One More Boy For The Sketch Pile.

one more boy for the sketch pile. 💜

the art of losing (and then, again, being found)

oikawa; 2,208 words; fluff and fluff and straight till morning -- also fulfilling my peter pan au for the 31 days of aus; dedicated to @fuckinglevi

for as long as the world can remember, there has always been a peter — a running away kind of boy — and there has always been a wendy — a learning to fly kind of girl.

for as long as he can remember, oikawa has always been lost. he’s just never been fussed about the losing bit. because you see, for as long as he can remember, there’s always been the second star to the right, the brightest on the horizon, and if he’s got that, then at least he always knows where he is — physically, he means. so he can’t be that lost, right? even if he is the head of the lost boys, and it’s kind of their thing to be — well… lost.

he meets you on a balcony at dusk, right after sunset, when the sky is still light enough to see, but dark enough for the first glimmer of stars. he meets you in the midst of your last, lingering daydreams, and it was this that drew him to you, inexplicably, irrevocably. it was gravity and dusk and the sinking sun. it was truth and wandering and knowing you’re the one.

“you look like you’re thinking about something real serious,” he says. to which you yelp and nearly stumble off your feet. you clutch at your metaphorical pearls and slate a glare at him the way you’d seen your momma do at passersby when they jeer or say something unsightly.

“you scared me!”

oikawa cocks his head, “mah — you don’t seem all that scare-able but… i might be wrong.” his grin is sly and catlike and you can’t help but blush.

“i — i’m not scared!” you puff out your chest and let yourself take him in — him and his wind-swept hair and sky-kissed cheeks, the dulcet light of fading day draped across his shoulders like a lingering promise.

“good! then you’ll do just fine,” oikawa says, jerking his chin towards the darkening sky with a toothy grin.

“f-fine for what?” you ask.

oikawa sighs a soul-shaking sigh, “for getting lost, of course!”

you frown, “for… getting lost?”

“yeah! c’mon — it’s easy — here, i’ll help you up —” he holds out his hand, crouching on the wide white banisters of your second floor bedroom, the small terrace overlooking your family gardens. you lick your lips and peer over the edge. it seems like an awful long way to fall, if you were to fall that is.

“but… what if…” you crease your brows and bite your lips.

“i won’t let you fall. c’mon — i promise.”

you look up, and your eyes catch on the crescent moon curve of oikawa’s smile. behind him, the sky is a velvet skein, studded with so many gem-like stars. you want to run your fingers over them, wonder if they’d catch beneath your palms like the tiny pearls on your momma’s favorite black dress —

“okay then.” you say, reaching up to take his hand.

he smiles, something sweet, something real — and pulls you up beside him.

that was three, or four, or maybe even five years ago. and since then, you’d learned so much from him, met all his lost boys, been to the edge of the earth and over it — to neverland and then back again.

you’d met the marveling mermaids, the nebulous tree-nymphs, the flamingo-dotted lagoons, and the treacherous trails that leads up to the ever-rushing waterfall, where legend says that the first ever lost boy and the first ever lost girl had held hands and jumped —

“ — and they were never seen again…” oikawa says, the campfire casting brilliant orange shadows dancing across the planes of his laughing face.

you laugh, rolling your eyes as you lay back on the soft grasses and cast your eyes up at the sea of never-ending stars.

a few minutes later, you feel a body settle in the grass next to you. and you don’t have to look over to know who it is. by now, you know oikawa by mere presence, by the way his body cuts through the air, by the pattern of his breaths, by the way his laughter rings against a moonless night.

“do you ever miss it?” you ask, not looking at him.

“miss what?” he asks, and his voice is light and playful, though you can feel him go still.

something — something holds him still, even when he wants to sway with the tall grasses and sing with the stars. he stays, his eyes fixed on you.

“home,” you say.

oikawa licks his lips and casts his eyes up. he inches closers to you, close enough for his leg to brush against yours. he doesn’t answer.

because how is he to tell you that he’d long since forgotten what his home had looked like? he knows he must have had one — all the lost boys do. but isn’t it their job, then, to be lost as they are. isn’t it part of who they are to be here and there and nowhere, all at once?

how’s he to tell you that ever since the day he met you — you were the only place that’d ever felt like home?

that not even this vast neverland could ever replace you?

“i…” his lips are dry and his throat is drier. he swallows hard and looks for the second star to the right and straight on till morning and —

he shakes his head, and thinks he oughta try something different.

“do… do you ever miss… home?”

you laugh, pillowing your head on your interlocked hands. and it’d be a lie for him to say that he hadn’t noticed the change in you (and the changes in himself), the way that your round, girlish cheeks had slimmed, the way his own childish jaw had hardened, had lengthened in the days and months and… had it really been years? since he’d known you?

“sometimes… the things i can remember of it, that is,” you say.

oikawa bites back a wince. because of course — of course, you’d still remember those wide, white banisters, and that beautiful rose-filled garden. of course you’d still remember the lace-trimmed curtains that had hung over your huge french windows. of course, he couldn’t expect you to forget your darling mother and your darling father and your darling, ever-so-darling life — the one that you’d left behind.

but… he’d be remiss to say that he hadn’t at least hoped.

“come with me,” you say, turning your smile at him, and he reacts too late. he knows he is helpless against it — your smile.

your smile, your smile — your smile.

the sunlight and moonlight and distilled-down starlight of it all.

he could get drunk on it — even if he’d never really know what that word had meant in the first place, he thinks — he knows. it must be something like this. something like the dizziness that fills him nearly to the brim, the weightlessness of the world, even when he’s sitting perfectly still.

“i — i can’t.” he looks down at his interlaced fingers.

“why not?”

“i’m — i’m a lost boy,” its a weak stab at his usual bravado. he knows, and yet…

you slate him a dubious glance.

“well… you found me, didn’t you?”

he gapes. he has no good answer. because you’re right — he had found you. but… hadn’t that been his job? to find you and then to lead you… but to lead you what? astray? he didn’t like to think of himself as someone who leads people astray but… isn’t that what lost-people are?

“you… i…” oikawa stutters, frowning as he tries to piece together his thoughts .

you sit up, stretching your fingers towards the endless stars of the milky way, cast about the sky like so many careless, thoughtless points of light.

“come with me. you’ll be alright… and if you ever wanted to come back here… you’ll be able to find it again.”

oikawa shakes his head, “no… neverland isn’t for those who have been found… it’s —”

you sigh, rolling your eyes, “only for the lost boys and girls and ones who never grow up… yes, yes, i know… but…” you chew on your lips and twist your fingers, “what if… what if i wanna grow up? but i wanna still be your friend too? what then?”

oikawa feels his breath catch in his chest, like a sailor on the first notes of a siren’s deadly song.

“t-then… i guess you have to choose…” but even he can tell that there’s no conviction there, that doubt has already seeped the cracks and crevices of his wandering heart.

you heave a deep sigh and knit your arms, “well, that seems like a raw deal to me!”

oikawa blinks, startled at the hardness to your voice. and then, he starts to laugh, a bright, orange peels and sunrise kind of sound, a light, owl-feathers and starlight kind of sound. he laughs and laughs, and eventually, all his lost boys are laughing with him, holding their bellies and rolling on the soft, tall, flamingo-grazed grasses.

“i-it’s not funny!” you insist, your cheeks burning as you watch them all, rolling around in laughter, great, sharp peels of it echoing towards and eternally lightening horizon.

“b-but it is! a-and you’re right!” oikawa finally wipes at his eyes, still grinning wide as he straightens up again, dusting his clothes of the stray bits of grass, “i think it’s time for me to take you home.”

he reaches out a hand and for the first time in forever, you hesitate.

how many times had you reached out to take his hand? how many times had he held you strong and fast — just like the first time he’d taught you how to fly.

“c’mon… trust me.”

you smile, and you take his hand.

later — much later — when walking the moonlit paths of your very own rose garden in your very own home, you’d wonder about the miraculous days you’d spent in neverland. about how surreal they seemed, even now, like the frames of a long-forgotten dream.

“darling, what are you thinking about?” oikawa smiles as he hooks his chin over your shoulder and loops his arms around your waist. his voice is sweet and light and husky as the dusk, settling over the far horizon.

“nothing… just… wondering…”

“about what?”

you let your head fall onto his shoulder, letting your gaze trail upwards towards the first of the flickering stars.

“about… the flamingos. and the mermaid lagoon.”

“oh, i’m sure they’re being well taken care of,” his voice is rich and full of laughter, even as he spins you round to brush his lips against yours, his eyes are the color of glowing amber, sharp and hard and everlasting, “i left very specific instructions to iwa, you know.”

you roll your eyes, “i know, but…”

“ah, ah — no but’s — except maybe this one —”

you squeak as his grin twists lascivious and his hands wander south.

“darling!” you collapse into oikawa’s chest, laughing as he swings you around, dipping you low to capture your lips, kissing you sweet, kissing you full, kissing you till your breath is nothing more than a hummingbird-yearning in the center of your chest.

“yes?”

you licks your lips, your cheeks warm, “do you… ever miss it?”

“what? neverland?”

you shrug, casting your eyes up towards the now star-strewn sky.

“i suppose sometimes… it’s hard not to, isn’t it? but…” he grins again, tugging you to him as he stars to hum and your steps fall in line with his, the pair of you swaying in the light of the shy, waning moon, beneath the silver-kissed hems of silken clouds.

“but… what?” you ask, pressing your cheek to his broad chest, counting the steady badump-badump of his very solid heart.

oikawa wraps his arms around you and holds you tight.

“you found me… didn’t you?”

you smile; you nod; you keep on dancing in your moonlit garden.

“do you regret it?” you ask, after a long, long while.

oikawa scoffs, “do you?”

“do i what?” you look up.

“do you regret it? being found?”

you lick your lips as you consider his question.

“no,” you say, “not one bit… because i got to get lost with you.”

“then… there’s your answer,” he says, as he leans down to press his forehead against yours.

and far, far above you, the second star to the right flickers and winks and shines, acting as a guide for all those who are lost, and all those still in the process of being found — it shines and it shines, bright and bright and bright.

the second from the right, and straight on till morning light, right on to a promised ever — neverland.

Steve was in front of me, shoving me out of the way, squaring up with the bat like he’d face down the whole world and take a chunk out of it before he let anything get to us. 

these hands, like gods + oikawa 🥹

send one + a character and i'll write u a thing

these hands, like gods (and other hand-related headcanons)

ft. oikawa tooru

if you were to ask him what his own favorite feature was, he'd wink and tell you that obviously, it's his face. they don't call it a "money maker" for nothing, y'know? but you know better -- you know that he loves his hands, loves the way the can shape a game, the perfect arc of a ball in the air; loves the way they fit into the shape of you, too, late at night, when he can close his eyes and let his mind and his hands wander; he knows that they'll always, somehow, end up on you

he loves the way you fit between them too, the way your body bends and shifts at his touch, like you're his to be touched -- by him, with him

he always complains that they're too big for normal phones, that his fingers, dexterous as you know they are, always punch more keys than he's trying to hit, his texts full of random typos and the weirdest autocorrects; you have a folder of all his funniest mishaps, and this, too, he knows -- is the shape of your love

these hands, he thinks, are his rhyme and reason -- they're his bread, his butter, the paving stones for his entire future, and he takes care of them the best he can, tells you that once when he was little, he promised himself that he'd only touch the most beautiful things -- like volleyballs and really good poems and you --

he doesn't really like finger tape, but if you're the one who puts it on him, he thinks he doesn't mind it as much

your hand in his sometimes feels like coming home, and other times, he wonders how a person's hand can be so small, so slender and delicate; he wonders if sometimes he holds onto you too tight, if he'd ever accidentally hurt you -- you tell him yes, he has, but you don't mind; it's only ever proof that he wants to be closer, that skin on skin sometimes still isn't enough for him, and you've always known him to be a greedy man, to always want more, more, more...

he traces his fingers along the dips and curves of your body, worships the shape of you with both palms pressed to your skin, his lips carving himself into the hollow of your throat, the warmth of your mouth -- he wants to make himself a home there, a home inside your skin, a home he can sink his fingers into --

"you have the prettiest hands," you tell him. "i know," he says, grinning sweet and lopsided, eyes twinkling as he reaches up to bop your nose, "all the better to hold you with, right?"

snoopy of the day

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Steve Harrington | Part 1/3

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired by As The World Burns

Special thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for her permission and encouragement. Please go check out her amazing fic.

TW: FemReader, Eventual Smut, Mentions of self-harm & death. No Minors 18+

Steve watches the tears run down the flushed swell of Nancy’s cheeks, her delicate fingers pressed to her lips. A sorrowful smile stretches his mouth, his soft hazel eyes meeting her sky blue. The last blue. The gaping maw of the rift stitching closed for good. Forever. With Steve on one side and the rest of them safe on the other. 

It was finally over and they had won. He decided long ago he couldn’t live if he lost one of them. So, in a split second decision, he gave his life to save them all. It had to be him. No complaints. 

The last glimpse of blue shrinks into a sliver of bright light resembling the waning moon, disappearing until darkness and the red glow of death are all that’s left. He places his hand on the seam of the solid black rock, bowing his head, whispering his last goodbye. 

He walks alone through the familiar decaying streets. The buildings crack and groan, pieces breaking off, turning to sand before they hit the ground. With Vecna dead, the Hawkins he created will be swallowed by the desert and the electrical storms until the world collapses in on itself and explodes in something akin to a supernova. 

He knew all this when he called for El to close the gate. When he pushed a resisting Dustin through into Robin’s arms. In the end, Nancy, the kids, they were all that mattered. He had to die to become the man they deserved. 

The man he always wanted to be. 

The ending of his story has been written–there's no more guessing before turning the page. Loneliness wraps its icy fingers around his shoulder, bringing the comfort of an old friend. He feels lighter now that he's shed the ties and obligations to those he loves. He's free to choose his own death and not without options. Armed and still carrying the backpack stuffed with preparations to survive the last battle, he can walk to Forest Hill, put a bullet in his brain, and fall next to his friend, forever sharing his grave, but he's not there yet. He'd rather go out fighting, and the monsters filling this place will be eager to accommodate.

The wind picks up, blowing the golden-brown strands away from his face as he watches red bolts of lighting scorch through the thick omnipresent fog blanketing the sky to strike the clock tower of the public library. The building stands tall and imposing, still intact in this realm, rotting and covered with ropey vines. A storm is coming. He’ll need shelter soon. Maybe the white and brick house on Maple street. He could crawl into her bed and close his eyes, pretending as he drifts off the sleep that it was a night he snuck through her window. With any luck, he’d never wake up. The ground trembles with the deafening booms of thunder, but as he walks away, it’s a quieter sound that catches his ears.

“Help me, please.”

“Careful,” Steve warns, steadying you with an arm around your waist before taking the binoculars out of your hands, letting them hang by the strap around your neck, “Stop walking if you’re going to use those or you’re going to end up catching your boot in a crack.” He motions to the gaps in the dry limestone bed of lovers lake.

“Where were you two weeks ago?” You ask with a wry smile, yanking down the handkerchief that covers your nose and mouth. “Maybe I’m too clumsy to be a geologist?”

“It’s okay to laugh, Steve,” you tell him when his tight-lipped expression doesn’t waver.

Fourteen days ago, he pulled you from a pile of debris through the raging winds into the windowless back room of a flower shop, where he helped you clear the sand from your eyes and stitched the gash in your leg. He sat on the floor across from you, back pressed against the mildewing floral wallpaper, the sweet putrid perfume of decaying carnations filling your nose with the scent reminiscent of a funeral while he explained where you were and why you wouldn’t be leaving. 

As an undergrad from Perdue sent to study the rift, you had been harnessed, hanging just inside the opening of the gate, taking samples when the earth quaked and your tether snapped. If it weren’t for Steve, you wouldn’t have survived the night and he’s protected you since. Taking out stray dogs and a few bats while scavenging for food and supplies. He assures you there are other things out there. Worse things. You’ve heard their screeches and howls between the thunder claps late into the frigid nights while you lay pressed against his warm back—safe. 

He’s the hero from the storybooks that you read as a little girl, trading the armor for a leather jacket and flak vest, but still just as tragic. A ghost moving through a fog. His sorrow blends him into the landscape, keeping you at arm’s length. If you had met before all of this. Bumped into him on the street or at a coffee shop, you still would have known that he was someone you could trust. 

He casts a skeptical eye your way but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth rises just a little.  “I don’t like being out in the open like this.” His nose scrunches as his eyes roam the rolling gray clouds that keep the Upside Down in perpetual gloaming. 

“We need to find water. I can’t keep brushing my teeth with flat Sprite.” 

Gallons of sour milk and fermented juice fill the coolers at Bradley’s Big Buy, but the plastic containers of water all sit empty just like every river, well, and stream in this version of Hawkins. 

“How many more days are we going to waste on this?” He stands just behind you while you scan the lake bed, so close you feel the warmth of his breath in your hair. 

“You have somewhere else to be?” 

Entire sections of town have disappeared. Neighborhoods and buildings are falling into unstable fissures and there are fires burning in the east. It won’t be long now but you need this and so does he. Something to focus on.

“Everything in this place is damp. There are constant storms–”

“But no rain,” he counters.

“That we’ve seen. There are plants. There are animals. There’s water. Does it look like the land slopes downward over there?”You point to a spot where the trees are denser and closer to the lake bed. 

“I guess.” He squints in the direction of your finger until you hand him the binoculars that are still around your neck. He stoops and leans in close, pressing the glass to his eyes. “Yeah, it looks that way.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.” Taking back the glasses, you set out navigating the dry, cracked terrain. Picking your way through the vines and rocks.

As you walk along, Steve’s eyes stay fixed on a rowboat draped in the coiled, spiked tendrils. He swallows hard, face paling. The pained, haunted look marring his features has the dull ache of sympathy sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. 

“Steve,” your voice stays gentle as your fingers slide against the rough skin of his palm, wrapping around his fingers. He flinches and jerks his hand away. 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s suddenly realized you’re there. 

“Are you okay?”

“Fi-“ he clears his throat, “Fine.” He continues ahead of you, walking toward the woods.

"No. No way."

The short, wide, yawning mouth of the cave was tucked at the bend of a steep hill covered by browned moss and woody stalks of dead brush.

"Steve–"

"We're not going in. No shot. It could be full of bats. Without another exit we could get pinned down."

“Then you can wait here,” you say, ducking under the cave's entrance.

After a click, the beam of your flashlight cuts through the darkness and bounces off the glittering limestone that drips down the walls of the narrow passage like candle wax. The darkness presses in, your panting breaths echo as your courage starts to flee until you hear an annoyed “Goddammit” and the heavy fall of Steve’s boots as he comes in behind you. 

His eyes follow the beam of his light scanning the cave's high ceiling that’s crowded with sharp tipped stalactites before he wretches them to you, his expression turning wary. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m not worried.” Your hand wraps around his forearm sliding down the worn leather sleeve, stopping short of taking his hand, you give his wrist a light squeeze before releasing him.

“Are you always this tenacious?” 

“Always.” You cautiously start down the tunnel, watching for loose rocks and small formations, “It’s a character flaw. I’m an eternal optimist. Everything happens the way it’s supposed to.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking away to study the walls.

After a curve, the passage widens and the rushing of water amplifies, up ahead a faint azure glow highlights a keyhole opening. Steve hands you his flashlight and reaches back grabbing the axe attached to the back of his pack. His hands adjust his grip on the handle as he holds it at the ready. With a silent tilt of his head, he motions you behind him as he pauses at the mouth of the chamber. Keeping the flashlights pointed low, you light his path.

“It’s a ledge. A big step down.” He calculates his movement before hopping down. He moves the axe to one hand reaching out for you with the other. Clicking off one of the flashlights you shove it in your jacket pocket before taking his hand, you try to gauge the distance like he had but your foot slips at the last moment. The clang of the axe hitting the stone floor reverberates through the cave when he drops it to catch you. 

“Maybe you are too clumsy,” he comments, both hands gripping your hips. Your hands slide from around his neck to his shoulders, staying pressed against him longer than necessary, your eyes locked with his - the gold flecks a contrast in the soft blue light. The spell breaks and he steps back, bending to retrieve his weapon.

“It’s…beautiful.”

You’ve stepped into a glittering cavern. Luminescent turquoise orbs with trailing silky threads cling to the jagged domed ceiling high above a steaming basin of crystal clear water. The underground world's best impression of the starry night sky. This might be as close as you get to seeing it again.

“I’m impressed,” his axe hangs at his side with one hand on his hip, “You were right.”

His praise has you beaming as you move to the craggy edge of the basin and shrug off your pack.

“Make it fast,” he peers through the steam into the water, “I don’t wanna be around when whatever lives here comes home.”

“I don’t think anything does.” Dropping to your knees, you unzip your pack pulling out the supplies you’ll need and lining them up, “There are no tracks or vines or anything. There aren’t even any spores floating in the air. Didn’t you say they don’t like the heat?”

A fine layer of steam swirls just above the surface of the water, dampening your skin and curling the fine hair at your temples when you reach over the rim to collect a water sample. Carefully, you pour a little into the four test tubes and place them in a rack adding a test strip to each one. 

“What about those things?” His finger extends to the neon lights above.

“If we were at home, I’d say glow worms.” You grip the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head and placing it on your pack. 

“Whatever they are, they don’t seem too bothered by us,” he muses, “What are you doing now?” He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you lower the rope with your geological thermometer attached at the end into the water. 

“Measuring the depth and taking the temperature.” The water reflects the lights making it seem lit from below. It’s so clear you can see the metal tube of the thermometer hit the sandy bottom. Handing him the end of the rope you move back to your test tubes. Pulling out the strips, using your flashlight to compare them to the control printed in the kit. 

"It's safe to drink." A wave of relief washes over you. Clean water greatly increases your chances of survival. 

"Really? You're sure?" The surprise in his voice is clear. He didn't expect to get this far. 

"I mean..yeah," you sit back on your feet, rubbing your palms over the denim covering your thighs, "We can add some iodine to be sure, but tonight we'll have drinkable water."

Hand over hand, he pulls the line out from the water. He lets the shiny metal tube dangle for a moment. The water runs down edges dripping back into the basin before he gives it to you to interpret. 

"About four feet deep with a temp of 100 degrees. Perfect." Winding the wet string around the thermometer, you place it back in your kit and repack the rest of your supplies, leaving out your empty canteen.

"Perfect for what?" His brows draw in at the middle as he watches you loosen the laces of your boots.

"What do you think?" You pull off one boot and then the other, removing your stripey socks and then stuffing them inside. 

"You're not getting in there," he scoffs, hands moving to his hips.

"Steve," you sigh, standing and unbuttoning your pants and lowering the zipper, "I'm absolutely going in there." The denim material is heavy and damp from the humidity, sticking to your skin as you peel the jeans down your legs trying your best to not let them drag on the dirt covering the cavern's floor. "It’s been two weeks since I've showered. I stink and so do you."

"This is stupid." His head shakes and he looks upwards, eyes roaming the jagged rock walls as you slip your shirt over your head. 

"It's a necessity. Besides, hot springs are supposed to be really good for you." Your fingers work the clasp of your bra and it slips down your arms. His gaze returns as you drop the lacey garment onto the growing pile of your clothing. Now you have his full attention. Even in the dim light, it's clear his eyes darken.

Ignoring the way your heart beats wildly, your thumbs hook under the silk of your panties and they slide down your hips, "There's not much point in being shy." 

With false bravado you face him naked and vulnerable, letting his eyes drink you in, "We have to take care of each other, right?"

The torrent of water is louder in the absence of his answer as it cascades through an opening in the wall feeding the basin. Holding his stare, you walk along the water's edge until you find a spot where the limestone dips and becomes smoother creating a natural point of entry. 

"Be careful." He moves closer watching you step in. 

A moan slips from your lips as you sink down letting the heat loosen the tension in your muscles, enjoying the slight sting while your skin acclimates to the temperature. Pinching your nose with your thumb and forefinger, you dip your head below the surface into the quiet depths.

He's crouching at the basin's rim letting his fingers trail through the water when you emerge, slicking back your hair, wiping away the drips clinging to your eyelashes. His lips part and you know what he's seeing, the astral light reflecting in the rivulets running down your throat, over your breasts joining the sheen covering your skin.

"Are you coming in?" 

He pulls his hand from the water, fingers flicking away the wetness and you can practically see the gears turning in his head while deciding if it’s okay to allow himself this simple pleasure.

“It’s safe, Steve. You can live a little,” you say with your sweetest smile, bending your knees so you're submerged up to your neck, watching the cracks in his resolve widen.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asks with a heavy sigh, unsheathing the knife that he carries on his belt and placing it on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool. 

“I’m the one who has to smell you.” Taking a few steps backward to where the basin deepens enough that you can tread water without being over your head. 

His Baretta joins his knife before his fingers loosen the laces of his boots. He stands shrugging off his heavy jacket and vest letting them hit the ground with a thwack that echoes through the cave before pulling his dark gray thermal over his head adding it to the pile. Your arms glide beneath the water while your eyes travel the path from the dips in his collar bone over the expanse of his broad chest that tapers into narrow hips. 

“Ahem,” he clears his throat as he works his belt loose and you don’t feel the slightest bit of shame that he's caught you ogling. The way the corner of his mouth lifts tells you he doesn’t mind either. 

“You wanna turn around?” He asks, thumbs popping the button on his cargo pants before he moves on to the zipper.

“Nope. I’m good.”

His eyes roll before he lowers his pants and boxers, holding them in front of himself until he catches your gaze and tosses them aside. Your lips part as you suck in a much needed breath. His half aroused cock stands out from his body. Long and thick, the pink veiny shaft and perfectly shaped head bobs, swelling further under your scrutiny. He walks toward the shallow end, and you catch the full smirk twisting his lips.

“Now you can smile.” You splash him as he steps into the water shrugging, his grin continuing to broaden.

His eyes flutter closed as more of his body disappears into the steaming pool, gentle waves lapping at his torso, then shoulders, then neck. A low grown rumbles from his throat just before his head slips under completely. He resurfaces in front of you, muscles of his arms tightening as he pushes the hair from his face.

"Fuuck," his mouth remains parted as he draws out the vowel, a water drop clinging to his plush bottom lip, "This feels good."

It's hard to take your eyes off him in this light. Heat floods your belly, but it’s not the water, you want to be what’s making him feel good. He’s already given away his heart, you're certain, but she’s not here and you are.

"It's nice to be warm. It's so cold here." You drift closer, breathing in the heated air. 

"You're cold?" He asks, brows knitting together.

"Sometimes…mostly at night." A pang of guilt has you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it. The last thing you want is to cause him any more worry. "Are these new?" You reach out, fingers ghosting over purple black bruises on his shoulder and chest. 

His head bows looking at the spot you just caressed, "Maybe. I can't keep track." He straightens to his full height, chest rising above the surface, water running through the thick patch of chest hair revealing several more bruises in various stages of healing. 

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard before continuing, fingers dancing over the freckles on his skin, "I know you're doing this–"

He coughs and sinks back into the water, patting his chest, "I think the steam is loosening up some of that shit we've been breathing in."

His head tips back and you follow suit watching the tiny glowing creatures attached to the rocky dome, their silvery tails gently swaying like they’re blowing in a breeze. There's beauty in their simple existence. Head dropping back down, you catch his stare, he’s closer now, and the way he looks at you sends all your thoughts fleeing. 

"It's nice here. Quiet," his arms sweep in arcs just below the surface, hands brushing against yours when they meet in the narrow space between you, "I can almost pretend I’m somewhere else."

"Yeah?" Floating closer, you look up at him from under wet lashes. There’s something in his eyes, a fire, making the gold flecks look molten. The gap between you narrows, his chest brushes your nipples. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He moves away, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“Do you do a lot of skinny dipping?” You ask, trying to draw him back in, craving the connection. He peers at you unsure if he should answer.

“Come on, Steve. Tell me your secrets.” Biting your lip to hide the mischief in your smile, you draw a cross over your heart, "I promise not to tell."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve done my fair share. There was a girl-“

“There always is.”

“Are you going to let me tell you?” With a swift move of his hand, he sends a splash of water in your direction.

“Please, continue,” you giggle with a wave of your hand, licking the water off your lips.

“She and I would sneak out late at night. Meet at the lake to be together." He looks away as he tells you, lost in the memory.

"Midnight Love. Sounds romantic." 

“I don’t think she would agree,” his eyes roam the stoney walls where glowing lights fade in and out, “She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. There was someone else.” He meets your eyes, wanting you to understand his contrition, “I should have been honest with her. Let her move on. I know better now. I’m all done breaking hearts.”

“Will you be honest with me?” It doesn’t matter what he's done. He’s shown you who he is, and that man is one that you believe in.

“Yes.” The word is heavy on his lips, the look in his eyes confirming his promise. “I can give that to you.”

Nodding your head in acceptance, you feel the shift, bared to each other, the wall between you falls to pieces like the replica of the town that surrounds you. It gives you the courage to ask what you really want to know, “What about the girl you’re in love with, the one that’s up there waiting for you with tears in her eyes? Don’t you think her heart is broken?”

“How did–"

Shrugging, you wait for him to continue.

“We weren’t together,” he confesses, “Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needed either.”

“That’s why you're here? Because you weren't enough for her? Your friends, don’t you think they need you?”

“It's not about her. It's about all of them,” he explains, his voice thick with pain. “Before all this, all the things I thought were important were just bullshit. They held up a mirror in front of me. It made me change directions, made me try to be better. But I moved too slowly and when they really needed me, I couldn't protect them. You know how you said everything happens for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is it. This is my reason. I had to make sure they’re safe. They can all grow up and do whatever it is that they are supposed to do, be whoever they are supposed to be. Staying behind. Letting them go,” he lays a hand over his heart, “That’s how I became who I was supposed to be and I could finally give that to them.”

“Steve…” You want to scream at him that he’s wrong. He had to be enough for them because he was already everything to you. But it would rob him of the meaning in his death, so you stay silent and let the unspoken words sink beneath the water.

“Okay, it’s your turn. You owe me a secret,” his tone turns light, and he claps his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, “Make it a good one.”

“Let’s see,” you squint up at the ceiling, “I started sneaking my mom’s cigarettes junior year and blamed it on my sister.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. I bet a pretty girl like you has left behind a trail of broken hearts. I want the good stuff.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, tipping your head onto your shoulder with a grin.

“You know you are,” his eyes roll, “Don’t try to get out of it.”

“Fine,” you pout, flicking water in his direction, “I don’t think I broke any hearts. Maybe bent a few. My friends are always losing their heads over some guy. Acting crazy. All in the name of love. I always wanted that, you know? To get swept away in some sort of fairytale romance. It just never happened for me. I thought there would be more time. I thought…"

You’ve been looking at life through a wall of rose-colored glass, sweetening your view just enough to avoid reality. Saying the words out loud, admitting it yourself–to him, you’ve crashed straight into it, the broken shards cutting you with the truth.

“We’re not going to make it home, are we?”

“Do you still want the truth?” He asks, knowing you already know the answer.

"I had a list," you swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. "I thought if we could find water, we could check that off and solve the next problem and the next. Then we'd somehow figure out a way back. You told me from the beginning but I was too stupid–"

"Hey, you're not stupid." He moves a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "It's not stupid to have hope."

"But it doesn't matter." Your hand covers his, indulging in his touch a moment longer before pushing it away. 

“That’s where you're wrong. It doesn’t change anything, but it matters.”

“I’m starting to feel tired. Would you mind if we leave?” Brushing past, you climb out onto the ledge. The water cascading off your body darkens the limestone floor. Your back stays turned away from him while you yank your underwear on over damp legs. The splashing sounds let you know that he is following suit. Your jeans are difficult to shimmy over your hips without drying off and you skip the bra entirely, leaving your shirt to absorb the water. Once you leave the warmth of the cave, you'll be freezing–you should have listened to Steve.

Another bad decision made with good intentions. The list of I’ll Nevers unfurls in front of you covering the path where your future should be. He had figured it out much sooner than you did. Everything you worked for and planned for was all just bullshit. Maybe if you had someone to hold up a mirror, your list would be shorter. 

The cave seems smaller, the walls press in as you finish getting dressed and gathering your gear. Space will give you perspective, although you still dread seeing that terrible red sky.

"Are you‐"

Your breath leaves through your parted lips when his hand tugs your hip, turning you, pulling you flush against his chest. He looks down at you, eyes burning, wet hair plastered to the nape of neck drips water down the column of his throat soaking his thermal. The plush curve of his lips so close to your own. 

"You're not supposed to be here," he growls as his grip tightens. "I wish you weren't. I wish you had never met me. I wish..."

The tears spill over your lash line and streak down your cheeks, you can taste their saltiness on your lips. His head dips toward you and your eyes flutter closed, holding your breath while you wait to feel the pressure of his lips. Longing and despair give way to a fear that he'll give you what you want because he grieves with you, and that will never be enough to stop the ache. But his kiss never comes. His touch lingers on your skin once he's let you go and you stand there with your eyes still shut as you listen to him walk away. 

By the time you make it out of the cave, the scarlet sky has dimmed to a deep crimson, and Steve decides it’s best to stick to the cover of the trees and spend the night in one of the cabins nestled on the shore among the forest of dead wood, instead of crossing back over the dry lake bed. Mercifully, the rolling storm clouds are gathering west of here, across town, leaving the woods quiet beside the dry leaves crunching underfoot. Your silence is an itch under his skin. He wants to apologize, but he’s not exactly sure what for. He meant the things he said, but he hadn’t intended it to sound so harsh. The light in your eyes has been the only thing pulling him back from the darkness of his own thoughts, but he can’t keep pretending. He’s accepted that this was how his story ends, but the way you look at him tempts him into believing there could be another chapter. 

A war rages inside him, confusion over when protecting you became something more. Something that feels like he’s betraying her, even though she’s a world away. The truth is, he wants you. Your endless hope, the smiles you dole out like they cost you nothing, like you don’t realize that they have become as necessary to him as the air he’s breathing. Every day, the feeling of you belonging to him grows, but it’s all mixed up with pain and resentment. He was to meet death with a calm embrace, but fate decided that peace was more than he deserved. Now he’ll fight with his last ounce of strength to give you one more breath, and part of him blames you for that. He wants inside you, to claim you as his, but he can’t accept your comfort without making the pain at the end worse for both of you.

These thoughts and questions, you, Nancy, are different currents clashing in a riptide, and he’s trying his best to keep his head above water. As the mist thins, a tiny cottage comes into view, partially hidden by the brush and the gloom. The flaking white paint and curling black shingles are tinged green with mold. With a lone vine, dry and dead, snaking down from the roof across the weathered door. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around your wrist, conveying with a look that you should wait here for him to clear the inside. Walking up the three stone steps, he unsheathes his knife to cut away the vine. It takes a few firm pushes from his shoulder to get the warped door to budge from its frame. The musty air hits his nose as soon as it swings open. This place has been closed up tight. Steve moves quickly through the small space, checking for any signs of creatures, but it’s untouched aside from a few dead vines wrapped around the exposed beams of the ceiling.

When he returns, you’re standing with your arms crossed over your chest, but the look written across your delicate features has changed to anger. His brows pull together, and his lips part to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I don’t wish that.”

“What?” He asks, confused.

“That I never met you. I don’t wish that,” you move closer until your toe to toe with him. “I’m here for a reason. My life has a purpose too,” you say, laying a hand over your heart, anger and sadness making your voice crack. “If you think you’re supposed to die for them. Then I’m here to make sure you aren’t alone.”

The way his mouth gapes in surprise only fuels your resolve.

“You’re not supposed to be alone.” You turn away and walk inside. He follows, shutting the door behind you.

A chill seeps through the damp mattress and the thick stack of crochet blankets piled on top. Despite being fully clothed, the cold works its way through the layers of material straight through to his skin. He’s lying on his side, staring at the closed door of the bedroom, replaying the words you said over and over. He can feel you behind him. Tiny pockets of heat wherever you connect, your forehead pressed to his back, hands tucked between you, the material of his sweatshirt balled in your fist. He’s still not sure what he should have said. The rest of the evening was spent without discussion. In his head, every sentence he forms is chased away with the image of you standing in the cave with your eyes closed, ready to be kissed. His instinct is to act first and think later, but this time the consequence is your heart, and he’s never been more unsure.

“Did you hear about the drunk geologist?” 

“What?” It takes a second for your words to break through his thoughts.

“He finally hit rock bottom,” you deadpan, your breath warming his back. “Do you know what kind of fruit geologists eat?”

His mouth quirks. Somehow you know just what he needs. 

“Pome-granite.”

He rolls over to face you. Your eyes gleam in the darkness, lashes fluttering, your lips stretched into a smile, you’re so beautiful, and it makes him feel lightheaded.

“You know you have to be patient with us geologists…we all have our faults.”

“God, these are so bad,” he says, his hand landing on your hip, his thumb finding its way under the edge of your sweatshirt to draw circles on your skin. 

“I have more.” Your hands smooth up the front of his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, eyes locking with his, and he can see it again, the hope. It’s a beacon in a fog guiding him home. 

“Of quartz, you do.”

Your giggles make his smile bigger until he can feel it in the apples of his cheeks. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s felt like this–you make him happy.

“Let me warm you up,” he says when your laughter subsides. His hands smooth over your shoulders until they’re wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, not stopping until your forehead is against his lips and there is no space left between you. Sighing softly, you push a leg between his, until you fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, but as your warmth fills all the cold places inside him, he knows he should be thanking you.

AN: Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think? Are these two going to make it? Did you spot the easter egg from our friend @loveshotzz? I'll give you hint this ties in to one of her fics. Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Part 2 Coming Soon