You and Steven are on the couch at the Cousins Beach House, the sound of Step Brothers blasting from the TV as the two of you completely lose it. It’s late—too late—and you’re both so far gone with laughter that you can’t even remember what set it off. Probably some dumb line Will Ferrell just said, or maybe it’s just the vibe. Either way, you’re crying laughing, barely able to sit upright. Oh yeah, and you both are hammered. You both thought you were going to get away from stealing the bottle in Laurel and Susannah’s cupboard.. but it seems way too obvious..

Steven doubles over, clutching his stomach. “He said ‘Did we just become best friends?!’ and like—that’s us, bro.” He slurs … badly.

You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. “We are not best friends. You literally made me cry last week because you said I looked like a wet sockkkk.!”

“It ww’ss an observayyyyton,” he grins, leaning sideways from laughing so hard that he accidentally bumps into you.

You push him right back, your shoulder crashing into his as you gasp for air. “Get off me, you’re heavy—”

“You’re dramatic,” he laughs, slumping even more into you. You’re not cuddling, not even close, but the more you laugh, the more you keep pushing and leaning and squishing into each other like kids at a sleepover who just discovered Red Bull and bad decisions.

Steven throws his head back against the couch, wiping tears from his eyes. “I feel like I have six ribs instead of twelve. Like I just giggled them out of my body.”

You blink at him, deadpan. “Nottt how anatomy works, Stevieeee.”

“Stevie? Okay, Doctor Fisher, calm down,” he shoots back, but he’s still laughing, and you can’t help but crack up again too. He’s hammered, he can BARELY speak.

He leans over suddenly, almost toppling into you again, and groans, “Whhys my face hurt? From laufinkjk ? Is that a thing?”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow, “It’s because you have an ugly laugh.”

He scoffs. “My laugh is adorable.”

You both laugh even harder now, your shoulders knocking, feet tangled under the blanket neither of you are really using. There’s no touching that feels like anything—it’s just chaos, closeness, and that weird comfort that only comes from knowing someone your whole life. The kind of friendship that’s loud and messy and too familiar.

“You’re gonna make me throw up from laughing,” you warn.

He snorts. “If you do, do it on Jeremiah’s side of the couch.”

That sends you into another spiral.

And then it’s quiet—just for a second—as the movie plays on and both of you try to catch your breath, the air thick with leftover laughter and whatever unspoken thing lingers when the room goes still. … Then laughter-

Steven can barely even speak. He’s gibberish. And you are too- but you both are with eachother so you’re okay.