel to attend next. Staff members with lanyards and headsets weave through the crowd trying to keep everything organized.
And somehowâŠ
It feels peaceful.
Not the quiet kind of peaceful.
But the kind where nothing is expected from you.
A year ago your mornings looked very different.
Instead of standing in line outside a convention hall wearing jeans and a hoodie, you would already be halfway through vocal warmups in a rehearsal room while a stage manager shouted reminders about places and cues.
Your days used to be scheduled down to the minute.
Dance rehearsal.
Costume fittings.
Press photos.
Matinee.
Quick change.
Evening show.
Every hour mapped out by someone elseâs clipboard.
Broadway had been your whole life.
From the time you were eight years old.
Your first role had been tinyâensemble, two lines, and one little solo moment where you stood center stage for maybe twenty seconds. At the time it had felt like the biggest thing in the world.
After that, things started moving fast.
Too fast, maybe.
Cosette.
Matilda.
Young Fiona in Shrek.
A revival of Annie.
Even a limited run in Into the Woods that critics called âastonishingly mature for her age.â
Your parents had framed every review and hung them on the wall like trophies.
Your manager used to call you âa generational talentâ during interviews.
Directors loved you.
Producers adored you.
Your childhood had been dressing rooms and stage lights and applause echoing through velvet theaters.
Until the day you woke up and realized you hated it.
Not the performing.
Not really.
That part had always felt like magic.
But everything around it started to suffocate you.
The pressure.
The endless auditions.
Your parents talking about your âbrandâ like you were a product instead of their kid.
Your manager planning your future like it was a carefully calculated chess game.
You were seventeen when you finally told them you were done.
Your mom cried.
Your dad told you that you were making a mistake.
Your manager called it âcareer suicide.â
You called it breathing for the first time in years.
And then you walked away.
Now your days are a lot simpler.
School.
Driving your sister to places like this.
Picking up groceries.
Occasionally being recognized by theater kids who stare at you like theyâve just seen a ghost.
Itâs quiet.
Normal.
And honestlyâŠ
You kind of love it.
âY/N.â
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts.
Your sister is staring at you expectantly, like youâve just missed something incredibly important.
âWhat?â you ask.
Her eyes light up.
âThe doors are opening!â
Sure enough, a ripple of movement spreads through the crowd as security begins letting people inside. The quiet anticipation instantly explodes into chaos as the line surges forward.
Cosplayers hurry toward the entrance.
Fans squeal excitedly.
Someone nearly drops a stack of posters.
Your sister grabs your wrist without hesitation and starts dragging you along with her.
âYouâre going to embarrass me if you trip,â you warn, trying not to laugh as you keep up with her pace.
âYouâre going to embarrass me if you walk slow,â she fires back.
âThat feels backwards.â
âYou know what I mean.â
You laugh as she pulls you through the entrance and into the main convention hall.
Inside, the space opens up into something massive.
The high ceilings echo with thousands of overlapping conversations. Booths line the walls, each one packed with colorful displaysâhandmade pins, posters, figurines, comic books, signed memorabilia.
Itâs a maze of fandom and excitement.
Your sister barely glances at any of it.
Sheâs completely focused.
âPanel room is this way,â she says confidently, already power-walking through the crowd.
âYouâve studied the map, havenât you?â you ask.
âI studied the map.â
You shake your head, smiling as you follow her through the sea of people.
Eventually you reach the main panel hall where a staff member scans your VIP badges before waving you through to the reserved front section.
Your sister looks like she might explode with happiness as you take your seats.
Front row.
Right in front of the stage.
She grips your arm tightly, eyes wide.
âI cannot believe weâre this close.â
You lean back comfortably in your chair, stretching your legs out a little.
âThe perks of having a former child star sister,â you say.
She grins at you immediately.
âBest decision you ever made.â
You laugh softly.
The room fills quickly as fans pour in, the energy building with every passing minute. People around you chatter excitedly, speculating about what the cast might reveal during the panel.
Behind you, someone is passionately arguing a theory about the next season.
Your sister leans closer again.
âDo you think theyâll bring everyone out?â she whispers.
âProbably.â
âEven Finn?â
You shrug.
âPretty sure heâs part of âeveryone.ââ
She squeals quietly beside you.
You roll your eyes affectionately.
A few minutes later the lights dim slightly and the entire room erupts into cheers.
Your sister grabs your arm again, squeezing hard.
âOh my god, oh my god, oh my god.â
You laugh quietly under your breath as the host walks onto the stage and begins introducing the cast.
One by one, the actors come out.
Each introduction is louder than the last.
The crowd roars, people stand, phones lift into the air to record the moment.
Then the host announcesâ
âAnd please welcomeâFinn Wolfhard!â
The reaction is instant and deafening.
The crowd absolutely loses its mind.
Your sister screams like sheâs just witnessed an actual miracle.
You glance up at the stage as Finn walks out, giving a slightly awkward wave while smiling at the audience. The noise seems to hit him all at once, his expression shifting between amused and overwhelmed.
He looks a little shy.
A little surprised.
And a little like he still isnât completely used to crowds screaming his name.
You rest your chin on your hand as you watch him for a moment.
Of course youâve seen him before.
Everyone has.
But thereâs something strangely different about seeing someone in person instead of through a screen.
More real.
Less distant.
He sits down in his chair and adjusts the microphone in front of him.
And for a brief secondâ
His eyes flick toward the front row.
Right toward you.
Heâs probably not actually looking at you.
Just scanning the crowd.
But your sister gasps dramatically beside you anyway.
âDid he just look here?â
You shrug casually.
âProbably.â
Still, as the panel begins and the cast starts answering questions, you find yourself glancing toward the stage more often than you expected.
And you canât help thinkingâ
Life could definitely be worse.
................................................
The meet-and-greet area is somehow even louder than the main hall.
The massive room hums with the kind of chaotic energy that only happens when hundreds of excited fans are squeezed into one place with the promise of meeting their favorite actors. Metal barriers snake back and forth across the floor to organize the lines, forming a maze of zig-zagging queues that seem to stretch forever. Every few seconds someone shrieks in excitement when itâs finally their turn, the sound echoing up toward the high convention center ceiling.
Convention staff wearing bright badges and headsets dart around the space like air-traffic controllers, waving people forward, checking wristbands, reminding everyone to keep the lines moving. Somewhere nearby a camera flashes. Someone drops a poster tube and scrambles to pick it up. The air smells faintly like popcorn, plastic poster sleeves, and the sugary coffee drinks people are clutching like survival fuel.
Your sister stands beside you gripping the strap of her bag with both hands, her knuckles white like she might actually float away if she lets go. Her entire body vibrates with anticipation.
âOh my god,â she whispers again, the words breathless and awestruck.
You lean casually against the barrier, one elbow hooked over the cool metal rail while you sip from the iced coffee you grabbed on the way over. The plastic cup rattles softly with ice as you take a slow sip, watching the chaos around you with mild amusement.
âYouâve said that already,â you point out.
âI know,â she says quickly, still staring ahead at the lines like sheâs witnessing a miracle in progress. âBut it keeps being true.â
A small grin tugs at your mouth.
The line inches forward and she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain herself.
Suddenly she turns toward you, pointing a finger in your direction like sheâs laying down an official rule.
âYouâre coming in the pictures.â
You immediately shake your head.
âNope.â
âYes.â
âNope.â
She narrows her eyes at you in a way that makes it very clear sheâs prepared to argue this to the death.
âI did not drag you to Comic Con,â she says slowly, âfor you to lurk in the background like a mysterious bodyguard.â
You lift your cup again, completely unbothered.
âI am a very supportive mysterious bodyguard,â you reply.
âYouâre getting in the pictures.â
âIâll take them,â you offer calmly. âIâm great at angles.â
She gasps like youâve personally insulted her.
âI want one with you!â
âYouâre the fan,â you remind her, gesturing toward the massive banners overhead and the hundreds of people in line. âThis is your moment.â
She crosses her arms stubbornly, clearly refusing to budge.
âYouâre in at least one picture.â
You sigh dramatically, dragging out the moment as if the decision is incredibly difficult.
ââŠFine. One.â
Her face immediately lights up in triumph.
âPerfect.â
The line shuffles forward again, bringing you closer to the first table. A large banner hangs overhead with bright bold letters that read:
GATEN MATARAZZO
Your sister inhales sharply like sheâs preparing to dive underwater.
âOh my god itâs happening.â
You nudge her gently forward with your shoulder.
âGo on.â
Up close, Gaten looks exactly the way he does in interviewsâopen expression, big friendly smile, greeting each fan with genuine enthusiasm instead of the tired politeness youâd expect after hours of meet-and-greets.
When itâs finally your sisterâs turn she nearly forgets how to function as a human being.
âHiâumâhiââ
Her voice cracks slightly on the second word.
Gaten laughs kindly, clearly used to this exact reaction.
âHey! Howâs it going?â
That simple greeting seems to unlock her ability to speak again. Words immediately start tumbling out as she launches into an enthusiastic explanation about how much she loves the show, gesturing wildly with her hands while she talks.
You hang back slightly behind her, hands tucked into the pockets of your hoodie. Your sunglasses are pushed up onto your head and your baseball cap sits low over your eyesâyour usual please donât recognize me outfit.
Youâve gotten pretty good at blending in.
He signs the poster she brought, asks where sheâs from, and chats with her for a minute before the photographer motions toward the backdrop area.
âAlright, picture time.â
Your sister immediately turns and points at you.
âSheâs with me!â
You lift a hand in a small wave.
âHi.â
Gaten smiles easily.
âHey!â
Thereâs no pause. No double take. No hint of recognition.
Just a friendly interaction with another fan.
Perfect.
The three of you step into position for the photo. Your sister beams in the middle like she just won the lottery while the camera flashes twice.
A moment later youâre already stepping aside as the next group moves forward.
Your sister practically vibrates as you walk toward the next line.
âOH MY GOD.â
âYou already used that one,â you remind her.
âHE TALKED TO ME.â
âThat is the point of the meet-and-greet.â
She grabs your arm, eyes wide with disbelief.
âYou were so calm!â
You shrug.
âIâve been around actors before.â
She rolls her eyes dramatically.
âBroadway actors. Not Stranger Things actors.â
You laugh quietly under your breath.
The next line stretches far longer than the first. The banner above it reads:
SADIE SINK
It wraps halfway across the meet-and-greet area, fans packed shoulder-to-shoulder with posters, Funko Pops, and autograph books.
Your sisterâs excitement deflates slightly when she sees the length of the queue.
âOhâŠâ
You check the time on your phone. Nearby, a convention coordinator is already warning people that the line might get cut before everyone gets through.
You nudge your sister gently.
âItâs okay. Letâs keep moving.â
She sighs dramatically but nods.
âI guess.â
Secretly, you feel a small wave of relief.
Sadie would absolutely recognize you.
You did a charity gala together three years ago when you were still working on Broadway. The two of you spent half the evening talking about theater kids, vocal warmups, and the shared trauma of eight-show weeks.
Thereâs no chance she wouldnât remember.
Luckily your sister is too busy pouting about the line to notice the subtle relief on your face as you drift toward the next table.
This one is somehow even more chaotic.
The banner overhead reads:
FINN WOLFHARD
Despite the crowd, the line is moving quickly. Fans step forward for photos while staff gently usher them along so the queue doesnât completely collapse.
Your sister grabs your arm again as you join the line.
âIâm going to die.â
âYouâre not,â you say calmly.
âI might.â
âYou wonât.â
âI might.â
You smirk slightly.
âYouâll survive.â
The line slowly inches forward until you can finally see him clearly.
Finn sits behind the table leaning slightly forward as he talks to fans, his posture relaxed but attentive. His hair is a little messy from the long day, and every few minutes he pushes it back with his hand before the next photo.
Someone says something that makes him laugh, and the sound carries easily across the barrier.
Your sisterâs grip on your arm tightens.
âOh my god.â
You, on the other hand, feel surprisingly relaxed.
He probably wonât recognize you.
You did Broadway. He does TV and movies. Completely different circles.
And even if he did recognize you, itâs not like youâre still famous. Youâve been off the stage for over a year now.
You adjust your cap slightly as the line moves again.
Soon itâs your turn.
Your sister approaches the table like sheâs approaching royalty.
âHi,â she breathes.
Finn immediately smiles.
âHey.â
The photographer gestures toward the photo backdrop.
âAlright guys, step over here.â
Your sister turns to you, whispering quickly.
âFunny picture.â
You nod.
âFunny picture.â
The photographer looks between the three of you.
âWhat are we thinking?â
Your sister looks at Finn.
âSomething chaotic.â
Finn grins instantly.
âI like chaotic.â
He studies the two of you for a second before suddenly pointing at you.
âOkayâwaitâget on my back.â
You blink.
âExcuse me?â
He gestures again, clearly amused.
âPiggyback. Trust me.â
Your sister immediately crouches down in front of him like sheâs already part of the plan.
You laugh.
âThis is ridiculous.â
âExactly,â Finn says.
You step closer, climbing carefully onto his back while trying not to laugh. He steadies you easily, hands bracing your legs to keep you balanced.
âAlright,â the photographer calls. âReady!â
You lean forward slightly so your face is visible over Finnâs shoulder while your sister throws up the most chaotic double peace sign imaginable.
The camera flashes.
Then again.
Right before the second shotâ
Finn tilts his head slightly.
Youâre close enough now that he can actually see your face clearly.
He squints.
âWaitâŠâ
You freeze just a little.
âYou look really familiar,â he says slowly.
Your stomach drops.
Before you can respondâ
Your sister blurts out proudly, âShe used to be on Broadway!â
You close your eyes briefly.
Traitor.
Finnâs eyebrows shoot up.
âWaitâseriously?â
You slide off his back, laughing nervously.
âFormerly.â
âWait, noâhold on,â he says, pointing at you. âI know you.â
You shrug.
âMaybe?â
Then suddenly his expression lights up.
âOh my god,â he says, snapping his fingers. âYou were Matilda!â
Your sister gasps loudly.
âI KNEW IT!â
You laugh helplessly.
âGuilty.â
Finn leans back in his chair looking completely delighted.
âDudeâGaten and Sadie are going to flip when I tell them.â
You immediately gesture to your hoodie and hat.
âThatâs exactly why the disguise exists.â
He laughs.
âThatâs amazing.â
The photographer clears their throat politely from behind the camera.
âLast shot, guys.â
You quickly reposition for one more photo. This time itâs simpleâyour sister standing in the middle while you stand on one side and Finn on the other.
Flash.
Flash.
The coordinator immediately steps forward.
âAlright guys, weâve got to keep the line moving.â
Finn turns back toward you like heâs about to say something else.
But the next group is already stepping forward.
Your sister grabs your hand instantly.
âTHANK YOU!â she blurts as she drags you away.
You wave over your shoulder.
âBye, Finn.â
Heâs still half-smiling, like he was about to continue the conversation.
Then the crowd swallows you both as your sister pulls you deeper into the convention floor.
âOh my god,â she says breathlessly. âOH MY GOD.â
You laugh.
âI thought you already used that one.â
âI didnât know he knew you!â
âI didnât think he would,â you admit.
She opens the photo preview on her phone and squeals loudly.
âThis is the best day of my life.â
You glance back once toward the meet-and-greet area.
Finn is already greeting the next fan.
................................................
The hotel room is quiet in that strange, insulated way hotel rooms always are, like the outside world has been wrapped in layers of carpet and thick walls. The air conditioner hums softly in the corner, steady and low, and the curtains are half-drawn across the wide window, letting in a warm orange glow from the late afternoon sun. The light stretches across the carpet in a long rectangle, fading gradually as it reaches the opposite wall.
Somewhere out in the hallway, the dull clatter of suitcase wheels rolls over the carpet before fading into the distance. A door shuts a few rooms down. After that, the hallway goes quiet again.
Inside your room, everything feels strangely calm after the overwhelming chaos of the convention center. Hours ago you were surrounded by thousands of people, flashing lights, screaming fans, and endless noise. Now the only sounds are the soft hum of the AC and the faint tapping of your sisterâs phone screen.
You sit curled in the desk chair near the window, one leg tucked beneath you and the other dangling loosely toward the floor. Your phone is wedged between your shoulder and ear as you stare absently at the fading sunlight outside.
Behind you, your sister is sprawled across the hotel bed like sheâs collapsed after running a marathon. Sheâs still wearing her Comic Con T-shirt and hasnât even bothered to take off the lanyard with her badge. One arm is flung over her head while the other holds her phone inches from her face. She scrolls through Instagram with the intense focus of someone reliving the best day of their life.
Every few seconds she quietly giggles to herself.
You ignore it.
On the other end of the call, your manager is deep in the middle of a sentence, speaking with the careful patience of someone who has already explained something multiple times and still hasnât gotten the answer they want.
ââand Iâm telling you this casting director specifically asked about you,â they continue. âTheyâre doing a limited Broadway revival and they want recognizable names attached to it. You would be perfect forââ
âNo.â
You donât even hesitate.
The word slips out immediately, instinctive and firm.
Your manager sighs into the phone like youâve personally ruined their entire week.
âY/Nââ
âI told you to stop sending me roles,â you say, rubbing your temple with your free hand.
âYouâre wasting an opportunity.â
âIâm not.â
âThis industry does not wait for people.â
âI know.â
âYou worked your entire childhood to get where you are.â
âI know.â
âPeople would kill for your connections.â
âI know.â
Each answer comes out calmer than the last, but the tension in your shoulders builds with every sentence.
Thereâs a long pause on the other end of the line.
Your manager exhales slowly, clearly trying to regroup. When they speak again their voice has changed slightlyâsofter, more persuasive.
âYou donât even have to commit yet,â they say carefully. âJust audition.â
You lean back in the chair, letting your head fall against the backrest as you stare up at the ceiling. The overhead light fixture stares back at you like itâs personally judging the entire conversation.
âIâm not auditioning.â
âWhy not?â
The question hangs there for a moment.
Because the thought of standing under stage lights again makes your chest feel tight.
Because every time you open a script you can hear your parents talking about ticket sales and press coverage.
Because the last year has been the first time in your life that youâve felt even remotely normal.
But explaining all of that would take too long. And honestly, youâre not sure theyâd hear it anyway.
So instead you settle for the simplest answer possible.
âI just donât want to.â
Your manager exhales sharply.
âYouâre making a mistake.â
âMaybe.â
âYou could stillââ
A sudden, high-pitched scream cuts across the room.
You jerk upright in the chair, the movement nearly knocking the phone out of place.
âWhat theââ
Behind you, your sister launches off the bed like someone just set off a fire alarm.
âOH MY GOD!â
You pull the phone away from your ear, twisting around in the chair to stare at her.
âHang on,â you mutter into the phone.
âWhatâs going on?â your manager asks.
âI have to go.â
âY/Nââ
âBye.â
You hang up before they can protest and spin fully around in your chair.
Your sister is now standing on the bed, staring down at her phone like itâs just delivered life-changing news. Her mouth is wide open and she looks like she might actually start jumping.
âWhat happened?â you ask quickly, pushing yourself out of the chair.
âLOOK!â
You rush over.
âWhat? Did someone leak the finale or something?â
She shoves the phone directly into your face.
On the screen is her Instagram post from earlier that day.
The photo.
The ridiculous piggyback pose with Finn.
Your sister crouched in front flashing chaotic peace signs while you cling to Finnâs back trying not to laugh.
You recognize it immediately.
But then your eyes drift upward.
At the very top of the screenâ
Finn Wolfhard added this to his story.
You blink once.
âOh.â
Your sister grabs your shoulders and shakes you.
âOH??â
âThatâs normal,â you say, shrugging. âActors repost fan photos all the time.â
She stares at you like youâve completely lost your mind.
âY/N.â
âWhat?â
âThatâs Finn Wolfhard.â
âYes.â
âHe reposted my post.â
âYes.â
âThatâs not normal!â
You open your mouth to respondâ
And then your own phone starts vibrating violently on the nightstand.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
It sounds like a small earthquake.
You frown slightly.
âOkay thatâs weird.â
Walking over, you pick up the phone, already assuming you know exactly whatâs happening.
Option one: your parents somehow saw the photo and are calling to ask questions.
Option two: your manager is calling back to yell at you for hanging up.
But when you unlock the screenâ
Itâs neither.
Your notifications are exploding.
Instagram alerts flood the lock screen, stacking over each other faster than you can read them. Comment after comment after comment appears in rapid succession.
Your eyebrows knit together as you open the app.
Your sister immediately leans over your shoulder.
âOh my god.â
Her voice drops to a whisper like sheâs watching something unbelievable unfold.
Your postâwell technically your sisterâs postâis absolutely flooded with comments.
But most of them arenât even directed at her.
Theyâre about you.
WAIT ISNâT THAT Y/N L/N???
No way omg I grew up watching her on Broadway
How does she know Finn???
IS THAT ACTUALLY HER???
WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THIS???
You stare at the screen slowly, processing.
ââŠwhy are they talking about me?â
Your sister suddenly goes very still behind you.
You glance sideways.
Sheâs avoiding eye contact.
A horrible realization begins to form.
You slowly turn the phone toward her.
âWhat did you do?â
She winces.
ââŠnothing?â
You narrow your eyes.
She lifts a shaky finger and points weakly toward the caption of her post.
You scroll up.
And there it is.
Tagged.
Your account.
Right under the photo.
You close your eyes briefly.
âOh my god.â
âI thought it would be cute!â she blurts quickly.
âYou tagged me.â
âI didnât think people would notice!â
âPeople always notice!â
Your phone buzzes again.
And again.
And again.
More comments.
More notifications.
You groan and drop onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair.
âThis is exactly what I was trying to avoid.â
Your sister sits beside you, looking a little guilty but still undeniably thrilled.
ââŠitâs kind of cool though.â
You stare at her flatly.
âNot helpful.â
You start tapping through the settings on your phone, trying to silence the avalanche of notifications.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Your phone refuses to calm down.
âOkay thatâs getting muted,â you mutter.
Youâre halfway through turning notifications off when another alert appears.
This one isnât a comment.
Itâs a message request.
Your finger pauses.
Your sister leans closer again immediately.
âWhat?â
You tilt the phone slightly so you can read it more clearly.
The username at the top is extremely familiar.
finnwolfhardofficial
Your sister gasps so loudly youâre honestly surprised the people in the next room donât hear it.
âOPEN IT.â
You stare at the message for a second.
Your heart does something strange in your chest.
âRelax,â you say, trying to sound casual.
âI am relaxed!â
âYouâre not relaxed.â
âIâM VERY RELAXED.â
Finally you tap the message.
The conversation opens.
Finnâs message is short.
Finn:
Hey â sorry if reposting the photo caused chaos đ
You stare at the screen for a moment.
Your sister grabs your arm.
âWhat does it say??â
You tilt the phone toward her.
She squeals again.
âYou have to answer him!â
You stare at the message a little longer, your thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Itâs the kind of place that clearly tries to look like it doesnât care about aesthetics but somehow ends up looking perfectly curated anyway. Plants hang from hooks in the windows, their vines trailing lazily down the glass. Mismatched ceramic mugs are stacked behind the counter. A chalkboard menu lists drinks in looping handwriting that looks suspiciously too neat to be accidental.
Indie music hums softly through speakers that sound like theyâve probably been there since 2007.
You sit across from Finn in a booth by the window, your hands wrapped loosely around a mug you havenât actually taken a sip from yet. The ceramic is warm beneath your fingers.
Outside the glass, people pass by in slow wavesâdog walkers, joggers, couples pushing strollers. Normal life continues on the sidewalk completely unaware that your morning started with a DM from a guy whose face is currently plastered on posters at the convention center down the street.
Your sister nearly fainted when you told her where you were going.
You can still hear her voice echoing in your head from the moment you stepped out of the hotel room.
âYOUâRE GETTING COFFEE WITH FINN WOLFHARD?â
Now here you are.
And strangelyâŠ
It doesnât feel that weird.
Finn leans back slightly in his seat, fingers loosely curled around his own coffee cup. He studies you with a curious expression for a moment before squinting slightly.
âYou know,â he says, âIâm still kind of shocked you just⊠left Broadway.â
You shrug one shoulder casually.
âPeople leave jobs all the time.â
âYeah,â he says, shaking his head. âBut not that job.â
A quiet laugh escapes you.
âI promise you the world kept spinning.â
âYour manager probably disagrees.â
You snort.
âYou have no idea.â
He grins at that.
âSo thatâs who you were arguing with in the hotel?â
You freeze for half a second.
ââŠyou could hear that?â
âYou mentioned it in your text.â
Right.
You glance down at the table briefly before answering.
âThey keep sending me auditions.â
âAnd you keep saying no.â
âPretty much.â
Finn studies you for a moment, curious but not pushy.
âWhat made you stop?â
Youâve been asked that question before.
Usually by reporters.
Usually with microphones shoved in your face while they wait for a dramatic headline.
But sitting here in a cozy booth with coffee warming your hands and sunlight pouring through the windowâŠ
It feels different.
You exhale slowly.
âIt wasnât one thing,â you say quietly.
âIt usually isnât,â he replies.
You trace the rim of your mug with your thumb.
âI started when I was eight,â you explain. âWhich sounds really cool when people say it, but it also means I didnât really⊠choose it.â
Finn nods slowly.
âI get that.â
âMy parents loved it. My manager loved it. Producers loved it.â A small smile crosses your face. âEveryone loved it.â
âExcept you?â
You shake your head gently.
âI loved performing,â you clarify. âThat part was real. Being on stage, hearing the orchestra start, the audience going quiet right before the show beginsâŠâ You pause, remembering. âThat part felt like magic.â
âSo what changed?â
You look out the window for a moment before answering.
âThe pressure.â
Finn doesnât interrupt.
âEvery role had to be bigger than the last one. Every performance had to be perfect. My parents talked about contracts more than they talked about school.â A quiet laugh slips out. âMy manager used to schedule interviews during my lunch breaks.â
He winces slightly.
âYeah⊠that sounds familiar.â
You nod slowly.
âAnd then there was this one director.â
Finnâs expression changes immediately.
Not alarmed.
But attentive.
âWhat happened?â
You take your first sip of coffee, mostly to give yourself a second to think.
âHe wasnât technically doing anything illegal,â you say carefully. âBut he was weird.â
âWeird how?â
You shrug slightly.
âToo interested in rehearsing alone. Too many ânotesâ about how I should look. He kept talking about how I needed to grow up faster if I wanted serious roles.â
Finnâs jaw tightens almost immediately.
You continue calmly.
âI was seventeen. And I remember sitting in rehearsal one day thinking⊠I donât actually have to be here.â
The realization still feels strange when you say it out loud.
âSo I left.â
Finn sits quietly for a moment.
Then he nods.
âThatâs a pretty good reason.â
You shrug again, trying to lighten the mood.
âAlso I was tired of vocal warmups at 7 a.m.â
He laughs.
âThatâs fair.â
For a moment the conversation settles into a comfortable silence.
Then Finn leans forward slightly.
âHave you ever thought about doing film instead?â
You blink.
âFilm?â
âYeah.â
You shake your head almost immediately.
âNo.â
âWhy not?â
You gesture vaguely.
âSame industry. Same people. Same problems.â
âNot always,â he says.
You raise an eyebrow.
âFinn, you literally work in it.â
He smiles sheepishly.
âOkay, fair.â
âBut honestly,â he continues, âI think youâd be really good at it.â
You laugh.
âYou donât know that.â
âI do a little.â
âYou saw me for thirty seconds at a meet-and-greet.â
âAnd I grew up watching Matilda,â he counters.
âThat doesnât count.â
âIt absolutely counts.â
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself.
âIâm happy being off-screen for a while.â
He nods easily.
âFair.â
Another comfortable silence settles between you.
Then Finn glances toward the window.
âHey.â
âWhat?â
âThereâs a park like two blocks away.â
You narrow your eyes slightly.
âAre you suggesting we go outside like normal people?â
âCrazy concept, I know.â
A grin spreads across your face.
âAlright.â
................................................
The park is bright and breezy in the kind of effortless way late afternoons sometimes are. Sunlight filters through the leaves overhead, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the winding path. The air smells faintly like cut grass and warm pavement, and somewhere in the distance a dog barks while kids laugh near the playground.
You and Finn walk side by side along the path, moving at an easy pace that suggests neither of you is in any particular hurry to get anywhere. The quiet rhythm of your footsteps blends with the soft rustling of the trees overhead.
A few people pass byâjoggers, someone walking a golden retriever, a couple pushing a strollerâbut no one seems to pay much attention to the two of you.
Which is probably because Finn is very obviously attempting to be incognito.
Heâs wearing a beanie pulled low over his hair and a pair of sunglasses that definitely belong more to a celebrity disguise than an afternoon stroll. The whole thing would almost be convincing if he didnât look slightly too pleased with himself about it.
You bump your shoulder lightly into his as you walk.
âIncognito,â you say dryly.
Finn glances sideways at you, immediately defensive.
âHey,â he says. âIt works.â
You give him a skeptical look.
âSure it does.â
He opens his mouth like heâs about to argue further, then abruptly pauses mid-step.
âOh wait.â
You glance over at him.
âWhat?â
Heâs already pulling his phone from his pocket, grinning like heâs just remembered something important.
âI need proof.â
You blink.
âProof of what?â
He looks at you like the answer should be obvious.
âThat I met you.â
You laugh.
âYou already have the Comic Con photo.â
âYeah,â he says quickly, tapping his screen. âBut Gaten and Sadie wonât believe me.â
Your eyebrows slowly rise.
âYouâre serious.â
âVery.â
Before you can question that logic any further, Finn suddenly lifts his phone up between you.
âQuickâcome here.â
You instinctively lean a little closer.
âWhy?â
âPicture.â
The camera flips around just as you lean in toward him, and the second the phone liftsâ
You turn your head and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
Itâs fast. Playful. Completely impulsive.
And very intentional.
Because you know exactly the kind of chaos itâs about to cause.
The camera snaps.
Finn freezes for about half a second.
Not dramatically. Just enough that you can feel the tiny moment where his brain catches up with what just happened.
But by the time that moment passes, the photo has already been sent.
You see his thumbs move quickly across the screen.
The image shows the exact moment the camera captured: you leaning in with a grin, kissing his cheek while he looks halfway between surprised and amused.
Underneath it, Finn typed:
Guess who Iâm hanging out with.
Three little dots appear on the screen almost instantly.
Then another message.
Then another.
Finnâs phone suddenly begins vibrating nonstop in his hand.
You burst out laughing.
âOh my god.â
He looks down at the screen, absolutely delighted.
âYep,â he says, clearly pleased with himself. âTheyâre losing their minds.â
âWhat are they saying?â
He scrolls quickly, reading one out loud.
âGaten says âNO WAY THATâS NOT FAIR.ââ
You laugh harder.
âSadie just sent twelve question marks,â he adds.
You shake your head at him.
âYouâre evil.â
âWorth it,â he replies immediately.
You keep walking down the path together, the late afternoon sun slowly dipping lower through the trees. The golden light filters through the branches and stretches long shadows across the path ahead of you.
As you turn a corner in the trail, Finn casually rests his hand against the small of your back to guide you around a cyclist passing the other direction.
The gesture is simple.
Natural.
Easy.
But your brain notices it immediately.
Your cheeks warm slightly before you even realize whatâs happening.
You suddenly become very aware of the warmth of his hand through the fabric of your shirt.
Very aware of how close heâs walking beside you.
You try very hard not to think about it.
Very hard not to smile too much.
Very hard not to blush.
Which, unfortunately, only makes the whole thing worse.
Finn glances over at you after a few seconds.
âYou okay?â
âYep,â you answer a little too quickly.
He smiles faintly, clearly unconvinced.
But he doesnât move his hand.
And neither of you rush the walk back.
................................................
Three months after Comic Con, texting Finn has somehow become part of your daily routine in a way that feels both gradual and completely inevitable.
It doesnât start with anything dramatic.
At first itâs just small things.
A meme he sends you at midnight because it reminded him of something you said earlier.
A blurry photo of a weird street sign he found while walking around Vancouver.
You sending him a picture of your sister stealing your hoodie for the third time that week.
But little by little the messages start filling more of your day.
Soon it becomes normal.
Normal to wake up and see a âgood morning :)â text waiting on your phone.
Normal to send him voice notes complaining about your homework or something dumb your sister did.
Normal to hear your phone buzz across the room and somehow already know itâs him before you even check.
One evening youâre sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, surrounded by stacks of old Broadway programs your mom recently mailed you âfor sentimental reasons.â
The piles are only half organized.
Which is mostly because you keep getting distracted flipping through them.
Across the room, your sister is sprawled across your bed with a notebook open in front of her. Technically sheâs doing homework.
Realistically sheâs staring at her phone.
Your own phone buzzes beside you.
You glance down automatically.
Finn.
You smile before you even open the message.
Finn:
Okay I have a crazy proposition
You squint slightly at the screen.
That wording is suspicious.
You start typing back.
Define crazy.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Then disappears.
Then comes back again.
You grin slightly to yourself.
Heâs clearly overthinking whatever heâs about to say.
Finally another message appears.
Finn:
Before I say it you have to promise not to shoot it down immediately
You lean back against the bed frame behind you.
Your sister peeks over the edge of the mattress, spotting the expression on your face.
âWhatâs that face?â
You glance up briefly.
âFinnâs being dramatic again.â
Her eyes light up instantly.
âOoooh.â
You ignore her and type back.
That depends on how crazy it is.
Three dots appear again.
Then the next message pops up.
Finn:
Promise first
You roll your eyes slightly.
Finn.
Almost immediatelyâ
Finn:
Promise
You sigh.
Fine. I promise not to immediately shoot it down.
This time the typing bubble appears instantly.
Finn:
Okay so
Thereâs a short pause.
Then another message.
Finn:
Iâm making a movie
Your eyebrows lift a little.
You already knew he was working on something, but heâs been annoyingly mysterious about the details.
Thatâs exciting.
Finn responds immediately.
Yeah but thatâs not the proposition.
You narrow your eyes slightly at the screen.
Here it comes.
The next message appears.
Finn:
I want you to be in it
You stare at the words for a full second.
ââŠno.â
Your sister immediately sits upright on the bed.
âWhat?â
You shake your head, already typing.
No.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Finn:
WAIT
You laugh quietly.
Finn I literally promised not to shoot it down immediately and I still made it like four seconds.
Your phone buzzes again.
Finn:
Okay listen
Another message appears right after.
Finn:
Itâs small
You hesitate.
Another message.
Finn:
Like really small
Thenâ
Finn:
And if you really hate the idea Iâll drop it
You stare at the screen for a moment.
Behind you, your sister slowly scoots closer on the bed.
âWhat did he ask?â
You glance up.
âHe wants me to be in a movie.â
Her eyes widen instantly.
âWHAT.â
âI already said no.â
She throws a pillow at you.
âWHY.â
You dodge it easily.
âBecause I donât act anymore?â
âThat was Broadway!â
âThis is also acting!â
Your phone buzzes again.
You glance down.
Finn:
You donât even have to say yes
Another message appears beneath it.
Finn:
Just read the script maybe?
You pause.
Reading a script isnât the same as acting.
Reading a script is harmless.
Right?
You type slowly.
Send it.
Thereâs a long pause.
Then suddenly your phone lights up with three messages in a row.
Finn:
WAIT REALLY
Finn:
YOU SAID MAYBE
Finn:
HOLYâ
Your phone rings immediately.
You answer before the first buzz finishes.
âHello?â
You barely get the word out before Finnâs voice explodes through the speaker.
âSHE SAID MAYBE!â
In the background you hear a chorus of loud cheering.
Actual cheering.
You burst out laughing.
âAre you in a stadium?â
âNo weâre in my apartment,â Finn says, breathless. âEveryone heard it.â
âEveryone?â
âYeah.â
You hear someone yelling somewhere behind him.
âWHO SAID MAYBE?â
âHER!â Finn shouts back, away from the phone.
More cheering erupts.
You cover your face with your hand, laughing harder.
âThis is so embarrassing.â
âITâS A HUGE WIN,â someone yells.
You shake your head.
âWas that Gaten?â
Thereâs a small pause.
ââŠmaybe.â
You sigh dramatically.
âYou people are ridiculous.â
Finn comes back to the phone, voice calmer now.
âOkay but seriously,â he says. âJust read it.â
âWhatâs it called?â
âHm?â
âThe movie.â
âOh,â he says. âItâs called Hell of a Summer.â
You raise an eyebrow.
âThat sounds ominous.â
âItâs a horror comedy.â
âEven worse.â
He laughs.
âIâm sending it right now.â
Your phone buzzes again as the script file arrives.
You glance down at it.
Dozens of pages.
Your sister leans over your shoulder instantly.
âOPEN IT.â
You shake your head slightly.
âIâm going to read it,â you tell Finn.
âAnd?â
âAnd then weâll see.â
Thereâs a quiet pause before he responds.
ââŠthatâs the best answer I couldâve hoped for.â
You smile slightly.
âIâm hanging up now.â
âOkay.â
âAnd tell your cheering section to calm down.â
âNo promises.â
You end the call and open the script file.
Your sister sits beside you on the floor now, practically vibrating with excitement.
âThis is insane,â she whispers.
You scroll to the first page.
At the top, in bold letters, the title sits alone on the page.
Summary: A celebration of your relationship with Finn directed by who else but himself!
Warnings/Tags: Finn Wolfhard is a simp, fluff, they are in love, some angst if you squint, they broke up for a bit, Sadie being a cutie, gaten is a mess, thank god for Disney magic.
*****************
The camera clicks on.
Thereâs a soft shuffle, a quiet breath, and then Finn Wolfhard, age twenty-two, leans back into the couch like heâs trying very hard to act normal.
He fails immediately.
âOkay. Um. Hi.â
He runs a hand through his hair, glancing behind the camera like someone might walk in and catch him being sentimental. The living room lights are warm, familiar. Their house. The house. Thereâs a nervous smile tugging at his mouth that makes him look seventeen again.
âSo. Timeline clarification. This intro? Iâm recording it after you saw the raw version. At your twenty-first birthday. You cried. A lot. I cried. Also a lot. It was very embarrassing for me, personally. The crying not the video itselfâ
He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, more serious now.
âI love you. You know that. But I wanted it on camera. For the record.â
Thereâs a beat. The kind that feels heavy in the best way.
âIâve been filming since we were kids. Eleven and twelve. Behind-the-scenes stuff, stupid jokes, hotel rooms, car rides, random 3 a.m. thoughts. It was supposed to be this big commemoration of our time on Stranger Things. Like a âlook how far weâve comeâ kind of thing.â
He smiles, shaking his head.
âAnd then I started going through the footage.â
A quiet laugh escapes him.
âTurns out like⊠ninety percent of it is just you.â
He looks down, almost shy.
âYou stealing my camera. You asleep on my shoulder in makeup trailers. You ranting about things that made no sense at two in the morning. You existing. Just⊠existing.â
He looks back into the lens, eyes bright.
âSo I made this for you instead.â
A small, hopeful grin.
âFor the girl who thinks sheâs just been in the background of my life. Spoiler alertâyouâve been the whole thing.â
The screen wobbles slightly as his fingers brush the lens.
âAnd I always will.â
*****************
The screen flickers from black to grainy handheld footage.
The date stamp in the corner is slightly off-center. The audio crackles.
A long folding table. Stacks of scripts. Nervous energy buzzing in the room.
The camera zooms inâbadlyâon an eleven-year-old girl sitting at the table, legs swinging just slightly off the chair. Sheâs focused, brow furrowed, carefully flipping through pages like the papers might disappear if she moves too fast.
Behind the camera, twelve-year-old Finn whispers loudly.
âThis,â he says with mock seriousness, âis (Y/N) (L/N). She plays Carly.â
The girl looks up, startled. Big eyes. Immediately aware of the lens.
âFinn,â she hisses, half embarrassed, half laughing.
âSay hi,â he insists.
She presses her lips together like sheâs deciding if this is worth it, then gives a small, awkward wave to the camera. âHi.â
Thereâs a beat.
âWhat are you doing?â she asks, squinting at him.
âCommemorating,â Finn replies confidently.
She stares at him.
ââŠWhat does that mean?â
He pauses. The camera dips for a second like heâs thinking very hard.
âIt means,â he says slowly, âIâm recording stuff so we can look back at it when weâre old and famous and be like, âWhoa. We were so small.ââ
Her eyes widen slightly. âWeâre small now?â
He zooms in dramatically on her face.
âYes.â
She snorts and swats at the camera. âStop.â
âOkay,â he says, regaining his faux-documentary voice. âFor historical purposes, make a silly face.â
âWhat? No.â
âFor history.â
She sighs like this is the most inconvenient request of her life.
ââŠFine.â
She scrunches her face up ridiculouslyâcrossed eyes, puffed cheeks, tongue sticking out halfwayâand the camera shakes because Finn is laughing so hard.
âPerfect,â he wheezes. âThatâs going in the archives.â
Right then, another head pops into frame from the sideâ
Gaten grins at the camera and waves enthusiastically.
âHi, internet!â he announces, even though none of them know if the internet will ever see this.
(Y/N) immediately drops her silly face and hides behind her script, mortified.
Finn keeps filming anyway.
âSee?â he says proudly. âCommemorating.â
*****************
The footage cuts in mid-laugh.
The inside of a cramped trailer. The lighting is yellow and too bright, scripts and empty water bottles scattered everywhere. A twelve-year-old (Y/N) is cross-legged on the little couch, absentmindedly braiding and unbraiding a piece of her own hair.
Behind the camera, thirteen-year-old Finn clears his throat dramatically.
âInterview time.â
She squints at him. âWhy.â
âBecause itâs important,â he insists. âState your name and current activity.â
She rolls her eyes but plays along. â(Y/N) (L/N). Waiting to be called to set.â
âCorrect. And what are we filming today?â
She straightens suddenly, wiggling her shoulders in a ridiculous little dance. âWrap dayyyy.â
Finn laughs, the camera shaking. âThat was aggressive.â
âItâs exciting!â she defends.
He adjusts the frame so theyâre both visible. âOkay. Serious question. What do you think is going to come from this show?â
She doesnât answer immediately. Instead, she leans back into the couch, thinking in a way that looks very big for someone so small.
âI mean⊠I hope people like it,â she says finally. âThat would be cool.â
A beat.
âBut mostly I hope weâre, like⊠lifelong friends.â
Thereâs something so simple and certain about the way she says it that even the camera seems to steady.
Finn is quiet for a second.
Then he flips the camera toward himself.
âWow,â he says softly. âDeep.â
She throws a pillow at him.
He grins at the lens. âOkay. I will update the camera later after wrap.â
The screen fades to black.
The footage returns in the same trailer, but itâs darker now. Quieter. End-of-day tired.
The camera is angled slightly wrong, like itâs been set down in a hurry.
On the couch, (Y/N) is completely passed out. Curled up, one arm hanging off the edge, still in half of her costume.
Finnâs whisper fills the room as he adjusts the tripod.
âUpdate,â he says quietly, trying not to laugh. âSheâs asleep.â
He moves into frame beside Gaten, whoâs already biting his lip to keep from laughing.
âBut not for long,â Finn adds mischievously.
Finn claps loudly and shouts, âWRAP DAY!â
(Y/N) jolts upright with a gasp, disoriented, and immediately rolls off the couch with a loud thump.
The camera wobbles violently.
âOh my Godââ Finn drops to his knees. âAre you okay? Iâm so sorryâoh my Godââ
Finn is half laughing, half horrified as he helps her sit up. âI didnât think youâd fallâare you hurt? That was my fault. That was totally my fault.â
Gaten lunges for the camera.
âTurn it off, turn it offââ
The footage cuts abruptly to black mid-chaos.
*****************
The screen comes back in a blur of flashing lights.
Voices everywhere. Cameras clicking. A red carpet stretching out under bright spotlights.
The footage is shaky and overexcited.
âWe have officially been reunited,â thirteen-year-old Finn announces dramatically from behind the camera. âThe squad is back.â
He spins the camera too fast, nearly blinding the lens with flashes before zeroing inâ
Right into (Y/N)âs face.
Sheâs mid-sentence, animatedly talking to Millie, hands moving as she speaks. The second she realizes the camera is inches from her nose, she freezes.
âFinn,â she groans. âKnock it off.â
He zooms in even closer.
âSay something inspiring,â he insists.
âI will inspire you to put that camera down,â she mutters.
Millie laughs, glancing between them. âYou two fight like an old married couple.â
Finn doesnât miss a beat.
âShe wishes,â he says smugly.
(Y/N)âs eyes widen. âExcuse me?â
She sticks her tongue out at him without hesitation, cheeks pink from either the carpet lights or embarrassment.
Finn cackles triumphantly and swings the camera away before she can swat it.
The lens pans out over the entire red carpetâcast members posing, photographers shouting names, fans pressed against barricades, the giant backdrop behind them.
âSeason one premiere!â he shouts over the noise. âLook at this! We did this!â
The camera lingers on the lights for a moment, the chaos, the excitementâ
Then dips slightly, catching (Y/N) in the corner of the frame still mock-glaring at him.
Even in the blur, sheâs smiling.
*****************
The next clip starts abruptly, slightly tilted like Finn forgot to fix the angle before pressing record.
Theyâre in a hallway. Beige walls. Fluorescent lights humming overhead. Somewhere in the distance, crew members are talking and doors are opening and closing.
The camera zooms in slowly on (Y/N), who is very obviously standing just outside a partially open door.
Sheâs pretending not to look inside.
She is absolutely looking inside.
Behind the camera, fourteen-year-old Finn lowers his voice into a dramatic whisper.
âWhat are you doing?â
She jumps slightly, then immediately crosses her arms like sheâs been caught doing something criminal.
âNothing.â
Finn zooms in on her face.
âUh-huh.â
She shifts her weight, peeking through the crack in the door again. Inside, a few people are talkingâlaughter floats out into the hallway.
âOh yeah,â Finn continues, voice dripping with mock seriousness. âSheâs totally not staking out the room to see who the person playing Max is.â
(Y/N) whips around, eyes wide. âShush!â
She glances around like someone important might hear him.
âIâm not staking out,â she insists, lowering her voice. âI justâ I just wanted to see her before everyone else meets her.â
Finn slowly pans the camera from her face to the door and back again.
âSo. Staking out.â
She glares at him, but itâs weak. Nerves are clearly winning.
âShe looks nice,â she mutters, almost to herself.
Finn snorts. âYou look like a creep.â
âI do not!â
âYouâre lurking outside a door,â he says. âThatâs textbook creep behavior.â
She huffs and adjusts her jacket. âI just donât want to walk in and make it awkward.â
Finn lowers the camera slightly so heâs partially in frame now, leaning against the wall with exaggerated patience.
âYou could just go in.â
She chews on her lip. âWhat if she doesnât like me?â
The question comes out smaller than she probably intended.
Finn pauses.
Then, softer, âItâs very hard to not like you.â
She blinks at him, clearly not expecting that answer.
Before she can respond, he grins mischievously again.
âAlso, youâre not that important.â
Her jaw drops. âFinn!â
He laughs, dodging her attempt to grab the camera.
âWhatâs her name again?â he asks, aiming the lens back at her.
She looks toward the door once more, almost reverent.
âSadie.â
Thereâs a split second of silence.
Then Finn suddenly pushes the door open all the way.
âFINNâ!â she yelps, but heâs already grabbed her wrist and is dragging her inside.
âHey, Sadie!â Finn announces brightly as he pulls (Y/N) fully into the room.
The camera catches a quick flash of a red-haired girl turning aroundâ
Sadie Sink mid-surpriseâ
And then the footage cuts abruptly to black.
*****************
The next clip fades into soft afternoon light spilling through set windows.
A couch tucked into the corner of a soundstage. Blankets half-thrown over the back. Between takes kind of quiet.
(Y/N) and Sadie are tangled together on the couch, legs draped over each other, completely comfortable. Sadieâs chin is resting on (Y/N)âs shoulder while they scroll through something on a phone.
From behind the camera, fourteen-year-old Finn gasps dramatically.
âWow. I canât believe I wasnât invited to the cuddle sesh.â
(Y/N) doesnât even look up. âYou donât deserve to be.â
Sadie snickers quietly.
Finn zooms in. âExcuse me? How was I mean?â
Now (Y/N) looks at the camera, affronted. âYou said I wouldnât survive in Vancouver because itâs cold.â
Finn scoffs. âIt is cold.â
âYou implied I would perish.â
âI did not imply perish.â
Sadie is fully laughing now, shoulders shaking.
Finn continues, âYou can barely handle when it goes below thirty-five in Georgia.â
(Y/N) immediately huffs. âThat is different.â
âHow?â
âItâs a wet cold.â
Finn bursts out laughing. âGeorgia is not colder than Vancouver.â
âIt feels colder to me!â
Sadie hides her face in (Y/N)âs shoulder, giggling.
âYouâre just dramatic,â Finn teases.
(Y/N) lunges toward the camera with one hand. âStop recording!â
The footage jolts wildly as she tries to swat the lens away, Finn yelping as he stumbles back.
âAssault! This is documented!â he shouts through laughter.
The last thing visible before the clip cuts is Sadie still smiling, and (Y/N) trying very hard not to.
*****************
The next clip opens quieter.
Fourteen-year-old Finn is sitting on the tiny couch in his trailer, knees bouncing in a way that gives away everything.
He angles the camera down dramatically.
âOkay,â he whispers. âThis is either going to be historic⊠or deeply humiliating.â
He lifts up a folded piece of paper and holds it close to the lens.
âRestaurant reservation,â he narrates.
Next: a slightly crumpled bouquet of flowers in a plastic wrap.
âFlowers.â
And finallyâ
A small shark plushie.
He squeezes it. It squeaks faintly.
âBecause she said once that sharks are misunderstood and that theyâre actually just big fish with anxiety.â
He nods, very serious.
âSo. The plan is: when filming finishes for the day, Iâm going to ask her out.â
His voice drops just a little softer.
âAnd I really hope she says yes.â
He exhales.
âIf she doesnât,â he adds quickly, âI blame Sadie and Gaten. This was their idea. Legally.â
The screen cuts sharplyâ
Now the camera is clearly in someone elseâs hands.
Gaten is filming his own face way too close to the lens.
âThis is a live update,â he whispers dramatically.
He flips the camera around.
Finn is standing outside a trailer door, flowers in one hand, shark plushie tucked under his arm, staring at the door like it might bite him.
From behind the camera, Gaten stage-whispers, âYou got this!â
Finn turns and glares so intensely it would be intimidating if he didnât look like he might pass out.
âStop filming,â Finn mouths.
The trailer door suddenly opens.
The camera doesnât catch whatâs saidâjust muffled voices and Finn stepping slightly inside the doorway.
Thereâs a pause.
A beat that stretches just long enough to feel monumental.
Then Finn turns slightly toward the cameraâ
And gives a thumbs up.
Gaten lets out a silent, frantic cheer behind the lens.
(Y/N) appears in the doorway a second later, eyes immediately landing on the camera.
She bursts out laughing.
âGaten,â she calls, âput the goddamn camera away!â
The footage jerks wildly as Gaten cacklesâ
And cuts to black.
*****************
The next clip opens with loud airport noiseârolling suitcases clacking over tile, distant announcements echoing overhead, the low constant hum of hundreds of conversations overlapping at once.
The footage is shaky and slightly crooked, like whoeverâs filming is standing on their toes, weaving between people, trying to see over a sea of winter coats and backpacks.
âOkay, okayââ sixteen-year-old Finn whispers behind the camera, breath a little too fast. âGate C24. She said C24.â
The lens zooms in too far on a random businessman. Zooms back out. Pans wildly across the terminal.
Thenâ
There she is.
(Y/N), fifteen now, stepping through the gate doors with a backpack slung over one shoulder and a duffel in her hand. Her hairâs a little messy from the flight, headphones hanging around her neck, eyes scanning the terminal like sheâs looking for something specific.
The camera jolts forward so suddenly it almost smacks into someoneâs suitcase.
âMoveâsorryâsorryââ Finn mutters as he pushes through the crowd.
She spots him at the exact same time.
Her face changes instantly.
That travel-tired look disappears, replaced with something bright and unmistakable.
âHi!â she calls.
Finn doesnât even answer.
He just barrels into her.
The screen swings sideways as he wraps her in a hug so tight it nearly knocks the camera from his hand. The footage becomes a blur of jackets and hair and ceiling lights as he squeezes her off-balance.
Her laugh is muffled against his shoulder. âOh my GodâFinn!â
âYouâre here,â he says into her hair, voice half relieved, half disbelieving.
âObviously,â she laughs. âYouâre crushing my ribs.â
He loosens his grip slightly but doesnât let go.
The camera angle is terribleâmostly their shouldersâbut you can hear it. The way they both exhale at the same time.
He pulls back just enough to turn the camera toward both of them while they start walking through the terminal, still half-attached at the hip like neither one wants to create actual space.
âBabyâs first Vancouver trip,â he announces proudly into the lens, grin wide and uncontained.
She rolls her eyes immediately but smiles directly at the camera anyway. âIâve been to Vancouver before.â
âNot with me,â he counters without missing a beat.
She opens her mouth to argueâ
Then closes it.
ââŠFine.â
He adjusts the angle so theyâre both fully in frame nowâcheeks flushed from travel and excitement. She looks tired but happy, eyes a little glossy in that way that means she didnât sleep much on the plane.
âYou look gross,â she tells him fondly.
âYou look jet-lagged.â
âI am jet-lagged.â
âGood,â he says. âYouâll sleep on the bus.â
She narrows her eyes. âI am not sleeping on a bus.â
âDocumented,â he says to the camera. âShe will be asleep within twelve minutes.â
They weave through the terminal, bumping shoulders, laughing quietly to themselves like the rest of the airport doesnât exist.
Without thinkingâlike itâs the most natural thing in the worldâFinn leans down and presses a quick kiss to her temple.
Itâs soft. Absentminded.
She doesnât even flinch. Just smiles wider.
And thenâ
He kisses her.
Not dramatic.
Not staged.
Not even fully aimed at the camera.
Just a small shift of his head, a brief pause in their steps, and his lips brushing hers like itâs something heâs done a hundred times before.
She makes a tiny surprised sound against his mouthâmore startled than anythingâlike she forgot he was holding a camera.
The kiss lingers for half a second longer than it probably should in a crowded airport.
The camera dips abruptly, like he suddenly remembers itâs still in his hand.
âOkay,â he mutters, slightly breathless.
The footage tilts toward the polished airport floor as he lowers it, catching a blurry shot of their shoes walking in sync.
You can still hear her laughing softly.
âFinn,â she says under her breath, half warning, half smiling.
âWhat?â he replies, completely unrepentant.
âYouâre ridiculous.â
Thereâs a beat.
âYeah,â he says easily.
The screen cuts to black mid-laugh.
*****************
The video starts shaky and loud.
Backstage noise â amps humming, muffled crowd cheering from beyond the curtain, someone calling out about a set list. The lighting is dim and yellow, all scuffed floors and tangled cables.
Finn flips the camera toward himself, flushed and buzzing with post-show adrenaline, hair damp and sticking to his forehead.
âWe did it,â he says breathlessly. âThat was insane.â
From somewhere down the hall, someone shouts his name.
He spins the camera aroundâ
And there she is.
Standing just inside the backstage entrance, hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, smiling at him like sheâs been waiting for this exact moment.
He doesnât say anything.
He just runs.
The camera jerks violently as he barrels down the hallway and wraps his arms around her.
She lets out a startled âOomph!â as he nearly lifts her off her feet.
âOh my GodâFinn!â
âYou came,â he says into her shoulder.
âOf course I came.â
She pulls back slightly, scrunching her nose. âYouâre sweaty.â
âRude.â
âYouâre gross.â
He grins â and before she can say anything else, he leans down and kisses her.
Itâs quick at first.
Then not.
She melts into it almost immediately, hands sliding up to the back of his neck despite the sweat complaint. The hallway noise fades into background blur as they lean into each other like the rest of the world doesnât matter.
Someone wolf-whistles in the distance.
They break apart just enough for her to breathe.
Then she notices.
The camera.
She blinks at it. âWhy are you filming?â
He pulls it back slightly so theyâre both in frame, still wrapped around each other.
âTo commemorate,â he says, grinning, slightly out of breath. âAgain.â
She narrows her eyes playfully. âI know what that is now.â
He laughs at that â the same laugh from the airport video.
âGood,â he says.
Then he kisses her again.
Harder this time.
She laughs against his mouth but kisses him back, fingers tangling in his still-damp hair. He stumbles backward without looking, and she goes with him.
They fall onto the old backstage couch in a heap.
The camera tilts wildly as his grip loosens.
For a second, the shot is just ceiling lights and the edge of a tour poster.
Then the camera slips from his hand entirely and lands sideways on the cushions, still recording.
The frame now catches them half on the couch, half tangled together, laughing breathlessly.
Her hairâs a mess. His shirt is definitely still sweaty.
She pulls back just enough to glance toward where the camera fell.
âThe camera,â she says through a laugh.
He doesnât even look.
âStill commemorating,â he mumbles before leaning in again.
The last thing the video captures is the blurry edge of the couch and the sound of her laughing softly into another kiss before the clip cuts out.
*****************
The next clip cuts in mid-chaos.
The lighting is harsh and artificialâbright set lights bouncing off fake walls and equipment. Somewhere off camera someone yells about resetting props. Thereâs distant laughter. The kind of background noise that only exists on a film set.
The camera is way too close to her face.
Likeâobnoxiously close.
Sheâs covered in fake blood. It streaks across her cheek, down her neck, soaking into the collar of her costume. Thereâs a smudge near her eyebrow that makes her look unintentionally feral.
She doesnât notice the camera.
Sheâs mid-rant.
ââbecause you canât cheat at fingers, Caleb!â she insists, gesturing wildly with blood-stained hands. âItâs literally impossible to win unless youâre cheating!â
Across from her, Caleb is trying not to laugh.
âIâm not cheating,â he says, clearly lying.
âYou hesitated!â she accuses. âYou hesitated and then you switched at the last second.â
âThatâs strategy.â
âThatâs criminal.â
Finnâs laugh shakes the frame slightly.
The camera pulls back just enough to show that itâs him holding itâgrinning like this is the best thing heâs seen all day.
She keeps going, completely unaware sheâs being documented.
âAnd donât even start with me about âstrategy,â because every time we play you suddenly become a mathematicianââ
She turns slightly as she talks, absentmindedly leaning her shoulder into Finnâs chest like sheâs done it a thousand times before. Itâs casual. Automatic. Comfortable.
He steadies the camera with one hand and lets her lean.
âTell the truth,â Finn says lightly, voice teasing. âAre you just mad because you lost?â
She freezes mid-gesture.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
She turns her head.
Her eyes lock directly into the lens.
Thereâs fake blood under one eye. Her expression is pure offense.
âYouâre filming?â she demands.
Finn zooms in slightly instead of answering.
Her glare intensifies.
âYou are so annoying.â
He hums innocently. âI asked a simple question.â
She steps closer.
Too close.
Her face fills the entire frame nowâmock fury, glossy lips, a streak of red across her jaw.
âYou,â she says, pointing at the lens, âare an instigator.â
âAnswer the question.â
Her eyes narrow.
Thereâs a split second where it looks like she might actually smack the camera.
Insteadâ
She leans forward and kisses the lens.
Itâs quick but deliberate.
The screen goes momentarily dark from the impact.
When she pulls back, thereâs a visible smear of lip gloss right across the glassâpink and shiny, slightly crooked.
Finn makes the most dramatic, wounded sound imaginable.
âAre you kidding me?â he groans.
Behind them, Caleb bursts out laughing.
âShe marked her territory,â Caleb says helpfully.
âYouâre unbelievable,â Finn mutters, trying to angle the camera to see the damage. âThis is not cheap.â
Sheâs already backing away, smug.
âConsider it a signature,â she calls over her shoulder.
Finn uses the edge of his hoodie sleeve to wipe at the lens. It smears worse.
âOh my God,â he sighs.
She laughsâbright, victoriousâand turns to leave.
As she passes him, he lightly shoves her shoulder.
âHey!â
âYou deserved it!â she shoots back.
He bumps her again, gentler this time, still half laughing.
âYouâre buying me lens cleaner.â
âYouâre buying me a rematch,â she counters without missing a beat.
Calebâs voice floats in from offscreen: âIâm still not cheating!â
They both yell back in unisonâ
âLIAR!â
The camera shakes as Finn laughs again.
The clip ends with him finally managing to wipe the lens clear⊠only for a faint glossy fingerprint to still catch the light.
He sighs dramatically one last time before the screen cuts.
*****************
The next clip opens with the soft echo of barking.
Itâs brighter hereâsunlight pouring through wide windows, rows of kennels lining the walls. Thereâs a laminated sign near the entrance that reads: Adopt, Donât Shop. The air smells faintly like disinfectant and puppy breath.
Finn flips the camera around to show himself first.
âWe are in Atlanta,â he whispers dramatically, as if heâs narrating a nature documentary. âAnd she said we were just âstopping by.ââ
He turns the camera toward a row of dogs.
A beagle presses its nose through the bars. A sleepy pit mix thumps its tail lazily. Somewhere in the background, a volunteer laughs.
He walks slowly down the aisle, filming each dog like theyâre contestants in a pageant.
âThis one looks like it pays taxes,â he says quietly, zooming in on a very serious-looking shepherd mix.
A bark echoes from around the corner.
He rounds itâ
And stops.
The camera dips slightly in surprise.
Sheâs sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the aisle, completely ignoring the world around her. Her hairâs fallen forward over her shoulder, and sheâs laughingâfull, unfilteredâwhile a tiny duck tolling retriever puppy climbs clumsily into her lap.
The puppy is all fluff and oversized paws and unearned confidence.
Itâs chaos.
The puppy nips playfully at her sleeve. She gasps dramatically. âYouâre feral! Oh my God, youâre actually feral.â
Finn zooms in.
âYouâve been gone for four minutes,â he says.
She doesnât look up. âI live here now.â
The puppy attempts to scale her shoulder like a mountain.
Finn walks closer, crouching down behind her. The camera captures her profileâsoft, bright, completely gone over the dog.
He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her temple.
She hums distractedly but doesnât break eye contact with the puppy.
âIâm getting him,â she says with absolute certainty.
Finn snorts.
âThere is no universe where your mom says yes.â
She finally looks up at him, offended. âI donât care.â
âYou donât care?â
âNope.â
The puppy licks her chin mid-sentence. She laughs again, squishing its face gently.
Finn shifts slightly to get a better angle. âWhatâs his name?â
She answers immediately.
âPickles.â
Thereâs half a second of silence.
Then Finn absolutely loses it.
âPickles?â he repeats, laughter spilling out of him. âYou met him thirty seconds ago!â
âHe told me,â she insists.
âHe told you.â
âYes.â
The puppy barks once, like itâs backing her up.
âThatâs insane,â Finn says between laughs.
She scoops the puppy up suddenly and, without warning, plops him directly into Finnâs arms.
The camera wobbles as he instinctively adjusts his grip.
âWhoaâheyâokayââ
Pickles settles immediately against his chest, tail wagging at full speed.
Finn looks down at him.
The puppy looks up at Finn.
Itâs suspiciously perfect.
She reaches up and takes the camera from his hand.
âOh this isâthis is gold,â she murmurs, flipping it so now sheâs filming them.
Finn blinks at her. âDonât.â
Pickles stretches up and licks Finnâs chin.
She gasps dramatically behind the camera. âHe loves you.â
âHe does not.â
Pickles licks him again.
She zooms in aggressively on Finnâs expression as he triesâand failsâto remain unimpressed.
âYouâre holding him wrong,â she critiques.
âIâve had him for three seconds.â
âYou have to support his little body.â
âI am supporting his little body!â
Pickles yawns.
Finn melts. Just slightly.
She catches it.
âI saw that,â she sings.
âYou saw nothing.â
âYou love him.â
Finn looks down at the puppy again. Pickles is now chewing gently on the string of his hoodie.
He sighs.
ââŠHeâs fine.â
She flips the camera back to herself, grinning like she just won something monumental.
âPickles Harrington,â she says proudly.
Finnâs head snaps up. âAbsolutely not.â
The clip ends with her laughter echoing through the shelter and Finn still holding the puppy like he doesnât know how it happenedâbut also not making any move to give him back.
*****************
The next clip feels different immediately.
Thereâs no music. No chaos. No dramatic singing.
Just the low hum of set equipment and the muted buzz of crew members moving in the background.
The camera flips on to a close-up of Gatenâs face.
Too close.
âOkay,â Gaten says, adjusting the framing like heâs intentionally centering himself. âWeâre back.â
He gives the camera a pointed look.
Behind him, slightly out of focus, you can see her.
Sheâs standing a few yards away, talking with Matt and Ross. Script in hand. Listening intently. Nodding at something Matt says.
She looks serious. Professional.
Thereâs distance in the shot.
And thenâ
The camera drifts.
Slowly.
Subtly.
Tilting off Gatenâs face.
Gaten notices instantly.
He reaches up and physically nudges the lens back toward himself.
âNope,â he says casually. âWeâre not doing that.â
The camera lingers on him for half a second.
Then drifts again.
This time it zooms slightly.
She laughs softly at something Ross says, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
The moment isnât dramatic. Itâs small.
But the camera stays.
Gaten leans into frame again, forcing himself between the lens and the background.
âHi,â he says flatly. âIâm the star of this video.â
The camera tilts around him.
Gaten sighs loudly.
âDude,â he mutters.
He grabs the edge of the camera again and redirects it firmly back to his own face.
âYouâre being weird,â he adds under his breath.
In the background, she shifts positions, still mid-conversation. Focused. Completely unaware.
The lens drifts again.
Slower this time.
Almost hesitant.
It doesnât zoom as muchâjust enough to keep her centered in the background.
Gaten steps sideways, blocking the shot entirely now.
âAbsolutely not,â he says, more gently this time. âWe talked about this.â
Thereâs a pause.
The camera stills for a second.
Thenâlike muscle memoryâit tries again.
Just a fraction of a movement.
Gaten reaches out and physically lowers it a few inches so it points at the ground.
âYouâre embarrassing yourself,â he murmurs, not unkindly.
In the background, she finishes her conversation with the Duffers. She nods once more, gives them a small smile, and walks off in the opposite direction.
The camera lifts slightlyâtoo late.
Sheâs already out of frame.
Thereâs a quiet beat.
Gaten looks directly into the lens now.
His expression isnât teasing anymore.
âCut it out,â he says softly.
The camera doesnât move this time.
The clip ends thereâno music, no laughter, just the low background noise of set life continuing like nothing shifted at all.
*****************
The next clip opens in a bright hotel hallway â beige carpet, too-white walls, the faint echo of doors shutting somewhere down the corridor.
Itâs clearly pre-press chaos. You can hear stylists talking in another room, someone laughing, the distant hum of a blow dryer.
Finn flips the camera around to himself first.
âSeason four press,â he says, half-grinning, half-nervous energy. âCalifornia edition.â
He turns the camera toward the group gathered near the elevator.
Theyâre lined up loosely, leaning against the wall, waiting to head downstairs. Sadie is scrolling through her phone. Millie is adjusting her jacket in the reflection of a framed painting.
(Y/N) is standing between them.
Hands clasped in front of her. Calm. Composed.
Finn walks closer, camera slightly bouncing with each step.
âAre we ready?â he asks, panning across all of them.
Millie nods confidently. âBorn ready.â
Sadie gives a small thumbs up without looking up from her phone.
When the camera reaches (Y/N), she looks directly into the lens and gives a soft nod.
Simple.
Finn lingers a second longer than necessary.
Then he clears his throat and keeps moving down the line.
âOkay,â he says. âImportant question.â
Everyone groans lightly.
He ignores it.
âWeâre in California for, like, a week. Whatâs one thing you want to do while weâre here?â
He points the camera at Millie first.
âBeach,â she answers immediately. âObviously.â
He swings to Sadie.
She looks up now, squinting slightly at the lens. âSleep.â
âThatâs depressing.â
âItâs realistic.â
He moves the camera.
(Y/N)âs turn.
She brightens just a little. âDisney.â
Thereâs no hesitation.
No irony.
Just genuine excitement.
Finn reacts immediately, stepping slightly closer. âWaitâyeah. Me too.â
She looks at him.
âReally?â
âObviously.â
Thereâs a tiny shared grin there. Quick. Familiar.
In the corner of the frame, Sadie glances between them.
Her expression shiftsâsubtle but unmistakable.
A narrow-eyed glare.
She doesnât say anything.
Just goes back to her phone with exaggerated focus.
Finn keeps filming, oblivious or pretending to be.
âOkay, so thatâs two votes for Disney,â he says. âWeâre going.â
âWeâre not,â Sadie mutters flatly.
(Y/N) laughs under her breath.
The elevator dings behind them.
Millie steps forward first. âIf we go to Disney, Iâm not waiting in line for four hours.â
âYou will,â Finn says confidently.
(Y/N) bumps her shoulder lightly against Sadieâs as they step toward the elevator.
âCome on,â she teases gently. âYouâll have fun.â
Sadie just gives her a look.
Not mean.
Just loaded.
Finn catches it for half a second in the frame before the doors slide open and everyone files inside.
The camera shakes as they squeeze in.
Finn flips it back toward himself.
âDisney vlog coming soon,â he says.
From somewhere behind him, Sadieâs voice cuts in drylyâ
âOver my dead body.â
The clip ends with (Y/N) laughing softly in the background and the elevator doors sliding shut.
*****************
The video opens to bright California sun and the unmistakable music drifting through the entrance gates of Disneyland Park.
Finn is holding the camera selfie-style, squinting slightly.
âOkay,â he says, overly formal for no reason. âWe have officially made it.â
He steps aside dramatically.
Behind him, (Y/N) is already ten feet ahead, wearing oversized Mickey ears and holding a churro like itâs a trophy. Sheâs bouncing on the balls of her feet, turning in slow circles to take everything in.
âIt smells like childhood!â she yells back toward them.
Sadie walks beside Finn, sunglasses on, unimpressed but amused. Caleb trails just behind, scanning the map like heâs trying to optimize their route.
Finn lowers his voice slightly. âSheâs been like this since the parking lot.â
Cut to a quick shot of (Y/N) dragging Sadie toward the castle, ears wobbling with every step.
Cut to her insisting on taking a group selfie in front of Mickey Mouse, who patiently poses while Caleb pretends to cry from embarrassment.
Cut to (Y/N) mid-scream on a roller coaster, hands straight in the air, hair flying everywhere, Finnâs laughter audible but off-screen.
Cut to her dramatically gasping over cotton candy.
Cut to her forcing Finn to try a giant turkey leg while she films him and narrates like a food critic.
âDescribe the texture.â
âItâs just meat.â
âBe poetic.â
âItâs⊠aggressive.â
She laughs so hard the camera shakes.
Thereâs a softer moment tooâ(Y/N) sitting cross-legged on the curb during the afternoon parade, head tilted back, smiling at the performers like sheâs five years old again. Finn zooms in quietly from a distance. She doesnât notice this time.
Montage shifts to evening.
The park glows gold and pink as the sun sets. Fairy lights blink on overhead. Music swells.
(Y/N) stands under the castle lights, ears slightly crooked now, holding a souvenir bag in one hand and Finnâs sleeve in the other.
Sheâs tired in the happiest way.
Finn steps into frame beside her.
âWas it worth it?â he asks.
She nods immediately. âBest day ever.â
Sadie walks past them, deadpan. âYou said that at lunch.â
âIt got better.â
Fireworks explode overhead.
Thereâs a quick clip of all four of them looking up, colors flashing across their faces.
Then the vlog shifts into stills.
Photos from throughout the day flash across the screenâ(Y/N) mid-laugh, Caleb pretending to duel someone with a lightsaber, Sadie holding a Dole Whip, Finn wearing Mickey ears against his will.
And finallyâ
A photo strip.
Four small frames stacked vertically.
Frame one: (Y/N) and Finn sitting close together in a photo booth, both smiling too wide.
Frame two: Sheâs laughing at something he said, eyes crinkled.
Frame three: Heâs looking at her instead of the camera.
Frame fourâ
Theyâre kissing.
Soft. Unposed. The booth light washing everything slightly pink.
The vlog lingers on that last frame for just a second longer than the others.
Text fades in underneath it.
thank god for disney magic.
The screen cuts to black.
*****************
The next clip opens mid-laugh, the camera already rolling.
Finn is half-reclined on the couch, legs stretched out.
(Y/N) is fully draped over him like she belongs there â head tucked against his chest, one leg thrown over his, scrolling through a streaming menu on a tablet balanced against his hoodie.
The camera is propped somewhere nearby, angled just enough to catch all three of them.
In the doorway stands Gaten, staring at the scene like heâs walked into something deeply offensive.
âIt is not normal,â(Y/N) says firmly, not even looking up, âto have a room with that much mess.â
Gaten throws his hands up. âItâs organized chaos!â
âItâs biohazard.â
Finn laughs under his breath, the sound vibrating under her cheek.
Gaten points at her. âIf you hate it so much, go back to your apartment.â
She finally glances up, unimpressed. âNo.â
âNo?â
âNo.â
âSadie misses you,â he tries.
She snorts. âNo she does not. Sheâs on set.â
Gaten groans dramatically. âUnbelievable.â
(Y/N) settles further into Finn like sheâs proving a point, adjusting until sheâs more comfortable.
Finn wraps his arm tighter around her automatically.
Gaten shakes his head. âYou two are insufferable.â
âWe know,â Finn replies easily.
Gaten backs toward the doorway. âIâm going back to my room. At least my mess doesnât judge me.â
âYou should still clean it!â (Y/N) calls after him.
âTraitor!â he shoots back before disappearing down the hall.
Thereâs a brief quiet once heâs gone.
Finn laughs softly, looking down at her. âYouâre starting fights again.â
âIâm correct,â she mutters, fully focused on the tablet. âDo we want a thriller or something stupid?â
He doesnât answer immediately.
Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss to her temple.
Then another to her cheek.
She swats at him lightly without looking up. âStop.â
He doesnât.
A kiss to her jaw.
Another to the side of her nose.
She huffs but canât stop smiling. âIâm trying to pick a movie.â
âYouâre taking too long.â
âBecause youâre distracting me.â
He hums, unbothered, and presses one more exaggerated kiss to her forehead.
She finally looks up at him.
Heâs grinning.
âYouâre annoying,â she says softly.
âYeah.â
She goes back to scrolling.
âOkay,â she decides. âThis one.â
âWhat is it?â
âNo idea.â
âGreat choice.â
She settles back into him fully, tablet resting against both of them now.
The camera captures the quiet moment â her hair falling over his shoulder, his hand tracing lazy circles against her arm, set noise humming faintly around them like background static.
Comfortable.
Uncomplicated.
The clip ends with Finn kissing her hair one more time while she shushes him absentmindedly, completely absorbed in the movie preview playing on the screen.
*****************
The next clip opens with the soft gray light of a Vancouver afternoon spilling through tall townhouse windows.
You can hear the faint sound of traffic outside. A kettle clicks off somewhere in the background. Itâs quiet in that domestic, lived-in way.
Finn is holding the camera low, leaning against a doorway.
(Y/N) is in the middle of the living room, completely focused, moving a side table three inches to the left.
Then two inches back.
Then tilting a lamp slightly.
He zooms in.
âWhat,â he asks slowly, âare you doing?â
She doesnât even turn around. âIâm fixing it.â
âFixing what?â
âThe vibe.â
He snorts.
She steps back, hands on hips, evaluating the couch like it personally offended her.
âIâm making this house a home,â she says decisively.
Finn laughs immediately. âThat is the most dramatic thing youâve ever said.â
She spins to face him. âYou want to live in a bachelor cave forever?â
âIt was not a cave.â
âThere were zero throw pillows.â
âI donât need throw pillows.â
âYou absolutely do.â
She walks past him to adjust a framed photo on the wall. The camera follows her lazily as she straightens it with precise care.
From somewhere down the hallâ
Paws.
Fast ones.
Finn barely has time to lower the camera before Pickles bursts into frame like a missile.
The now significantly less tiny duck tolling retriever launches himself at her knees.
She yelps as she stumbles backward onto the couch, laughing.
âPickles! Betrayal!â
The dog climbs on top of her triumphantly, licking her face at full speed.
Finn is laughing too hard to keep the frame steady.
âAttack mode activated,â he narrates.
âI need assistance!â she wheezes between giggles.
Finn finally steps in, grabbing Pickles gently by the harness and lifting him off her.
âSir,â he tells the dog seriously. âCalm down.â
Pickles wiggles happily in his arms.
She sits up, breathless, hair completely messed up now, smiling so wide itâs unfair.
âYou saved me,â she says dramatically.
âI did.â
He sets Pickles down and puts the camera on the console table, angling it so it still catches them both.
Without really announcing it, he steps back toward her.
âSince youâre making this a home,â he says, reaching for her hands, âwe should christen it properly.â
She narrows her eyes. âThat sounds suspicious.â
He ignores that and pulls her gently to her feet.
Then he starts swaying.
Thereâs no music.
Just the faint hum of the city outside and Picklesâ nails clicking across the hardwood as he circles them.
She laughs immediately. âThereâs no song.â
âThere is in my head.â
âThatâs worse.â
But she goes with it.
Hands resting on his shoulders now, his hands at her waist, they sway slowly in the middle of their half-rearranged living room.
Sheâs still smiling when he tilts his head slightly.
âAre you wearing a Calpurnia shirt?â
She glances down at herself like she forgot. âYes.â
He laughs softly, almost shyly. âThatâs so weird.â
âYouâre weird.â
âYouâre wearing my old band shirt.â
âItâs comfortable.â
He shakes his head, amused, pulling her a little closer.
Pickles barks once like heâs offended heâs not included.
She laughs again, resting her forehead briefly against Finnâs collarbone.
The moment feels easy. Quiet. Real.
Finn looks toward the camera for a second, like he remembers itâs there.
Then he reaches out, still swaying slightly with her, and moves to shut it off.
The last frame catches them mid-step in their silent slow dance, sunlight warming the room around them before the screen goes dark.
12,569 Comments
camera_gloss_queen The lip gloss kiss on the camera was iconic main character behavior
cryinginthesuburbs THIS IS WHAT HARD LAUNCHES WERE MADE FOR đđ I feel like I just watched their entire life story in 4K
MikeWheelerlvr The way they just exist around each other is actually unfair
parasocial_but_respectful Genuinely feels like I watched someoneâs private home video and now Iâm emotionally attached
pickles..fan I am now invested in Picklesâ entire career
Strangerthingsfan This is literally better than any romance movie Iâve ever watched
(Y/N)'sWife I need a 3 hour extended cut immediately
