fall right into me
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.
word count: 13.6k
warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!
a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)
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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Steve.”
“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”
You’re not quite sure where to start.
Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.
The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.
You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.
You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”
You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.
It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?
Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.
Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.
You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”
If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.
“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.
Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.
He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.
“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”
“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”
“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”
There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.
You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.
“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”
“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”
“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”
“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”
You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.
“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”
“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”
There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.
It’s known, felt. Like a fact.
“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”
“Okay.”
“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”
“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”
Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.
But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.
“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”
“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”
“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.
-
True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.
You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.
His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”
The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”
Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”
We’ll, he says. A team.
You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.
“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.
Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”
He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.
He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”
You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”
“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”
You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.
You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.
Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.
Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.
Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.
Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.
You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.
The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.
Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.
Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.
Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.
“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.
When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.
“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.
Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.
Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.
It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.
Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.
“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.
“But the frame-”
“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”
“Steve-”
“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”
His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.
“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”
“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”
You laugh wetly into his shirt.
“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”
A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”
-
Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.
Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’
Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.
You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.
By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.
Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.
He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.
You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.
Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”
“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.
Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.
The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.
It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.
Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”
“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”
“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”
“Hey!”
“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”
You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.
It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.
You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”
“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”
“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.
Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”
There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.
“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”
He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.
You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.
You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.
When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.
It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.
-
You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.
He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.
It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.
This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.
After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.
Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.
You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.
Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.
If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.
He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.
You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.
That’s it.
Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.
He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.
Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.
Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.
She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.
“What?” Steve asks.
“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.
She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.
When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.
He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.
Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.
He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”
Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”
“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”
“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”
“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”
“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”
“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.
“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”
-
That night, your routine was pretty much the same.
Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.
Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.
Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.
After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.
You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.
Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.
He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.
You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.
After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.
Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.
Sometimes it feels like it is.
Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.
“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.
“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”
Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.
“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.
“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”
“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”
“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”
“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.
Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”
“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”
“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”
You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.
It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.
That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.
He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.
Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.
Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.
“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”
Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.
Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.
You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.
Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”
He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.
Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.
You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.
You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.
-
On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.
“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”
“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”
You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.
You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”
“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”
“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”
“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”
“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”
“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”
So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.
He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.
You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.
“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.
He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.
He knows you. He cares enough to know you.
“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.
At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’
After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”
“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”
“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.
They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.
“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”
“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”
“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”
“He’s not my-”
“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.
Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?
Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.
The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.
You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?
“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”
“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.
You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.
Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.
It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.
You actually like it.
“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.
In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.
Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.
Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.
He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.
As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.
“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”
You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”
You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”
“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”
“We’re not stealing.”
“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”
You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.
Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.
He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.
“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.
“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”
“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”
Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.
You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.
He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.
“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”
His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”
You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.
It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.
-
You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)
But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.
Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.
Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.
So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.
You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.
Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.
By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.
“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.
Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”
You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.
Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.
You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.
The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.
You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”
He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”
“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”
“So you don’t want the waffles then?”
“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”
“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.
Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”
Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.
And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.
Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.
You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.
Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.
You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.
What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.
You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.
Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.
You’ll miss it, you think.
Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.
He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.
Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”
You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”
He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”
“That’s what I thought.”
When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.
A similar one stretches across your own lips.
-
Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.
And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.
The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.
He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.
Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.
He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.
Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.
When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.
Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)
He hopes it’ll be worth it.
Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.
Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.
He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.
Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.
His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.
He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”
“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”
“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.
Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.
Steve’s never nervous around you.
“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”
“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”
You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.
What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.
It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.
When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.
Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.
Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.
“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”
“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.
You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.
This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.
When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.
“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”
“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”
Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.
Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.
Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.
He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.
“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”
“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”
“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”
“I guess I will.”
You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.
His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.
-
You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.
You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.
You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.
Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.
Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”
You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.
“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”
“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”
You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”
He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”
“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”
He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”
“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”
He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.
Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.
“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”
“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”
“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.
“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”
Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.
He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.
So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”
You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”
“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”
You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”
Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”
Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.
You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.
He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.
His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.
“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.
Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”
And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.
-
You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.
Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.
Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.
Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.
Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.
As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.
His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.
In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.
It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.
“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.
“Mhm,” he hums.
Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.
“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”
You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.
“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”
“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.
“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”
“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.
“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”
Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.
He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.
It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.
You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.
Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.
“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.
You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”
Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.
You don’t.
Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.
It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.
You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.
Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.
Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.
You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.
It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.
You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.
Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.
You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.
What the fuck just happened?
-
It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.
Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.
You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?
You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.
You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.
Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.
He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.
It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.
Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.
Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?
Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.
You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.
He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.
So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.
Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”
“No, shut up. I need your help.”
“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”
“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.
“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”
Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.
“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.
Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”
Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”
Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”
Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”
“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.
He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.
“What do you mean?”
“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”
Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.
You are worth the risk to him.
“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”
“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”
Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”
-
With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.
You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.
You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.
The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.
How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.
The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.
Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.
You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.
For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.
So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.
Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.
You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.
You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”
You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.
“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”
You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”
“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”
You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.
Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.
“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”
“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”
You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”
“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”
“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.
Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”
“What about when my apartment is ready?”
He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”
You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.
You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.
It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”
“You won’t. Not ever.”
You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.
The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.
“So what happens now?” You ask.
“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”
“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”
He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”
Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”
“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”
He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.
𝜗𝜚
thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3
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── ୨୧ ! 𝟴 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗨𝗧𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦
𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader
SUMMARY: Where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Matt and Y/N being in love.
WARNING: None.
REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons, @myfavoritesstuff, @dracoflaco and @ecliphttlunar
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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8 minutes of cute moments between Matt Sturniolo and his girlfriend, Y/N.
1st minute - "Trying Japanese snacks with our parents!!!":
The triplets were recording a video where they tried different snacks from Japan, and their parents were participating of it as guests, just like Y/N - which was nothing new, since the girl made at least a small appearance in every video from the triplets channel.
The six of them were around one side of the kitchen table, and all the snacks that would be used in the video rested on it. Y/N stood next to Mary Lou with her head resting on her shoulder, while the woman's left arm wrapped around her waist affectionately.
Matt was explaining to the camera about the snack they were going to eat next, when the girl raised her head slightly, pointing with her left hand at the only glass of water on the table, which was in front of Mary Lou.
"It's yours, right? Can I have a sip, please?" The girl asked her mother-in-law, receiving a big smile and a nod in response.
"Of course, go ahead!"
Y/N smiled back, picking the glass and taking a generous sip. Before she could take another one, Chris suddenly interrupted her, cutting off Matt's sentence.
"Someone's invisalign is in that water." Chris pointed to the glass, raising his eyebrows in surprise when he saw his sister-in-law drinking the water from there.
Y/N stopped her hand holding the glass in the air, her eyes widening comically as her cheeks puffed out in embarrassment.
"What?" Her voice came out high-pitched, her eyes going from Chris to the glass repeatedly.
"Oh my God, babe, it was mine!" Matt pointed out, a laugh escaping his mouth, followed by Mary Lou, who curved her spine slightly as she laughed, trying to apologize.
"Ew, ew, ew." Y/N mumbled repeatedly, dropping the glass on the table with a loud clinck. She began her steps towards the sink, ready to give her mouth a thorough rinse.
Her steps were interrupted by Matt, who lightly pulled her into his arms, hugging her from behind. His arms wrapped around her waist as he rested his chin on her head, an amused look still in his eyes.
Y/N let out a groan, trying to free herself from Matt's arms, wanting to clean her mouth.
"No need for all that, baby. You've had worse in your mouth." Matt threw, his voice loud enough for everyone there to hear.
Nick let out a dramatic scream, covering his ears with his hands quickly, a look of fear taking over his features. Chris's eyes widened momentarily before laughter escaped his mouth, followed by Jimmy, who patted Matt's shoulder. Mary Lou raised her eyebrows at the couple, shaking her head playfully.
Y/N opened her mouth in surprise, her eyes widening as she stopped fighting against his hold. She felt her face burn with embarrassment, her mind still processing what her boyfriend had just blurted out in front of his parents, siblings, and camera.
"Matt!"
"I'm kidding, baby. I'm sorry." Matt said, his tone full of amusement, showing that he wasn't sorry at all for what he said.
The brunette lowered his face, resting his right cheek on Y/N's right shoulder with his face toward her neck, sealing her jaw repeatedly, exhaling the natural scent of her skin as he tightened his arms around her, throwing a playful wink towards the camera.
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2nd minute - Silent treatment:
The triplets and Y/N were at Target buying the drinks that the boys would use in the channel's next video. Nick had his vlog camera in hand, recording bits of their little trip, just like they used to do.
The four of them had decided to split up to optimize their time, as Y/N needed to get some things that had run out at their house. With that, Y/N and Matt went one way, while Nick and Chris went the other.
At some point, Y/N approached Chris and Nick with a giant pout on her lips and arms crossed, her heavy steps against the floor drawing their attention.
"Uh oh, what happened?" Nick asked upon noticing her upset expression, focusing the camera lens on her face while frowning in confusion.
"Matt is ignoring me." Her pout deepened, her eyes dropping to the floor momentarily. "I just wanted to get a Diet Coke, but he said we would get that later and that the focus now was on the video stuff." She explained in a defeated tone. "But I said I felt like it, and he told me to stay quiet and just do what you said, and then he started ignoring me and giving me the silent treatment-"
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her, her eyes quickly looking up to the source of it, seeing Matt approaching with a basket with 10 cans of assorted drinks, and at least 15 cans of Diet Coke.
Y/N's eyes filled with tears when she saw him and what he had picked, lowering her crossed arms and watching him with hopeful eyes.
"Matt! What did we talk about giving the silent treatment when you're mad?" Chris raised his eyebrows, resting his hands on his waist in a playfully confrontational gesture.
The brunette rolled his eyes, completely ignoring him and approaching his girlfriend.
"I'm sorry, babe. It was childish of me to ignore you. But look, I got you a bunch of Diet Coke." Matt asked, lifting the basket with the cans before looking into Y/N's eyes, frowning in concern when he saw them teary. "Oh no, don't cry, pretty girl. I'm sorry."
Matt's tone was desperate, his hands dropping the basket onto the floor before wrapping around Y/N, pulling her into a tight hug. He pressed her head against his chest, lowering his own and sealing her temple for long seconds, whispering "I love you" repeatedly, pressing several kisses to the same spot.
"Ugh, how can you two be so disgusting even when you're fighting?" Nick's voice sounded from behind the camera, the lens shaking as he suddenly turned around, leaving that aisle and pulling Chris with him.
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3rd minute - Y/N's birthday:
It was Y/N's birthday, and at her own request, the celebration was being something small, just a little thing with her closest friends, at her house - which she shared with the triplets, one of them being her beloved boyfriend -, without alcoholic drinks, but with several different snacks and sweets, as well as a pink cake, heart shaped and covered in glitter.
It was time to sing the happy birthday song and Nick quickly fished his phone out of the back pocket of his baggy jeans, opening the camera and setting it to record, wanting to keep the memory forever.
"Baby, can you stay by my side?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her eyes focused on her boyfriend, Matt, as she was already standing behind the table in their kitchen.
The cake was in the center with two pink candles filled with pearls in the shape of her new age on top, surrounded by sweets and snacks, as well as several drinks filled with edible glitter and dishes in different shades of pink.
Matt smiled at her request, his cheeks taking on a reddish color in shyness and love, walking over to his girlfriend and positioning himself next to her, his arm wrapping around her waist automatically.
"Wait, let me light it." The brunette interrupted Y/N's next movements, who was ready to light the candles.
Matt quickly did so before straightening up, nodding as he heard everyone start singing the "Happy birthday" song, while clapping and smiling at the couple.
The boy tightened his arm around Y/N, lowering his head so that his lips approached the side of her forehead, sealing her skin for a long time while humming the song along with everyone.
"Happy birthday, pretty girl."
It was Y/N's birthday, but it was Matt who was getting an amazing gift for the fifth year in a row.
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4th minute - Guess the triplets by zoom in pics:
The triplets were finishing the video where they had limited time rounds to guess who it was in the photos shown, just by a small part of their body or face.
"Before we finish, we want to do something different. We'll call Y/N so she can play a round alone. But the trick is: we'll tell her that these are random photos of the three of us, but actually, we'll just show photos of me." Matt explained in a low tone, his face closer to the camera so that the lens captured his words, an eager smile decorating his face.
While the brunette talked to the lens, Chris did the job of calling Y/N and explaining what she would have to do, taking her into the frame after Matt finished speaking.
Y/N smiled slightly at the camera, waving quickly before sitting down in one of the two chairs set up behind the table, keeping her arms on the wooden surface and looking at the triplets expectantly.
"Okay, Y/N, are you ready?" Nick began, scrolling his thumb through the separate photos in a folder in his phone's gallery, before clicking on one. He zoomed in on an almost unrecognizable area, turning the device towards Y/N, showing her the screen. "Who's-"
"Matt." Y/N interrupted Nick abruptly, slamming her hand on the table right after, momentarily forgetting that she needed to tap there before saying the answer.
Chris raised his eyebrows from behind the camera, approaching Nick and looking at the photo quickly over his right shoulder, before taking the device from his hand and searching for the next picture, looking for one that was just as difficult.
"Okay, you got it right, but that one was too easy. Let's see something different." Chris smiled sideways, covering the phone screen with his free hand so that no one but himself could see what he was doing.
Matt rolled his eyes, smirking as his eyes met Y/N's, watching her cheeks take on a red hue under his intense gaze.
A few seconds later, Chris finally chose the photo, zooming in on the area most unlikely to be recognized before doing the same process as Nick, showing it to Y/N.
The girl looked at it for a few milliseconds before slamming the same hand on the table.
"Matt. Again." She smiled smugly, lifting her chin in the air in pride.
Matt let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands momentarily, entering the camera frame, and walking up to his girlfriend's back.
He leaned forward slightly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and laying his head in the crook of her neck, before repeatedly kissing her cheek.
Y/N smiled in shyness at his loving gestures, feeling confused by the sudden actions.
"I said my girlfriend knew me as well as I knew myself." Matt spoke to his brothers behind the camera, smiling into the lens in excitement.
"Wait, was that a prank?"
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5th minute - "We bought the zoo for a day":
The triplets and Y/N were at the zoo for 24 hours, a way of thanking the fans of the Sturniolo Triplets channel for making them reach 6 million subscribers.
Y/N felt over the moon, having grown up with a huge passion for all types of animals, made her enthusiasm triple every time her eyes met a different animal, dangerous or not.
The four were in the zoo's tour car, accompanied by their guide, who stopped in front of certain groups of animals from time to time and briefly explained their species and main characteristics.
Nick and Chris, who were sitting in the seats behind the front ones, listened intently to the guide as they recorded themselves and their surroundings, often focusing the lens on the couple in the seats behind them, Y/N and Matt.
Matt nodded his head every few minutes, wanting to show the guide through the rearview mirror that he was listening to him and understanding his explanation, while his eyes fixed on each of the animals shown.
A huge smile decorated his face, accompanied by his pupils that seemed to shine bright. Y/N's right arm was around his waist, keeping him close.
Her hand caressed his covered skin lightly, gently squeezing it every time she felt him jump in place excitedly, or when he simply waved at the animals, whispering "hi" or "bye's".
God, how she loved him.
The camera, focused on Nick at the moment, captured the image of the two in the background, recording the cuteness of the couple, who seemed to be in candy land.
Y/N leaned into Matt's side from time to time, her pupils dilating as they ran over his excited, awe-like features. She sealed her lips over his cheeks and jaw every minute, whispering against his skin how much she loved him and adored seeing him that happy.
The girl also laid her head on Matt's right shoulder sometimes, squeezing her arm around him and pulling him closer - if that was even possible.
That only intensified Matt's happiness, who smiled so big that his eyes closed, shrugging his shoulders in shyness and enthusiasm.
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6th minute - Disgustingly cute:
Nick and Chris were in the living room as they spoke to the camera, explaining what they would do in that vlog, which would be posted next Wednesday.
Chris remembered that they had to call for Matt, commenting that the boy was still in his room and that they had been calling for him for over 20 minutes already.
Nick rolled his eyes, muttering something like "I don't know what I did to deserve this shit" in an ironic tone, walking quickly to Matt's bedroom door, turning the camera so that the lens captured the environment inside.
His free hand worked on turning the handle, pushing it quickly, hoping to give Matt a scare.
He just didn't expect to see Y/N still lying in bed - which left him confused, as he imagined that the girl would already be at the market, since there were some things that had run out on their house and she told him that she would get new ones while they were filming.
The girl was dressed in the clothes she would wear to go out, her makeup and hair done, and her face carrying a defeated expression. Meanwhile, Matt was lying on top of her, all of his weight against Y/N's body.
His face was buried in the crook of her neck, only the sight of curly brown hair apparent. His back rose and fell slowly, on the rhythm of his calm breath.
Matt's body was covered by the sweatshirt set he would be wearing for the video, and Nick quickly understood that they were ready for the day, Y/N about to leave, when Matt interrupted her for a lovey dovey session.
Y/N had her eyes closed and a smile resting on her face, seeming to dive into the moment. Her right hand was in Matt's hair, and her fingers threaded through his curls, massaging his scalp. While her left hand was on his back, traveling from his shoulders down to the small of his back, and back up again.
Every second, it was possible to see Matt moving his head slightly, and a sound of lips sealing against skin sounded throughout the room, making it clear that he was kissing Y/N's cheek or neck.
Whispers of "I love you" and sweet nothings were occasionally released from their lips.
"Matt, I'm going to fire you if you don't get up now and do your job." Nick's voice sounded like thunder between the four walls, scaring the couple.
Matt quickly sat down between Y/N's legs, turning towards the door with wide eyes, while Y/N opened her own eyes abruptly, her right hand flying to her chest, feeling her heart racing under her skin.
"You are crazy." Matt shook his head, moving to get up from the bed, casting a sad glance at Y/N, longing to return to her arms.
"And you guys are disgusting." Chris added, smiling roguishly, letting it know that it was a joke. "Y/N makes Matt a softie. She has him on a leash, I swear."
"Shut up, Chris."
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7th minute - Gamer boyfriend:
Y/N felt her shoulders heavy from the extremely busy day at work. All the tasks placed on her duty made her almost go completely insane, and all her body asked for was her bed and her boyfriend's arms.
So when she got home, the first thing she did was go up the stairs and enter her shared room with Matt, her movements almost robotic and automatic.
The sound of voices echoed low from one of the corners of the room, and Y/N quickly noticed that Matt was sitting in his gaming chair, his arms resting on the computer desk as he played one of his addictive games.
His eyes were fixed on his computer screen, his ears covered by the headphones from which the voices were coming from.
Y/N smiled slightly, feeling her heart warm by finally seeing her boyfriend. She quickly grabbed a set of the boy's sweatshirts and left the room, going to the bathroom, where she took a shower faster than usual - just wanting to be able to sleep as soon as possible - and got dressed.
As soon as the girl entered their bedroom again, she noticed Matt talking into the microphone of his headphones, and she quickly understood that he was streaming, probably with his brothers and on Twitch.
Y/N walked slowly towards her boyfriend, touching his right shoulder lightly, alerting him to her presence.
Without the two noticing, the chat went crazy from the moment the girl appeared in the frame. Miscellaneous comments about her or the two of them as a couple were sent so quickly that if Matt were watching them, he wouldn't be able to read any.
Matt lifted his head quickly, lowering the headphones so that it would hang around his neck, a big, bright smile appearing on his face as his pupils instantly dilated.
"Hi baby! I didn't notice you coming." The brunette's voice came out in a low tone, his eyes taking note of his girlfriend's tired expression and tense shoulders, his eyebrows almost automatically furrowing in concern.
"I arrived just now, I just came in to get some clothes so I could take a shower." Y/N whispered in response.
Matt smiled as he saw his own clothes covering his girl's body. The boy lifted his arms, encircling her waist and pulling her closer, sealing his lips lightly over her covered waist.
"Do you want to go to sleep?" The brunette asked, tilting his head back so he could see her face, ready to just turn off his streaming if she said yes.
"I do, but I want to be with you more." Y/N spoke, raising her right hand quickly, interrupting Matt before he could even consider stopping his streaming. "I don't want you to stop it... Can I just sit on your lap while you play?" Her tone was vulnerable, her tired eyes looking into Matt's expectantly.
"Of course, my love. Always." Matt quickly responded, nodding his head as he moved slightly away from the table with the help of the soles of his feet against the floor, opening his arms, waiting for his girlfriend to fit between them.
Y/N smiled in gratitude, positioning herself between his thighs before sitting on his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms hooking around his shoulders, getting comfortable.
She sealed her lips against his right cheek in a lingering kiss, stroking the soft skin with the tip of her nose, before laying her head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily and finally closing her eyes.
Matt kissed the top of her head for some seconds, arranging his headphones against his own ears again, giving a shy smile to the camera.
His right hand traveled to the mouse, pressing play on the game again, while his left hand caressed Y/N's back, helping her get into dream land.
He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he watched the chat go as fast as he thought it be possible, keeping his focus on the game.
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8th minute - "Trying and guessing 21 different drinks":
The triplets were recording the video that would be posted that Wednesday, where they had to try 21 different drinks - some that they are used to drinking every day, others that they have never even tasted - and guess what which one was.
Y/N was participating in the video as a special guest. She had a feeling she would do poorly at the task, since she wasn't used to drinking anything other than Diet Coke.
Nick had decided to leave her for last, telling her to rearrange the positions of all the drinks in each of the boys' rounds.
Soon, it was her turn. She cast a quick glance at Matt, concern and nervousness present in her expressions. The brunette just returned it with a quick wink, waving his hand as if to say "you can go", waiting for her to leave the kitchen so he could rearrange the drinks.
Before calling her back, Matt surreptitiously took a photo of the position of the drinks, quickly putting away his phone, finally calling for his girlfriend.
Y/N returned to the kitchen with a tense smile, stopping in front of the table and behind the drinks, looking at the triplets, waiting for them to give the go-ahead.
Given the start, the girl bent down to take a sip of the first drink, her expression brightening and her eyes instantly widening as she tasted her favorite drink.
"Diet Coke!" She quickly said after rising from her slightly bent position, pulling out the paper with the image of the soda.
"Okay..." Chris muttered, nodding his head in confirmation. They knew she'd get that one right since her obsession with the drink was as strong as Chris's obsession with Pepsi.
The girl bent down again to take a sip of the second drink, momentarily catching her throat before she could swallow the liquid, the horrible taste flooding her mouth.
She stood up abruptly, swallowing the contents roughly, looking at the brothers with a frown, receiving laughter in response. The girl stopped in front of the images for a few seconds, internally analyzing which one it could be.
Her fingers worked on pushing away the images of the drinks she had already drank before and was sure that wasn't the horrible thing she had just drank, staring firmly at the ones that she didn't know.
When her finger went towards one of them, the image of Matt moving his arm around caught her attention. She looked up and saw her boyfriend behind his brothers, trying to get her attention.
Matt, realizing that she noticed him calling out to her, discreetly pointed to the right image with his free hand, his other hand occupied by his phone, which was displaying the photo he took of the correct order of the drinks minutes before.
Y/N smirked, dodging the path her hand was going, picking up the right image and placing it in front of the corresponding straw.
That cycle remained throughout the process. Chris and Nick were in shock, even thinking about the possibility that Y/N had some kind of superpower..
While Matt had a discreet smile on his face, biting his bottom lip to stop the laugh from escaping every time he saw his brothers reaction or the way his girlfriend smiled like a mad woman.
Upon finishing her round, the girl stood in front of the table with her arms crossed, a convinced expression taking over her features as she waited for Nick to confirm how many she got right, even though she already knew the result.
"Look, I don't know what kind of witchcraft you did, but you got everything right." Nick said, his face with an expression of annoyance.
An excited scream escaped Y/N's lips. She ran towards Matt, hugging him tightly while jumping in place.
Matt laughed at her reaction, pulling her closer, kissing the side of her head repeatedly, jumping with her.
"Ugh, I hate you guys."
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