Summary: You’re in love with Steve and Robin says he feels the same way back. So why does Steve keep on choosing Nancy Wheeler over you? Why is he trying so hard to impress her?
Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Warnings: ANGST, heartbreak, cuss words, a little rude Steve, maybe more idkk SET IN SEASON 5 SO SPOILERS
me when im on "x reader tag" looking for fics at 3 am BUT all i find is memes and all the funny posts under the world EXCEPT the fics abt the character :
The reader is wearing his favorite shirt ( Obviously, it's the hawaiian one) while making breakfast after a fun night out together ❤️ also hopper awkwardly asks her to move in and wanna start fresh live together like asking for babies 😊
Fluffy please 🙏🏼 😊
Breakfast for Two or More
summary: as requested above! words: 740
tags: fluffy boyfriend! hopper, suggestive references, a high cholesterol breakfast, romantic fluff
author’s note: Not me writing this at 2am after ST5 dropped! Can’t wait to write more Hopper fics and fulfill some requests. Enjoy. 💌 Love, W
Head still throbbing a little from last night, you walked to the sink to draw yourself a glass of water. You tiptoed, legs feeling cold and exposed. One of Jim’s shirts draped over your body.
“Mornin’ sweetheart.” Jim drawled. His morning voice sounded especially rough and pleasing, not unlike last night.
Jim came behind you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. He felt warm and soft. Hairs of his mustache tickled your cheek as he planted a kiss on your smiling face.
“You and that shirt!” You teased.
“Oh, you know you love it.”
He had purchased this pink and green shirt from the department store that he couldn’t get enough of. The colors were vibrant, somewhat loud for this quiet Indiana town. You liked how the sleeves hugged Jim’s biceps. The collar cut flattered his masculine neck and collarbone, which sported a small love bite you left on him.
Jim loved to feed you. He insisted you take a shower or laze around as he prepared a nice breakfast for the two of you. The cast iron sizzled with bacon and eggs. Dark coffee dripped into the carafe. A sweet scent wafted into the cabin from waffles that Jim heated up.
You re-emerged after you freshened up to find Jim already assembled your plate and poured you some coffee.
“Thank you.” You kissed his plush lips.
“For what?” He sat down with you at the small table within the kitchen nook. You bit into a perfectly cooked egg.
“For making breakfast.”
“Well I gotta keep my girl fed.”
“Trying to fatten me up so I can’t leave. I see through your plans, Chief.” You smiled.
Jim cocked his brow and dragged the plate of waffles away from you and toward his side of the table.
“These are all mine then.”
He laughed. His eyes crinkled and his smile grew and grew.
“No!”
After you ate your food, you both lingered at the table to enjoy the remaining coffee. The cabin was now flooded with natural sunlight. It caught some of Jim’s hair, making it look lighter and almost blonde in some strands. He lit a fresh Camel cigarette.
“You know I used to hate mornings? Like, really hate mornings.”
“And then?”
“Then you came into my life. Made me want to get up and get dressed. Not be a hungover mess into the afternoon.”
You stared into his eyes. They sang unspoken melodies, like the songbirds in the woods outside.
“I like mornings with you, too. Even when you’re rushing out for work.”
“Excuse me, I have been doing great at leaving on time.” Jim huffed playfully.
“Yes you have.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Just did.”
Jim palmed his face. He chose a snarky little woman, didn’t he?
“Fine then I’ll say it. Move in with me.”
“Is breakfast still included?”
Jim stood up and walked to your chair. You stood up and held him in an embrace, looking up at his face now. His soft belly pressed onto your torso.
“Sweetheart, you can boss me around in the kitchen all you want.” His gravelly voice was low and seductive.
“Yeah, okay. Deal.”
“Yeah? Alright. God, I love you”
“I love you.”
“That was so much easier than I thought. I was overthinking this all night by the way.”
“Silly goose.”
Jim grabbed the small of your waist and kissed you. Then he excitedly hoisted you onto his hips and kissed you with more passion.
“I forgot to say the catch to this deal.” Jim muttered. You awaited his responses.
“You can’t be hogging all the waffles and pancakes. Our future babies will need to eat, too.”
You felt your heart flutter. Babies.
“Oh you’ve thought this through. How many babies?” you asked as Jim lowered back down to the ground.
“One. Two. I don’t know, maybe I haven’t really thought it through. I’m just nuts for you. For us.”
His ass did look great in those Wrangler jeans. How could you resist the man?
“Cut back on the smoking and I’ll let you put a baby in me.”
“If I quit can I impregnate you again?”
“Chief Hopper!” you exclaimed.
Jim shrugged and cracked a handsome smile.
“Let’s go practice.” You ordered, scurrying away to the bedroom.
Jim followed right behind you. Whether his colorful shirt was on his body or tossed to the wooden floor, it was growing on you. Time to grow old with Jim Hopper now.
Things between Eddie and his girlfriend are becoming tense. Meanwhile, you have a new man in your life - and Eddie absolutely hates it.
Warnings:
Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, creampie, masturbation (m), handjob, oral sex (m receiving), attempted baby trapping, emotional cheating, discussion of pregnancy, steve harrington x reader (not endgame)
Word Count: 11.6k
A/N:
you guys i am the worst i’m so sorry this took me forever. i hope you enjoy it though!
Eddie dropped the girls’ bags in the hall as everyone piled into the small house. It was Eddie’s - he’d bought it himself after the divorce. Now, he lived here with Stacy most of the time, his girls whenever he could.
“Can we order pizza?” Caroline asked, looking up at her dad hopefully.
“Sure, angel,” Eddie said, running a hand through her long brown hair. “You and your sisters decide what you want.”
The girls took off running into the living room, bickering over what kind of pizza they wanted this time. Janie only liked pepperoni, but Caroline always wanted to try something more adventurous.
Eddie felt a hand on his chest and turned, seeing Stacy’s hand resting in the center of his chest. She smiled up at him, and Eddie returned it.
“It’s so domestic,” she cooed. “Almost like we’re a real family.”
“We are a real family,” Eddie said. “Those are my daughters.”
“You know what I mean,” she said. Her hand slowly started rubbing across his chest, feeling Eddie’s heart beat faster. “They’re not my kids. But…we could have one of our own.”
Eddie sighed. “Stace, you know I don’t want anymore kids-“
“You don’t want one with me?” she pouted. “Then I really would be part of the family.”
“You’re part of the family,” he said, ignoring her question as he grasped her hand. The fancy ring he bought her for their anniversary glittered on her finger, and he looked down at it. “You don’t need to actually have my baby to be part of the family.”
“But what if I want to?” Her pout deepened. “Come on, Ed. You wouldn’t like that?”
Another weary sigh from deep within his chest. “Stacy. We’ve talked about this so many times. I’ve got 3 kids, I’m 31. I don’t need any more.”
Stacy pulled away from him, huffing. “I bet if she asked, you’d give her another.”
Eddie jerked his chin back incredulously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
When Stacy spit your name back at him, it only fueled the fire in his veins. “Why are you even bringing her up? She has nothing to do with this.”
“I just bet if she came crawling back, and asked you to fuck her again, you’d give her another baby.”
Eddie laughed in disbelief. “Wow. Okay.”
Stacy shook her head, turning and walking into their shared bedroom. “I don’t think I’m hungry tonight. You and the girls eat whatever.”
The door slammed shut behind her, and Eddie was stuck standing there, shocked. He couldn’t believe things had gone that bad that quickly. Sure, Stacy always wanted to bring up the baby conversation when the girls were over - even though Eddie had shut that down multiple times over by now - but usually she’d drop it.
Eddie shook his head. He wasn’t about to let his girlfriend and her moods ruin his weekend with his girls.
When he walked into the living room, they were fighting over the remote. “Girls,” he said in his best Dad voice. “If you can’t decide on what to watch, I’ll pick something.”
“Nuh uh, you’re gonna pick something scary,” Missy said, shaking her head, her brown ringlets swinging around her cherubic face.
“Then you better decide on something,” he warned with a grin. “Or we’re watching A Nightmare on Elm Street again.”
The girls all squealed in horror, giggling as Eddie tickled them. Once they had calmed down and picked a Disney movie to watch, Eddie ordered two pizzas - pepperoni and supreme.
Eddie spent the night watching movies and eating pizza with his girls until they all passed out on the couch or the recliner. Bedtime was rarely enforced at dad’s house.
Eddie was awoken abruptly the next morning by 40 pounds roughly falling onto his stomach.
He let out a big rush of air as it knocked the wind out of him. Missy sat on his chest, giggling. “Daddy, wake up!”
“I’m up,” he groaned. “Believe me, I’m up.”
“It’s about time,” he heard Stacy’s voice from the kitchen. “I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day.”
Eddie rubbed his eyes as Missy hopped off his lap. “What’s going on?”
“Stacy’s making us pancakes,” Janie said happily. “With Mickey Mouse faces.”
“Oh yeah?” he sat up from the couch slowly, his body aching. He was getting too old for this. “Do I get some?”
“If you get up in time,” Stacy quipped. Eddie rolled his eyes. He glanced at the clock - it was only 9am.
He wandered into the kitchen, still dressed in his jeans and band tee from yesterday. His wild curls were even more mussed than usual, standing up in all directions. Stacy gave him a disapproving look as he walked in, but didn’t say anything.
“You didn’t come to bed last night,” she finally said quietly when the girls ran back into the living room to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Eddie shrugged, not looking at her. “I just passed out with the girls.”
Stacy hummed. “Okay.”
They stood in awkward silence. No one made a move to say anything, until Eddie sighed. “Look, sweetheart-“
“Don’t call me that.”
Eddie scoffed, looking around like he couldn’t believe her - even though this was very Stacy behavior. “What did I even do wrong?”
Stacy shook her head, plating some pancakes. “I just don’t get why you don’t want to have a baby with me.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his stubble scratching his hand. “We literally talked about this when we started seriously dating.”
“I know,” she said, pouring more batter into the pan. She still wasn’t looking at Eddie. “But I just feel like…I don’t know. My opinions have changed.”
“Well, mine haven’t,” Eddie said firmly. “I don’t understand why you don’t get it. I was up front with you, I told you I had 3 kids and I was good with that. I don’t want anymore. Not with you, not with anyone. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me being done.”
Stacy shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. “So, what? I’m just never gonna experience being a mom?”
Eddie sighed deeply. “Sweetheart. I don’t know why you agreed to be in a relationship with me if this was how you felt. If there was any doubt in your mind that you might want to have kids one day, I wasn’t the guy for you.”
She wiped at her teary eyes. “I just thought…”
“That I would change my mind?” He carded a hand through his hair, taming it somewhat. “That’s not gonna happen, angel. I’m sorry.” When she didn’t say anything else, he took a tentative step closer. “Look, I get it. You’re only 26. If you want to have kids, I get it. It’s just…it’s not gonna be with me.”
“So you want to break up now?” she asked, finally turning to look at him. The tears in her eyes made his heart ache - but he was firm on this one.
“I didn’t say that,” he said. “I’m just saying, if you want to have kids…I’m not gonna be able to give you that. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head again, turning back to the food. “I just can’t believe you won’t even think about it.”
“I have thought about it!” he laughed. “I’ve had the past 6 years to think about another kid. And I have never once thought, yes, I want another. Three is perfectly fine with me.”
Stacy refused to talk to him anymore. Giving up, Eddie went into their bedroom, shedding his clothes from the day before and stepping into the shower.
As he closed his eyes, he thought of you.
Eddie had a lot of regrets in his life. But his biggest one was definitely ruining things with you and letting you go. Seeing you at pick up and drop offs always sent him reeling with thoughts of you.
Like now, as his cock hardened between his legs and he wrapped a large calloused hand around himself. He groaned your name quietly, stroking his aching cock.
He pictured your smile, the way you looked at him. Even still, even now, after everything. His hand sped up as he thought of the last time he saw you naked, right before you moved out. The last time he was inside of you - fuck, it had been years. And he still craved it every day.
Sure, Eddie really was done with having kids, but this was another reason he couldn’t bring himself to give Stacy a baby. He was still hung up on you.
And you only looked hotter with age. The longer you were apart, the more he craved you. The more he thought about you when he was alone, when he was fucking Stacy.
He imagined sliding into your slick pussy, soaking wet for him just like you always were. Fucking you from behind, hearing all those pretty noises you made. He wondered if you’d been making those noises for other guys.
The anger he felt at that idea only made him speed up his movements, hips bucking into his fist. He whined, thinking of you with his cock deep inside. Thinking about cumming deep inside you, getting you pregnant again-
He came hard with a cry that was a little too loud, his release marking the shower wall as he worked every last drop from himself. When he was completely drained, his head dropped forward, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths.
There was a pounding at the door that made him jump, as if he’d been caught. “Are you done in there? Breakfast is ready.”
“Just a minute,” he called back, realizing all he’d done so far was jerk off. He washed himself and the shower wall off then continued his actual shower, washing his long hair and his lean body.
When he walked back out, dressed in sweatpants low on his hips and a towel around his hair, acting as innocently as possible - he saw his three daughters sitting around the kitchen table with Stacy placing a stacked plate in front of each of them.
Stacy gave him a smile that seemed too sweet for the conversation they’d just had. “Do you want a plate?”
“Uh, maybe in a minute,” Eddie said. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, opening it and taking a long drink. Stacy watched him.
“Eddie, can I talk to you?” she asked once the girls had all begun eating. “In our room?”
Eddie froze. Had she heard him saying your name? He thought she’d be freaking out a lot worse than this if she had. “Uh, sure.”
He followed her into the bedroom, where she closed the door softly behind them. Eddie opened his mouth to speak - but was cut off as she pushed him against the wall, her mouth against his.
Eddie was shocked, but eventually returned the kiss, resting his hand on her hip. She pulled at his sweatpants, and he felt himself hardening again already.
“We can be quick,” she said, breathless against his lips. “They’ll be eating for a while.”
Eddie groaned. “Stace-“
“Please,” she begged. “I need you so bad.”
His resolve was breaking quickly. “You know I don’t like to when the girls are up-“
“We’ll be so fast.” She cupped her hand around his half-hard cock, squeezing. Eddie hissed, bucking his hips into her hand. “Please.”
“Fuck,” Eddie huffed, wrapping his hand around the back of her head and pulling her back into a heated kiss. She had his sweatpants pushed down in seconds, and he pushed her down onto the bed, pulling her shorts and panties down.
He was inside her within seconds, huffing against her neck as he fucked her. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to cum again so fast, not after just thinking about you and spending every drop of himself he thought he had - but he felt his release approaching quickly as she clenched around him, moaning in his ear and digging her long nails into the pale skin of his back, leaving marks. He always liked that, but it was better when you did it.
“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned against her ear, his hips losing their rhythm. She tightened her legs around his waist. “Baby, let go, I’m gonna- fuck-“
His orgasm hit without warning and he came inside her, groaning against her skin as his hips bucked into her. She held onto him tightly as he spilled into her.
When he came down, he lifted himself off of her, stepping back. “Stacy, what the fuck-“
“What?” she asked innocently.
“You know exactly what,” he hissed, pulling his sweatpants back on. “You quit your birth control.”
She shrugged. “It was just once. It probably didn’t mean anything.”
“You are fucking unreal,” Eddie spat, walking out of the bedroom and slamming the door hard.
He felt sick. He felt like the biggest fucking idiot. Of course that’s what she wanted. God, what if she had been lying about not being able to take her birth control anymore? Eddie was questioning this relationship fast.
He tried to enjoy his breakfast with his daughters, even after Stacy came back out, looking pleased. He couldn’t even look at her.
Eddie was relieved when Sunday came around - because he got to see you. He was still feeling sick over the situation with Stacy - the last thing in the world he wanted was for her to be pregnant. But now, it was possible.
He dropped Stacy off at a hair appointment and went to meet you with the girls on his own. You were already there when he pulled up, because of course you were. You were never late when it came to the girls.
You were leaning against your car, sunglasses perched on your face, smiling - looking so radiant. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight of you. You looked so good - you looked like home.
The girls all lit up as soon as they saw you, grabbing their stuff and getting ready to throw the truck door open.
“Hold on, girls,” Eddie said. “Let me talk to your mom for a second.”
He climbed out of the truck, your smile dropping slightly as you saw him approaching. He looked at you sheepishly, his hands in the pockets of his tight jeans.
“Hey,” he said simply.
You just looked at him. “What, Eddie?”
“I just…” He pushed his hair back. “You look really good.”
You rolled your eyes. “Thanks, Ed.”
He was fucking this up. “I…” I miss you, is what he wants to say. But he knows he can’t. “I just, y’know. I wanted to say, if you need anything, just let me know. If you need help at the house, or with your car, whenever, just - let me know.”
You smiled at him softly. “I might take you up on that.”
That made him smile, too. “Okay. Cool. Uh, I’ll get the girls.” He turned, opened the back door of his truck. “Come on, ladies. Mom’s waiting.”
He didn’t have to tell them twice. The three girls jumped down from the truck, running into your arms.
“Can daddy come over for a little while?” Missy asked, looking up at you with the same big brown doe eyes she inherited from her father - and they usually got him what he wanted, too. “I don’t want him to go home yet.”
“Sweetheart-“ you began.
“Ah, I have to go get Stacy from the salon anyway,” Eddie said before you could outright reject him. “So I better get going.”
Missy pouted, but she followed her sisters over to give him one last hug. He hugged his girls tightly, squeezing them in an overdramatic way that had them all laughing.
“I’m gonna miss you so much,” he said, his voice teary as if it was the last time he’d ever see them. “I don’t know how I’m gonna live without you.”
“Come over,” Missy begged again. “Mommy is gonna make a cake after dinner for Steve’s birthday.”
Eddie’s eyes darted to yours. “Steve?”
You blushed slightly, looking down at Caroline and pulling a leaf from her hair. You opened your mouth to answer, but the 6 year old beat you to it.
“Steve is mama’s new boooyfriend,” Missy said, drawing out the word. “He’s handsome.”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah. I ran into him at the store a while back, and he asked how I was doing. We got to talking, and he asked me out.”
Eddie crossed his arms, leaning back against his black truck. “And have you been out with him?”
You laughed. “Girls, can you get in the car?”
All three pouted, but said one last goodbye to their father and climbed in the back, shutting the door. They were used to this by now.
You turned back to Eddie. “Yes. We’ve been out a few times.”
“Enough times that he’s met the girls?” It wasn’t a question, because he already knew the answer. He clenched his jaw.
“Yes, Eddie, he’s met the girls,” you said. “And he’s great with them, and they love him-“
“Don’t you think you should have told me first?” Eddie asked, raising his voice. “You don’t think you should have told me you were seeing a guy - seeing Steve Harrington - before you introduced him to our daughters?”
“Eddie, it’s really not that big of a deal-“
“I feel like it is, though,” he said. “I think I deserve to know who you’re seeing before you bring our daughters into it.”
“You know Steve,” you said. “I didn’t think you’d care when I told you because you know him and you know he’s a good guy.”
“That’s not the point,” he argued.
“The point is that you don’t want me seeing anyone,” you scoffed. “You were perfectly nice until Missy brought up Steve. And now you’re pissed - just like every time I’ve started seeing someone.”
“That’s not true-“
“It is true!” you yelled. “Every time I start seeing a guy - which hasn’t been often - you freak out like this. Every time.”
Eddie scoffed. “Whatever.”
You shook your head. “You know, if you still wanted me, we didn’t have to get divorced.”
Your words hit him like a shot to the chest. He did want you - he wanted you more than he’d ever wanted anything. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that.
Eventually, you huffed a short laugh and turned. “Okay. Whatever. Bye, Eddie.”
“Yeah, bye. Have fun with Steve tonight.”
“I will.”
You climbed into your car, trying not to slam the door or let the girls know anything was wrong. They were totally oblivious, the two younger girls giggling in the backseat over Caroline’s diary Janie had managed to wrangle from her bag while their older sister tried to grab it back.
Your mind was swimming the whole way home. You thought of Eddie - of course you did. Unfortunately, you often thought of Eddie, even two years after your divorce. You hated it.
When you pulled up to your apartment building, Steve’s fancy new BMW was already waiting outside. He climbed out as you pulled into your parking spot - his hair immaculate, charming smile on his perfectly handsome face. You felt your cheeks heating already.
“Hey, beautiful,” Steve greeted you as you stepped out of your car. The girls giggled behind you, whispering to each other. The giggles turned to squeals when Steve wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into a gentle, innocent kiss. He smiled against your lips, eating it up.
“And how are my other favorite girls?” Steve asked, smiling down at the three, who were giggling like crazy.
“Good,” Caroline said shyly - and she was never shy about much of anything. Janie and Missy fell into a fit of laughter with her.
Steve laughed, placing his hand on the small of your back. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”
He escorted you to the door, waiting while you unlocked it. When you walked inside, the girls dropped their bags at the door and ran off in the direction of their bedrooms.
“I’m sorry, I was hoping to have dinner started earlier,” you apologized to Steve. “I really wanted this night to be special, but Eddie wanted to talk, and-“
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve said, placing his hands on your upper arms. “Baby. It’s okay. We can make dinner together.”
You smiled up at him. “You want to do that? We could always just order takeout.”
“I’d love to cook with you,” he said. “It would be romantic.”
You looked around the kitchen, at the box of cake mix, jar of icing, and box of sprinkles. “I had planned a whole thing for your birthday, and I kinda fucked it all up-“
“You didn’t fuck anything up,” he said. “We can make dinner and the cake together. It’ll be fun.”
You had a hard time staying upset when Steve was smiling at you like that. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll do it together.”
You and Steve had never been close in high school. He and Eddie definitely weren’t friends - they ran in completely different social circles, never talked. Well, Eddie talked about Steve sometimes - just about how he was a pretentious, stupid rich boy. Steve occasionally called Eddie a freak in the halls - at least until he dated (and had his heart broken by) Nancy Wheeler and seemed to have some weird total change of heart after high school.
That’s why you gave him a shot when he asked you out all these years later. He was fresh out of a divorce himself - no kids, and he didn’t talk to his ex wife at all anymore. It was a clean split, he said. They were just different people who wanted different things.
Steve wanted kids.
You hadn’t yet decided if that was something you were willing to give him. You thought you were done with three kids - but the idea of being pregnant again, of holding another little baby - it was enticing to you, you had to admit.
You told Steve you had to think about it before you felt comfortable letting him get too serious about you. He said he was willing to wait as long as you needed him to.
As you and Steve worked together to make the pasta dinner, it wasn’t lost on you how domestic it felt, especially as the girls slowly filed in to help you. You felt like a family, and it made your mind wander to thoughts of what it might be like to have a baby with Steve.
You’d always thought you didn’t want to have a baby with someone who wasn’t the girls’ father, but now you were reconsidering. You thought the girls would be happy to have a little brother or sister. You knew Eddie would be pissed, but - who cared what Eddie thought?
You were getting ahead of yourself. You and Steve had only even been on five dates so far, only been seeing each other for a couple of months. It wasn’t even time to think about having a baby yet.
Steve kissed you every chance he got, every time the girls turned away and weren’t paying attention. His kisses would get a little more passionate when they left the room, slipping his tongue against yours ever so slightly.
“I can’t wait to show you your real birthday present,” you mumbled against his lips, smiling.
“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “I’d like to see that.”
“I think you’re gonna like it,” you teased him. “I bought something special just for you.”
He raised his eyebrows, his grin mischievous. “You’ve got my attention.”
“Mommy!”
You pulled away from Steve as Janie came running into the kitchen, Caroline and Missy trailing behind her. “Is dinner ready yet? We’re hungry.”
“Almost,” you said. “Does dad not feed you at his house or something?”
“No, he feeds us lots,” Missy said. “We’re just hungry again.”
You shook your head with a smile on your face as you checked the oven. “It’s almost done, really. Maybe like 5 more minutes.”
“Yay!” the girls cheered, doing a dance, making Steve laugh. He was still getting used to the dramatics of a household of four girls.
“Then we can start baking the cake,” you said - the girls erupting into more cheers.
You ate dinner with Steve and the girls, the table full of laughter. This was the kind of thing that made you think seriously about Steve - he fit into the family so well. He felt natural here - he’d be an amazing step dad and you knew it. An amazing dad.
Why did being around Steve give you such bad baby fever all of a sudden?
After dinner, you all sang Steve a very off key happy birthday and cheered as he blew out his candles - turning 30. It was a big one for him, and you knew he’d had some feelings about it. Eddie had been the same way.
You watched The Princess Bride with Steve and the girls after everyone had had their fill of cake. Janie and Missy passed out halfway through, but Caroline was still awake yet bleary eyed by the end. You ushered her off to bed, scooping Missy into your arms while Steve lifted Janie.
You took the girls to their bedrooms, placing a kiss on their foreheads. They turned over, their sleep not disturbed a single bit.
Steve grinned at you once you softly closed Janie and Missy’s shared bedroom door. He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you into his body.
“Finally alone,” he whispered. He leaned down, peppering kisses across your neck. You sighed, leaning into his touch.
“Let’s go to my room,” you offered. Steve’s grin only grew.
“Lead the way, beautiful,” he said.
He held your hand in his as you led him down the hallway. You opened the door to your bedroom and he followed you in, closing the door by pushing you up against it.
His lips were on yours right away, kissing you much more passionately and hungrily than he had in the kitchen. His tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands squeezed your hips, pulling you tight against his own, where you could feel the hardness behind his jeans.
After he had kissed you breathless, he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “Didn’t you say you had a birthday gift for me?” he asked, his voice teasing.
“I do,” you agreed. You gently pushed him back by his chest, and he stumbled backwards, sitting on your bed. He leaned back on his arms, watching you with a smirk.
“Be right back,” you said, disappearing into your en suite bathroom. You shut the door - and locked it, in case he felt like being cute - and reached into the Victoria’s Secret bag sitting on the floor.
You slipped out of your clothes from the day, leaving your body completely naked in the cool air of the bathroom. Your nipples peaked - both from the air and from your excitement of what was about to happen.
You slipped on the red lingerie, your nipples showing clearly through the sheer lace bra. You adjusted the garter and stockings on your smooth legs, making sure they were just right, even though you knew they might not stay on for long.
When you were done, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked hot, you knew you did. Cracking the bathroom door, you poked your head out to see Steve still waiting, watching the bathroom door, his smile growing the second he caught sight of you.
“You ready?” you asked him.
“Fuck yeah,” he breathed. “Let me see you.”
You opened the door fully and walked out into the bedroom, slowly. Steve’s eyes went wider than you’d ever seen them, his jaw dropping slightly. “Jesus,” he choked. “Holy fucking shit.”
“Do you like it?” you asked him, a little bit of shyness creeping into your earlier confidence.
“I fucking love it,” he said instantly. He reached for you, his hands landing on your hips, squeezing the plush skin there. “I need to fuck you so bad.”
“Not so fast, cowboy,” you said playfully, pushing him back. “I wanted to treat you first. It is your birthday, after all.”
“A treat would be getting inside of you,” he laughed breathlessly, watching you climb over him. He was impossibly hard in his jeans, the bulge straining the tight denim. His breath hitched in his throat when you ghosted your palm over it, reaching slowly for his button and zipper.
“But I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby,” you cooed, slowly undoing his jeans. “Gonna make you feel so good.”
“Oh god,” Steve breathed. You pulled his jeans down and he lifted his hips, allowing you to pull both his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. His hard, leaking cock sprang against his stomach, tip flushed red. He was throbbing, practically begging for your touch.
You wrapped your hand around his shaft, causing him to draw in a sharp gasp of air. He let out a loud groan as you started stroking him, slowly at first - he was so sensitive. You’d only had sex once, and you were the first woman he’d had sex with since his divorce.
“Gotta be quiet, baby,” you said softly. “Can’t wake the girls.”
He nodded quickly - anything to keep your hand moving on his cock. “Okay. Quiet. I can do that.”
You smirked. “Can you?” Your hand sped up just a little, and Steve whined, covering his mouth with one of your pillows. “You’ll have to show me that, because I’m not sure I believe you.”
He bucked his hips up into your hand, desperate for more. “Fuck. Please, don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-“
You jerked him off faster, your lace panties clinging uncomfortably to your pussy the wetter you got at just how desperate he looked for you.
“Move the pillow,” you said. “Let me see your pretty face.”
Steve moved the pillow, revealing his flushed face, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Fuck. Usually I’m the one in charge.”
“Do you like it?” you asked, You squeezed his cock and he cried out, bucking into your fist again.
“Fuck, yeah, I like it,” he admitted, his cheeks blushing an even deeper red. “Feels so good, shit. I want your mouth, baby, please.”
You couldn’t deny him - it was his birthday, after all. You leaned forward, wrapping your lips around his head, licking the precum dripping from his slit. He groaned loud, fists gripping into the sheets as you began bobbing your head up and down his long, thick cock.
He grabbed you by the hair at the back of your head, guiding you faster. “Shit, yeah. Just like that baby. Don’t stop sucking my cock - fuck - yeah, good girl-“
You focused your tongue on the underside of his shaft, the vein there pressing against your tongue with every movement. It drove Steve wild, his head tossing back, letting his moans fill the bedroom.
You slapped his thigh lightly, a reminder to be quiet. He nodded, letting out a guttural groan with his lips shut tight as you let his tip hit the back of your throat. Shit, he hadn’t had many girls able to take him that deep before.
“Need to fuck you right now,” he begged, tugging on your hair, “or I’m gonna cum down your throat right fucking now.”
You pulled off of him, looking up at him innocently. “You don’t wanna do that?”
“I wanna cum inside you,” he admitted, reaching for you. He placed kisses all across your chest. “Can I do that? Please?” He looked up at you with his big hazel eyes. “It’s my birthday.”
You laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he said easily. His eyes scanned over your body. “I want this with you. I trust you, l- I really like you.” He smiled up at you shyly. Nothing like the King Steve you remembered. “You’re on birth control, so we don’t have to worry about - but I mean, if there were an accident, I wouldn’t mind-“
“Steve,” you stopped him, laughing at his nervous rambling. “Just lay back. Let me take care of you.”
“Shit, okay,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head before leaning back on your assortment of pillows. You pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, tossing them onto the floor. You stood and slowly, teasingly, lowered your panties, leaving the stockings on. Steve groaned as he watched your every movement.
You climbed back onto his lap, easily lining him up with your entrance. He gripped your hips tightly as you sunk down onto his cock, tossing his head back and groaning your name.
You rocked your hips down against him and his eyes rolled back, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “Fuck,” he choked out. “Feels so good. You feel so fucking good.”
“You’re so big, Stevie,” you praised him, hands resting in his mass of chest hair, clit rubbing deliciously against the hair at his base. Steve was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, wanting desperately to watch you but the pleasure was overwhelming.
“You’re so tight,” he rasped. “So fucking tight, squeezing me so good. Fuck, you feel perfect.”
Your tits bounced in the lace bra, but Steve could see every inch of you. His eyes switched back and forth between your bouncing tits and the way his cock disappeared inside of you every time you dropped down onto him.
“Oh my god,” you whined, throwing your head back. You bounced on him faster, needing more, needing him deeper and harder and-
Steve grabbed onto you, flipping you over. You squealed as your back hit the mattress, but Steve wasted no time, immediately pounding into you.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he hissed at you, hips snapping against yours at a frantic pace. He was so deep you could feel him in your throat. “Is this what you wanted? To get fucked?”
You whimpered - he was fucking you stupid. “Yes,” you whined.
“Yeah?” he huffed, that smirk gracing his lips once again. Sweat beaded on his brow, his perfect hair now mussed and sticking to his tanned skin. “You like this, don’t you? You like when I pound your perfect little pussy like this. It feels good to have me this deep in you, huh?”
All you could do was nod, tears springing to your eyes. They fell down your cheeks in rivers.
“Holy shit,” Steve huffed in disbelief. He wiped your tears away, but his hips didn’t relent. The sound of his skin meeting yours filled the bedroom loudly, along with your shared whines and moans.
“Gonna cum,” you managed to whine out, your pussy clenching tight around him. He would have known without you even saying the words.
“Cum for me, pretty girl,” he coaxed, kissing at your neck. “Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock. Need to feel it so I can fill you up.”
His words made you clench even tighter around him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Ohmygod,” you cried. “Steve, holy shit, I’m-“
Your orgasm hit harder than you expected, your vision going black and your ears ringing as you came hard around him. The feeling of you throbbing around him sent Steve quickly over the edge as well, and you felt him spill inside of you, moaning loudly into your neck as he rode out his high until he’d spent every drop deep inside.
He didn’t want to pull out of you, and you didn’t want him to, either. He stayed there for as long as he could, until he eventually pulled out, rolling onto his back.
“You’re gonna stay the night, right?” you asked him nervously. He never had before, but after that - it felt wrong for him to leave. You didn’t want him to leave.
“I can stay,” he smiled sleepily. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “How can I say no to getting to hold you all night?”
You slipped out of your lingerie - you weren’t about to try to sleep in it - and crawled into bed next to Steve. It had been two years since you went to bed next to a man, and it felt a little strange.
But right.
Steve left early the next morning, after a shower you joined him for. You didn’t want the girls to know he’d spent the night. You worried that would be confusing for them.
He kissed you softly at the front door as you clutched your coffee between your hands. You smiled up at him, delirious with the night you’d had together.
“I’ll call you later tonight,” he said quietly. “Thank you. I had an amazing birthday.”
“I’m glad,” you said. You kissed him one more time. “Have a good day at work.”
“I’ll be thinking of you,” he smirked. You rolled your eyes, but he had already slipped out of the door, heading to his car with his briefcase in hand. You watched him go, and he turned and waved at you one last time before climbing in the driver’s seat of the new BMW.
You closed the door softly just in time to hear a sleepy Missy from the doorway. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“I haven’t started it yet, angel,” you admitted. “Slept in. What do you feel like?”
She thought for a minute. “Eggs. And french toast.”
You smiled. “Sure. You wanna come help me?”
She nodded, still sleepy, but followed behind you in her slippers and nightgown. You got the ingredients out and began preparing breakfast with your youngest daughter. Janie came out shortly after, with Caroline waking up last.
You had breakfast with your girls, giggling as they teased you about Steve and how much you had kissed last night. Your cheeks heated in a blush, but you knew they didn’t know anything they shouldn’t.
After breakfast, you ushered the girls off to their rooms to get ready for school. You did your own hair and makeup for the day while they got themselves ready, dressing in a tight pencil skirt and button up blouse.
“Ready, girls?” you asked, grabbing your purse from the table in the living room. The three girls scurried into the room after you, dressed and ready.
“We’re ready!” Missy announced proudly. “I braided my hair myself today.”
You looked it over, seeing only a few pieces sticking out. “You did a great job,” you told her, placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Alright, let’s go.”
The girls climbed into the backseat, Missy buckling herself into her booster seat. You started the car, backing out of the apartment parking space and heading to Missy and Janie’s elementary school first. Caroline was in her first year of middle school - something that made both you and Eddie feel incredibly old.
After dropping all the girls off, you headed to work. You noticed you had a message from Eddie, but you ignored it, sighing. You were sure it was nothing good now that he knew about Steve.
Eddie was fuming.
Under the hood of an old truck, he worked on muscle memory alone, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you with Steve Harrington.
Of course Eddie knew Steve. And he knew the kinda guy Steve was, too - he was positive the two of you were sleeping together by now. He’d be surprised if Steve didn’t have you in bed by the first date.
The thought made him angrier and angrier. The thought of Steve with his hands all over you, inside you, worming his way into his family-
Eddie cursed as he nicked his finger on the engine. He pulled his hand out, wrapping a dirty oil-covered rag around it to stop the bleeding.
“What’d you do this time, Ed?” Jim, one of his coworkers, teased. Eddie flipped him off, walking into the office.
He opened the first aid kit on the wall, pulling out a bandaid. He went to the bathroom and washed his hands off before drying them and wrapping the bandaid around his still-bleeding finger. Fuck. He was off his game today.
And he felt so stupid about it. Stacy - his beautiful, serious girlfriend - was at home right now, cleaning the house on her day off. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought. He knew he was being unfair to her, staying in a relationship while knowing he still had such strong feelings for you. But what was he supposed to do? It’s not like you were ever going to get back together.
Besides, you had Steve now. And Eddie never could compete with Steve Harrington, not for anything, least of all you.
He was bitter the entire work day. He was bitter when he climbed into his truck, slamming the door harder than he usually did. He was bitter as he drove the short distance to the house, blasting metal as loud as his custom speakers could handle. And he was still bitter when he walked into the house, trying his best to mask it as Stacy greeted him at the door.
“How was your day?” she asked sweetly. Ever since the incident over the weekend, she had been extra sweet, while Eddie hardly wanted to touch her.
“Fine,” he grumbled, walking out of her grasp. She frowned, following behind him as Eddie unzipped his coveralls and walked into the master bedroom. He shed his clothes, not caring that Stacy was standing there watching.
“What’s your problem?” she asked, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned in the doorway of the attached bathroom. “Why do you have such an attitude?”
“I don’t have an attitude,” Eddie mumbled. He leaned over, turning the shower on and adjusting the temperature. He ignored Stacy as he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water burn his skin.
“You do,” she said. “I don’t understand why you’re being like this.”
“I don’t know, Stace, maybe because you pretty much forced me to cum inside you?” he scoffed, his eyes closed as he rubbed shampoo into his long curls. “Maybe because now you could be pregnant when you know exactly how I feel about having more kids.”
It was silent on the other side of the curtain. Eddie continued his shower, figuring Stacy had gotten upset and left. But a few minutes later, he heard her sniffle, then her small voice.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Eddie’s heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. “I just…I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…I want a baby. So bad.”
Eddie rinsed the soap off his body and the conditioner out of his hair and turned the water off. His eyes met Stacy’s for a second as he grabbed his towel, drying himself off then wrapping it around his waist. She stood in the doorway, waiting for him to speak.
“Stace,” he said gently. “I understand. I really do.”
“I don’t think you do, though,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be a woman. We have…limited time, y’know? We can’t change our minds way later. I’m 26, I’m unmarried, with no kids.”
Eddie hated how badly he sympathized with her as he began drying his hair. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, because he knew that would only make him feel worse. “Stacy-“
She looked down. “No, I already know what you’re gonna say.”
Eddie sighed deeply. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said, leaning on the edge of the counter. He looked at his own distorted reflection in the fogged up mirror. “I feel bad, but nothing is gonna change my mind.”
He couldn’t look at her as she sniffled again and walked out of the bathroom. Eddie heard the bedroom door close softly behind her. He let out another long breath.
He thought about the way he had felt when you told him you were pregnant for the first time. The way he had been terrified, angry, anxious, and excited all at the same time. The way he had offered to marry you on the spot - even now, two years after a divorce, he never regretted marrying you that day.
He thought of it now, as he looked at his empty ring finger. He still had his wedding band, buried deep in the bottom of his bedside drawer. He never could bring himself to get rid of it. He was sure you had long since parted with your ring.
He still had the tattoo of your initials on his hip. God, how Stacy hated that.
Much smaller, subtle, and more intimate than the large tattoos covering his upper arms in honor of each of his girls. His body was significantly more covered by tattoos now than it was that day in the theater room 11 years ago, but that spot on his hip remained untouched but by you.
He liked it that way.
“Is Steve coming over tonight?” Janie asked with a grin as the girls spilled through the front door, kicking their shoes off and dropping their backpacks in the entryway.
“Not tonight,” you said, smiling at your girls. “He doesn’t live here, ya know.”
“But he could!” Missy exclaimed. “He could live here like Stacy lives with daddy!”
You resisted a scowl at the mention of Stacy. “Me and Steve haven’t been seeing each other that long yet, honey,” you explained. “Daddy and Stacy have been together a lot longer.”
Missy frowned. “Why does that matter? I like Steve.”
That made you smile. “I like Steve, too. But let’s take it slow, yeah?” Don’t want your dad to blow a gasket, you thought, because that’s surely what would happen if you dropped it on him that Steve Harrington had moved in.
“That’s boring, though,” Missy whined. “Taking things slow takes forever.”
You laughed. “Okay, girlies. Go get your homework out of your bags while I get dinner started.”
A collective groan filled the living room, but the three girls did as they were told, Caroline and Janie shoving each other in the shoulder. You walked into the kitchen, getting the oven preheating.
As the oven heated, you went into your bedroom, changing out of your clothes from the office and into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. You realized once you’d already pulled it over your head that it was an old faded Hellfire shirt. You debated taking it off, picking something else - but left it.
Caroline gave you a strange look as you walked out of the bedroom. “Is that dad’s?”
“Not anymore,” you shrugged. Caroline watched you for a second longer, but let it go, turning back to her math homework sitting on the kitchen table in front of her.
The girls were done with their homework by the time dinner was finished. You ate together, spent some time watching a movie in the living room, then ushered the three off for baths and bed.
You felt like you could breathe as you closed the door to Janie and Missy’s bedroom. Your sock feet padded across the hardwood floor, walking into your bedroom.
You found yourself missing Steve. It had been nice to not spend the night alone, even though you had to hide it from the kids. It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep with a strong arm wrapped securely around your waist, a warm chest against your back. It felt familiar. It felt like home.
Steve felt different than Eddie, of course. He was hairier, for one - but you certainly didn’t mind that. His skin wasn’t adorned with the colorful ink that Eddie’s was. His arms were corded with more muscle, they held you a little tighter. He didn’t have the long curls that tickled the back of your neck in the night, the way you had gotten used to.
You sighed as you sat on the edge of your bed. You hated that you still thought of Eddie at all, outside of his duties as the girls’ father. You found you didn’t think of him quite as much since you’d started seeing Steve. Maybe that’s all you needed - something new. A good man who got your mind off your irritating ex, who got along with your girls and treated you all well.
There wasn’t a single thing wrong with Steve. So why did you still think about Eddie at all?
You flopped back onto your bed with a huff. Your hair fanned out across your pillows, and you stared up at your ceiling. You watched your fan spin in a circle, willing your brain to shut the fuck up for once.
Eventually, you gave up. You switched the lights off and crawled under your comforter, burying yourself in the plush covers. You felt safe and warm and so, so comfortable. You just wished you weren’t alone.
“Is it time to go to daddy’s?”
“Yes,” you answered for what felt like the millionth time. “Go get your bags. Daddy might actually beat us there for once.”
Janie ran off into her and Missy’s bedroom, where you heard the two younger girls bickering. Caroline sat on the couch, her bag already packed. She was watching a Disney rerun, leaning on her fist on the arm of the couch.
“You good, angel?” you asked, running your fingers through her brown hair.
She looked away from the TV a minute later, looking up at you. She shrugged. “I’m fine.”
You frowned. “You sure?” You walked around the couch, taking a seat next to her. “You seem like something’s bothering you.”
She looked down, shrugging again. The toe of her sock scuffed softly against the wood floor. It only increased the worry in your chest.
“…You know you can tell me whatever, right?” you said gently. “If someone, or anything, is bothering you, I want to know so I can help.”
She bit her lip, a nervous habit she had inherited from you. She shrugged again, still not saying anything.
“…Are you not excited to go to daddy’s?” you tried softly.
She didn’t respond. Finally, another shrug, then - “I don’t know.”
You frowned at that. “Why not? You love spending weekends with daddy.”
She chewed on her lip for a minute longer. You could hear Janie and Missy yelling from their bedroom, but you ignored them - it was normal. Another shrug. “I dunno. It’s been weird.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, scooting closer to your oldest daughter. “Weird how?”
You thought for a minute. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know. It’s just grown up stuff, they’ll get over it. Daddy and Stacy fight kinda a lot.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay. But if you want to come home, you call me, okay? I don’t care what time it is, I’ll come get you.”
She smiled at you softly. “Okay, mama.”
Your conversation was interrupted as Janie and Missy finally came barreling in, their overnight bags stuffed full (of mostly toys, you were sure) and dropping down onto the floor.
“Okay girls, let’s go get in the car.”
Janie and Missy raced each other out the front door, Caroline walking behind them. You locked the apartment door behind you as the girls climbed into the back of your sedan.
Eddie still wasn’t there by the time you pulled up to the abandoned gas station. You sighed, finding a station on the radio that would make everyone happy while you waited for him to make his appearance.
It didn’t take long, thankfully. As always, the sound of the pounding music announced his arrival before the black truck whipped into the parking lot. He pulled into the space next to yours - you didn’t see Stacy in the passenger seat this time.
“Daddy!” Missy cheered, pushing Janie into the car door as if it would make her get out any faster.
“Ow, stop!” Janie yelled, pushing her little sister back. It turned into a full shoving war, while Caroline just rolled her eyes, climbing out on her side.
“Girls!” you scolded. “Can you cut it out? Your dad is waiting.”
They stopped fighting, Missy sliding out on Caroline’s side while Janie took her time getting out. Missy ran into Eddie’s arms, and he smiled as he lifted her.
“How are my girls?” he asked.
“Amazing,” Missy said. “Today at school Josh Clark brought his pet tarantula and it got out in the classroom.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Oh yeah? What happened?”
Missy shrugged. “We never found it.”
Caroline shot you a look.
“That’s great, sweetheart,” Eddie said, sitting Missy safely back on the ground. “How about you?” he asked Janie.
She beamed up at him. “I won softball in gym class today.”
“High five,” he said, holding his hand up as his daughter happily smacked his hand. “Care?”
Caroline scuffed her sneaker against the asphalt, shrugging. “Nothing interesting. School is fine.”
Eddie frowned. “Nothing to report?”
Caroline shook her head. Eddie looked at you - you gave him a look back that you hoped said we’ll talk about it later.
“Okay,” Eddie said finally. “Well, everyone get on in the truck. Stacy’s waiting for us at home.”
Janie and Missy jumped into the truck, but Caroline dragged her feet as she climbed in after them. Eddie watched her, obviously sensing something was up. After the girls had closed the door to the truck, he turned to you.
“What’s going on?” he asked you, his dark brows furrowed.
You crossed your arms, biting your lip much like Caroline had done earlier. “She said you and Stacy have been fighting a lot, and it’s been weird, so she wasn’t excited to come over.”
Eddie’s frown deepened. He knew things had been tense between him and Stacy for the past few weeks, but he didn’t realize it had started to effect the girls, too. He felt even more guilty than he already had.
“Shit,” he cursed, running a hand through his curls. “I’ll…I’ll talk to her.”
The two of you stood in silence for a minute. Then - “Is everything okay, Ed?”
He avoided your gaze. You could see so much of his daughter in him, especially now. He let out a deep, weary sigh. “Things have just been…complicated.”
You tilted your head to the side. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“With you?” he raised his eyebrows, meeting your gaze for the first time. “You want to talk about my relationship problems?”
You huffed a laugh. “Just an offer. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
He looked down again. “Used to tell you everything.”
The words settled between you slowly. Neither of you acknowledged them.
“I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to, about whatever…I’m still here. I still care about you.”
“How would Steve feel about that?” Eddie snapped.
You ignored the jab - you could have guessed it was coming. “Steve wouldn’t care. He knows you’re very much still a part of my life, and that I still care.”
The fact that Steve seemed like such a good person only pissed Eddie off more. Of course Steve was so perfect. Never got jealous because he was so sure of himself.
Eddie had had you first.
He sighed again. “I don’t know. Things have been tense. Stacy…she wants a baby.”
The words hit you unexpectedly hard. You had never even considered Eddie having children with someone else, and you were surprised by how badly the idea bothered you. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he huffed a laugh without an ounce of humor behind it. He scrubbed a hand over his face, running through the stubble on his cheeks and chin. “I told her from the beginning I didn’t want more kids. She seemed okay with that. Now she’s changing her mind.”
“I see.” You didn’t push, letting Eddie say what he needed to at his own pace. He was avoiding you again, looking down at the cracked asphalt.
“She might be pregnant.”
You stomach sank. “What?”
“I…” Eddie stumbled over his words. “There was…an incident. It’s too early to tell, but…I’ve been a nervous wreck.”
You ignored how the idea of Eddie sleeping with someone else still made you feel sick. “What are you gonna do if she is?”
Eddie scoffed. “Start over, I guess. Have another baby.”
You chewed your lip harder, the tang of blood springing to your tongue. You made yourself stop. “Well, shit, Eds.”
He scoffed again, shaking his head, his curls bouncing. “Fuck. I didn’t want this.”
You felt bad for him. You didn’t like Stacy one bit to begin with, but you could see how torn up Eddie was over this. Three kids was a lot already - you knew that better than most. “Can I help?”
He laughed again. “Can you erase the past two years? Tell me I was a fucking idiot for ever agreeing to break up and get divorced?”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Eddie…”
“No, no, I know.” He looked up, his eyes scanning over the clouds in the bright blue Indiana sky. “I know. That’s over and done with.”
Your brows furrowed. What was Eddie even saying? That he wished you hadn’t broken up? That he wanted to get back together? You knew that would never happen. He was right. It was over and done with.
“Eddie, you have a serious girlfriend at home,” you said gently. “One who might be carrying your baby right now.”
The words made him sick. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, letting out a heavy breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do what?”
“What Stacy wants,” he said, slowly standing back up. “I don’t…I think I need to end things. Fuck. I think…I think I need to break up with her.”
This shocked you. Eddie had been seeing Stacy for a while - at this point, you fully expected they’d get married and she would be your girls’ new step mom. “Don’t you think you should wait until you find out if she’s pregnant?”
Every time you reminded him of it, he felt like he wanted to pull his hair out. “Yeah. I guess.”
Another beat of silence. “…When will you know?”
“Her period is due in like…a week, I guess?” he said. “I guess we’ll know then.”
You nodded. “Well…you know…I meant it. If you need me, call me.”
Eddie’s brown doe eyes met yours. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Even if it’s just to talk?”
You swallowed. “Even if it’s just to talk.”
He nodded, kicking his dirty white sneaker against the ground again. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”
The two of you stood in awkward silence for a beat longer. Then, Eddie cleared his throat. “Okay, well. I’ve kept the girls waiting long enough. I better get them home.”
“Okay,” you agreed. You waved to the girls with a forced smile, seeing all three of them wave back through the darkly tinted glass. Eddie gave you a final nod before he climbed into the driver’s seat and the truck’s engine roared to life.
You thought of the conversation you’d had the whole way back to your apartment. Your mind was racing - what if Eddie really did have a baby with Stacy? You didn’t love the idea, but there was nothing you could do about that. You wondered what the girls would think.
Steve’s BMW was parked out front when you pulled up. He knew it was Eddie’s weekend and that you had gone to drop the girls off after work, but you weren’t expecting him to come over.
He climbed out as you parked, still dressed in navy slacks and a button up from work. His hair was perfectly styled and his smile was so handsome it took your breath away.
“Hey,” you greeted him, surprise evident in your voice as you climbed out of your car, locking the door behind you.
“I hope it’s okay that I came over,” he said, smiling at you sheepishly. “I knew you were dropping the girls off, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to spend the night alone…”
You smiled up at him, placing a gentle kiss against his soft lips. “I could use the company.”
“Perfect,” he mumbled against your lips. He kissed you again, a little slower this time. “I brought some movies from Family Video over, and I got some Chinese takeout.”
“Mmm,” you hummed, your smile growing even wider. “That sounds like a nice night, Harrington.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his nose brushing against your jawline. “I was hoping it might sound enticing.”
Steve stayed close as you unlocked the front door, his left hand on your hip and his lips on your neck. His bag was over his shoulder, the bag of takeout clutched in his right hand. You figured he had some other hopes for the night - ones you were happy to satisfy.
“Do you wanna change?” you asked him with a raised brow, looking at him in his work clothes.
“You want me to get into something a little more comfortable?” he teased, loosening his tie as he smirked at you. “I can do that.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t wipe the grin off your face. “Just want you to be comfy.”
“I will be,” he said. He disappeared into your bedroom while you pulled the steaming takeout containers from the bag, sitting them around the coffee table. You looked through the movie selection he picked - a couple romance movies, a horror movie, and something that looked like a sci fi.
Steve emerged from your bedroom a minute later, now dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants low on his hips and a faded Hawkins Tigers t-shirt he’d definitely owned for the past 12 years. He flopped onto the couch next to you with a boyish grin, immediately reaching for some of the food.
You felt yourself getting drowsy halfway through the second movie, the food long ago eaten. You were curled into Steve’s side, his arm wrapped comfortingly around you. You knew he was still awake because he rubbed gentle circles into your shoulder. Your head rose and fell with his chest, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat beneath your ear. It felt intimate.
You yawned for the fifth time, and Steve laughed. “Wanna head to your room?” he asked.
“That sounds really good,” you agreed. You picked up the remote, turning the TV off. Silence settled over the dark living room. You stood first, Steve following behind you down the hall and to your bedroom.
You closed the door behind you with a soft click. Steve didn’t make a move at first - instead, he sat down on the edge of your bed before flopping backwards, star fishing his body across your mattress.
You laughed. “Tired, Stevie?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. You laid down next to him and he rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm around you. “But not too tired for you. If you want me.”
You clenched your thighs together, the throbbing between your legs desperate for some kind of touch. “Of course I want you.”
Steve smiled, leaning up on his elbow. His free hand rested softly on your cheek, and he looked at you with so much adoration before he slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips. “I can’t believe…”
You pulled back just a little. “Can’t believe what?”
He chuckled. “I guess that we ended up together. We hardly talked in high school.”
You rested your head on your hand. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles.”
“That’s for sure,” he said, then his face scrunched as he realized how that sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…yeah. We didn’t talk.”
You shrugged. “A lot of things change after high school, Stevie. No one cares who was popular anymore.”
“Yeah, I know, I know that,” he said, shaking his head like the whole thing was silly. “But, you know, not just that. You were with Munson and everyone knew that was serious, then I got married right out of high school, which was so stupid-“
“Steve,” you said with a giggle. “Where are you going with this?”
He smiled. “Just that I’m incredibly lucky to be where I am right now.” He kissed you again. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Me too,” you agreed, kissing him back slowly. He squeezed your hip, pulling your body closer to his on the bed. His nose brushed softly against yours and then he was kissing you hungrily, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips. You opened up for him and moaned as you felt his tongue pressing against yours.
Steve was a really good kisser.
You felt every worry and stress melting from your body as he kissed you deeply, his hand roaming your body, teasing your nipples through your thin shirt, teasing your clit over your panties. You could feel him hard against your thigh, rubbing against you every now and then when he couldn’t take it anymore.
He was just beginning to slip your shirt off when the phone rang. You sighed, resting your forehead against Steve’s.
“Do you have to get it?” he asked gently, his lips still just barely brushing yours. He didn’t want to let you go.
“I do,” you said regretfully. “It could be the girls.”
Steve sighed, reluctantly letting you go. He watched you climb off the bed and leave the room, heading out into the living room and lifting the phone from the receiver in the hall. “Hello?”
There was nothing but the crackling of the line. You furrowed your brows - “Hello?” you asked again.
Someone was there. You could hear breathing, but that was only freaking you out more. “Caroline?”
“It’s me.”
Your heart clenched in your chest. “Oh.”
Silence. Then, finally - “Are you busy? Or does that offer to talk still stand?”
You glanced behind you at the bedroom where Steve was waiting for you. “Kinda both.”
Eddie let out a chuckle. “Both?”
“I mean,” you said, “I am busy, but if you need me…I’m here. I’m always here.”
Another beat of silence. “Is Steve over?”
You didn’t answer at first. “Yeah.”
A scoff. “I should have figured that before I bothered to call.”
“What did you need?” you asked, leaning against the wall. You were losing your patience with him - if he had just called to give you shit over Steve again, you were going to hang up. “Are the girls okay?”
“Yeah. They’re in bed.” You could practically see him running his hand through his hair, pacing with the phone on his shoulder. “I just…I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Just wanted to hear your voice.”
You paused. “Eddie…you can’t be saying stuff like that anymore.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
You played with a string on your t-shirt. “Where’s Stacy?”
“She’s in bed, too.”
“Why don’t you go join your girlfriend in bed, Eddie? Instead of calling your ex wife in the middle of the night just to talk?”
Nothing. Then, a self deprecating laugh. “I knew this was a mistake.”
You softened. “Eddie-“
“No, you’re right. I’m a piece of shit. I didn’t deserve you and I don’t deserve her either.”
You frowned. “I’m sorry. I said you could call to talk, and I meant that.” You paused. “What brought this on, Eddie? The pregnancy?”
“We don’t know she’s pregnant yet,” he corrected immediately.
“Right,” you said. “You know what I meant.”
He sighed. “Maybe. Maybe that brought it on.”
“Eddie, it’s gonna be okay.”
“Not if she’s pregnant.” There wasn’t a bit of doubt in his voice - he didn’t want that whatsoever. You felt bad for him. “That fucks everything.”
“She’s probably not,” you said, although you had no way of knowing that. “If it was just one slip up…”
Eddie didn’t bother correcting that it wasn’t a slip up on her part. “Yeah. Well. I can hope.”
Every time you talked to Eddie for more than 5 minutes at a time, you felt those familiar feelings creeping back in. The ones that feel like you still love him, the ones that make you want to do anything for him. “Do you want me to make Steve leave? Do you need to come over?”
He didn’t want to say how badly he wanted that. “I don’t think I can. The girls…”
“Right,” you said. “Yeah.”
Another beat of silence. Then, a breathless laugh from the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did this. I’m sorry to, uh…interrupt your night.”
“You sure you don’t need me?” you asked. Your voice was gentle, quiet - sincere. He so badly wanted to say yes, he was coming over right now.
“Yeah. I’m good,” he said. “I’ll, uh…just go to bed, I guess. Sorry.”
Before you could say anything else, the line clicked, and he was gone. You were still frowning as you hung the phone back on the receiver, standing there in the dark for a minute before returning to the bedroom.
Steve was snoring when you got back. You couldn’t help but smile - he looked so cute, and clearly he needed the rest. You turned the light off, turned the blankets down, and climbed into bed next to him. He wrapped his arm around your waist in his sleep, nuzzling closer to you.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
summary: touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it. steve harrington is affection-starved. love-starved. he’s been handing out pieces of his heart for years, getting nothing but scraps back. now, he clings like glue—always leaning, always touching, like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to pull back. and it would’ve all been fine… if this wasn't supposed to be just a casual thing. if he hadn’t said I love you, with his whole heart, mid-fuck.
warnings: 18+ mdni, fwb to lovers, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), touchstarved!steve, i'd call him subby in this but he's rlly just pathetically in love, unexpected L-bomb, domestic fluff, light angst, happy ending
a/n: everyone’s moved on from that s1 scene where steve asks nancy ‘you don’t love me?’ but I’m still there. anyway. here’s 5k words of painfully touch-starved steve.
So, like.
This isn’t a real thing.
That’s the important part. The crux. The root of it all.
The problem.
It’s the reason you haven’t slept in your own bed in over a week. The reason there’s a stupid little bruise on your neck (seriously, who even gives hickeys anymore?) and the reason you know exactly how Steve Harrington takes his coffee (three sugars, no cream, no shame).
It’s not real.
Because if it were real, then… that would be something.
And you don’t do “something.” You don’t like “something.”
Because “something” has weight. Teeth. Expectations.
And Steve? Well.
Steve is—
He’s lonely.
That’s what this is.
No, seriously. That’s the whole thing.
You didn’t clock it at first. Thought maybe he was just hot and bored. Smooth in that lazy, practiced way that makes everything feel like a dare. He flirts like he’s handing out candy. Smiles like it’s a reflex.
But it’s not boredom.
Steve Harrington is lonely.
The kind of lonely that clings to skin like summer sweat.
The kind that seeps in slow—after years of being everybody’s something and then, suddenly, nobody’s anything.
The kind that turns touch into a transaction. That turns you into a distraction.
He speaks in half-jokes and full smiles. Loose shoulders, quick grins. Charm so polished it starts to sound like an echo—hollow, if you know what to listen for.
But when he touches you—god, when he touches you—
It’s like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s scared he won’t get another chance.
And somehow, that’s what keeps bringing you back.
Not the sex. Though—yeah, okay. The sex is good. Annoyingly good.
The kind that makes you forget your name. That has you laughing one second and gasping the next. The kind where he holds your hand through it and whispers ridiculous, tender shit into your neck. Nonsense, really. Things no one should find hot, and yet… you do.
But that’s not why you stay.
It’s not the sex.
It’s what happens after.
It’s the way he presses a hand to your lower back when you shift beneath the covers, like he’s making sure you’re still there. It’s the way he gets up first, hair a mess, pulling on flannel pajama pants that hang low on his hips while he makes you scrambled eggs.
Burnt edges. Drenched in pepper.
You wrinkle your nose and grumble about having breakfast at 2 PM.
He slides the plate toward you with a smug little, “You’ll eat what I give you and you'll like it.”
You always grin.
“You’re lucky I’m easy,” you tell him, mouth full.
He shrugs, sips his coffee (three sugars, no shame), and says, “Yeah. I am.”
You think that’s a joke. Maybe. Hopefully.
You don’t ask.
You don’t ask a lot of things.
Like why he waits to kiss you until your hands are under his shirt. Or why he pulls you in like he wants to keep you there, and then lets you go as soon as the sun comes up. Why his eyes go distant when he thinks you’re not looking.
You tell yourself he just needs the connection. That you’re just a body. A placeholder. A habit.
But he gets so quiet sometimes. After.
That strange, suspended kind of quiet, when the sweat’s dried and the room’s gone still. When his arm is still slung over your waist and his gaze is locked on the ceiling like it's got answers he doesn’t.
Not asleep. Never asleep.
Just still.
Like he’s bracing for impact.
Once—just once—you asked, “You good?”
And he said, “Yeah.”
But he said it in that voice. The soft one. The one he uses when he’s lying.
You could’ve pressed. But you didn’t.
Because this isn’t a real thing.
It’s just comfort.
Borrowed heat. Mutual use. Skin and breath and the occasional earth-shattering orgasm.
That’s it.
Until one night, he says something.
And it changes everything.
…
Steve Harrington is a leaner.
You noticed that before anything ever happened between you.
Before the late nights. Before toothbrushes and t-shirts that weren’t yours. Back when he was just a name, a familiar face at parties with warm drinks and bad music. The guy with the hair and the reputation.
One night, you ended up on the same couch.
By accident. Well, mostly.
You’d had one too many drinks and slumped into the cushions like your bones had melted. Someone handed you a bottle of water and asked, “You okay?”
That someone was Steve.
He didn’t say much else. Just sat next to you, a respectful distance away, not even close enough for your knees to brush.
You said something dumb. He laughed. Asked a follow-up question.
And that’s when you noticed it.
The lean.
Steve Harrington leans like it’s instinct. Like gravity doesn’t pull him down, it pulls him toward. Like his body craves closeness and he never learned how to resist it.
But then when your hand brushed his thigh while reaching for a bowl of chips—
He froze.
Just for a second. A flicker. A sharp inhale. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of thing.
But you didn’t miss it.
You noticed.
…
It started stupid. You tell yourself that a lot.
Especially when you’re staring at yourself in his bathroom, brushing your teeth with the toothbrush he bought you, trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing.
It was stupid. An accident, really.
He called one night. Said, "I can’t sleep."
You said, "That sucks."
Then: "Can I come over?"
And: "Sure."
Just sex. That was the deal. No strings, no expectations.
There were rules, in the beginning.
No cuddling. No staying over.
No kissing unless clothes were already off.
That one lasted exactly one round.
Because on the second night, he kissed you first. Before either of you had taken off a single layer. Like kissing was the point, not the sex.
And afterward? He held you. Just an arm across your waist, skin warm, breath steady. Like you were his favorite teddy bear. Or a security blanket that talks back.
And he didn’t ask you to stay, but when you fell asleep there, he was already awake by the time you opened your eyes. Lying there. Watching you.
Like he hadn’t slept at all.
It was fine. Totally fine.
“Just friends,” you’d said.
And he nodded. “Yeah. Totally.”
But his fingers were laced through yours when he said it.
…
Sometimes he says things you don’t know how to hear.
Like that weekend after finals. Both of you a little drunk. Loose-limbed and grinning for no reason. Buzzed on cheap beer and end-of-term freedom, on the promise of summer stretching out like a dare. You were parked outside your place, engine off, windows fogging in the humidity. Music low, the kind of old-school ballad Steve pretends to hate but knows every word to.
You kissed him over the console of his Beemer. Messy, open-mouthed, like the world was ending and tongues were currency—a last-ditch effort to spend everything before it was too late. He laughed into your mouth, and you felt it everywhere.
Then, soft and slurred:
“Missed you this week.”
You smiled. Didn’t answer.
He kissed your neck like he could hide into it.
You didn’t ask what he meant. Didn’t ask if he meant your mouth or your body or just the convenience of you.
You just climbed into his lap.
Straddled him.
Ground down on him like you were trying to forget how soft he’d sounded. How scared.
And he let you.
Because Steve Harrington always lets you.
…
Tonight, it’s raining.
You show up at his door soaked to the bone, hoodie dripping, pajama pants clinging to your legs. There’s water in your eyelashes, in your socks, probably in your dignity.
Steve opens the door like he’s been waiting. Like he knew.
“Jesus, get in here,” he mutters, tugging you inside by the wrist. “You’re soaked.”
He peels off your jacket, pushes your hood down. His knuckles brush your cheek.
His hands feel warm. Or maybe cold. You can’t tell anymore with him.
…
He makes soup.
Chicken noodle, way too much pepper.
You sit on the counter in dry clothes that smell like him while he stirs in silence; barefoot, bedhead, wearing sleep pants and an old Hawkins basketball tee with a hole in the collar.
He hands you the bowl and watches you blow on the steam.
Then he puts on a movie neither of you ends up watching.
He sits close, arms touching from shoulder to elbow.
It’s nothing.
Except, with Steve, nothing always feels like everything.
Because he doesn’t move away.
He leans.
…
Touch-starved doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Steve Harrington is affection-starved. Love-starved. He’s been handing his heart out to people for years and getting scraps in return.
He was the king of a kingdom that left him stranded in his own tower.
Now, he wields proximity like armor. Like glue. Stick close, so maybe they won’t leave.
You sit next to him, he leans. You stand near him, his fingers brush yours. You yawn, and suddenly he’s cradling your head, smoothing your hair like you’re going through something traumatic.
You’re not.
You’re yawning.
And it would be funny, if it wasn’t all so completely, irreparably fucked.
…
The rain's louder now.
Not quite a storm, but loud enough that it fills the room with its own kind of hush. Soft and constant, like white noise between thoughts.
Steve leans back against the couch, head tilted, throat exposed. The light from the TV paints him in soft blues and grays.
You look at him too long. Then say, quietly:
“You don’t let people touch you much.”
He blinks. “What?”
“I mean, you do,” you say, glancing at his hands. “But not really.”
He lets out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Okay, detective. What’s that mean?”
You shift, pulling your knees up.
“It means…” you pause. “That you act like it’s natural. Like touching’s easy for you. But it’s not.”
His eyes drift away. His throat bobs.
Then, a low chuckle. Pained and impressed in the same breath. “Jesus. You should be a therapist or something.”
“So I’m right?”
He goes quiet for a bit. Just tugs the blanket higher over your knees.
“People think I’m good at it,” he says eventually. “Being… I don’t know, flirty.”
“You are,” you say, like it's a fact. And it is.
He laughs, soft and empty. “Yeah. Well. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
He starts picking at a loose thread. Doesn’t look at you.
“But that’s all it is. Practice. I think… I think I just got good at pretending.”
A pause.
“My parents weren’t really... around. You know? And when they were, it was all rules. Appearances. Be polite. Be perfect. Don’t embarrass the family.”
You stare at your lap. “That sucks.”
He stiffens a little. “I’m not saying it for pity.”
“I know,” you bump your knee against his. “And don’t worry, you’re not getting any.”
He snorts, soft and real.
But then his hand stirs in his lap, tightening around the blanket, white-knuckled. It’s subtle. A detail most people wouldn’t notice.
But you do.
You always notice.
So you reach out. Slip your fingers between his like you’ve done it a hundred times before. Laced together, palm to palm, thumb brushing over the tense tendons in his wrist.
He freezes. Just for a second.
Then his hand twitches. Loosens. Curls back around yours.
He holds on.
…
Steve Harrington has always been golden.
Golden boy. Golden skin. Golden smile. The kind of person who walks into a room and soaks up all the oxygen without even trying. The kind people fall for in flashes, bright and fast and dizzying.
They love parts of him. The hair, the grin, the effortless charm. The storybook confidence that makes everyone else fade to grayscale. But if they looked closer—and most don’t—they might notice a flicker of something else. Something dimmer. Something tired.
You notice.
You always notice.
You see the way his smile stutters, the half-second where it slips before he wrestles it back into place. The way he shrugs off compliments like they sting. Laughs off praise like it doesn't fester in his chest long after it’s said. Like he doesn’t believe a word of it, even when it’s true.
He’s used to it, you think. Being loved for the surface. Wanted for being golden.
Never seen for what’s underneath.
But that’s not the Steve you want.
You want this Steve—sleepy-eyed, soft-voiced, weirdly-good-at-playing-with-your-hair Steve.
The one in faded sweatpants and mismatched socks, slurping soup too loudly and pretending your knee against his isn’t the most intimate thing that’s happened to him all week.
The one who sings along to bad radio ballads in the car and gets quiet when you ask him about childhood birthdays. The one who never learned how to ask for love—only how to give too much of it away.
You want the mess. The ache. The scared little boy behind the golden grin.
You want to know what song he hums when he’s doing his laundry. What memory makes him smile when no one’s watching.
The parts of him that aren’t polished, the cracks that run through the gold. The ones he tucks away because he's convinced no one could ever love them.
You want the parts he hides.
…
You don’t remember how your shirt came off.
One minute you were doubled over laughing—some dumb line from the movie, something even dumber from Steve—and then he’s just there.
Mouth hot on your neck. Hands everywhere. Greedy and reverent in the same stroke, in the way only Steve Harrington can be.
He kisses down your throat, mumbling something against your skin. Something that sounds like, “You’re so beautiful,” voice so full it cracks a little.
Your fingers sink into his hair.
“Steve,” you breathe. “You’re shaking.”
He lifts his head. Eyes wide and round and glassy.
“I just…” He swallows. “Wanna make you feel good. Let me?”
You nod, throat tight.
You’d let him do anything.
…
He eats you out like he missed you.
Like this is the only way he knows how to say it.
You’re sprawled across his couch, thighs over his shoulders, his arms hooked under your hips. Holding you open as he devours you. Sloppy, desperate, like he missed this, missed you, even though you were here just two nights ago. He groans into you like this is worship, and maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.
“Fuck,” he moans, voice wrecked. “You taste so good. So wet for me.”
Your fingers twist harder in his hair. He moans at that too; loves it when you tug him closer.
"Steve—"
“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, mouth full. “I got you.”
You arch into him, thighs clamped tight around his head.
“I—fuck, I’m gonna—"
He groans like he’s the one coming. Eats you through it, grinding his hips into the carpet, riding it out with you. Stays through the twitching and the aftershocks, still licking, like he can’t bear to stop, can’t bear to let you go.
And even when you’re spent, legs trembling, chest heaving, he doesn’t move away.
Kisses your thighs. Your stomach. Your breasts.
Soft, wet little marks. Greedy, but not in the way that takes. In the way that keeps.
You breathe through the haze, arm flung over your eyes because it stings too much sometimes, looking at him.
“You wanna fuck me now?”
…
He fucks you like a confession.
Slow. Deep. Forehead to forehead. Breathing into your mouth. Nose bumping with each stroke, his breath hitching every time you moan.
Like he’s making love, even though that’s not what this is.
The room is quiet except for the slick sounds of skin on skin, and the soft hush of your name as he passes it from his lips over to yours.
“So good,” he breathes. “So fucking perfect.”
You curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pull him closer.
“I think about you all time,” he whispers, hips rolling into you. “All the time. Can't—can’t stop.”
You tense, just slightly. Barely a hitch in your breath.
He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, and just barrels forward anyway, words spilling faster than he can catch them. He’s shaking again.
“Can’t get you out of my head. Fuck, you’re all I think about, I—”
And then—
He says it.
The thing.
The one thing you can’t undo.
“I love you.”
…
Everything stills.
Steve stills. You still.
He pulls back, blinking fast. Searching your face, fingers twitching against your waist.
You can’t breathe.
“Steve…”
You say it like it hurts. Like it’s an apology. Like you didn’t mean to hear it, and he didn’t mean to say it.
He sees it, whatever’s written on your face. Sees it and folds in on himself.
His mouth twists, words souring on his tongue.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean—”
You kiss him before he can finish.
Messy. Desperate. Mouth open, teeth clashing. Like you’re trying to shove the words back down his throat. Like if you just kiss him hard enough, they’ll sink back into him and never make it out.
He kisses you back, fast and clumsy. Picks up his pace again, thrusts turning erratic, rhythm gone. He comes like that—hands gripping too tight, teeth in your shoulder, breathing like he’s drowning.
He doesn’t say it again.
Not out loud.
…
You told him once, weeks ago—maybe during the eighth or ninth time, when things were still light enough to float. You were lying in his bed, naked on blue linen, post-coital and quiet. You were staring at the ceiling. He was tracing circles on your arm.
“I’ve never said it,” you murmured.
He turned, frowning. “What do you mean, never?”
“Like… out loud. To anyone.”
“Not even to, like, a boyfriend?”
You snorted. Gave him a look. He just frowned deeper.
“I mean, it’s just words, right?” you shrugged. “Doesn’t really mean shit. Not unless you show it.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded, like he was filing it away.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess.”
…
The scariest part isn’t that he said it.
It’s how little changes after.
He pulls out. Kisses your forehead. Disappears for a towel, water, wipes, the whole post-sex routine. He wraps you in a blanket, like always.
He sits on the edge of the couch, shirtless and quiet. Still catching his breath.
But he won’t look at you.
You’re staring at the ceiling now. Body still buzzing, your mind a blur. Your chest feels raw, like you’ve swallowed glass and it’s still cutting on the way down.
Finally, you speak.
“You’re an idiot.”
His head turns, brows knit. “What?”
You sit up a little. “You’re an idiot. You can’t just say that mid-fuck and expect me not to spiral.”
He laughs, caught off guard. It’s soft. A little broken.
“I didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… came out.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
He starts fidgeting with the blanket again.
“I can take it back, if you want.”
You pause.
A long, slow beat.
Then you shake your head.
“No. Don’t.”
…
He’s sitting on the bed when you come out of the shower.
Hair damp, skin flushed from the heat, a line of steam following you out the bathroom. You’re toweling off the ends of your hair, not really expecting conversation. He’s quiet—bent forward, elbows on his knees, bare foot tapping a slow rhythm into the floorboards.
Then, without looking up, he says:
“Do you want to stay over?”
You almost drop the towel. Frozen mid-motion, terrycloth bunched in your hands.
It’s not the first time he’s asked that. Not really.
There was one night, early on, when you came over to his place, still a little nervous about the whole thing. He’d made you come three times, then followed you out of bed, shirtless and flushed, and said:
“You could, uh… stay. If you want. It’s late. I don’t—sleep great. And I just…” He’d swallowed it. “Forget it. Never mind.”
You’d made it exactly two steps before turning around.
But that was then.
Now, five months in, you’ve never needed the words. Your toothbrush is in his medicine cabinet. Your hoodie is slung over the back of his desk chair. You spend most nights here anyway—falling asleep during half-watched movies and waking up tangled in limbs you no longer bother to count.
So the fact that he asks—now, of all nights—makes you pause.
“Sure,” You say quietly, then walk past him to grab the lotion off his nightstand like it's nothing.
He doesn’t smile, not really. But his shoulders soften. His eyes go from holding tension to holding you.
He looks tired. Relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.
You slip under the covers, the way you always do. He follows. And for a beat, everything feels normal. Familiar. Easy.
He’s warm. He always is.
Your body knows the choreography—roll away, let him pull you in, slot your legs together until he’s all but spooning you. But tonight, for reasons you can’t name, you end up facing him instead. On your side. Eyes open. Nose to nose.
Close enough to feel the soft rise of his chest. To smell his shampoo. The expensive one you always make fun of, the one you pretend not to use.
Close enough to catch the exhale when he speaks.
“Can I—?” he stops.
You wait.
He licks his lips, gaze darting down to the space between you.
“Can I hold your hand?”
Your stomach drops, fluttering like a trapped bird.
Because what kind of person asks to hold your hand after they’ve had their hands everywhere else?
And why does that make you feel more vulnerable than anything he’s ever done?
You say, “Sure,” because you don’t know what else to say.
And then you do it. You reach out, he meets you halfway—fingers slotting between yours like they were made to be there.
His thumb skates slowly over your knuckles. His hand is warm, a little rough in places. Callused in a way that reminds you he’s probably fought for things—for people—before. Real things. Hard things. Love-shaped things.
Eventually, he shifts closer. Not pulling you into him. Just… aligning. Until your knees touch. Until your breaths sync.
He’s so close you can count the gold flecks in his eyes.
Then, quietly:
“I meant it. What I said.”
You don’t answer right away.
Because something in your chest lurches and twists and stretches like it’s never been moved before. Like it’s being made into something new.
“I know,” you say eventually, voice soft as worn cotton.
He swallows. Starts again, then stops. There’s a crack in his voice when he says:
“You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s not fair. That I said it like that. I just—” He looks down. Shrinks in on himself a little. “I couldn’t not.”
You reach out before he can spiral. Fingers to his jaw, steady and slow.
He flinches instinctively, then stills beneath your touch.
And god, he looks so young like this. Eyes glassy. Lips bitten raw. Desperate crease between his brows like he’s bracing for impact.
“Steve,” you whisper, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “I’m not mad.”
He searches your face like it might change mid-sentence.
“I just… I need time. That’s all.”
He nods. Once. Then again.
“Okay,” he says, and it sounds like breathing for the first time in days. “Okay.”
He squeezes your hand, like a question.
You squeeze back, like an answer.
…
You don’t plan it.
There’s no perfect moment. No grand confession. No string quartet swelling in the background, or a slow-motion kiss in the rain.
There’s just a Tuesday.
Or maybe a Wednesday.
One of those in-between days that doesn’t really exist. Gray sky. Light drizzle. Everything muted and quiet, just a little smudged around the edges.
When you open your door, Steve’s already there.
Curled into the corner of your couch in fuzzy socks, eating dry cereal out of the box and watching a rerun of something he’s already seen three times. His hair’s damp. Probably showered at your place again because its closer to the gym, or maybe he just likes your shampoo better than his.
You don’t even ask anymore.
He grins when he sees you. Tosses a Cheerio in his mouth and says, “How was hell?”
You toe off your shoes and shrug. “Corporate’s an absolute dream. Only cried twice in the break room today.”
He opens his arms without a word. “C’mere.”
You go.
He pulls you in without pretense, folding you into his chest like he’s been waiting all day just to do it. You melt into it, cheek pressed to his collarbone. He smells like your body wash. It does something to your ribs. Cracks them open. Lets the light in.
You sit like that for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.
Eventually, he gently nudges you off him.
“I’m making tea,” he says. “Don’t move.”
You do, of course. You follow him.
He's humming something tuneless, drumming his fingers on the counter while the kettle boils. And when it whistles, he moves automatically, like he’s done it a hundred times. Two mugs. Two tea bags. Your chipped dinosaur mug and his plain blue one. He insists it’s “just a mug” even though he always reaches for it first.
He doesn’t have to ask. He knows. Honey in both. Lemon in yours. He moves with the kind of ease that only comes from repetition. From caring.
He hands it to you without looking. You take it with both hands, the warmth of the ceramic bleeding into your palms.
And for some reason, that’s what does it.
Not the cuddling. Not the hand-holding. Not the sex, or the sleepovers, or the toothbrush he bought without asking
Just—this.
This moment. This man. This stupid kitchen and this cup of tea made exactly how you like it.
It hits you like a low tide: gentle, inevitable, impossible to ignore.
You’re still holding the mug when you say it. Still standing in the half-lit kitchen in your sad little apartment with the flickering stove light and the perpetually leaking faucet and the love of your life stirring a teabag like it’s the most serious task in the universe.
Soft. Barely above the whistle of the kettle.
“I love you.”
His spoon stops mid-stir.
He doesn’t move for a second. Doesn’t look up.
You think maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe you should repeat it. Louder. Clearer.
But then—he smiles.
Not the charming one. Not the grin he uses when for baristas or strangers or people who don’t know any better.
This one’s smaller. Like it snuck up on him.
He sets the spoon down carefully.
“Yeah?” he asks, still not turning around.
You nod.
Then, braver: “Yeah.”
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in his lungs since February.
And without looking at you—like looking might make it collapse—he just says:
“Okay.”
Then, a beat later, with a kind of awe:
“I love you too.”
You step closer. Lean your head against his back, arms circling his waist just to feel him. He goes still under your touch, the way he does when something matters a little too much.
Then he relaxes. Covers your hands with his. Holds you there.
And the thing is, nothing else changes.
You still drink your tea. Still argue over who gets the remote. Still end up half-asleep on the couch with pretzel crumbs all over the upholstery and Steve mumbling nonsense into your shoulder.
But later, when he takes you to bed, he says it again.
Not in the heat of it. Not as a plea. Just a soft, quiet:
“I love you.”
You don’t panic.
You don’t question it.
You just say it back. Steadier, this time.
“I love you.”
He grins against your mouth. “About time.”
You roll your eyes.
He kisses your nose.
…
“I just—I’m sorry, but I really think this one tastes the same as the other one.
Steve’s in an argument with the beekeeper lady at the farmer’s market. About honey.
She gasps like he’s insulted her bloodline, then launches into a spiel about how wildflower honey tastes completely different from clover honey—something about the blossoms and the weather and the bees' mood.
You, standing ten feet away with an armful of Honeycrisps, don’t even try to save him. You just lean against a crate of pumpkins and watch the disaster unfold.
This is your Saturday now.
Groceries and small-town drama. Coffee stops and joint laundry loads and dumb little errands that somehow feel like sacred rituals because he’s there.
He jogs back to you a minute later, holding a jar of orange blossom honey.
He's grinning like an idiot. “She loved me.”
“She called you ‘boy.’”
“Exactly. Affectionate.”
You bump his hip. “You’re a menace.”
“And you love that about me.”
You glance at him, lips twitching.
You do.
You really do.
…
It’s been eight months.
Eight months of toothbrushes side-by-side. Of his socks in your drawer and your hair ties in his bathroom.
Of grocery lists that say things like “Steve’s weird granola” and “that cinnamon roll candle" you've been dying to try.
Of falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed because he carried you. Of him saying “morning, baby" in that morning-after voice then smirking when yours is too hoarse to respond.
Of fights that don’t break things, just bend them. Of learning how to disagree without flinching. How to apologize without pride.
Of knowing it’s safe now. Not perfect, not painless, but safe.
…
One night, he’s reading beside you in bed.
Trying to, at least.
The book’s open in his lap, but he’s clearly dozing off mid-paragraph. Lips parted, breath steady.
You’re on your side, just watching him.
You don’t let yourself stare too often, but he’s so soft like this. Soft in a way he only is at home. With you.
There’s a scar on his collarbone you’ve never asked about.
You probably could. He’d tell you.
You think you will, someday.
But right now, you're happy just tracing it with your fingertip. He stirs, nuzzling your shoulder like he’s chasing warmth in his sleep.
And then, half-conscious, he murmurs:
“You’re it for me.”
You go still. Heart in your throat.
And then—just as simply, just as truthfully—you say:
“You are too.”
He hums at that. Smiles against your skin.
Wraps an arm around your waist and lets the world fade out.
…
In the morning, you’ll make him coffee the way he likes it: three sugars, no cream, no shame.
He’ll kiss your shoulder while you pour it, thank you with a sleepy voice and wandering hands.
You’ll sit on the couch, eat burnt toast, and laugh at some dumb segment on the morning news.
He’ll offer to fix your car. Again.
You’ll roll your eyes and say no. Again.
He’ll grin.
He'll drive you to work.
And just like that, the day will begin.
Like it did today.
Like it will tomorrow.
Like it will every day after.
a/n: when I tell you I took a super long nap yesterday and then stayed awake the whole night... this is what came crawling out of my brain at 4 am... wrote this in like 3 hrs so i'm sorry if this is all over the place 🥲
i always love hearing your thoughts abt my silly little stories! feel free to reblog/comment/come find me in my inbox :)
Summary: The person Conrad could always turn to, now needed more than ever, and the year that follows in the wake of the worst days of his life. (Set as Conrad returns to California after Belly and Jeremiah call off the wedding)
Word Count: 12.8K
Warnings: Hints at a toxic relationship
Author’s Note: Fell in love with writing this one and I really hope you love it too!
You’d seen him on some bad days. You’d seen him on some terrible days. But none as gutwrenching as how you saw him now.
Broken. Truly and utterly broken.
Conrad’s shoulders were hanging low, his eyes dark and tired, his hair messy and disheveled. He held his duffel bag in one hand, his rucksack on his back, the weight of both seeming light compared to the sinking weight on his shoulders.
“How bad?” You frown, opening the trunk to your car.
“Worse,” Conrad states so coldly you’re certain any emotion he had has been drained from him.
He tosses his bags into your car, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Thanks for picking me up,” He says, trying to force his lips into some sort of a smile.
“Of course,” You return.
He closes the trunk and his shoulders drop again.
“Come here,” You sigh, pulling him into you as if a hug could inject any ounce of joy into him.
He wraps his arms around you too, his chin resting on your shoulder, breathing in deeply as if it was his first moment of peace in a short eternity.
“Let’s go and get some food and you can tell me all about it,” You offer, squeezing his arm as you pull away from him.
You and Conrad had been friends since you’d both started at Stanford. You both transferred after your first year of college somewhere else, and so you’d naturally gravitated towards each other as the two newbies together. There were a lot of late nights studying, a lot of panic over exams not going well, and the two of you confessing more and more about your personal lives as you weaved your ways into being each other’s closest friend.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Conrad drops into your passenger seat.
Normally, he would always convince you to let him drive. Today you weren’t sure he’d even remotely have the energy.
“Well, you’ve been gone all summer,” You point out, “What happened?”
He takes a deep breath, “I ruined everything.”
“You told her you loved her?”
“I told everyone I love her,” Conrad scoffs, “I told her, I told everyone.”
“And she still married him?” You ask, slowing down the car in the inevitable traffic to escape the airport
“She went to Paris.”
You choke on the air in your lungs, “Wh- what?”
“Yep,” Conrad nods slowly, “They didn’t want me there, I left, they called off the wedding, Jere stayed in Cousins and Belly flew to Paris. Taylor hates me, Steven doesn’t want to talk to me, I wouldn’t know what to say to Laurel, and Jere practically wants me dead.”
“Oh Con,” You sigh, “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I just-“ He drags a hand over his face, “I saw her this summer and I just… it was like everything came right back. I was eighteen again and happy and in love and in Cousins for the summer and everything was how it was. And then Jere came home and it was like I remembered that he existed, and he was the one she wanted.”
Your heart aches for him, a pain so unbearable you’re not sure how one person can hold it all.
“And then I found out about Cabo and him sleeping with that fucking Lacie Barone and I just thought why the fuck should he be the one that gets to be with her?” Conrad shakes his head, “I saw her on the beach that night and I told her to leave him, I told her to be with me. And she walked away.”
You wince, eyeing the way the pain seems to spill out of him now that there was someone to listen.
“She asked me to leave and I stayed, I stayed because I wanted to be there for my fucking brother,” His voice trembles slightly, “And then the day of the wedding came and everything just blew up and nobody wanted me there and I just…. lost everyone.”
“Con I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling,” You sigh, turning onto the highway that would take you both home.
He leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes, “I got booked onto the first flight I could and then just… I just sat there. I couldn’t get on. My Dad called me and told me about them calling off the wedding and I just… I tried to be there for Jere, I tried to do the right thing, I tried to be his brother, and I couldn’t even do that.”
He turns his head towards you, his voice breaking over the final words, his eyes pricked with tears.
“Con…” You sigh, “I’m so sorry.”
He takes a breath, dragging a hand over his face again, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“Look, you just need to give them their space, okay? Steven will understand eventually, he’s just protecting his sister for now, but he’ll understand it will just take time. And Jere too. I think even he will understand eventually. It might take him longer, it might take a lot longer, but he will know you didn’t want to hurt him. And maybe not getting married now is going to be one of the best things to happen to him.”
“And Belly?” Conrad practically whispers the words, like his heart can’t bear to hear her name.
You take a breath, wanting nothing more than to avoid hurting him again, “Maybe Paris will be really good for her.”
“Maybe.”
———
The two of you shared an apartment near Stanford - it made the rent more affordable so you could actually afford to live closer to campus. Deep down, you knew Conrad could probably afford the place by himself, but he’d offered to share with you the moment he heard you were worried about finding somewhere. You’d lived together for three years now and it normally consisted of Conrad cooking and cleaning enough for the two of you and you constantly reminding him that he absolutely didn’t need to.
Tonight, you knew nothing more than to solely take care of him, in any way that you could.
“Food? Shower? Sleep?” You offer, “Those are your three options. Or drink. Drink I guess is the fourth option.”
Conrad’s lips curl up into a faint smile, “Maybe all at once.”
“Okay, sure, that was the fifth option,” You grin, “You go to shower, I’ll cook, and then you can fall asleep in front of a movie like you normally do.”
He nods tiredly, “Thank you.”
You usher him away, and he obliges, disappearing into the bathroom with the shower turning on soon after. You rummage through the cupboards, the freezer, the refrigerator, to find anything you could use to make a dinner. Eventually, you settle on pasta - a food you were convinced could comfort on even the worst of days. You mix in chicken and tomato and basil and garlic and onions and any other seasonings you can find and make enough food to likely feed you both twice.
The shower turns off and Conrad steps out, towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping around his bare shoulders. He disappears into his room and re-emerges in baggy grey joggers and a darker grey t-shirt. He looks young and deeply innocent and yet completely tired beyond his years.
“Okay don’t complain about my cooking,” You wave a fork in his direction, sticking it into the large bowl of pasta and handing it over to him.
“It smells good,” He returns softly.
“And we’re eating it on the couch, no protests,” You point out, gently pushing him in the right direction.
He would always complain at you for not eating dinner at the table - Conrad had made it an agreement of civilisation in your house. You always retorted that there was something more comforting about eating on the couch together and today you were settling on the fact that you were right. And, today, Conrad agreed with you too. When he looked to the table and chairs in your apartment, all he could think of was his dinner with Belly. One of the last times that things had felt normal between them. The day that had solidified beyond anything that he was truly, deeply, still in love with her. Something he thought he’d always known.
The two of you sit on opposites ends of the couch, bodies tilted towards each other naturally.
“Tell me about your summer,” Conrad swallows the lump in his throat, trying to feel like he had any sense of normality.
“Oh no we don’t need to-“
“Please.”
You take a breath, “Really nothing. I worked at my placement, I went home for like a week when I had some time off, nothing had changed there, I came back and I kept working. And that’s really about it.”
“Well, how was your placement?” He twists the pasta noodles around his fork.
“It was… intense,” You half-laugh, “But it was nice, there were some nice people…”
Conrad narrows his eyes at you, “People?”
You feel your cheeks heat.
“Did you meet someone?”
“Con we don’t need to-“
“You did!” Conrad exclaims, “Tell me!”
“I really don’t think this is a good time for me to be-“
“No, come on,” Conrad shakes his head, “At least one of us can be not totally sad and lonely. Tell me about him. Him?”
“Yeah,” You reply, “His name’s Jason. He was on my placement with me, I think we just trauma bonded over how intense it is to actually work in a hospital. And then a couple of weeks ago he asked me on a date.”
“Well look at you,” Conrad smiles gently, “Very busy summer.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re one to talk.”
He sticks out his foot and kicks your leg jokingly. The two of you sit in silence then, eating your dinner, revelling in the comfort of being reunited, relieved to share your time and troubles with each other once again. It was safe to say that Conrad had just had one of the worst summers of his life, easily one of the worst weeks too - and yet it felt a little less worse when he got to share the weight on your shoulders too. When he got to hear your opinion, have someone willing to let him speak, someone that wanted him around. It made the darkest of times feel just a little lighter.
“Con?” You take a breath, looking over to him.
He sits forward on the couch, setting his bowl of pasta down, his shoulders dropped, like the weight of the world remained on him.
“We’re going to figure this out,” You say so sure of yourself, “This, right now? This is the worst it’s going to feel.”
He breathes in shakily, pressing a palm to his chest, his knee shaking.
“I’m serious, Conrad. It might take weeks, months, years, but it’s not always going to feel this bad.”
“I don’t think I can feel like this for years,” He whispers out the words, looking up at you defeated.
“Then cheer up, buttercup,” You nudge his shoulder, “The recovery arc starts now.”
He looks back down to the floor, smiling the kind of smile that brought out his dimples. The first smile that had felt like he meant it. A glimmer of what could be. The start of a long road to bring him back to himself.
———
It took a long time for Conrad to rebuild. Days passed before he started eating properly again. Weeks passed before he was able to sleep through the night. Months passed before he could go through a day without thinking of her.
Belly had remained in Paris, and Jere still wouldn’t speak to Conrad. Adam was a sort of midpoint between the boys, updating Conrad on his brother. Laurel rang every so often, and as the time passed it seemed Conrad had more and more to say to her. Steven first called in October. He didn’t apologise, but he didn’t expect Conrad to either. They both just settled on being friends in the moment, glad that both of them were okay. He was still dating Taylor, smoother sailing than last time. He just wanted Conrad to be good too. They’d spoken more since, even seeing each other at Thanksgiving.
You’d been dating Jason since the summer had ended, and had even got Conrad’s seal of approval when they first met. They weren’t exactly best friends or anything but they got on, or at least found something to talk about whilst you were out of the room.
Conrad had consumed himself with college, though it wasn’t exactly hard to do in medical school. He hadn’t left California since the summer. Now, Christmas was approaching and you couldn’t bear the thought of him remaining here once more.
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” You point out, “Honestly, it’s really no trouble. My parents will love having you there.”
“You really don’t need to worry,” He assures you, handing another bauble to you to put onto the tree, “I’ll be fine here.”
“Here? On your own?” You frown, “That’s like the least Christmassy Christmas ever.”
“There’s a tree,” Conrad gestures towards the half-decorated tree in your apartment, “And you bought that candle that smells like Christmas.”
“Conrad.”
“I’ll be fine,” He exhales through the words, making them float in the space between you.
You’d mentioned to Jason about seeing him over Christmas but he’d told you it was too soon for anything like that. He would go home to his family and you would go to yours. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, you’d have just felt better if he’d have acted like he wanted to see you.
Just then, your phone starts to ring on the table - cutting short the Christmas songs you’d been forcing him to listen to. You hurry over and see a contact photo of your Mom flash up on the screen.
“Hey Mom!” You smile into the phone, “I’m good, we’re just putting up the Christmas tree.”
Conrad looks over at you, sarcastically swinging a bauble to show some form of enthusiasm.
“Yeah, yeah, my flight is booked,” You look over to him and shake your head to point out that you were lying, “And, great news, Conrad is coming home with me for Christmas too!”
He stands up from his position, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Isn’t that just great?” You say to your Mom, eyes locked with him, mischief flashing across them, “I know! He’s very excited to see you too.”
“Stop!” Conrad hisses, walking slowly over to you.
You back up just a step, “Yeah, yeah, he’ll eat anything! And of course you can make him a stocking, I’m sure he’d love that too.”
“Hey!” He hisses again, shaking his head at you.
“Alright Mom, well I’ve got to go but I’ll see you in a couple of weeks!” You back up away from him again, “Love you too.”
As soon as you hang up, Conrad launches towards you. You squeal, setting off in a run away from him. He’s quick, too quick, grabbing you in his arms and lifting you from the floor. Your legs kick out in front of him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Put me down!” You squeal, gripping his arms around your torso as if fearful he’d drop you.
He sets you back down, “You know you didn’t need to do that.”
You turn around to face him, smiling up at the sad boy, “I know,” You roll your eyes, “But I’m not having you spend Christmas alone, I’m sorry. You will have to deal with my family’s lame games and dorky jokes and you’ll even wear a Santa hat.”
He takes a deep breath, “Tell me what your Mom likes, I’ll need to buy her something.”
“There’s the spirit!” You grin, “She likes champagne, the most expensive one in fact, and lots of it,” You taunt, practically skipping back to the half-completed Christmas tree.
Conrad follows, mildly reluctantly, behind you. But his face seems brighter, a little hopeful. He could have a Christmas, and perhaps in those few days he could really forget about who he should be with at that time. He takes a deep breath and, this time, his chest doesn’t feel so tight.
—
The two of you leave to go home a couple of weeks later, getting a relatively cheap flight at an awkward hour in the night just two days before Christmas - it was cheap and you were still students. You tell your parents not to wait up and they oblige, promising they’ll see you first thing in the morning.
Conrad had met your parents before, when they’d come to visit, but never had he been to your home town. The two of you crept into the house, wincing at the sound that the door made as you closed it, pausing to make sure you hadn’t woken anybody up.
“Shoes off,” You hiss to him, looking over to Conrad to find him already pulling off his shoes.
“I’m not a heathen,” He frowns at you.
He picks up your bag before you get the chance, carrying it through to follow you into the lounge.
“Wow, your family love Christmas,” He looks around at the scattering of decorations just in this one room.
“What? No. Where did you get that idea?” You return sarcastically, “Oh would you look at that!”
You squeeze his arm, hurrying over to the fireplace where your family’s stockings hung on hooks that remained there empty until Christmas rolled around. Placed on your hook too sat a new stocking - a slightly newer shade of red than the ones you’d all had for years. In cursive, embroidered stitching along the top sat the word ‘Conrad’ in a darker shade of red.
“They got me a stocking with my name on?” Conrad half-laughs.
“They got you a stocking with your name on,” You confirm, “And you wanted to just sit in California and eat chicken on your own,” You shake your head at him.
Conrad drops the tension in his shoulders, “Thank you,” He whispers.
“Don’t mention it I-“
“No, I’m serious,” He interrupts, “This,” He gestures around the room, despite the bags still in his hands, “This is far from any Christmas I thought I should have this year.”
“Con…”
“I’m not lying, when summer ended I thought I didn’t deserve anything, actually I thought I deserved to have a shitty year. I thought I deserved to be alone,” He takes a breath, “And then you picked me up from that airport and made me… you just made me feel like I didn’t have to be alone.”
“You don’t,” You shrug like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “You don’t have to be alone. And you shouldn’t feel like you should be.”
He nods, the kind of nod that makes you sure he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but he’ll accept it anyway.
“Come on, let’s get to bed.”
—
Christmas rolls around two days later. And you and Conrad wake early to the sound of a Christmas album playing downstairs. He turns over in the bed - two single beds in the room with a nightstand between.
“Merry Christmas,” He whispers into the remaining darkness of the room.
“Merry Christmas Conrad Fisher,” You grin, jumping out of the bed, “Are you ready for a Christmas day filled with cheesy family traditions and gifts you didn’t ask for?”
“Yes, yes I am,” Conrad smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging low as if still in slumber.
He breaks out of it soon after, you drag him downstairs and the two of you take spots on the floor to open the waiting presents like you were kids again. Your parents had bought him anything they knew, from you, that he remotely liked. He thanked them for everything individually, genuinely, like he couldn’t quite believe they’d got him anything. He got them presents too - the perfume that you said your mom loved when you were younger and hadn’t been able to find since, and golf lessons for your dad after you’d mentioned to Conrad that he wanted to learn. Thoughtful, as he always managed to be.
Your parents, soon after, had disappeared into the kitchen to go to start preparing the dinner and you’d been left just the two of you.
“Do you want your present now?” You grin at him.
“We agreed we wouldn’t get each other anything!” Conrad tilts his head to the side, “But do you want yours too?”
You laugh rummaging around to find the gift you’d got for him as he does the same. You set a small box in front of him and he sets a bigger, flatter present in front of you. You let him unwrap his first, pulling off the bow. Inside a small plant pot, soil compressed into the space, a tiny bag of a seed on top.
“It’s a sunflower,” You explain, “It will probably need a bigger pot eventually.”
He laughs, looking up at you.
“Sometimes it takes a long time for good things to grow, but life persists, and so will you,” You smile softly, “You have already.”
Conrad smiles gently, mirroring your own expression, he looks down at the pot and back up at you, “Is it bad luck if I end up killing it?”
“Maybe,” You narrow your eyes, “But then we just buy a new one and start again.”
He sets the box down beside him, cautious and gentle, and then turns back to you, “Okay, this isn’t the best okay? I didn’t have as much time as I wanted but, well, just open it.”
You frown a little at him, tugging off the wrapping paper to open the gift. Inside, a frame encasing a hand-drawn, painted map in watercolours of blues.
“You made this?”
“Well, I told you I wanted to do some more art, like my Mom did,” He takes a breath, “But I’m not very good at… well, art. So I drew you a map.”
As it all comes into focus, you find yourself picking up on more and more. Dark blue stars scattered around various areas near Stanford, around San Jose, all places that were significant to the two of you.
“There’s the bench of bad decisions, there’s that coffee shop we got locked in, there’s that place you made me pick you up from that awful date,” He chuckles, “And that’s the apartment.”
“Oh Con,” Your voice breaks over his name, “This is so sweet. How did you even think of this?”
“Well,” He breathes, “After this summer I… everyone told me to give Jere space, and that just meant really that I had to leave everyone. I didn’t have a place, anywhere really. And then I came back to California and to you and… you were the place I came to to rebuild. I guess I just wanted a way of showing you that.”
You set down the painting, like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, “Conrad Fisher you’re going to make me cry on Christmas!”
He smiles, squeezing your hand reassuringly, like it said everything that his words had left unfinished.
“Oh you two,” Your Mom sighs delightedly as she steps into the room, “You know, you two would make just a wonderful couple.”
You and Conrad look between each other and laugh.
“Yeah, yeah, not in this life Mom,” You roll your eyes, standing up from the floor.
“Maybe the next one,” Conrad jabs at your side as he stands up beside you.
“Plus, Mom, I’m dating Jason. We’re still together,” You remind her, shaking your head.
“Yes, yes, of course,” She waves you away, “Not in this life, I understand I understand.”
You look over to Conrad, now towering beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side, ruffling a hand over your hair in jest.
Not in this life.
———
You’d tried to avoid letting Conrad think about summer. You were both busy with studying and finals and finding placements. There was just something about the year passing that made it all seem to resurface again. At face value, Conrad seemed okay. He was going through the motions. But you could tell. There was just a shift in him, a slight switch. He was becoming more and more aware of the fact that he wouldn’t have another summer in Cousins like before, and even more aware of how much he’d taken the old ones for granted.
You and Jason had been together for almost a year now. He spent more time at the apartment, especially now that you were slightly more reluctant to leave Conrad on his own.
“So, you’re definitely extending the lease then?” Jason asks you, sat on the end of your bed as you fold away your laundry.
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” You nod, “We’d have no reason not to.”
“Well,” He shrugs, “Maybe I could give you a reason not to.”
You look over at him, frowning, “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought about living with me?” He says, so nonchalantly as if it was the most simple thought to come to his mind.
“Wh- I mean, I don’t know how Conrad would feel about having someone else in the apartment and-“
“Not with him,” Jason interrupts, “I’m talking about me and you finding a place, just us.”
You pause, taken aback. And suddenly the thought weighs on you that maybe you shouldn’t feel that way. What reason would you have to feel that way? Shouldn’t you want to live with him? Shouldn’t you not think twice about parting ways with Conrad?
“Come on,” Jason scoffs over the words, “Do you know how weird it is to tell people that my girlfriend lives with another guy?”
“Wh-“ You breathe out, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know how that must look; what people must think.”
“Okay, and you know there’s nothing between me and Conrad so why are you bringing this up now?”
“Just-“ Jason exhales, “Forget I said anything.”
You close the doors to your closet, turning around to him.
The two of you argued fairly often, not necessarily big arguments, just more little blips here and there. He’d snap at you when he was stressed, and apologise before you went to bed, or when he saw you the next morning. You’d wanted him to go home with you for spring break, or for the two of you to go away somewhere, but he’d instead gone away with some of the soccer team. You wouldn’t have minded, but he got annoyed whenever you brought it up and that seemed to annoy you more. Instead, you’d gone home for a couple of days and then spent the rest of spring break with Conrad. You went to a new place in California every day, driving for miles, swapping which one of you drove each day.
You never really spoke with Conrad about Jason. Not for any reason other than you could normally hear what Conrad was going to say whenever something happened. Sometimes it was easier to listen to that version of him instead of having to listen to the disappointment in person.
It wasn’t that Jason was a bad boyfriend. But every so often something would happen that made you wonder if this is what you could imagine for the rest of your life. And then you’d see him again and realised that you didn’t have to worry about that. Not yet, anyway.
“Let’s just forget I mentioned it, yeah?” Jason stands up from the bed, hands on your waist.
You nod, your hands resting on his chest.
“I just… I want to take another step with you. I love you, I want to be with you.”
“I love you too,” You smile, the kind that doesn’t fully meet your eyes.
Just then, the front door to the apartment opens and the sound of bags rustling fills the room. You step away from Jason, offering him another smile before you go towards Conrad.
“Hey!” He smiles when he sees you, “I got groceries.”
“Chicken?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, stop with the chicken slander,” Conrad rolls his eyes, “You don’t complain when I cook dinner for you every night.”
“Every night? Fisher I cooked four out of seven times last week,” You point out, “And do you want help putting the groceries away or not?”
As you two are busying yourself putting everything away, Jason steps out of your room, jacket over his shoulders.
“I’m going to head home,” He states simply, “I’ve got some stuff to sort out and then me and the guys are out tonight.”
Conrad waves goodbye half-heartedly, glancing up.
“Oh I thought you were staying here tonight,” You step around the island in the kitchen.
“Yeah, I was going to. But Dean just called and I couldn’t say no.”
“Well,” You laugh weakly, “You could.”
“Come on, I didn’t go last week,” Jason points out, “I can’t be one of those guys in a relationship.”
“Yeah, god forbid,” Conrad mutters under his breath.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Jason kisses your cheek quickly, disappearing out of the apartment before you can protest.
Conrad closes the refrigerator, pausing for a second before he turns to you, “Everything okay with you two?”
“Yeah,” You inhale sharply, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Conrad pauses, like he’s trying to figure out if this is a moment to press this or a moment to step back, “You two have any plans over the summer?”
“He’s going away with the soccer team, again,” You swallow the lump in your throat, “Then maybe we’ll go home, I still want him to meet my family.”
“Right, yeah, yeah, of course,” Conrad drags a hand through his hair, “Speaking of which your Mom texted me the other day.”
“My Mom?”
“She asked when I was coming to visit again,” Conrad nods, “But to be honest I think she just wants me to fix that roof they keep having problems with.”
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds about right,” You roll your eyes, “God, I’m sure she’s still hoping I’ll tell her I’m dating you instead.”
Conrad laughs, “Not in this life, right?”
His laughs felt different as summer neared, heavier, less like him. You could feel parts of him slipping away again, the way they did when he was reminded of Belly. She was home from Paris now. Her and Jeremiah were apparently ‘friends’ and Steven did his best to keep Conrad in the know - deciding it was better to be honest than for Conrad to live not knowing.
“Anyway,” Conrad clears his throat, “Chicken for dinner? You can pick the movie tonight.”
—
You can’t sleep that night, tossing and turning in the bed you’d planned to be sharing with Jason. You and Conrad had watched some medical documentary on the body’s response to emotional trauma and the thought of it was weighing on you. Your mind kept trailing back to last summer, the effect you’d seen it all have on Conrad. Back then you’d have taken it all for yourself if you could, and still now you’d do the same. There were glimpses of that same pain even now, a year on. You’d never loved someone the way he loved her. Even now with Jason, it felt like you were waiting for the moment when you really understood what Conrad had felt for her. You thought maybe something would switch and you’d wake up to realise how you felt. You loved him, but not the yearning, deep, soulful kind of love that Conrad described. You didn’t feel your eyes burning to see him, your heart breaking to reach him. You knew, last summer, Conrad would have torn apart every single thing in his life if it meant Belly would return that same love to him. You were completely and utterly sure of it. Would you ever feel that way for someone?
Before you can ponder on the thought for any longer, your phone flashes and buzzes on the nightstand. Jason’s contact photo flashes up.
You groan, rubbing your eyes, half-sitting up in the bed, accepting the call, “Hello?”
“Babyyyyyy,” His voice trails off into the microphone, “Come pick me up.”
“What?” You frown into the screen, “Where are you?”
“Come get me baby the taxi,” He pauses to belch and you recoil away from the phone, “The taxi man won’t let me in.”
You sit more upright, trying to force yourself to focus, “You can’t get home?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Jason it’s the middle of the night,” You check the time on your phone, “Where are you?”
“Come onnnn what are girlfriends for?” He hiccups, “Come get me.”
“Fine, yeah, okay,” You exhale, “Just stay where you are, I’ve got your location.”
You shift out of the bed, grabbing a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt and tugging them both over your pyjamas, pulling on your nearest pair of sneakers. You just about manage to creep out of the room when Conrad’s bedroom door opens at the same time.
“What are you doing?” He rubs a hand over his eyes, frowning at you in his slumber.
“Jason needs me to pick him up,” You return, “Go back to sleep, I’ll be okay.”
“You hate driving in the dark,” Conrad points out, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his joggers, his head tilted to the side, eyes still squinting, “Doesn’t he know that?”
“I think he’s too drunk to know anything,” You grimace, “I’ll be okay, he’s not far.”
“Be safe, okay?”
You nod, grabbing your car keys from the bowl and hurrying out of the apartment.
Jason is a ten minute drive from your apartment, outside a bar downtown. As you pull into the street, you can make him out amongst the entire crowd. There he stands, on the corner, each of his arms slung around a girl’s shoulders - one auburn, one blonde, both beautiful. Your stomach churns a little at the sight, that kind of dreaded pit feeling sinking into you.
“Jason?” You pull up in the car beside him and instantly he looks up.
“Baby!” He exclaims, “This is my girl I’ve been telling you about!”
Every one of his words is slurred, every step stumbling. The girls look at you somewhat apologetically, pushing away from his looped arms to step away from him. Jason stumbles towards your car and hangs himself into your open window.
“Get in the car Jason,” You simply state, “Now, please.”
He mumbles something under his breath and stumbles around until he reaches the passenger side, flopping into the seat as if his limbs had completely given up on him.
You indicate out into the road and start to drive in the direction of Jason’s house.
“I’ll go back to yours,” He grumbles, taking the water bottle from your cup holder and drinking nearly half of it.
“No, I’ll drop you home,” You return.
Jason scoffs in exaggerated disgust, “So you can go back to him?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“God you’re obsessed with him!” Jason laughs outwardly, “I’m surprised you two haven’t been fucking this whole time. But something tells me this is worse.”
He’s slurring and yet his words sound so crystal clear they churn your stomach.
“He’s my friend Jason, you knew that from when we started dating,” You state coldly, “And he’s had a pretty shitty year all things considered, would it kill you to have a bit of empathy?”
“Empathy? For what? That butthurt freak wanting to fuck my girlfriend?” He laughs, eyes wild in his anger.
“For a guy your girlfriend cares about,” You return, “Where is this even coming from? Why now?”
“It’s not now! It’s always!” He defends, “Last Christmas? The family photo with your parents? He drew you a map.”
“You’re being childish, Jason.”
“And you want to fuck your best friend!” He shouts the words, practically spitting them like venom, “I guess neither of us are perfect.”
You turn down onto his street, slowing the car in front of his house.
“So let me get this straight,” You take a breath, “You call me in the middle of the night to pick you up, you’re drunk out of your mind, you sit in my passenger seat to hurl abuse at me about Conrad.”
Jason shakes his head, “You’re unbelievable. What do you think people say when they see my girlfriend-“
“I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
You’re cold, numb, emotionless.
“What?” He spits, eyes ablaze in fury.
“If this is how you feel, if you’re going to talk to me like this,” You shrug, focusing on a single mark on your steering wheel, “Then I won’t be your girlfriend anymore. I’m not, actually. We’re not. It’s over.”
“Brilliant,” Jason scoffs sarcastically, “Really great decision, yeah. And when Conrad won’t love anyone but that girl that doesn’t want him, you’ll regret wasting so much time on him.”
You clench your jaw, expecting to be more upset than you are, focusing on the way your breathing doesn’t even feel out of sync yet. It was like your body had no reaction.
“His family were right to not want him, you know? So was that bitch he fell in love with,” Jason smirks, “Nobody but you would be stupid enough to deal with that.”
“Get out of my car,” You grip the wheel, staring blankly at the road in front of you.
“Yeah, gladly,” Jason mutters under his breath, standing up out of the car as if the conversation had just sobered him completely, the door slamming behind him as he trails up towards his house.
You shift the car into drive, swing it around to turn back in the direction of your apartment, and drive like nothing had happened. The car is silent, engine rumble fading into the night. You don’t cry, you don’t even hold back tears. You just drive. Your hands don’t shake, your chest doesn’t feel tight. You didn’t feel a single thing.
You don’t feel at all, all the way until you get back to your apartment, traipsing tiredly up the stairs.
As soon as your key clicks in the door, Conrad’s bedroom door opens, joggers hanging low around his waist, torso bare, muscles looking softer in the dark. He rubs a hand over his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“Um,” You look over at him, dragging a hand through your hair, “I think we just broke up.”
Conrad stands upright from where he’d been leaning against the door frame, pausing as if he was trying to figure out if he’d still been asleep, “Wh- he broke up with you?”
“No, no,” You shake your head, “I broke up with him.”
“Are you okay?” Conrad steps forward, “Shouldn’t you be… upset? Or something?”
You pause, “Yeah, I should be.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not,” You look at him like he could give you answers, “Why am I not?”
“Should I be hugging you now or something?”
You laugh tiredly, “I should be crying, right?”
Conrad chuckles, low the way it was when he just woke up. He steps over from his room, crossing the apartment to you. He extends his arms, wrapping around you to pull you to his chest. You wrap your arms around him, your ear pressed against his heart, hearing the dull beat echo against you.
“Am I heartless?” You mumble, hoping for just a moment that your body would react in any sort of way. That you’d cry, that you’d feel your heart break, that you’d want to crawl into bed and eat your body weight in chocolate.
“Maybe,” Conrad says softly, “Or maybe you just made the right decision.”
In the moment, you think of telling Conrad what Jason had said - the argument that had started it all. And yet something stops you from doing so. You want this moment to remain just the two of you. Your best friend, your closest confidante, the boy that would be there for you at the end of every night, at the beginning of every morning. That was all this needed to be.
———
The following morning, you are up later than usual - the fatigue clearly catching up with you. Your chest feels tight this morning, evidently the effects of last night catching up with you too.
You were sadder than last night had made you realise. Not to say that you’d lost the perfect boyfriend - your relationship had been far from perfect. Instead, you’d simply just lost someone that had been in your life for the past year. Someone you’d cared for, you’d loved, you’d made memories with. And it had all ended in one night. Part of you figured you always knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you hadn’t ever thought it would come to a moment like last night. The anger, the hatred, the fiery exchange. You’d seen a side of Jason you’d never seen before, and you didn’t want to see again.
You take a deep breath, checking your phone to see a message from Jason.
we need to talk about last night
It’s instinct when you lock your phone, ignoring the reality for a moment longer. You tug a baggy hoodie over your head, pull your hair up away from your face and drag yourself out of the room.
“Good morning,” Conrad looks up when he sees you, a smile on his lips.
He stood in the kitchen, layering some eggs over avocado and toast on a plate.
“I was just about to wake you,” He continues, “I figured you could do with a good breakfast.”
You smile tiredly, sitting down onto one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, “Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Um,” You take a moment, “Confused.”
“Are you still glad you did it?”
You place a palm to your chest, pressing against it to ease the tension. Conrad knows the sign almost instantly, setting down everything in his hands as if he was preparing for any way that he could help.
“I am,” You breathe out, “I just… I don’t know. It was so angry, like we hated each other. I might not want to be with him but I don’t want to hate him.”
“What changed? I mean, I thought you guys were happy.”
“Come on, Con,” You shake your head, “You never thought it would last forever.”
He pauses. Conrad had only been in one relationship in his life that had felt like it could last. And it had consumed him. And, inevitably, it had broken him. He couldn’t imagine not feeling everything, so deeply, all at once like that. And yet here you were, honest with yourself that this wasn’t right for you, and capable of moving past it. He couldn’t figure out how. His eyes find themselves drifting towards the small terrace you had outside the apartment, with a tiny table and chairs on there you’d found at a flea market. And, on one side, in a much larger pot than last Christmas, the sunflower growing. It was a few feet tall now, sprouting after the spring, a flower blooming widely atop it. He felt his heart swell at the sight, a reminder of how much time had passed, and how the only constant in all of the pain had been you.
“Would you rather I be unwaveringly depressed for the next nine months?” You taunt, taking the plate of food from him.
“Hey!” He points a fork at you accusingly, “It was six months at most.”
You narrow your eyes, “Jury’s still out on that one.”
———
Another six months pass in blissful routine. You and Conrad both get a place on Dr Namazy’s placement and spend every day working together, loving it, complaining about it, still getting up to do it all again. You cook for him on your day off, he does the same for you on his, and when both of you are working you would stumble in tired from a shift and make anything remotely quick, curled up on the couch with aching feet and tired brains. Your classes start back in the fall, both of you knee deep in scientific papers and reports and research. It’s the day after halloween when Conrad gets the call.
“Wow, that’s great news! Congrats man, seriously,” Conrad speaks into the phone.
You furrow your brows at him, trying to figure out the conversation without hearing a word.
“Yeah, um, wow,” He drags a hand through his hair, “Can I be there for thanksgiving?”
He looks at you as if hoping you’ll answer for him.
“Yes, yes we can,” He keeps his eyes on you, widening them, “Sure, yeah, I’ll let her know now. I’ll text you, yeah.”
Conrad finishes up the conversation and hangs up, looking to you.
“How do you feel about going to Cousins for thanksgiving?”
You pause, the book in your hands almost slipping through, “Wh- what? I mean, how do you feel about going to Cousins?”
“Taylor and Steven are engaged,” He explains, “They want us all there to celebrate.”
“Do they know how much of a bad idea that is?” You half-laugh, “Nobody’s seen each other since last summer!”
“That’s not true, they’ve just not seen me,” He points out, “They’re all still friends - even Jere and Belly.”
“Con,” You say softly, setting down your book, watching as he walks around to sit down with you on the couch, “Are you sure about this?”
“I can’t go the rest of my life without seeing them,” He shakes his head, “If it’s not now, when will it be?”
“And you want me to come with you?”
“Are you kidding?” Conrad laughs, “Where do I go without you?”
Without saying another word, you’ve agreed. Of course you wouldn’t let him go alone. In fact, you’re sure you’d go anywhere he needed you to go. Scarily so, in fact. And to the same degree of certainty, he’d do the same for you. So you’d go to Cousins. And you’d be stood behind him to pick up any of the rebuilt pieces that broke down when he returned to them all. It had taken months to rebuild him before, and you feared for him to crumble again.
And so, only a few weeks later, the two of you are packing a bag and getting on the early flight to Boston. Conrad spends the entire flight with his headphones on and a crossword in his hands, tapping you every so often for help with an answer. You finish the book you were reading, and Conrad holds his hand out to take it from you - having developed a habit of reading every book you finished. He said it was the perfect review - if you’d finished it, it had to be somewhat good.
You get a taxi to his father’s place in Boston where you transfer into Conrad’s waiting car, a Range Rover as if he were a Dad of three. He lets you pick the music, as the two of you drive to Cousins, the sun already setting over the town. He points out a few spots that held certain memories, and the two of you stop at his Mom’s garden on the way. It felt like walking into a film to be somewhere you’d heard so much about, like these places that hadn’t felt real were suddenly coming to fruition.
“I think everyone is already there,” Conrad mentions, turning onto another street of towering, grand houses.
“Okay, is that good or bad?”
“Maybe better that we bite the bullet,” Conrad shrugs, looking at your reflection through the rear view mirror.
He turns once more, slowing down as he turns onto the driveway up to the house. You’d seen enough pictures of the place to be able to map it out yourself. Conrad steps out of the car, taking your bag in one hand and his in the other.
“Conrad!” Steven swings the door wide open, “You made it just in time, we’re just having dinner.”
“Great,” Conrad nods, setting the bags down at his feet to embrace his friend, “Congrats, man.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Steven puts a hand to his chest, “I’m all grown up.”
Steven hugs you too, telling you it was good to see you again.
“Come on, come through, the foods going to get cold,” Steven clasps Conrad on the shoulder, “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s been a long time,” Conrad reminds him.
You follow behind the two of them to walk into the house, past the staircase decorated with paintings of each of them into the dining room just next to the corridor. Inside, there are Taylor, Jeremiah, and Belly.
“Conrad,” Jeremiah stands up from his chair, “You made it.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you,” Conrad nods.
Jeremiah steps towards him and wraps his arms around his brother, both of them embracing for a moment longer. More could be said later. Now could just be this.
It’s like you feel the shift then. The sort of dreaded energy in the room when Conrad’s eyes fall to Belly. His shoulders tense. But they don’t fall. They don’t slump. His breath doesn’t catch in his throat, he doesn’t suddenly feel like he couldn’t control his own limbs if he tried.
“You too, Belly,” Conrad nods to her.
He glances over his shoulder then, back to you, his lips curling up just a little when he does.
“You guys haven’t met (Y/n),” He steps back to stand beside you, “We live together in California.”
“Live together?” Jere raises his brows, “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”
“Oh, no, no,” You shake your head, “Separate bedrooms.”
Jeremiah nods knowingly, “Well it’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah you too, I’ve heard so much about you all,” You smile, feeling your cheeks heat up.
You look over to Belly and offer her a smile too. Her eyes are still on Conrad, only turning to you once she can feel you looking towards her. She smiles back but it doesn’t meet her eyes. She was beautiful, just as beautiful as Conrad described, just as beautiful as the photos you’d seen of her. She seemed older, matured by all that the last year had brought.
Before you can consider her for too much longer, you look back to Conrad. His eyes flash in a moment of fleeting panic, like his brain had just caught up to the awkward energy of the long awaited reunion. You step forward, squeezing his arm quickly.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
And with just a few words from you, he settles a little too, tension in his shoulders relaxing. There aren’t two seats together so the two of you end up separated - him beside Jeremiah, you beside Belly.
“Hey,” She smiles warmly, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” You nod.
It felt weird really. All you knew of Belly was Conrad’s depiction of her. Like without even trying she could lift the sun in the night to bring out the next morning. And yet last summer it seemed she had torn that sunshine from him, held it in her hands and left him with the remaining darkness. As you looked at her then, you could see the power she’d held over him, the love he held for her. She was beautiful with the kind of beauty that radiated deep within her, the kind of warmth that echoed into those around her. Conrad looks over at you and you expect to see the same crumbling devastation at the sight of Belly, like it would knock him all the way back to last year. But he doesn’t. He looks to you, he smiles as if reassuringly, and he looks to his brother by his side, as if doubting that he were actually there.
———
They offer for you to take Laurel’s room for the time that you were here. Belly has gone to her room, Jere had gone to his, Steven and Taylor to theirs, leaving just you and Conrad to your own company. The two of you sit on either end of the couch downstairs, as if wanting to replicate the same comfort of being in your own apartment.
“Oooh thank you!” You beam as he hands you over a hot cup of cocoa.
He sits down beside you, his own cup set in his grasp.
“How does it feel to be back?” You ask after taking a sip, holding the cup in your hands to soak in the warmth.
“Honestly? I’m just happy to have Jere back.”
You smile at the feeling of him being content. For the first time since the start of last summer, he actually seemed content.
“It’s nice to see you two together,” You nod, “It’s like seeing the two halves of your Mom.”
“You think so?” Conrad’s eyes brighten a little.
“Yeah, I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like both of you are so much of her,” You comment, “I’m sure she’d be really happy that the two of you are back together.”
“He even said about coming to visit in California,” Conrad says excitedly, like he’s back to being a kid again, “Mom always wanted us to stay friends when we were adults.”
“And you’ve got the rest of your lives to make sure that always happens,” You nod, so certain in that moment that Conrad would do whatever he could to keep that promise, “And what about seeing Belly again?”
Sometimes it felt weird to speak her name to him, you’d spent so long trying to help him keep his mind far from her.
“Honestly?” He pauses.
You nod.
“I didn’t feel how I thought I would.”
You feel your heart sink a little - had seeing her again broken him?
“I thought I’d… I don’t know. I thought it would feel like last summer, like anything I’d learnt over the last year would just disappear,” He shakes his head as if shaking out the thought, “And then I saw her and I just… I was just happy that she was okay.”
You don’t reply, knowing he has more to say.
“She seems okay, and she seems happy and I just… I don’t feel like I need to be there to make that happen anymore. I can just let her be,” He breathes out, “I can let her go.”
“Do you really think you can?” You ask softly, gripping onto the mug in your hands tightly.
“I think I already have.”
You smile, feeling the weight of a year rise just slightly from your shoulders, your chest that seemed to be always just a little tight unclenching over his words, “Well would you look at that, my little boy Fisher is all grown up.”
He extends his leg and kicks you softly, teasingly. But he sees the look in your eyes and in that moment Conrad knows for certain, you were the single reason he had managed to rebuild. In those worst days, in the ones that got slightly better, and the ones that got worse again, it had been you. Constant and unwavering like the waves returning to the shore, resilient and consistent like the gravity that pulled him to the ground. It was you. And it was the person you helped him to be.
———
There were more people arriving at the house the following day, a party of sorts to celebrate the occasion for Taylor and Steven. You’d offered to help set up with the girls and the boys had gone to the store to buy everything they needed. By the time the evening starts to fall, people start to filter through into the house - a few of their friends from Cousins, Jere and Conrad’s father, Laurel and John, Taylor’s Mom too.
You’re pouring yourself a drink when Conrad comes over, his father beside him.
“I wanted you to meet my Dad,” Conrad begins.
In the moment, you’re transported to the time when the two of you first became friends, and the few moments later when a drunk Conrad had told you that he would always wish you met his Mom.
“It’s lovely to meet you Mr Fisher,” You smile, “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Well, I can’t imagine it’s all positive if you’re hearing about me from Conrad,” Adam grimaces, “But I’ve heard a lot of great things about you too, thank you for being a wonderful friend to my son.”
You look over to Conrad and he looks down bashfully as if he was already hoping the conversation would end.
“Thank you,” You nod, “He’s a great guy, it’s pretty easy to be friends with him.”
Adam chuckles, “Not many people have ever said that about our Conrad.”
“Alright that’s enough Dad,” Conrad winces, “I think Jere is looking for you.”
You giggle, taking your filled cup into your hands.
“Are you going to be okay?” Conrad places a hand on your back before he steps away.
“Yeah, of course,” You smile, “I should probably be social anyway.”
“Okay, well just find me if you need me, yeah?”
You think then to tell him that you’d probably always need him, a little bit at least. But instead you nod, squeeze his arm, and let him disappear off with his father to revel in the feeling of family for a few moments longer.
You’re about to make your way through the house to find a familiar face when Belly comes up to you.
“I was hoping I would find you,” She says, “Do you mind if we talk?”
“Sure,” You smile, “Do you want to go outside?”
She agrees and the two of you walk towards the yard, stepping out into the clear air. You’re both quiet for a moment, realising neither of you were too sure of where to start in each other’s company.
“So you and Conrad are close huh?” She begins.
“Um,” You drag a hand through your hair nervously, “Yeah, yeah, we spend a lot of time together in Cali.”
She nods, pausing as if trying to re-gather her thoughts, “Has he been okay?”
You inhale sharply, a question you knew was coming and yet would never be prepared for, “No.”
Her face falls, her brows furrowing, worry across her features.
“I think it’s taken a long time for him to get to this,” You nod, “He had to face what he’d done, what he’d lost, what had changed. But he did it, he’s doing better, he’s figured it out.”
Her tension seems to relax, “It was so easy to not think about everything when I was in Paris and I guess… I guess now I’ve been back I’ve just been worried about him.”
“Of course, yeah, you’d have every reason to,” You reassure her, “But he’s doing better, so much better. And I think he’s glad that you are too.”
“I felt so awful for breaking his heart, really. I never wanted to do that to him.”
You shake your head, “Nobody would. But you’re also okay to feel how you did. I don’t think I’d have been able to cope with all of that.”
She laughs, “Oh god I bet you were dreading meeting me! A failed wedding with one brother and a devastating heartbreak with the other?”
You laugh too, “Dread is the wrong word. I was more fascinated than anything, you’ve really been through it.”
She smiles, both of you relaxing into each other’s company.
“Conrad’s seriously lucky to have you,” She says so certainly you have no choice but to believe her, “It’s like you were made for him.”
Before she can say anything more, Taylor calls her from the house, something about a dress emergency. And Belly apologises, fleeing quickly to return to her friend.
Her words play over in your mind. Made for him. Perhaps the two of you were. Platonically, you were made for your paths to cross, to intertwine, to run alongside each other and be there for each bump in the road.
As you think to ponder it any longer, you’re stopped once more.
“Laurel,” You smile when you see her.
“Hey! I was hoping to speak to you,” She says.
“You know your daughter just said the same thing,” You laugh, “I’m in demand apparently.”
“I think we’ve all been keen to meet the girl we’ve heard so much about,” She returns, her voice smooth and comforting.
“Yeah, it’s good to finally meet you all too.”
“Conrad seems to care a lot about you.”
“I care a lot about him too.”
She smiles, taking a deep breath, “I don’t think he would have gotten through the last year without you.”
“That’s not true,” You shake your head, “I just did what anyone would do. He had to figure out a lot of it for himself.”
“Maybe,” She breathes, “I’ve never seen him that bad, though. I was really worried about him.”
“I was too,” You return, “I still was, before this weekend at least.”
Laurel glances around, grateful in the moment that the two of you are alone, “You know Conrad called me, a few months ago. In the summer. It was actually only a few days after a year had passed.”
Your breath catches in your throat, your heart clenching. Had you missed something? Had he been struggling more than you’d thought?
“I thought he was going to be right back to last year. But we just talked. He asked me how I was, how Steven and Belly were, we talked about my book. He told me about you and these plans you two had and the apartment and your placement and…” She pauses, inhaling sharply, “It’s the most Conrad I’ve seen all year, maybe for even longer.”
Your heart swells, your body breathing in the relief.
“Beck would have loved you,” Laurel reaches out to squeeze your hand, “You are the kind of person our Connie needs.”
You feel your eyes prick with tears, “God you’re going to make me cry.”
She laughs, shakily too as tears trickle underneath her own eyes, “Come here.”
She folds her arms around you, pressing you to her slight form, both of you chuckling against each other. You know why Conrad cared so deeply for Laurel - she understood him. She reminded him of home, reasoned with him when he was a million miles away. She might have thought that he needed you, but he needed her too. And you know in the moment, without having to think twice, that you both needed him just as much.
“Alright well this is supposed to be a party,” Laurel shakes her head, stepping away from you, “Let’s stop making each other cry.”
You agree, smoothing out the top you wore.
Laurel links her arm with yours, the two of you passing back through the yard and up towards the house. Just before you reach the doors, they open and Conrad steps out. Laurel looks to you and smiles warmly, as if speaking a thousand words. She steps ahead of you and inside the house, leaving you to Conrad’s company.
“I couldn’t find you anywhere,” He says, “Was starting to think you’d made a run for it.”
“Not yet,” You shake your head.
“I’m sorry if this is a bit weird,” He scratches the back of his neck, “But I’m really glad you came with me.”
You laugh, sipping down the rest of your drink, “Honestly? It’s really nice to meet everyone.”
“Yeah Laurel seems to like you,” He glances behind him, in the direction that she had disappeared to, “She’s heard a lot about you so, it makes sense.”
You laugh, “Yeah, yeah, she told me.”
“Oh god,” He scrunches up his nose, “What did she say?”
In the moment, you seem to lose all words. It felt like the past few months you’d started to see a new version of Conrad, and that had shone through even more so in the days that you’d been in Cousins. It wasn’t that he was back to his old self, it was that he was a new version of him. He was every bit the boy you knew, but lighter, brighter, more hopeful. And it made you see him differently too. As much as people could tell you how much you’d been there for Conrad, you were sure you couldn’t have imagined that last years of your life without him. And, almost scarily, you couldn’t imagine the rest of it without him either. Would that be how you’d feel for a friend? Or was the clenching in your heart proof of a whole new feeling entirely? And how could you stand in front of him now if you doubted if you saw him as a friend?
“She just said she felt like you were yourself,” You swallow the lump in your throat, the words feeling shaky and uncertain.
Conrad smiles, dragging a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I guess it’s been a while.”
When you don’t reply, his face softens, his concern growing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um,” You look up to him, your eyes a little glassy, your lips parted with a lack of words, “Nothing, no, I’m okay.”
Conrad frowns a little, a furrow between his brows.
You compose yourself, smile, squeeze his arm, “Come on, they’ll be wondering where we are.”
———
The two of you return to California the following night, getting a late flight back from Boston, landing when it was already dark over the west coast. You are more than aware of the fact that you’ve been quiet with Conrad since that day at the party. Not that you hadn’t spoken, you’d just gravitated towards him less. You’d stayed in bed later this morning, you’d closed your eyes as if asleep on the drive back to Boston and, on the flight, you’d left the middle seat empty between the two of you. It wasn’t to say you didn’t want to speak to him, just that undoubtedly you weren’t sure how to. You were fearful of saying something you would regret.
By the time you arrive back the apartment, you’re about ready to disappear into your room and spend the night trying to reset yourself before tomorrow came around. That’s all you needed. You needed to be back in routine, back to reality, back to you and Conrad being nothing more than flatmates.
“I think I’m going to go to bed,” You say tiredly, lifting your bag from the floor.
“You don’t want any dinner?”
“Um,” You drag a hand through your hair, “No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure everything’s alright?” Conrad asks, “You haven’t seemed like yourself since we left Cousins.”
“I’m just… I’m good,” You shake your head, “Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you,” He points out.
You laugh insincerely, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
If Conrad was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure you’d been okay since that conversation you’d had with Laurel. What had changed?
He watched you walk away into your room, the door closing behind you, and found himself thinking back to his own conversation with Laurel a mere twenty four hours before.
———Last Night———
Everyone else was sat around the dock outside. Belly and Taylor were on one side, looking at something on Taylor’s phone. Steven and Jeremiah had you in some kind of conversation they seemed very invested in. You said something and Steven laughed loudly. Conrad had stepped inside, cracking open beers for everyone.
“There you are!” Laurel’s voice echoes into the otherwise empty house, “I was just about to leave, I wanted to see you before you left.”
“You’re not staying?” Conrad frowns, “I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”
“No, no, I want you kids to enjoy tonight,” She squeezes his hand, “It’s the first time in so long that you’ve all been together, enjoy it.”
“It’s good to see them all again,” Conrad glances out towards the faint view he still had of the group.
“Belly’s really glad to have her friend back,” Laurel assures him.
“Yeah,” He exhales, “Yeah, I am too.”
“Conrad, you know I have to ask you,” Laurel sighs, “Do you still love my daughter?”
His eyes flick down to where Laurel stood in front of him, his brows furrowing.
“I-“ He shakes his head, “I’ll always love her. But not in that way, not anymore.”
Laurel pauses for a moment, “Then why do you still have that look in your eye?”
Conrad half-laughs, “I have a look?”
“You look different when you’re in love, I’ve seen it before,” She points out, “This time even more than before.”
Conrad finds his eyes drifting back outside, to where Belly still remained in the same spot, now laughing at something Taylor was telling her. But his eyes continue to drift, past her as if she were a floating memory, to the girl stood still making Steven laugh. You had a beer in your hand that you’d been nursing for the past half an hour, one of his jackets around your shoulders where you’d forgotten to bring your own. He wasn’t sure at what point his view on you had shifted but Conrad knew then in that moment that he didn’t just see his friend stood there. He saw you. But in a different light, with a different future mapped out in his head. And he was sure then that maybe he knew what Laurel had meant - to love someone this much would make it impossible for his eyes to not tell the story too.
“Oh Connie,” Laurel sighs, almost in a way of contentment, “If you love her you’ve got to tell her.”
“Yeah,” Conrad exhales, “We’ve always agreed it wouldn’t be in this life.”
“Would it be so bad if it was?”
———Now———
The following morning, you get up before Conrad is out of his room. You take whatever you can from the kitchen and make up some al form of breakfast - eggs, bacon, cheese, bagels - that would suffice. You put on the album Conrad always played on repeat, letting it sound out through the apartment, with any luck loud enough to coax him out of his room.
Just then, the door opens. Although not the one you were expecting. The front door to the apartment swings open and Conrad comes through. He has a brown paper bag in one hand and a bunch of flowers in another - various shades of pastels sprouting out of the bouquet.
“Hey!” He stops in his tracks, “I bought breakfast.”
You scrunch up your nose, “And I made breakfast.”
Conrad laughs, “You put my album on.”
“You bought me flowers.”
He smiles, outstretching his arm to give them to you, “M’lady.”
“Why thank you,” You return in jest, taking them from him and filling up the empty vase to set them into.
“Okay well I bought muffins so we can have them for dessert,” He offers, setting them onto the countertop, “You need any help with this?”
“Nope, nope, I’ve got it,” You shake your head, plating up the second bagel and turning around with the two plates, “Bagels!”
“Bagels,” Conrad repeats, taking one of the plates from you.
He lets you walk around the kitchen island, both of you taking seats on the barstools.
Conrad bites into the bagel, groaning over the bite, “Holy shit.”
“Good, right?” You grin, taking a bite yourself. The egg splits, the yolk dripping down your chin.
“So good,” Conrad chuckles, “Just… very messy.”
He extends his hand over to you, his thumb wiping over your chin. In the moment, the two of you pause, eyes on each other, focused. You pull away a moment before Conrad does.
“Hey, um,” Conrad sets his bagel down, wiping his hands on a napkin, “We’re okay, right?”
“Wh-“ You go to come up with some sort of dismissive excuse but stop yourself when you look back to his eyes, “Yeah, I’m sorry if it didn’t seem that way.”
“No, no, don’t apologise,” Conrad shakes his head, “I was just worried something had happened… like Laurel had said something to you.”
You frown, “Laurel? No, I only saw her to say goodbye after that time you saw us.”
“Right, yeah,” Conrad clears his throat, “No problem then?”
“Unless you have a problem?”
“No, no, nothing.”
Both of you fall into silence then, one of the few moments where neither of you were sure of what to say to each other.
You try to force your mind to think of anything else.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, “I have that seminar tomorrow and I haven’t read the paper for it! I knew I’d forgotten something this weekend!”
You jump down off from the stool and hurry into your room.
Conrad stands up from his chair like he should follow after you, pausing in his movements.
Moments after, you come back out of the room, paper held in your hands, “Well I guess we have some reading for-“ You stop mid-sentence, breath catching in your throat, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Would it be so bad if something happened in this life?”
You pause, your brows furrowing, “What are you talking about?”
“I-“ Conrad drags a hand through his hair, “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“Con what are you talking about?”
You stay where you are as if you’re scared to take a step away or towards this moment.
“We always say that,” He begins again, “When someone says we’d be good together we always say-“
“Not in this life.”
“Yeah,” He exhales, his shoulders shrugging as he says, “But would it be so terrible?”
“Would what be so terrible?”
He sighs, as if battling with himself, “I don’t want to love some other version of you, I want to love this version, in this life.”
“Con…” You feel your heart aching for him, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying-“ He half-laughs, “We already live together, we spend every day together, you’re literally the only person here I give a shit about. Would it be so terrible if… if we just did all of that as a couple?”
“I…” Your breath catches, “I can’t.”
His shoulders drop, defeated.
“I saw you in love with Belly, I saw how much it broke you, I saw how much she broke you,” Your bottom lip trembles, “I don’t want you to feel this way just because… just because I was here.”
“Are you kidding?” He shakes his head, “You’ve been everything since… well, since I moved to California. Last year, how I felt for Belly… I would’ve broken myself for her. I did break myself for her.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, like you’re losing him and yourself with it.
“It’s not like that with you,” Conrad assures you, stepping forward, “You make me be better, you make me want to be better, you convince me that every day could be okay, in fact you make every day fucking great.”
You exhale shakily, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him.
“You’re not just the person that makes me get out of bed in the morning,” He shakes his head, “You’re the person that makes me want to get out of bed. You’re the person I want to buy flowers for, I want to eat every breakfast with, I want to travel with and see our families with and graduate with and… I want to grow old with you.”
“I do too,” You whisper out, laughing a little about how insane this all felt.
He steps another stride closer to you, “In this life?”
You laugh, “Yes, in this life.”
Conrad crosses the rest of the way over to you, his hands gripping your face, one drawing back to tangle into your hair. You gasp against the contact, papers dropping to the floor as you grip onto his shirt around his chest, twisting it into your grasp.
He rests his forehead against yours, both of you breathing rapidly in the aftermath.
You were grateful in that moment that it was this life that you and Conrad found each other in. That this life had given you a messy, broken, pieced together few years where the only constant had been each other. And in every life it would be him you would choose again and again … though you were happy to start with this life for now.
areudirty
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
turnnoffyourmind
