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University of Unintentional Feelings - A. Albon

★ summary: that was easier than telling you he hasn't had to fake a single thing. it was easier than telling you he's had a massive crush on you since freshman year ★ pairing: Alex Albon x best friend fake girlfriend!reader ★ contains: college/university au, romance, friendship, fake dating, mentions of food, feelings realization/denial, use of y/n two people & one bed trope ★ word count: 8.2k ★ radio check: i wrote this months ago and i've been waiting until the holidays rolled around to post, but im obsessed with this (and alex tbh)

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The last few weeks of the semester were always your least favorite part. Between the stress of finals, endless papers, and group projects dragging on longer than anyone wanted, the days blurred together into a haze of coffee-fueled exhaustion and last-minute cram sessions.

Though the last few weeks of the semester always meant you were going home soon, a comforting thought that helped you power through the chaos. Like usual, you were going home for winter break, counting down the days until you could leave campus behind.

You and Alex were in your apartment, both of you furiously working on your respective assignments, the glow of your laptops casting soft light over the cluttered coffee table. The silence was comfortable, punctuated only by the occasional sigh or clatter of keys.

Breaking the quiet, Alex glanced up from his screen, his head tilted ever so slightly. “You never told me what you were doing for break,” he stated, eyes calm and curious. It was the same look he always gave when he wanted to understand you better.

You looked up to meet your best friend’s eyes and shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s because I’m doing the same thing I do every break - heading home.”

Alex nodded slowly, eyes searching yours like he was weighing something beyond the simple words. “Right… I guess that makes sense.”

You noticed the pause, the subtle shift in his tone, like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how to. That was classic Alex - always thoughtful, always considerate. You’d known each other all throughout college, through study marathons, late night pizza runs, and endless conversations about everything from karting strategies to your favorite music. He had an uncanny way of reading you, even when you tried to keep things light.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and added, “I’m not going home this year.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really? Why not?”

He shrugged, the familiar self-deprecating half-smile playing on his lips. “It’s not worth it. I gotta be back early anyway for the karting team. It doesn’t make sense to only go home for a few days and then fly back.”

Your heart panged. You knew how much his family meant to him, even if he didn’t always say it outright. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” he said, sounding half deflated. “Gives me more time to prep for the rest of the season, I guess.”

Silence settled between you, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken words. You weren’t quite sure how to respond, but the years of friendship, the countless times he’d been there for you when things got tough, nudged your thoughts in one direction.

“Would you want to come home with me?” You asked quietly, voice tentative but hopeful

Alex’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened with warmth. “Really? Your family would be okay with that?”

You nodded firmly, “Oh yeah, they already adore you from the stories I’ve told them. All of my siblings have brought home friends for breaks. It’s nothing new. Plus it’s way better than sitting in your undecorated apartment alone.”

“I’d like that a lot,” his grin spread wide, relief plastered on his face. “Thanks.”

Later that night, you found yourself on the phone with your mom. Alex had left your apartment a few hours ago, the quiet stillness settling back into the rooms he’d just filled with laughter and conversation. You absentmindedly traced the rim of your mug as you talked, the warm tea doing little to chase away the nervous flutter swirling in your stomach.

“Hey,” you began, your voice a little softer than usual, “I just wanted to let you know Alex is going to be coming home with me for break,”

There was a brief pause on the other end, the silence just long enough for your heart to skip a beat, before your mom’s voice bubbled with excitement. “Alex? Really? That’s wonderful! You’ve told us so much about him. I can’t wait to finally meet him in person!”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah, he’s really great. I think it’ll be good for him - and honestly, it’ll be nice to have company this year.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s what family’s for,” she said, her tone tender and full of love. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of food, and don’t worry, the guest room is all ready.”

You laughed softly. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll let you know the details once we figure out what our travel plans are.”

“Perfect. And remind him, no racing in the house,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, already imagining the chaos. “Will do. Love you.”

“Love you too, honey. I’m so excited to meet your boyfriend.”

You blinked, a sudden wave of panic crashing through you as the word boyfriend echoed in your mind. Your mom’s voice, light and teasing, suddenly felt like a spotlight shining on you in the middle of a crowded room. Boyfriend? That wasn’t how you wanted this to sound. Alex was your best friend, nothing more.

Your fingers tightened around your phone, your heart pounding faster as your mind scrambled for the right thing to say, but the beep of the call ending caught you before you could explain. You were left staring at a silent screen, the word boyfriend replaying over and over like a broken record.

It hadn’t been long since Alex had left your apartment - two hours tops - but he already missed the easy comfort of being there. The hum of your old heater, the faint smell of whatever candle you’d lit that day, the quiet rhythm of your typing across the coffee table from him.

Now, back at his own place, the silence felt heavier. His apartment was colder, not just from the stubborn draft slipping through the cracks in the windows, but from the lack of… well, you.

He’d tried to keep himself busy. Unpacking his backpack. Half-heartedly scrolling through social media. Even making himself a late dinner, though he barely touched it. His mind kept drifting back to the conversation you’d had earlier - the casual way you’d invited him home with you, like it was nothing.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not to him.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until you’d offered. You probably didn’t think twice about it. But to him? It was huge. Holidays at home weren’t exactly easy for him anymore, and the idea of spending that time somewhere welcoming… it made the knot in his chest loosen in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

That thought was still sitting pleasantly in his chest when someone pounded on his door.

Not knocked. Pounded.

The sound snapped him out of his head, and he crossed the room quickly, unlocking it to find you standing there. Your cheeks flushed from the cold, hair slightly windblown, eyes wide and bright with something he couldn’t quite place. Panic, maybe?

“You okay?” he asked, stepping aside instinctively to let you in.

You marched past him without answering, pacing the small stretch of his kitchen like you had too much energy bottled up. He shut the front door, brows furrowing, watching you turn on your heel over and over until finally-

“My mom thinks you’re my boyfriend,” you blurted, like the words had been building pressure and were about to burst.

He blinked. “...What?”

“I called her to tell her you were coming home with me and she just - she assumed. And I didn’t even get the chance to explain before she hung up, and now she’s all excited to ‘meet my boyfriend’ and I just-” You let out a frustrated groan, rubbing your temples.

Alex bit back a laugh, though the corners of his mouth tugged upward anyway. “That’s what this is about?”

“Yes! It’s - ugh - it’s a lot,” you sighed, slumping your shoulders. “And she’s already planning stuff. I don’t know how to un-tell her without making it awkward.”

He leaned up against the counter, arms folded loosely, watching you spiral. “You could just… tell her the truth?”

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, yeah. Because ‘Hey, this is Alex, my platonic friend who is not, in fact, my boyfriend, isn’t going to be awkward at all.”

He opened his mouth to suggest maybe telling her sooner than when you both arrive at your house, but you whirled on him so fast he took a step back.

“We could just fake it,” you gasped, wide-eyed.

Alex straightened slightly, his brows lifting. “Fake dating?”

“Just for break,” you rushed, waving your hands like you could physically shove the words into his brain before you lost your nerve. “We fake it. She doesn’t get embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, you won’t have to be here alone. Then, after break, we ‘break up’ and everything goes back to normal.”

He stared at you for a beat, his brain short-circuiting at how fast this had escalated. You were clearly panicking, clearly not giving yourself time to think it through, and somehow still looking at him like this was the most logical solution in the world.

And the thing was? He was already picturing it. Sitting close on the couch. Laughing at dinner with your family. His hand warm over yours under the table. All the things he secretly wanted for longer than he cared to admit.

Finally, he let out a slow breath and smirked. “Alright. But I’m going to be really good at this. Don’t cry too much when I break your heart when we come back from break.”

You narrowed your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitched. “Don’t push it.”

The morning of your trip, your apartment looked like your closet had exploded. Clothes were draped over the couch like casualties of indecision, shoes were scattered in mismatched pairs, an open duffel bag sat half-packed on the floor. The air smelled faintly of coffee and vanilla candle you’d lit an hour ago in some desperate attempt to trick yourself into feeling calm.

You darted between the kitchen and your bedroom in a blur of half-zipped jackets, tangled headphones, and muttered curses about forgetting chargers. At one point you stopped mid-run to scribble something on a sticky note, only to immediately lose it.

Alex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with the same quiet amusement he got before doing something stupid on a night out. His hair was still messy from the wind on the walk over, his suitcase resting at his feet like he’d been ready for hours.

“You know,” he drawled, eyes sweeping lazily over the chaos, “boyfriends are supposed to help with this kind of thing.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not actually my boyfriend, Albon.”

He grinned like he was expecting that response. Sauntering into the room, he picked up a stray hoodie from the couch. “Tell that to your mom.”

Before you could reply, he folded the hoodie neatly and tucked it into your suitcase like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, with a maddening calm, he reached over your shoulder to grab your travel mug from the counter, his chest brushing your back for a split second longer than necessary.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his voice low enough to send a ripple down your spine. “I know how cranky you get without coffee.”

You froze. “How did you-”

“Best friend perks,” he cut in with a smirk, sliding the mug into your tote. “Also, fake boyfriend perks. I’m getting into character.”

“Getting into character?” you repeated, suspicious.

“Mhm,” he said, leaning lazily against the counter now, all smug self-assurance. “You don’t want me to blow our cover, do you? The best fakes are the ones that feel real.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him to grab your phone off the charger, muttering under your breath about him being the one to blow your cover if he kept this up.

But when you were both dragging your suitcases down the hallway toward the elevator, Alex suddenly reached over and took yours without a word. You blinked at him, caught off guard, your fingers automatically loosening on the handle.

“What?” he asked innocently. “Your mom’s gonna expect me to carry your bag. Gotta sell it.”

And with that, he kept walking, rolling both bags down the hall like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The closer you got to your hometown, the more your stomach seemed to fold in on itself. The streetlights here had a softer glow, the air through the cracked window smelled faintly of woodsmoke, and every passing landmark - an old gas station, the diner with the peeling blue awning - was a breadcrumb leading straight to the place you’d grown up.

And with each mile, the weight of what you’d done - what you’d blurted without thinking - pressed heavier on your ribs. It had seemed like a brilliant, desperate solution in Alex’s apartment. Now it felt like tossing a lit match into dry grass.

By the time you turned onto your parent’s street, your pulse was so loud it muffled the hum of the engine. Your hands ached from gripping the steering wheel.

“This was a bad idea,” you blurted, voice coming out sharper than you meant. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this - pretending to be my boyfriend? It’s insane. My family is going to know. My mom is going to look at me and know, and then she’ll start asking questions and -”

In your peripheral, Alex glanced at you, brows drawing together. “Hey,” he said lightly, but there was a thread of seriousness underneath, “don’t start freaking out now.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you lied, the pitch of your voice betraying you, your breath too quick.

Alex reached over without looking away from the windshield, his palm warm as it stilled your jittering thigh. The contact was grounding, almost annoyingly so. “You’re freaking out,” he said simply, thumb brushing once before he pulled back.

You swallowed. “I just… she’s going to read me like a book. She always does.”

He shot you a maddening smirk. “We’ll be fine.”

“How do you know that?”

“Easy. We just act natural. Don’t over think it.” He shrugged, like this was as low-stakes as picking where to get lunch.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to borrow some of that easy confidence, but your pulse still thudded in your ears as the silhouette of your childhood home came into view.

You glanced over at him with both of your eyebrows raised. “Right… easy.”

“Breathe,” Alex said softer this time, almost coaxing, “It’s just me. And your family. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” you repeated, incredulous as you pulled into your driveway.

He chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt with a click that somehow sounded too loud in the quiet street. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

And before you knew it, you shut the engine off, and Alex was already stepping out, moving around to your side. When he opened your door, his easy smile was still there - steady, confident, like he’d been built for moments like this.

The front porch light flicked on.

Alex offered you his hand, palm up. “Come on, partner. Show time.”

You hesitated for a half-second - then took it, his grip warm and grounding as the front door swung open.

Your mom came down the steps, beaming, and Alex felt his stomach drop. Oh she was so sure. There was no hesitation in her expression. No doubt that he was exactly who she thought he was.

“Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said, forcing his voice into that smooth, easy tone he used when he was begging for an assignment extension. He offered a handshake, but she ignored it and pulled him into a hug.

Okay. Hugging. That’s fine. You can hug. Don’t crush her. Don’t be awkward. Is this too long? No, this is fine. Smile. Yep. You’re charming.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he murmured, and when she pulled back, he caught your wide-eyed panic over her shoulder. For some reason, that made him grin. He winked - mostly to reassure you, but also to cover the fact that he was now panicking under the surface too.

Then she said it. “You didn’t tell me he was so handsome!”

Alex’s brain short-circuited. He could either blush like an idiot or double down, so he did the latter. “Right? She undersells me all the time.”

You went even redder. Good. Distract them with her embarrassment. Textbook.

Before your mom could drag him up the stairs and into the house, he remembered the bags in the back.

“Hang on,” Alex said quickly, gesturing toward the car. “Let me grab our stuff.”

Our stuff. The words slipped out before he could catch them, but your mom’s approving little smile told him she’d clocked it. Fantastic. Now she was picturing you two sharing a suitcase and splitting toothpaste.

He rounded the back of your car, popped the trunk, and immediately realized his hands were shaking just a little. Cold air, he told himself. Just cold air. Definitely not the fact that your mom had casually just obliterated his composure with one compliment.

“Need help?” you asked quietly, stepping up beside him, your breath curling in the air.

Alex shot you a sideways glance. “I’m fine,” he lied, right as the strap of your duffel promptly tangled itself in another bag’s handle like it was some kind of cosmic joke. “Totally fine.”

“You’re panicking,” you whispered, clearly enjoying every second of his unraveling.

He leaned in just enough so only you could hear, his voice pitched low. “Nope. This is just… strategic luggage retrieval.” The smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes.

From the porch, your mom’s voice rang out, warm and teasing. “Do you two want to freeze out there or come inside?”

Alex straightened, finally managing to untangle the bags and sling one over each shoulder. “Coming,” he called, forcing that easy, confident tone back into place. He even threw in a smile for good measure.

But as he followed you up the steps, the truth sat stubborn in his chest - beneath the charm and the banter, his heart was hammering in sync with yours.

The second his foot crossed the threshold, Alex felt like he’d been dropped into a live-action flashback reel of your life.

Warm light pooled across the polished hardwood floors. The faint scent of rosemary and something rich baking in the oven wound through the air. His brain supplied comfort, because that’s exactly what the place felt like.

And that was dangerous. Comfort made you lower your guard. Comfort made you forget you were performing a part, where one wrong line could make your best friend’s mom figure out you’d both been lying through your teeth.

He followed you into the living room, his eyes doing a quick sweep. A family photo on the mantel - was that you in braces and a neon hoodie? Oh, that was definitely ammo for later. A cross-stitched throw pillow with a cheesy quote. Shelves lined with books and… was that a snow globe collection?

Your mom bustled past toward the kitchen, mentioning something about putting water on for tea. Alex nodded like he’d been offered the most sophisticated drink in the world. “Tea would be great, thank you,” he said, slipping automatically into his polite, guest-mode voice.

Then he remembered - fake boyfriend. Guest-mode was too distant. He needed warmth. Familiarity. The illusion that he belonged here.

So he set both duffels side by side, stepped up beside you, and let his hand brush the small of your back. Just lightly, just enough for your mom to notice without making you jump. He felt you stiffen anyway.

“Y/Dad/N should be home any moment. He was off getting your siblings from the airport,” your mom spoke, her eyes flicking between the two of you.

Your mom’s words - Dad should be home any moment - hit you like a countdown clock. You could practically feel Alex’s smile stiffen beside you, his easy confidence faltering just slightly.

The front door opened not even five minutes later, letting in a rush of cold air that made your hair prick at the back of your neck. A low rumble of voices followed, warm and familiar, your dad’s tone halfway between teasing and lecturing one of your siblings. It was a sound you knew well.

“Hey!” your mom called from the kitchen, voice bright. “They’re here!”

Your dad stepped in first, tall and solid in his worn work jacket, boots clacking against the hardwood. His gaze landed on you, lingering for a beat longer than comfortable, before flicking to Alex with the same kind of assessing look that had made you squirm as a teenager.

“Dad,” you said, forcing lightness into your voice and smiling a little too brightly, “This is Alex, my boyfriend. Alex, my dad.”

Alex extended his hand with a smooth, self-assured grace he’d clearly practiced on professors and teaching assistants. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Your dad shook it, firm but not unfriendly, eyes narrowing slightly, a clear indication he was judging Alex’s every move. “So you’re the one I’ve been hearing about.”

Your stomach tightened. What exactly had he been hearing?

Before Alex could answer, the rest of the crew tumbled in - your older brother Ethan with his work backpack still slung over one shoulder, shoes scraping lightly on the floor, and your older sister Lily, shrugging off her winter coat with a flourish. They both paused mid-step, sizing up Alex like they’d just been handed front row seats to the season’s biggest drama.

“This is Alex,” you repeated, trying to sound casual. “Alex, this is Ethan and Lily.”

Alex offered the same firm handshake he’d given your dad. Ethan shook it back with a smirk that conveyed more confidence than courtesy, but still more welcoming than your father. Lily’s greeting was softer - a brief, polite hug - but you could see the tension in Alex’s shoulders, the subtle shift in his posture betraying the panic he was expertly masking behind the charm.

Dinner was called shortly after, the clinking of plates and silverware filling the room. Alex slid into the seat next to you, close enough that your elbows brushed. He went to charming immediately - asking your mom about the roast, complimenting the house, asking your siblings about work, and even tossing a casual joke at your dad that earned a small chuckle.

But you could see the little tells. The way he rolled his shoulders back before answering one of your dad’s questions. The way his fingers tapped twice against his glass before he spoke. The slight quickening of his breath when your dad asked anything more pointed. He was performing, just like you - both of you actors in a scene you hadn’t rehearsed, each movement carefully measured.

“So,” your dad said, spearing a potato with casual precision, “how did you two meet?”

The question landed like a grenade. Your heart was in your throat.

Alex didn’t miss a beat. “We had Intro to Sports Management together freshman year,” he said easily, shooting you a quick glance. “Then learned we lived in the same dorm building. It kinda went from there.”

Your siblings exchanged a look - part teasing, part approval. “Huh,” Ethan said, smirking, “so you’ve been dealing with her for years. Brave.”

You laughed, a little too loudly, because it was easier than letting them hear how fast your heart was still thudding. And maybe because you were grateful Alex has put up with you for this long.

Once dinner and desserts had wrapped up, you found yourself in your room, slumping onto your bed with a dramatic groan. The soft hum of your ceiling fan and the faint scent of your lavender candle offered a welcome contrast to the stress of the evening.

Alex was in the guest room, the two of you only separated by a single wall. You could hear him shifting around, the faint scrape of a chair and the soft click of a laptop opening. It was oddly comforting, knowing he was just on the other side of the wall.

You flopped onto your back, staring at the ceiling, letting your thoughts drift over the events of the evening. Your mom had been beaming, your dad had given Alex looks that somehow felt less threatening than usual, and your siblings clearly enjoyed picking his brain.

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the lingering anxiety. Alex had handled it all so well - calm, charming, and perfectly in character. You felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt for dragging him into this little charade, but watching him navigate your family with ease made it a little easier to breathe.

From the guest room, you could hear him speak softly to himself, probably reviewing some detail from the evening. “Yeah, nailed it,” his voice muttered, just loud enough for you to catch.

You couldn’t help but push yourself off your bed, though your body begged you to lay down and rest. Leaving your room, you knocked quietly on the door to the guest room, waiting for Alex to answer with a “come in” before cracking the door open.

He was sitting at the desk, his laptop cracked slightly open, reviewing karting videos - probably something to help him with preseason. A faint smile crept on his lips as you stepped in, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“You survived,” you whispered, softly closing the door behind you. “Thank you again, really.”

Alex leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out. “Barely,” he teased, though his smile was warm and real. “Your family’s great. Very intimidating, but great.”

You rolled your eyes, plopping onto the bed and letting out a long breath. “Intimidating? Ethan interrogated you about every possible F1 stat you could possibly know. I didn’t even know he liked F1.”

Alex raised his hands in mock surrender. “I think I passed with flying colors.”

You laughed despite yourself, burying your face into a pillow. “You did… somehow. I don’t know how you kept a straight face when my mom’s beaming like we’re actually dating.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his news and giving you a conspiratorial grin. “Because I have a secret weapon,” he said low enough that only you could hear, “it’s called me being ridiculously charming. Works every time.”

Because that was easier than telling you he hasn’t had to fake a single thing. Holding your hand, getting to know your family, all felt natural. It was easier than telling you he’s had a massive crush on you since the two of you met freshman year.

The morning light crept in gently through the slats of your blinds, casting soft golden stripes across your comforter. You stirred slowly, blinking against the brightness and the residual warmth of sleep. The scent of lavender still vaguely lingered in the air, though the candle had burned out before you had gone to bed.

You sat up, rubbing your eyes and stretching, the events of the previous night replaying in hazy fragments. It all felt surreal in the quiet of the morning, like a dream you weren’t quite ready to wake from.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice came through, muffled but unmistakably him. “You decent?”

You gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah, come in.”

The door cracked open and Alex stepped in, hair tousled, hoodie slightly askew, and a mug of coffee in hand. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which judging by the time - 8:13 - was probably true.

“I made coffee,” he said, holding out the mug like a peace offering. “Figured you might need it after last night’s performance.”

You took the mug gratefully, fingers brushing his for a brief second. “You mean our performance,” you corrected, sipping the liquid. It was strong, slightly sweet, and exactly how you liked it.

Alex flopped onto the edge of your bed, letting out a groan that mirrored yours from the night before. “Your dad cornered me this morning in the kitchen,” he said, eyes wide with mock horror. “Asked me about my five-year plan. Five years, like we were planning a wedding next spring.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Oh god. Did you tell him you plan to marry rich and retire early?”

“I told him I was going to become a full time karting driver and buy a yacht,” Alex said with a teasing grin. “He didn’t laugh.”

You both dissolved into quiet laughter, the kind that fills the room with warmth and familiarity. The kind that makes the air feel lighter.

The smell of sizzling bacon and eggs drifted up the stairs, pulling you both from the lingering warmth of your bedroom. You groaned dramatically, swinging your legs dramatically off the bed. “You hungry?”

Alex chuckled, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. “I know your mom had said something about pancakes.”

You followed the smell down the stairs, Alex trailing just a step behind you. Close enough that you could pass as together, but not to the point where you were tripping over each other. The kitchen was alive with movement - your mom flipping pancakes on the griddle, a faint dusting of flour on her apron, while your siblings set out plates, juice and silverware. Your dad was already long gone for work.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Ethan chirped, glancing at you, smirk playing on his lips.

“Morning,” you shot back, ignoring the slight dig from your brother. “Smells amazing in here.”

Alex gave a small nod to Ethan as he wrapped his arm lazily around your waist, who raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Your mom turned from the stove, her face lighting up as she saw the two of you.

“Perfect timing,” she said, turning back to her work to flip another pancake. “We’ve got a fresh batch coming off the griddle.”

Lily was already seated, sipping orange juice and scrolling through her phone. She glanced up, eyes flicking between you and Alex, then gave a knowing smirk. “You two look cozy.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a plate and nudging Alex toward the stack of pancakes. “We’re just hungry.”

Before your siblings could make a snide remark, your mom handed you a spatula and gestured toward the bacon. “Make yourselves useful, kids. Breakfast doesn’t plate itself.”

You and Alex moved in sync, like you’d done this a hundred times before. He passed you the juice, you handed him the syrup. It was domestic in a way that felt startlingly natural. Like the kind of morning you’d always imagined having with someone who just got you.

By the time breakfast plates were scraped clean and your mom had shooed everyone out of the kitchen, the sun was climbing higher, flooding the house with soft late-morning light.

You rinsed your coffee mug in the sink and glanced over your shoulder at Alex, who was leaning casually against the doorway, sleeves pushed up, watching you with that easy half-smile.

“So,” you said, drying your hands on a dish towel, “since you survived your first official meals with the family, I guess I can reward you with the grand tour.”

Alex straightened, eyebrows quirking. “Grand tour of…?”

“My hometown,” you gestured toward the front door with mock grandeur. “All the scenic wonders and hotspots. The bakery that still sells cookies the size of your face, the park with the suspiciously aggressive geese, and maybe - if you’re lucky - the best view in town.”

He laughed. “Suspiciously aggressive geese? That’s the selling point?”

“Hey, they’re practically local celebrities.” Your sister called from her make-shift office in the den.

You grabbed your jacket from the hook, tossing him his hoodie from where he’d dropped it on the back of his chair. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

Outside, the air was cool, but not oppressive, the sweet spot where the sun had warmed the pavement but the breeze still carried that crisp edge of winter. You led him down the familiar cracked sidewalk, pointing out houses you’d grown up around, the shortcut through the alley that used to shave five whole minutes off your walk to school, the corner store where you and your friends had wasted pocket change on candy.

Alex listened, hands in his hoodie pocket, asking questions here and there, his expression softening every time you stopped to point out some tiny, insignificant detail that mattered only because it was yours. And with every added detail, Alex felt like he could slip easily into the puzzle of your life.

When you passed by the bakery, you couldn’t resist dragging him inside. The bell above the door chimed, releasing the warm scent of sugar and fresh bread into the air. You ordered two cookies - one chocolate chip, one oatmeal - and handed him the larger of the two as you stepped back outside.

The path to the overlook wasn’t exactly treacherous, but it was narrow and overgrown in places, branches brushing your shoulders as you walked. You could hear the faint crunch of Alex’s sneakers behind you, his steps slowing when yours did, never letting the space between you grow too far.

“You know,” he said after a stretch of quiet, “this whole ‘best view in town’ thing better live up to the hype. Otherwise I’m telling the geese you talked smack about them.”

You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. Alex was already looking at you. “Trust me, it’s worth it. Besides, the geese already hate me. I once tried to feed them and they chased me halfway across the park.”

By the time you reached the top, the trees opened up to reveal a sweeping view of the valley. The rooftops of your neighborhood sat below like scattered toy houses, the river glinting in the sunlight as it wound lazily through the fields beyond. The mid-winter haze gave everything a slight cold glow.

Alex stepped beside you, pulling his hoodie back and letting the wind ruffle his hair. For a moment, he just stood there, silent, taking it in.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “I get it now.”

You leaned against the old wooden railing, watching the way his eyes moved over the horizon. “When I was younger, I used to come up here whenever I needed to think,” you admitted. You weren’t even sure why you were saying this. The words just fell out. “It made everything else feel… smaller. Like the stuff I was worrying about didn’t matter as much from up here.”

Alex glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “And does it still work?”

You thought about last night, the way your dad cornered him this morning, the subtle weight of his arm around your waist in the kitchen. You let out a soft breath. “Yeah. I think it does.”

For a beat, neither of you said anything. The wind carried the sound of distant traffic and a dog barking somewhere in town. Then Alex shifted closer, his arm brushing yours.

The next few days passed by in a blur of slow mornings and easy afternoons, the kind where time felt elastic, stretching long and lazy, yet somehow slipping away too fast.

You found yourself falling into a rhythm without even realizing it. Breakfast at the kitchen table, usually with your mom fussing over whether Alex had eaten enough. Midday walks through town where you pointed out more of those little, half-forgotten landmarks. Evenings sprawled on the couch, Alex trading stories with your family with you as the main subject.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you - when you were talking to your sister, or reaching for the coffee pot, or leaning against the porch railing. It wasn’t intense, but there was something there.

And when you weren’t with him, you noticed the absence. The way the air in the room felt different without his easy humor or the sound of his voice.

You and Alex had just taken another walk around town, cheeks red from windburn, when you entered the house to the sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in ages. It was deep, a little raspy, but slightly homefelt all the same.

You turned the corner into the kitchen to see none other than Ethan’s childhood best friend, Cole, sitting at the table, talking to your mom.

Cole looked almost exactly how you remembered him - same easy slouch in his chair, same mischievous glint in his eyes - but older somehow, sharper around the edges. His hair was a little shorter, his jaw a little stronger, but when he spotted you, that familiar crooked grin broke across his face like no time had passed at all.

“Hey stranger,” he said, leaning back his chair. “Thought you forgot about us small-town folk.”

Before you could reply, Alex stepped up behind you, and you felt rather than saw the way his presence shifted the air slightly. His hand brushed lightly against your back as if to steady you - not possessive, but enough that Cole’s eyes flicked briefly to him, then back to you with a raised brow. For the first time, you didn’t stiffen from Alex’s touch.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” you said, moving toward the counter where your mom was fussing with the mugs. Alex kept his eyes on you.

Cole smirked. “Yeah, just got back last night. The family is out travelling so your brother offered a place to stay for the holidays.”

Alex’s brow ticked up slightly, but he didn’t say anything. He knew it wasn’t his place to. His hands slid into his hoodie and leaned casually against the doorway. You could feel him there, a steady presence at your back, even as you busied yourself grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Oh, you’re staying with us?” You asked, feigning excitement. “How nice of Ethan to offer his bed for you to sleep in.”

“Actually, dear,” your mom cut in. If it wasn’t for her clamor with the dishes, you would’ve forgot she was even in the room. “I was hoping you and Alex wouldn’t mind sharing your room and Cole taking the guest room. That way everyone gets a bed.”

You were grateful you were facing the sink as your mom spoke so no one could see the panic in your eyes. The clink of the mug against the counter felt louder than it should have. You swallowed, keeping your back to them, letting the steam from the tea you had just made for the two of you rise into your face like it could somehow hide you.

Alex didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the shift - his stillness sharpening, like he was processing the words before reacting. Cole, on the other hand, leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, clearly amused.

Alex’s voice came, calm but threaded with something unreadable only you picked up on. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

You finally turned, forcing a smile that felt just a touch too tight. “Sure, it’s no problem.”

That night, you found yourself helping Alex move his stuff into your room. It wasn’t much - just his duffel, a backpack, and his coat - but the simple act made the space feel smaller somehow.

You set his bag on the edge of your bed while he stood in the doorway, taking in the room like he was cataloging every detail. The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feed sounded louder than usual, like the house itself knew this was different.

“I am so sorry,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I was not expecting him to show up.”

“It’s okay,” Alex reassured, “I can take the floor.” He added, his tone light, though his eyes lingered on you a fraction too long.

You shook your head, tugging the extra blanket from the top shelf of your closet. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll figure it out. It’s just…a bed.”

His lips curved, just barely. “Right. Just a bed.”

You pretended to be busy fluffing the pillows, ignoring the way your pulse tripped over itself. From the other room, you could hear the faint hum of conversation - Cole’s voice low and easy, your brother laughing at something he’d said.

Alex dropped his coat over the back of your desk chair, then crossed the room, close enough that his arm brushed yours. “If it makes you uncomfortable, say so,” he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear.

Alex had expected it to be weird. Sharing a bed with you - your bed - felt like something that belonged in another timeline, back before you both grew up and the lines blurred in ways he couldn’t ignore.

But when the lights went out, it wasn’t weird. Not exactly.

You’d fallen asleep facing the wall, your hair spilling over the pillow. Alex laid on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark, counting the familiar creaks and sighs of the old house as if they could lull him to sleep. They didn’t. Every shift you made, every breath you took, was a tiny reminder that you were inches away.

At some point, you moved - rolling onto your back, then toward him. The blanked shifted, warm air rushing into the space between you before your knee brushed his.

Alex froze. Not because he didn’t want you there, but because he did.

He’d never dare admit it out loud, but there was something grounding about it - the weight of you beside him, the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. His mind, so used to running, slowed down in the quiet of your room.

When you shifted again, your arm brushed his, and he didn’t pull away.

“Still awake?” you whispered into the dark

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then, softer: “Me too.”

The air between you felt thin, fragile - like one wrong move would shatter it.

Alex let out a slow breath, turning onto his side so he was facing you, even if he couldn’t see your expression. “Get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice low, almost rough.

You made a sound of agreement, but didn’t move away. And when your hand found its way under the blanket, brushing against his, Alex didn’t hesitate. He curled his fingers around yours.

It was nothing. It was everything.

The house was loud in that holiday way - pots clanging in the kitchen, your mom calling to Lily from upstairs, the hum of conversation carrying from the living room.

You’d ducked out to the back porch for some quiet, your favorite mug filled with tea cupped between your hands. The air bit at your cheeks, and you could see your breath when you exhaled.

The door creaked open behind you.

Alex stepped out, wearing that same old hoodie and the coat you’d seen him in a hundred times. His hair was messy from the wind, cheeks pink from the cold. He didn’t say anything at first, just dropped into the chair beside you, hands shoved in his pockets.

He wasn’t expecting to find you out there. He’d stepped out mostly to escape the noise for a bit, but there you were, curled into the chair like you were trying to disappear into the mug in your hands. The steam curled up toward your face, catching in your hair.

You didn’t look at him when you said, “it’s still warm,” just held the mug out like you’d been expecting him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to share something that had clearly been yours a second ago.

He took it without thinking, his fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary. The tea burned his tongue a little, but he didn’t care. It was easier to focus on that than on the way your knees were drawn up to your chest, your socks mismatched, the faint crease in your brow from whatever you’d been thinking before he stepped out.

You stayed quiet. He liked that about you - the fact that you didn’t feel the need to fill every gap in conversation.

It wasn’t until you’d been there for a while that he noticed it. The way your gaze lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. Not the usual quick glance, but longer, softer, like you were seeing something new.

He didn’t call you on it right away. He just let the silence stretch, curious how long you’d keep looking before you realized he’d caught you.

“What?” he asked finally, tilting his head.

You jerked slightly, like he’d startled you. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. And you knew, without being able to stop it, that you were falling hard.

With each passing night, you and Alex had gotten used to sleeping next to each other. He noticed the small ways you gave yourself away - the way you shifted closer when the blanket slipped, the way your hand brushed against his when you reached for your water on the nightstand. Little things he hadn’t expected to notice, and yet now, he couldn’t stop cataloguing them.

One night, as the room lay quiet except for the soft hum of the heater, Alex felt your shoulder press against his. Not fully, not intentionally, but enough that it sent a jolt through him. He didn’t move away. Instead, he let himself relax into the weight of your presence, feeling the rhythm of your breathing next to his, steady and soft.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice barely above the whisper of the wind outside.

You let out a little sigh, eyes half closed. “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

You hesitated, then looked at him, the vulnerability in your gaze catching him off guard. “This isn’t fake for you anymore either, right?”

Alex’s chest tightened at the question, and he swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. His hand, which had been idly resting near yours, inched closer until your fingers brushed again. “No,” he admitted quietly, “I don’t think it ever was.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the room felt suspended - just the two of you, hearts thudding way too loud in the quiet.

“I… I’ve felt this way for a while,” he confessed, his forehead now resting lightly against yours. “And I wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks, and the little sigh you let out seemed to encourage him. Tentatively, he tilted his head, and your lips met his in a soft, searching kiss. It didn’t feel like a show, put on to cover your lies. It was raw, real, right.

Your hand found his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath his shirt, and he leaned just enough to deepen, careful not to rush it, letting the world outside the room dissolve.

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows, casting warm light over the table where pancakes had long since disappeared and dishes were stacked in a careless pile. Your mom was bustling about yet again, trying to sneak one last hug or extra slice of banana bread into Alex’s hands before you left, while Ethan and Lily hovered with teasing grins.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?” your mom asked, tugging lightly at your jacket sleeve. “We could make another batch of pancakes - maybe chocolate chip this time?”

Both you and Alex laughed, shaking your heads almost in sync. Your eyes flicked to his for a brief second, warm and soft.

“Save them for next time, mom,” you suggested. “Alex has a few karting things to get back to, and I’m not one to make him wait.”

“Thank you again for everything, I really appreciate you letting me stay for the break” Alex said. His voice was steady, but there was a warmth to it that made your chest tighten. He glances around the kitchen, meeting each of your family members’ eyes in turn. “You’ve all been… amazing. Really.”

Ethan smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Glad Lily didn’t scare you off.”

Lily rolled her eyes, but her grin softened. “I am not that bad,” she defended before turning to face Alex. “Just, don’t be a stranger around here. You’re always welcome.”

Your mom stepped closer, “Drive safely, both of you. And don’t make me worry!”

“We’ll be careful,” Alex said. “We have precious cargo,” he added, motioning to you.

Finally, it was just the two of you in the doorway. The family lingered behind, waving and calling last-minute goodbyes. Alex leaned in close, brushing a strand of hair from your face before quickly giving your cheek a peck. “Thanks for letting me stay and be a part of this,” his voice low, meant only for you.

He lingered just a moment longer, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his palm was steady, reassuring, and unmistakably intimate, no longer just a guest in your home. You returned the squeeze, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand, savoring the simple closeness.

“I’m really glad you came,” you whispered back “Just hard to believe we’re actually doing this”

Alex grinned as the two of you walked toward your car, a little mischievous, a lot tender. “You have no idea. I’ve been dreaming of this since we met.”

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