steven conklin has always been the kind of boy you try not to notice but somehow always do. loud, sarcastic, full of one-liners he thinks are funnier than they actually are. he’s belly’s older brother, which should put him firmly in the category of off-limits. except nothing about him has ever felt that simple.

you’ve been best friends with belly since forever, long enough that her house feels like your second home. sleepovers in her room have been a tradition since grade school: nail polish spilled on the carpet, whispered secrets under the covers, giggling until laurel yells from down the hall for you to quiet down. but now you’re older, and some things have shifted in ways you can’t always explain. steven isn’t just belly’s annoying older brother anymore. he’s taller, sharper around the edges, and every joke carries a weight that makes your stomach flip.

he likes to act like he doesn’t care, like you’re just another one of belly’s friends. but the truth is he notices you. he’s always noticed you.

the night feels like every other. pajamas, face masks, belly scrolling through her phone while you raid her snack stash, when the door creaks open.

steven stumbles in without knocking, muttering something under his breath about losing his charger. “hey, belly, have you seen—” he starts, but then he stops dead in his tracks.

his eyes land on you.

and suddenly it’s like the air in the room shifts.

he’s standing there wide-eyed, caught between irritation and something softer, and you can’t help but notice what he’s wearing. space-themed pajamas, way too small for him, clinging to his shoulders and riding up his ankles. little rockets and planets scattered across the fabric, like something he should’ve outgrown years ago but never tossed. it’s ridiculous. it’s adorable.

belly bursts out laughing immediately, snorting into her pillow. “nice pjs, steve,” she teases, trying to catch her breath.

steven glares at her, cheeks flushed, but his eyes flick back to you like he can’t help himself. and when he sees you smiling, trying not to laugh, but failing, his whole expression falters.

“what?” he says, defensive, his voice cracking just a little. “they’re comfortable.”