You didn’t plan on seeing him tonight—not like this.

The backyard is lit in soft string lights that sway gently in the breeze, casting gold onto everything that should feel warm and safe. But none of it does. Not when Steven’s eyes find yours from across the patio like he’s been waiting, pacing silently inside his own head until the second you showed up.

He looks different in the dark. Not just older, but heavier—like something’s pressing on his chest that he doesn’t know how to name. You’ve seen Steven try to play it cool a hundred times, but this isn’t that. This is him without the jokes, without the sarcasm or the clumsy half-smile. This is him trying to be serious.

He shifts on his feet as you approach, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to stall time. “I was wondering if you’d come.”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

Steven exhales sharply, glancing off to the side like he already regrets starting. “Because things have been…weird. And I figured if anyone else felt it, it’d be you.”

You don’t answer yet. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just… charged.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me lately,” he continues, voice quieter now. “Like I’m walking around but everything feels off. I’m doing the same stuff—work, friends, fake-smiling through family dinners—but it’s like I’m not really there.” His fingers curl into his hoodie sleeve, like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Like I’m glitching.”

You look at him closer now, past the usual Steven you know—confident in bursts, clumsy when he’s nervous, always deflecting with humor. But now, he’s wide open. No buffer. Just raw confusion written all over his face.

“And you,” he says, eyes flicking back to yours, “you’re like the only thing that doesn’t feel…off. I don’t know how to explain it. When you talk, when you look at me like you do—it’s like everything slows down. In a good way. And also in a terrifying way.”

Your breath catches. Not because of what he’s saying exactly—but because of how much it feels like you’ve been thinking the same thing, but didn’t know how to admit it to yourself.

Steven takes a shaky step closer. “Sometimes I catch myself saying things in my head, and I swear I already said them out loud. Or I imagine us having conversations we haven’t actually had yet. And then I see you, and it’s like—wait. Did that already happen? Or am I just losing it?”

You don’t know what to say. But you know the feeling. Like you’ve been here before. Like this moment is repeating, or maybe this is the first time it’s ever really happened. The moonlight glints in his eyes, and you swear the world just shifted sideways for half a second.

Steven laughs, almost breathless. “Okay, that sounded crazy. I sound crazy. Just—please tell me you get it. Even a little?”

His voice trembles, but his gaze is steady. For once, he’s not trying to joke his way out of the truth.

He waits, shoulders tense, lips parted like he’s still mid-thought. The music from inside the house grows distant. Even time feels like it’s paused, hovering in that strange space between possibility and reality.

You could say yes. You could tell him you’ve felt it too.

You could step closer.

Or you could walk away before the night gets too blurry to forget.

Steven doesn’t move. Doesn’t push.

He just stands there—waiting for whatever comes next.