SECRET
What if Fezco was your brothers best friend.
Fez always showed up like he belonged there.
Not loudly. Not like he was trying to take up space. He just… existed in rooms like gravity, leaning against doorframes, hands tucked into hoodie pockets, eyes steady and unreadable. He was your brother’s best friend, had been for years, which meant he was always around.On the couch late at night, in the kitchen stealing cereal straight from the box, on the porch smoking while the rest of the house slept.
And you noticed him long before you admitted it to yourself.
At first, it was stupid little things. The way he remembered what book you were reading at the moment without telling him. The way his voice softened when he said your name, like it meant something different in his mouth than it did in anyone else’s. The way he’d look at you for just a second too long, then glance away like he’d been caught thinking something he shouldn’t. The way he kept calling you little pet names like „Ma‘“ made your stomach flip.
You told yourself it was nothing.
It had to be nothing.
Because Fez was off-limits. Because your brother trusted him with everything. Because crushing on him felt like breaking some unspoken rule you didn’t even remember agreeing to.
But rules get blurry when you’re alone in the kitchen at 1 a.m., barefoot on cold tile, and Fez is there too,sleeves pushed up, hands braced on the counter, eyes following you like he’s trying not to.
“You still awake?” he asks, voice low, careful.
You nod. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeah” he says quietly. “Me neither.”
Silence settles between you, thick but not uncomfortable. Just… charged. Like something waiting to happen if one of you moves the wrong way.
That’s how it always starts.
Little moments. Stolen glances. Sitting closer than necessary. Your knee brushing his on the couch, neither of you pulling away. Fez walking you to his store even though it’s literally 10 minutes away, just to make sure you’re “good.”
One night, it rains. Hard. The kind that traps you inside whether you want it to or not.
Your brother crashes early, exhausted, and suddenly it’s just you and Fez in the living room, the TV playing something neither of you is watching. Thunder rattles the windows. The lights are low.
Fez shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “You ever feel like… you’re not supposed to want certain things?”
Your heart stutters. “Yeah.”
He looks at you then. Really looks at you. And for the first time, he doesn’t look away.
The moment stretches. You swear you can hear your heartbeat louder than the rain.
“I sorta think about you“ he admits, his words slurred. “More than I should.”
Your breath catches. “Me too.”
That’s the line. The one you both cross together.
After that, everything becomes secret.
Texts sent late at night. Fingers brushing in hallways. Fez sneaking into your room through the window like something out of a bad romance movie, whispering your name like it’s sacred. You sit on the floor together, backs against the bed, knees touching, talking about everything and nothing, dreams you’ve never said out loud, fears you pretend don’t exist.
Sometimes his hand finds yours. Sometimes his forehead rests against yours. Sometimes you almost kiss,and then don’t, because the wanting is somehow worse and better than the act itself.
When you finally do kiss him, it’s soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard. His thumb brushes your jaw, tentative, reverent.
“You sure ma‘?” he murmurs.
You nod, eyes burning. “I’ve been sure.”
After that, sneaking around becomes second nature. Stolen moments behind closed doors. Lingering hugs that say more than words ever could. A shared look across the room when your brother’s there, full of things no one else can see.
It’s risky. It’s complicated. It’s messy.
But still, you both don’t care enough to end this.