Steve’s hands fidgeted with the plastic case of a tape, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. Each tick felt louder, each second dragging as he tried to psych himself up. His coworker was just across the store, focused on stocking the "Action" section, oblivious to the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. It felt like now or never, but his chest tightened every time he even thought about starting a conversation that wasn’t just about movies or work.

Why was this so hard? He used to be the Steve Harrington, king of smooth lines and easy confidence. But now, with them, he was nothing but awkward pauses and half-baked comments. They’d laugh at his jokes, brush against him as they passed, and he’d just freeze. They were already good friends, and that’s what made it so much worse. If he said something, it could ruin everything. But if he didn’t, he knew this feeling—the tightness in his chest every time they smiled—would eat him alive.

He glanced over again, stealing a quick look at them, his stomach flipping when they turned and caught his eye. This was it. He couldn’t back out now. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and cleared his throat. His legs felt a little wobbly as he crossed the store, trying to act casual, but feeling anything but.

“Hey, uh, do you need help over here?” he asked, his voice a little higher than usual. Smooth, Harrington, real smooth.