She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
This concoction of meat smells foul. Steve and I spent the majority of the past three hours buying out entire aisles of meat products at the local supermarket. As we mix the meat into two buckets, I make an effort to say as little as possible and never look at him. I'm unsure if it's shame, regret, or something else that sends me into a whirlpool of emotions when he's around.
It was just one night. One meaningless drunk night... right?
I can still feel the way his arm was draped around me the next morning--the warmth and security it provided.
I keep the clothes neatly folded in a stack on top of my dresser. I wrestle with figuring out if I keep them because I'm scared to talk to him long enough to give them back, or because I don't want to give them back at all.
"They'll meet us at the junkyard," Dustin says to Steve. I haven't been listening to their plan, too wrapped up in my own thoughts. I silently set the bucket of meat off to the side and pull on some yellow rubber gloves. "Y/N, what's wrong?"
I snap my head up when my brother speaks my name. "What?" I ask blankly. It takes all of my willpower not to look at Steve, as he's closing the car trunk next to me. The faint smell of his cologne drifts my way in the breeze. Goddammit.
"What do you mean, what? You haven't said a single sarcastic comment in, like... forever. Who are you? What did you do to my sister?" Dustin speaks.
"I'm just tired, Dustin," I mumble. "we've been up all night,"
"Ah! Did you hear that?" Dustin barks at Steve, pointing an accusatory finger at me. "She called me Dustin. She doesn't call me that,"
"That's your name," Steve reminds him, but Dustin is insistent. "What does she usually call you then?"
"Dummy, Dusty, D-Man, Don't-Do-That, Stop-It, Pain-In-The-Ass," Dustin rambles on.
"That last one's my favorite." I deapan, beginning to walk down the trail with my bucket. The boys are quick to follow. I don't say a word, just counting how the number of planks on the track and doing my best to only step on every other one. It's how I keep myself entertained while the boys have "girl talk".
"Now, let me get this straight," Steve starts, tossing a chunk of meat on the ground. "you kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who you just met?"
