𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨

lemon boy 3 - e.d

♛credits to heathendolan on tumblr! (this is long lol)♛ last part!
♡
Ethan can hardly open his eyes the next morning, they're so puffy. He's still on the couch, and his mom is still by his side. He blinks blearily and looks around to find himself draped in a thick comforter and a cup of tea on the coffee table, still steaming. His mom looks as sad as him, and he can feel the disappointment radiating off of her. Whether it's from him fighting or him losing (Y/N), he doesn't know, but he hates it. It feels like another weight on him.
She cards her fingers through his tousled bangs and smiles sadly at him. "There's a delivery for you," she whispers to him, "from (Y/N)."
The name alone sends his heart jolting, and tears flood his eyes uninvited. He sniffs and nods, sitting up from his spot and propping himself up on his elbows. His mom leaps from her seat and pads into the foyer, her slippers scuffling on the marble floors, and returns soon enough with a laundry tote overflowing with books.
Ethan's brows furrow on his forehead, but he doesn't ask any questions. She simply drops it at his feet and leaves him alone with it.
Ethan wipes his eyes with the back of his fist and stretches a sore arm out to grab the first book within reach. He picks up the Great Gatsby and finds a sticky note on the cover. 'Here's something you haven't told me'.
Ethan reads and rereads it a few times, but it doesn't make any more sense the sixth or seventh time. So, he just cracks the spine and opens it to the first chapter. Ethan doesn't know what he's expecting, but nothing's out of the ordinary for the first three pages and after a while he forgets what he's looking for and just reads instead. He's convinced he'll never hate a character from a first impression more than he'll hate Daisy Buchanan, and his annoyance grows bigger and bigger as he keeps reading. He figures he ought to just finish the chapter–even though he knows how it'll end–now that he's started it, and as he flips to the final page, he's glad he did. He skips over the paragraph and just reads the scribbled pen at the bottom in the space beneath the last paragraph.
I think Ethan would hate Daisy. Well, I hate Daisy. I hate her so fucking much.
Ethan laughs outright, even if it comes out a little strangled with his hoarse voice, at (Y/N)'s bluntness. She was shy and reserved in real life, but in her own fictional world, she was as bold as anyone he'd ever met.
I can't even figure out how Ethan made it past the first chapter with how shitty it is. I feel like his dad told him to read it, so he did, and he just ended up loving it, because if I didn't know the great reputation this book had, I would throw it in the garbage after the first chapter. I hate Daisy Buchanan. She's a ditz.
She's absolutely right; Ethan only read it because his dad told him to. And he hates Daisy, he hates her so goddamn much from the start. But he's giddy with the realization that (Y/N) probably writes something at the end of every chapter, and begins leafing through the pages to find out what more is on her mind. On most pages after that, he finds highlighted quotes and margin notes and even little doodles, all pertaining to her thoughts on the book and what she thinks Ethan thinks, and most of the time, they're spot on.
After a while, he discards The Great Gatsby and grabs The Perks of Being a Wallflower and finds that it's similarly stained almost completely in highlighter and pen ink. Every single book in the overflowing laundry tote is well-worn, well-read, and well-marked. Ethan realizes after the eighth book that these are all of his favorites.
It's well into the evening when he stops searching each book and reading all the thoughts she took the time to scribble down. She knows him better than anyone in the world, better than Cameron, better than his dad, better than Grayson, better than his mom. She knows him better than anyone and she still loves him. She loves him like a friend, and maybe even more, and Ethan figures now is a better time than ever to just spit it out–he is so fucking in love with her, and he's going to tell her.
-
It's been six months and a day since that god-awful day, and six months since (Y/N) became Ethan's. That's one hell of a silver lining.
Her, Ethan, and the other four Dolans are seated around the Dolan's porch with oversized pumpkins in their laps and carving tools in their hands, sipping hot cocoa and eating recently decorated sugar cookies. Ethan can't think of a better way to spend his Halloween.
It means a lot to him because (Y/N) was invited to at least three parties and her friends were threatening to kidnap her if she didn't show up herself, and she turned them all down. She knows it's Ethan's favorite holiday, and she knows he doesn't like parties. She wouldn't have wanted to go without him, anyway.
"Ethy, pass me the scooper," she demands, making grabby hands at his toolset.
Ethan passes it along to her without a snarky comment because he's overjoyed. Nothing can bring him down.
"(Y/N), did we ever tell you about the time Ethan cried over you at the dinner table?" Cameron smirks, glaring smugly at Ethan.
Ethan lied. This can definitely bring him down. "Why no," (Y/N) drawls, grinning toothily, "you haven't Cammy. Fill me in."
"Absolutely not," Ethan growls. He raises the kitchen knife next to his pumpkin only half-jokingly. "Shut it."
But Cameron has no interest in keeping quiet. In fact, she's inviting everyone to chime in if they so please. "Dad? You remember that? Mom?"
"Of course," his mom giggles, her eyes lighting up happily. "Sean, you remember that right? Right after Cam met her at the ice cream parlor?"
"Remember that (Y/N)?" Cameron laughs, reaching over to grab her arm in delight. "When you and all your friends stopped in and we met? Well I told Ethan that I told you that he had a crush on you, and I swear to God I've never seen the kid cry so hard in my life, he was sobbing," she snorts, leaning forward as she wheezes.
"Oh my God, and he was reading the first Harry Potter and we were teasing him and he was getting so upset," his mom joins. Ethan's fuming. He's fuming!
"Stop," Ethan barks, glaring down at his pumpkin.
"That's not the first or last time he'd cry over you, either," Grayson scoffs, shaking his head. "When he picked out your Christmas present sophomore year, he was almost in tears he was so nervous."
Ethan's about ready to just leave, head inside and lock himself in his room with the way his girlfriend's giggling along and everyone's mocking him and his sensitivity. He opens his mouth to shout something obscene, but (Y/N) starts talking. "That's definitely not as embarrassing as the times that I've cried. When he first got that lavender stripe in his hair, my friends told me some other girl was going to snatch him right from me and I went home and sobbed to my mom," she laughs, covers her mouth and shaking her head. "She literally had to give me NyQuil because I cried all night."
His whole family bursts into a chorus of laughter; his dad's holding his stomach, his mom's wiping tears, and Cameron and Grayson are staring at each other with complete mirth.
"A-and then," she continues, her giggles breaking up her words, "on the last day of school freshman year, I cried all night long because I wasn't going to see Ethan for three whole months. I didn't even know him yet!"
Ethan finds himself chuckling deep in his chest too with a big wide grin, and he clears his throat. "You're kidding," he snorts, jabbing her shoulder with his elbow.
"No, I'm not," she says with a giggle, shaking her head. "I think I cried like, a dozen times over you. Just too in love, I guess," she smiles sweetly.
Ethan doesn't know why he was so worried about being embarrassed around her–he knows she'll never judge him. And he knows she loves him too, so what's his problem?
The laughter dies down after awhile and everyone returns to their pumpkin carving, debating over the best slasher horror movie and which one they'll watch later. Ethan knows he'll be so scared he can't sleep, but that doesn't actually bother him all that much. His reality's so much better than any of his dreams, anyway.
-
Ethan's graduated. He is finally fucking graduated. He's never felt so good in his life.
He feels like someone's uncuffed his handcuffs, untied his reigns, or some other analogy for breathing a fresh breath of freedom. He can't remember anything ever being so physically relieving, outside of the moment (Y/N) confessed her love for him too. On second thought, there is something better than graduation, and it's standing in his driveway.
That thing is plopped on the pavement, with its limbs stretched out and its bare feet tickling the sidewalk at the end with a baby blue bit of chalk in its hand, writing in bubble letters 'WELCOME!'. Its got its tongue poking out of its lips and its hair is falling sideways around it and it's looking absolutely stunning in its best sundress. Ethan can't believe he ever thought, even dramatically, anything as simple as graduation was as good as it.
And it, of course, is (Y/N). She's already spent the morning hanging streamers around the garage and setting up poster boards of Ethan and Grayson with Lisa and carrying out gigantic tupperware with large portions of food and sneaking a cupcake (Ethan saw) out of the dessert stand. And all for a graduation party that isn't even her own.
Ethan is anxious–which is a phrase that is often said and even oftener felt by him. But that does not mean he does not feel any less nauseous, any less dizzy, or any less on edge than he has all those times before; if anything, he is feeling more anxious than he has in months, because Ethan is less than popular at Long Valley, and half of the school is going to be coming to his house on his territory and they are going to be just as cruel as usual. And there's nothing Ethan can do; in fact, he's supposed to welcome them.
They've all been invited by Grayson, the twin who can actually speak, the twin who is a social butterfly. And Ethan gets it–it's not Grayson's fault he's likable. But he's been a little bitter ever since Grayson warned him that Cole Eptom and Alex Peterson were invited and attending. Where's Grayson's loyalty? This has been a clear violation of the Bro-Code, and he knows it.
More than this, it'll just be awkward. It'll be awkward when everyone's rushing up to Grayson and hanging off the edge of his every word, and no one is coming up to Ethan. And that's how it has always been, but it's frankly unfair and downright impolite when the celebration is about Ethan too, after all. He feels a little like his name is in fine print on their cheesy graduation banner.
(Y/N) stands up from where she was lying on the cement and claps the chalk off her palms. She stares down at her masterpiece with a frown and then swipes her tongue across her thumb and smudges out a bit of the W, and then grins contently and looks to Ethan for confirmation. Ethan doesn't really care what it looks like if he's honest, but he gives her two thumbs up and a big wide grin. She's smiling, and that's all that really matters.
She patters over to him, her white sandals scraping against the pavement and her matching white dress flowing with her body, and sidles up next to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. "You excited?" she asks.
Of course he isn't. "Yeah, should be fun," Ethan says.
She snorts disbelievingly and shakes her head. "No you aren't, I haven't seen you smile all morning."
Ethan throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in tighter, kissing the top of her head. "That's cause you've been busy helping and not paying me any attention. At all."
She sneaks out from under his hold and slides her fingers up his jawline, eager to pull him in for a chaste kiss. They end up forgetting the 'chaste' part and making out in the driveway, oblivious to the commotion going about around them—the tables being set up, the decorative plants being vased, the food being set—and get lost in the feeling of each other. Ethan thinks it's the best distraction he could have thought of. Their moment is so quickly ruined though when he feels a tiny bar–which he soon realizes is a carrot from the veggie tray–pelt the back of his neck, and he flinches and pulls away.
"Are you guys serious!" Grayson calls from the garage, his arms outstretched with dubiety. "We have a graduation party, dumbass!"
Ethan grumbles and pulls (Y/N) flush to his chest, both arms secure around her shoulders, and lifts his chin over his shoulder to pierce his twin with a glare. "Not for another half hour, fuck off."
"It starts in five minutes, Ethan. For fuck's sake, Grandma could walk up any second and see you guys tongue-fucking each other."
"Or, Grandma could walk up and hear you using foul language, Grayson Bailey," Grandma Adrianne scolds, her frown etching deep crevices in her face. Ethan's never felt so smug as he does when he watches Grayson's life flash before his eyes.
"Grandma Adrianne!" Grayson chokes out, faux-cheeriness in his strangled voice. "When did you-"
"Save it, you're lucky I don't tell your mother to wash your mouth out with soap," she grumbles, waving him away. She's quick to hurry up behind (Y/N) and snatch her from Ethan, pulling her into her arms and swaying the two of them back and forth. Ethan almost wants to be offended that she's chosen his own girlfriend over him, but his belly feels warm with the reality that his family loves (Y/N) just as much as he does—some days, he actually thinks they might love her more. But that is a ridiculous thought. "Hi, Honey," Grandma Adrianne says to her, patting her back. "How have you been? You takin' care of my Etee?"
(Y/N) pulls away and holds onto her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You know it, Lord knows what would happen if I wasn't," she says with an eyeroll.
"Good. We need you and Lisa by him always, the little devil."
"Hey!" Ethan calls, his arms flying out defensively.
"Oh trust me, you aren't near as bad as your brother over there," Grandma Adrianne assures, waddling over to hug Ethan. She squeezes him tight and kisses his cheek, and Ethan smiles. "Quite the potty-mouth. Where do you even find words like 'tongue-fu-'"
"Grandma," Ethan laughs.
"I'm not kidding, he's in hot water with me. I told you boys no swearing, it's unnecessary."
"Lucky for you, I am a saint," Ethan fibs, winking at (Y/N) over Grandma Adrianne's shoulder. She rolls her eyes playfully in return and shakes her head, a blush on her cheeks.
"Yeah right, Kid," Grandma says. "Now where did Grayson run off to? I bet he's hiding," she says and chases him into the kitchen where he is undoubtedly cowering.
Ethan takes the spare moment of privacy to kiss (Y/N) one last time, sadly chastely, and burrow his nose in the crook of her neck despite the way he has to dip down. He feels protected by her in a way he can't explain—he knows she'd never leave him defenseless, nonetheless hurt him, because she has had that opportunity for years and yet, she has been nothing but kind, gentle, patient, and caring. Ethan's reminded by this when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear and whispers, "You're going to be fine. Breathe easy. You've got this," even though he hasn't spoken a word of his churning anxiety. She just knows.
After that, Grandma Bernadette and Poppy John hobble in, followed by the twins' little cousins, all eager to speak to the boys and snag a cupcake or two. However, after that files in their chemistry teacher, a girl Ethan doesn't quite know, and half of the soccer team, all of which hardly grant Ethan so much as a glance. It doesn't bother him; (Y/N) is secure by his side, chatting off his ear and playing iSpy.
But it keeps happening, just like Ethan knew it would. His history teacher is polite enough to say hello and ask him how it feels to be a graduate, but other than that, the dozens of people filling his garage are practically seeing right through him, while Grayson has a lengthy line just waiting to talk to him. His mother is sheepish, trying her best to entertain him with small talk until she's hauled away by a visitor, and his dad is busy talking to his fellow coworkers. It's just Ethan and (Y/N), ignoring the elephant in the room—Ethan is so, so unpopular.
He's not letting it get to him. He isn't going to. This is way too common for him to get all worked up today—there's nothing different about today than yesterday, or the day before that, or any of the days at school. Grayson is simply more likable, Ethan knows that. Ethan knows that if he wasn't so fucking quiet, so fucking grouchy, maybe, just maybe people would talk to him. But then he thinks about six-year-old-Ethan, neither grouchy nor particularly quiet, who was still just as unlikable. Is there something wrong with him? Is there just a wavelength that surrounds him, so negative and intolerant that people won't even speak to him at his own graduation party? Because, in all honesty, today is different. Today is about Ethan just as much as it is about Grayson, but people are still avoiding him like the black plague. And these are nice people—people who have manners, who are polite enough to know to at least acknowledge his presence. What the fuck is wrong with Ethan?
(Y/N) squeezes his hand beside him, a frown on her lips and curiosity in her doe eyes. "What's wrong?" she whispers, leaning in close.
"Nothing," Ethan breathes, sighing breathily. "Nothing at all."
She knows better, and he knows that she knows. But he's close, so close to tearing up in his garage in front of the cluster of people to his left, hanging off of Grayson's every word.
It was so unfair. He knows it's pointless to be asked where he's attending college since him and Grayson are going to the same place, he knows it's pointless to be asked who he's rooming with, but they could ask him about his major, they could ask him if he wanted to study abroad, they could ask him so many other questions. He did not deserve this.
Or did he? There must be a reason people hate him so quickly, almost inherently. It was as if everyone just knew to hate him. Hating Ethan seems like a knee jerk reflex for the mass population.
It can't be his looks–he sees the way girls fawn over Grayson, and he looks just like him. It can't be his last name, because everyone loves Cameron and his dad and his mom and Grayson. He's mulling over why, why, why people hated him so much they won't even speak to him at his own graduation party. He's mulling over why so much, that he hardly notices (Y/N) poking his side.
"Hey, Ethy," she says tentatively, jabbing him. "Someone's here to see you," she coos.
Ethan lifts his gaze slowly to stare at the woman in front of him–(Y/N)'s mom. He only realizes he's been frowning so bitterly at the ground when he begins to smile, ready to speak to one of his favorite people. "Hi!" he cheers, dropping (Y/N)'s hand to throw her mom in a hug. "Thank you for coming!"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Honey," she giggles in his ear, squeezing him back. "Gonna miss it?" she jokes, pointing to the pair of caps and diplomas on the table.
Ethan laughs and shakes his head. "Not a bit," he says.
"Good, those people suck," she whispers to him, discreetly thumbing to the crowd by Grayson.
Ethan smiles happily and nods in full agreement. "You can hop in line and talk to Grayson if you want," Ethan says politely, cocking his head to where Grayson's chatting away with a member of the volleyball team.
(Y/N)'s mom rolls her eyes. "He looks busy," she says flatly. "Besides, we have to go over more important matters; what flavor are the cupcakes?"
Ethan chuckles and grabs (Y/N)'s hand again, the knot in his stomach unwinding. "Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, just for (Y/N) here." He looks down to see his girlfriend is already munching on what seems to be her third cupcake, a speck of frosting dotting the tip of her nose. He swipes it off with a grin and licks his finger.
(Y/N)'s mom has already grabbed two and is in a hurry to make it to the food line. "Ethan, I hope you don't mind, but (Y/N) and I invited a few people. I already talked to your mom and she said it's fine," (Y/N)'s mom calls to him, stacking chips and sandwiches on her paper plate.
Ethan's brows slump together and he looks down to (Y/N) who is carefully avoiding his gaze. "Uh, yeah I guess that's fine? Who'd you invite?"
There is no time to answer, however, because the entirety of (Y/N)'s extended family is ushering into the garage, squeezing past tables and chairs, forming their own line to speak to Ethan twice as long as Grayson's. People are beginning to stare as (Y/N)'s cousins argue over who gets to speak to him first, her aunts are already coddling him, and her grandparents are hobbling up to the front, claiming 'dibs'. Ethan's mom is grinning so big he thinks her dimples might be permanent, and Ethan's dad is hardly paying attention to his coworkers, and neither of them mind when the family leaves late into the afternoon after dozens and dozens of hugs and kisses and conversations with Ethan and only Ethan.
-
Ethan isn't nervous for his first day of class, he's not. He has no reason to be. No one cares about him at university, and that's just how he likes it.
Well, he's a little nervous. Not because he thinks people will pick on him, but because he thinks everyone will care so little about him that no one will bother to speak to him. It's definitely better than bullying still, Ethan thinks. He just wants a decent spot in his lecture hall.
The walk to campus is easy enough. It's sunny and seventy-eight, the perfect temperature for an early September morning. He kicks a rock all the way down the sidewalk and keeps his head down to pass the time and distract him of his thoughts. Before he knows it, he's yanking on the door to his building and nearing the hall, and he's nervous. He's nervous and he'll admit it to himself, because there's no way he can deny the frenzy in his stomach or the sweat dampening his hands.
He walks into the room and it's bigger than he thought it would be and already flooded with students. There's a spot open here and there, but he'd have to cross the sea of bodies in each row to get to it, and he feels himself overflow with anxiety.
"Hey, need a spot?" a guy a few rows up the stairs asks, waving his pencil.
The guy seems nice enough but kind of intimidating; he's absolutely jacked. Ethan knows he's probably not a dick like Cole Eptom or Alex Peterson or Jacob Kronwell, but if he happened to be, he could kick Ethan's ass. Despite his paranoia, he offers a nervous grin and climbs the stairs to sit in the spot next to him.
"I'm Rocky," the guy introduces himself, offering out a hand for Ethan to shake.
Ethan takes it firmly and smiles at him. "Ethan," he says back.
Rocky taps his pencil against his open notebook and bounces his foot against the floor. "You know anything about, er, The Evolution of Roman Literature?" he asks, squinting at the syllabus they grabbed at the entrance.
Ethan laughs and shakes his head quickly. "I don't know shit about the Romans in general," Ethan snorts.
"God, me neither," Rocky responds, laughing with him. "What hall are you in?"
"Krater," Ethan nods. "I room with my brother, how about you?"
"Hey, I'm in Krater too!" Rocky cheers, grinning with a row of white, pearly teeth. Ethan worries that this guy is too attractive to be within a mile radius of (Y/N). "I room with my best friend from my hometown, Collin. He's pretty cool, you should meet him."
Ethan's making friends. He doesn't know the process all that well, but he's doing okay, he thinks. This is what making friends is like.
"For sure," Ethan nods, drumming his fingers against the table. "You, uh, gotta meet my twin Grayson, he's nice enough. But he can't cook for shit, just warning you."
Rocky tips his head back and laughs, and Ethan feels himself easing up significantly. "You're funny," Rocky nods as if it he's confirming it to himself. "Look, if you wanna stop by my room after class we can pick up Collin and Grayson and get some food—Collin just texted me that he found the best sushi place in New Jersey just downtown. You in?"
Ethan's in.
-
"Pay up, bitch," Charlotte shouts in Ethan's face, waving a hand of rainbow money across his nose. He knows for sure that she's tipsy if not drunk because Charlotte rarely swears. He has no idea how she is best friends with (Y/N), the swearer of the century.
Charlotte, Hera, Marcy, Carlos, Collin, Baasim, Christian, Rocky, Grayson, and of course, (Y/N) formed a circle in their too-tiny living room, cramped so close their knees overlapped. In the center was a monopoly board with eleven tokens (ten sterling silver pieces and a single, makeshift character—a stale cheez it—for Christian) all mapped out in different sections. Carlos was thriving, Baasim was nearly asleep, and Hera had been to jail four times. Everyone had cried from laughter twice. All was well.
"Fine," Ethan grumbles, forking over a pink bill. "Fuck you."
(Y/N) cuddles into his side, touchy from the liquor she had ingested, and tips her head on his shoulder.
"Can we get away from your PDA for one night? Just one? You guys make me sick," Christian snorts, picking up his cheez it figurine and tossing it at Ethan's forehead.
Ethan smirks and reaches down to squeeze (Y/N)'s ass for all to see and groan.
"This is ridiculous, I shouldn't have to deal with this stuff every day," Marcy says, though she's tucked in Carlos's lap comfily. (Y/N) glares at her and jabs her pointer finger at the couple, pointing out their hypocrisy.
"This is actually a miracle," Ethan shrugs. "Pipsqueak here was shy as fuck in high school. She would never let me even touch her in public."
"(Y/N)? Shy? I find that hard to believe," Hera laughs, reaching over and pinching (Y/N)'s cheek lightly. She grabs Hera's hand and kisses the knuckles, which sends everyone giggling all over again. She really must be feeling affectionate tonight.
"'S true though," Grayson pipes up, nodding. "I knocked over (Y/N)'s books the first day of my freshman year and I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something."
(Y/N) sits up and pins Grayson with a hazy glare. "Worth it," she slurs out. "Otherwise I'd never have the guts to talk to my crushhhh," she cheers, throwing her arms around Ethan's neck. Everyone laughs and boos, groaning theatrically and pretending to throw up.
"Yeah, cause Ethan here was a punk back in the day," Grayson says. It's the first time they've ever mentioned Ethan's bitterness in high school, but Ethan's not worried. He has nothing to hide; these people are his family.
"Punk? Really?" Rocky pushes.
"Oh yeah, had a huge emo-phase," Ethan snorts. "Used to have a neon stripe in my bangs," he elaborates, pulling on the now natural-colored tuft. "Hot pink."
The group gasps and shouts a collection of 'No!'s through their laughter, their ribs all hurting with the idea of Ethan in pink.
"He was so pretty!" (Y/N) chimes from beside him. "Don't laugh!"
But she's giggling too, feeling giddy and carefree in the chorus of laughter. Ethan's got his face in his hands with shame and Rocky leans over to throw him in a headlock, tearing him from (Y/N)'s grasp and scraping his fist against his scalp. They spend the night drunk on cheap beer and laughter, feeling broke but in good company in their sophomore year inside their overstuffed apartment.
-
(Y/N) is seated on the couch with her legs strewn out across Ethan's lap, with his legs strewn out onto the coffee table. She has a bowl of Reese's Puffs being spooned into her mouth, and she's watching Tom and Jerry and wiggling her toes to the intro-song. Ethan's nervous.
He's just received a letter from Penguin publishing company offering him a position as an editing intern. He's overjoyed, really, but he's stressed about (Y/N). Where's she going to go? What's she going to do? Penguin's all the way over in Manhattan, and it's a tough area for fresh-starters. He's absolutely amazed that they sought him out.
He can't honestly think of a better start for himself. He's not sure what he's going to publish, but he's sure he's going to publish something, and working at the biggest publishing company in the world makes for good connections. Furthermore, he'll get to read and critique for a job—two of his favorite things. He knows (Y/N) would love that job. So how does he explain that to her?
It's not that she won't be happy for him, she'll be overjoyed. But she'll probably be a bit jealous, a little insecure, a little confused as to why they didn't pick her instead. Ethan's just as lost as her; she has a better GPA than him and everything about her is just perfect.
The job's rare too. It's a highly competitive field, and Ethan was chosen alongside nine others to work in cubicles with stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks of manuscripts, and he couldn't be more grateful.
But it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel right having a secure job without knowing (Y/N) has one too. And they'll have to move to Manhattan-
What if she gets an internship in West New Jersey? What if they're completely split? Do they break up?
Absolutely not. As crazy as it sounds, Ethan would never take his dream job over her.
But what do they do? If she doesn't have an internship, does she follow him to Manhattan and find work there? Manhattan's huge, would she like it there? Charlotte's committed to an internship over in Newark for magazine journalism, which wouldn't be too far away from her. But was that enough? Was Ethan enough of a reason to want to move to Manhattan?
"What's on your mind?" (Y/N) asked around her spoon, crunching on her cereal still.
"I got an internship at Penguin publishing company," Ethan blurts thoughtlessly, his chest heaving breathlessly after his admission.
That was the worst way to say it. That was the absolute worst way to say it.
"I'm sorry," he whined, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I found out last week. I didn't want to tell you yet because-"
"Me too!" (Y/N) screamed, setting down her cereal bowl and sitting upright. "Ethan, me too!"
But Ethan wasn't listening, he was just rambling. "I just didn't want you to be upset because I know it's far away in Manhattan, I don't-"
"Ethan," she laughed, pulling at his arm.
"I will totally drop it if you don't want to be in Manhattan. I will totally-"
"Ethan!" she shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "Me too! I got an internship at Penguin, too!"
Ethan couldn't have possibly heard her right. "What?" he breathes, setting his hands on either side of her face. "Really?" he asks, shifting excitedly in his spot.
"Yes!" she cries, leaning forward to peck his lips. "Yes, they sent me a letter last week, too. I didn't want to tell you either," she giggled.
"You're kidding. You're kidding!" he whooped, pulling her into him and hugging her oh-so-tight. Only ten candidates and two of them were himself and (Y/N)? This was god-sent.
"Not kidding at all. This way I can keep an eye on you, make sure you don't flirt with the receptionist," she teases, tapping his nose.
Ethan snorts and shakes his head, amazed she'd even suggest it with how obsessed he is with her. "Right," he says. "you'll definitely need to keep an eye on me."
"Mhm," she agrees, kissing his jawline.
"And we can spend our lunch break together," Ethan grins, thinking of all the cool cafes he can take her out to. She gasps and smiles at him excitedly.
"You mean it? You won't get sick of me, spending so much time together?"
Ethan's never heard anything stupider.
-
Ethan doesn't think Miami is the place for him, and luckily, he doesn't think Miami is the place for (Y/N) either. It is most definitely the place for Carlos and Marcy though, that much he does know.
They've hardly made it to their Air BNB before everyone's clambering around, scrambling to call dibs on rooms and wheeling their squeaky luggage around the marbled floors, wonkily up the stairs, and all around the halls; he needs some ibuprofen for his oncoming headache. (Y/N) looks the same next to him, with her hair tousled from the turbulence and her oversized clothes rumpled from curling up on Ethan's shoulder during the flight. He's no stranger to her post-flight daze; this is their fourth and final spring break trip. He knows how this will go hour by hour.
First, Charlotte is going to slip into her suit and dive headfirst into the pool before anyone can even unpack, and then she will convince everyone to ditch their tasks and join her. Then, they'll get drunk while swimming (and in Hera's case, sunning a good ten feet from the water) and let the first day slip away without a thought of their itinerary. Then, someone (Marcy) will beg to play Kings and then someone (Marcy) will get so belligerently drunk that someone (Marcy) will fall asleep in the tub and refuse to get out, and that someone's fiance (Carlos) will have to carry them back to their room. However, the party will be far from over still, and Ethan and (Y/N) will be kept wide awake until the early hours of the morning, laughing until they have tears streaming down their faces with their best friends. He isn't sure where, but he's also certain that a pizza will be ordered somewhere amidst all that chaos.
"Has anyone seen my suitcase?" Charlotte shouts through the echoey halls of their gaudy mansion. (Thanks, Carlos's parents' money). "I need my swimsuit!"
A series of 'no's and a single 'yes' return her way, and Ethan decides at that moment that he needs an ibuprofen or he might just die. (Y/N) is curled up on her chair by the kitchen island, half asleep where she has her head propped on her palm. Ethan smiles to himself and pads over to the refrigerator to grab her a juice and an apple, knowing that's what she'll ask for any minute now.
"Ethy, can you grab me- oh, thanks," she giggles as he slides her the snacks.
"Welcome, Sweetheart," he murmurs, smirking triumphantly and raiding the cabinets for a bottle of ibuprofen. He checks over his shoulder just to ensure she's grinning bashfully at her lap and feels funny all over when she is. He'll never, never, never get tired of her.
"Think we're gonna go clubbing tonight?" she asks him around a mouthful of crunchy apple.
Ethan laughs quietly and shakes his head. "Nope."
"Me neither," she agrees with a grin. They know their best friends better than their own families.
Charlotte comes thundering down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the marble, and races out the backdoor by the kitchen, a towel in one hand and a portable speaker in the other. Ethan and (Y/N) share one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud.
"Enough!" Baasim wails as he rounds the corner, his swim trunks on a tacky white stripe of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, you guys have got to stop eye-fucking each other."
"We aren't eye-fucking each other," (Y/N) laughs, breaking their gaze to flick Baasim's bare shoulder. "If we were, Ethan's dick would be standing straight out."
Collin begins dramatically hacking up make-believe vomit when he enters the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his stomach. "Never mention Ethan's dick around me again," he states.
Christian nods in agreement. "But she's right. They were probably just doing their gross 'we're totally going to be in love until we're a hundred years old' looks, and those are so much worse than their eye-fucking looks. Trust me, I've seen both many, many times."
Baasim shakes his head sympathetically at Collin and they pout together. However, Grayson steps in quickly after them with a lot to say. "You two don't know the fucking half of it," he grumbles, a beer already in hand.
Ethan rolls his eyes before pointing to his drink. "Where did you get-"
"There's a mini fridge in my room! Carlos's parents must be fuckin' stacked."
"They are," Carlos replies snobbishly, a towel over his shoulder. He lowers his sunglasses momentarily to wink at the crew and they all swat at him mindlessly, paying no mind to his ridiculous ego. Marcy's on his arm and eager as always to get out and swim, so they follow Charlotte outside right away. Soon enough, everyone's filing out into the fenced-in backyard and a little more than tipsy.
The first night goes exactly as planned. Well, not according to their itinerary, but according to Ethan's: there was pizza, there were drunk-bathtub-slumbers, there was Kings, and there was no sleeping until well after four in the morning. But the second is more well-mapped because Hera informs everyone that she's secured them all wristbands to the VIP section of the Rockwell, and nobody's willing to pass up that opportunity. And it's fun—Ethan's not one to deny himself of a good time—but the group is itching to return the next night, and Ethan's just not as stoked as everyone else.
"Dude, Rockwell is so fuckin' steeze," Rocky nods.
Ethan snorts at his comment and shakes his head. "I don't think I'm going to go tonight," he shrugs, spooning a bite of Reese's Puffs into his mouth.
It's nearly one o'clock in the afternoon, but Rocky and Ethan are the only ones awake; last night's wild rendezvous have left everyone drained and hung-over. Ethan's already set out a bottle of Advil and two glasses of water by (Y/N)'s bedside table.
"Not going? Are you out of your fuckin' mind?" Rocky asks, squinting at him incredulously.
Ethan isn't out of his fuckin' mind, he just knows how to pace himself. They have six days in Miami and he has the party-endurance of an eighty-year-old man—two days of heavy drinking in a row means he must take a night off. "Nope," Ethan says. "You'll have to tell me everything tomorrow morning if you can remember it."
Rocky shakes his head with raised brows and stares at his toast. "Last night was insane."
"Too insane."
"Too insane," Rocky confirms. "This is the shit you tell your kids about."
Ethan thinks about that for a moment and realizes him and Rocky are just different people. Spring break is fun, unforgettable even, but Ethan would never peg it as life-changing. He knows what he's going to tell his kids about—the time (Y/N) laughed so hard she peed on Grayson's dorm bed and told him she spilled apple juice on his sheets. He's going to tell them about the time she and he played hide-and-go-seek in their freshman residence hall for five hours. He's going to tell them about the first time she snorted while laughing around him and he got it on video, and then how she tripped while chasing him and nearly had to get stitches. What's the point in talking about the nights you can't even remember? He wants to talk about the things he'll never forget.
"Definitely," Ethan nods, too tired to disagree.
"Is (Y/N) going to stay here too then?" Rocky asks.
Ethan shrugs but then nods. "Probably. I'll honestly be surprised if she can even function after last night—she drank more than me, and she's kind of a lightweight," he says, chuckling to himself. He thinks about the way he had seen her throwing back twice-spiked pina-coladas and grins so hard his dimples pop in his cheeks.
"Gross..." Rocky says aloud, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue. "Stop being so in love. Just get married already."
Ethan's no stranger to comments like these, and they don't startle or unsettle him. He has full intentions, he just doesn't know how, when, or where to pop the question. He doesn't even have a ring yet. But he's ready, so very ready—he's been waiting since ninth grade.
"Soon," Ethan murmurs back.
"Really?" Rocky says, pausing mid-chew. "When do you think you're going to ask her?"
Ethan doesn't know. "Soon," is all he says.
Rocky seems to notice he shouldn't push anymore because he backs off the topic. Around two in the afternoon, people start sleep-walking into the kitchen and fetching themselves some food, acting more like zombies than humans. When it takes (Y/N) an extra hour to drag her body down the steps, Ethan knows for certain she'll be sticking in the Air BNB with him all night long.
"Good morning," Ethan whispers quietly to her, kissing her hair softly. He knows her temples are sensitive today, so he doesn't dare kiss any part of her forehead.
She doesn't reply, just nods in return.
"Good morning, (Y/N)!" Rocky cheers obnoxiously. Ethan fears homicide.
"Go fuck yourself," she growls back, covering her ears protectively and folding herself into Ethan. Everyone's amused by her grumpiness since she is usually such a cheerful friend, but she's not in the mood to entertain. She grabs a carton of strawberries from the refrigerator and Ethan's wrist and tugs both upstairs to their bedroom where the blinds are drawn completely closed. The air conditioning's blasting on high, the bed is fixed with thick, fuzzy blankets, and the sound of drizzling rain is playing from her phone's speaker. She slips off the sweatpants she was wearing and snuggles under the comforter in Ethan's giant tee. He knows she isn't leaving this room until well into the evening.
He doesn't mind a bit. He'd choose a quiet nap with her over all the parties, all the alcohol, all the friends in the world. He would rather spend an hour with her than a lifetime with his closest friends, and even that thought doesn't scare him. Because she's his best friend. She's his other half and his favorite girl in the world. He's actually excited to have the place to themselves tonight.
The two doze off, sent to sleep by their aching bodies and pounding headaches. When they awake they don't necessarily feel refreshed, but they feel a little less like death, and that's good enough to crawl out of their den and order a pizza. They munch and gossip and watch a collection of movies, giddy to be with each other and in paradise.
"Do you think she's in it for his money?" Ethan whispers with a glint in his eye, his hands on top of her bare thighs and a smile on his lips.
She nods around her slice of pizza, the gooey cheese slipping off the crust and sending her cackling as she tries to catch it. She stares over at the screen for a moment, grinning at Ferris Bueller and all his antics, before swallowing. "I think they really love each other, just never more than they'll love themselves. And the money is definitely a perk, I mean, look at this place," she says, pointing to the high ceilings of the living room. "Could get lost in here."
Ethan nods and grabs another piece from the box, chowing it down in a few bites. "No kidding. Carlos's head is too big for his body, I think he'd marry a mirror if he could."
It's all lighthearted; Ethan would die for Carlos, and (Y/N) would die for Marcy. But what they don't know won't hurt them.
(Y/N) giggles and tangles her fingers with Ethan's where they lie on her legs. "Bet they'll buy this mansion and live in paradise forever."
He nods and smiles and hopes it's true. They deserve their own kind of happiness—it isn't his place to judge. He's already the happiest he could be. "Could you ever live in a place like this?"
She tears her gaze away from the movie and shrugs a shoulder. "Dunno. I don't think I'd ever be opposed to a mansion, but I definitely don't need it," she snorts. "I'd be happy in a cardboard box if you're in there with me."
Ethan's stomach swoops at the domesticity of her comment, the way she says it casually, confidently, comfortably like the thought doesn't scare her one bit. "Good, 'cause I can't afford this," he laughs, taking down the last bite of his pizza and falling into her arms. She chuckles and wraps him up, cradles him like the baby he is sometimes, and he lays comfortably between her legs with his head on her chest. They talk forever about nothing and their minds don't stray to their friends crazy night out once.
Around two in the morning, they find themselves in the kitchen, (Y/N) propped up on the granite island with her legs dangling off the sides and Ethan raiding the cabinets. Music is playing off the speaker from Ethan's phone, and they both have the case of the giggles. God, they're so in love.
"Want some whip cream?" Ethan asks with his head buried in the refrigerator like an emu.
"Is that a question?" she replies, though it comes out funny with her mouth stuffed with doritos. He tosses her the bottle blindly and she catches it, tipping the bottle above her head and spraying a good glob past her lips. Then, she hears the opening chords of a guitar and she gasps, sending her coughing.
Ethan's only a little concerned because she's laughing so hard during all of it, but he turns to check on her. "Are you o-?"
"There once was a bittersweet man and they called him lemon boy," (Y/N) sings, hopping down from her counter throne and smirking at him smugly.
"No," Ethan groans, laughing outright and groaning into his hands.
"He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair, like a weed," she taunts, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging. Ethan reaches out and pinches her side, and she scampers around the island to escape him, giggling still.
"(Y/N), don't," he whines, embarrassment flooding his features. He begins racing around the table to catch her and muffle her teasing, but she's quick and bubbling with laughter.
"Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together," she squeals, barely dodging his grabbing hands. "I helped him- Eek!"
"Quit it!" he calls through laughter, his fingers skimming the back of the giant tee shirt flowing from her back.
"It's actually pretty easy, being nice, to a bitter boy like him," she cheers, her hands raised above her head joyously with her eyes closed. Ethan pauses where he trails behind her and just waits for her to run into him blindly. She does, falls flat against his frame, and throws her arms around his neck in defeat. "So I got myself, a citrus friend!" she cries, swaying the two of them back and forth.
Ethan doesn't have the heart to be even the least annoyed, because she is just perfect for him. It has been long, so, so long since he's been bitter. He slides his hand up the back of her shirt and rubs his thumb over the ink below her shoulder blade, grinning to himself. Feels too good to be true sometimes. He takes her vulnerability as an opportunity to tickle her until she screams.
He has his hands around her sides, wiggling his fingers all around her tummy and her sides and under her arms, and she's screeching and begging him to stop, but he loves the way she laughs so he doesn't. He throws her over his shoulder and smacks her bum, races around the island some more and chuckles at the way she squeals. He feels like a kid with her and he never wants to grow up.
He never wants to grow up.
"Lemon boy and I, we're gonna live forever," she sings still, hung upside down on him.
"Like Snufkin and Little My, we'll get around, wherever," he chimes in much to her delight. She smacks his back and pleads for him to put him down, that the turbulence on this ride is worse than their Spirit Airline flight down to Miami.
He obliges and lifts her back to her righteous spot on the island, sliding into the space between her legs. "Yeah we're the bitterest guys around, and I got myself, a citrus friend," she finishes, placing her palm on his bare chest and pressing his mouth to his cheek with a loud smack. They're out of breath and still so giggly, but then they're sharing one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud, and Ethan's so happy that they have the house all to themselves tonight. It feels like a honeymoon.
"Love you," he whispers and plants a kiss on her forehead in return. He means it more than ever.
"Love you more," she murmurs back.
Ethan hears a series of beats and a single guitar strum before he realizes what song is drifting through the air. "Ever heard this song?" he asks quietly, his hands settling at her waist. She shakes her head and slips her arms around his neck, already rocking back and forth to the easy music. "'S called Japanese Denim. It's one of my favorites," he explains as he burrows his nose in her hair.
"Sing it to me," she says.
Ethan isn't much of a singer. It doesn't matter. He wants her to know that he thinks of her during every cheesy love song.
He hums to the tune and begins his serenade. "You're my four leaf clover, I'm so in love, so in love," he rasps out, squeezing her tight to him. He takes the time to pull back and kiss her slow and soft, as sweet as their first time. "My blue jeans," he coos. "Will last me all my life. So should we, I'm spending all this time..."
She runs her fingers through the bangs of his tousled hair and smooths her thumb over his cheekbone. She loves him and she'll love him forever.
"I'm reaching Nirvana, goodbye sweet Rwanda," he continues, chuckling as he speaks the next bit, "High school was never for me. I say let it be, let it be, Forever's a long time."
High school has never felt further away with Ethan so happy, so optimistic, so friendly, so sociable. He can't even remember the names of the terrible people, the words of their comments, the spots where they bruised him, the dates that he cried. He can't imagine where they are now, and he never wants to. High school gave him his most prized possession, his best friend, his future wife, his soulmate, his other half. He couldn't be more grateful.
They sway softly, trapped in their one little world. They don't even notice when the group comes home, quiet with hoarse throats and all boozed out. But they find the couple in the kitchen, dancing in place to a love song, more in love than they could ever hope for themselves. They're tucked in on each other and mumbling about something the crew can't hear, and none of them have the heart—not even Grayson or Baasim— to break up their moment, so they just grin to themselves and slip off to bed. They just hope they're all part of their wedding in the near future.
If Ethan could hear their thoughts, he would tell them they don't have to worry. He's already decided to propose right after graduation. And he knows just how he's going to do it.

The Proposal.
//
This was a cute ass lil story:,)