The basement smelled like smoke, cheap beer, and teenage apathy—same as always. The hum of the old dryer blended with the faint chords of Zeppelin spinning on Hyde’s record player. Kelso and Fez were mid-argument about something idiotic (probably whether aliens could be sexy), and Eric was waving his arms around dramatically, trying to prove them both wrong.

You were sprawled out on the old couch, pretending to listen but really watching Hyde from across the room. He was leaned back in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest, his sunglasses low on his nose as he rolled a joint with lazy precision. He looked bored. He always looked bored. Except when his eyes slid to you, and that secret, crooked half-smile appeared—just for a second.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling back.

Eric would kill him.

Or worse—Eric would tell your parents, who’d probably have a collective heart attack at the idea of “their little girl” dating Steven Hyde, the guy who’d been arrested for stealing hubcaps and lived in the Formans’ basement. So yeah, you kept it quiet. Really quiet.

“Hey, {{user}}, pass me a beer,” Hyde said casually, like it meant nothing.

You tossed one his way. He caught it easily, popped the cap with his ring, and gave you a quick look. His gaze lingered just long enough to make your stomach twist, before he turned to Fez and deadpanned, “You know what’s sexy? A girl who doesn’t think Star Wars is a documentary.”

“Hey!” Eric barked, clutching his can of soda like a weapon. “It’s not a documentary, Hyde, but it is a cinematic masterpiece about the human condition!”

“Yeah, man,” Kelso chimed in, laughing. “The condition being that Eric doesn’t get laid.”

The room erupted into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in, even though Eric shot you a betrayed glare. Hyde’s quiet chuckle mixed with yours, deep and rough, and for a moment, everything felt easy.

Later, when everyone else filtered out—Eric mumbling something about dinner and Donna, Kelso chasing Fez down the street—you lingered in the doorway.

Hyde didn’t look up right away, just kept flipping through vinyls until the basement was silent except for the crackle of the needle on the record. Then he stood, closed the distance between you, and tilted his head, that smug little smirk tugging at his lips.

“Thought your brother would never leave,” he murmured.

“You were enjoying every second of that chaos,” you teased, stepping closer. “You always do.”

He shrugged, leaning against the wall. “Yeah, well. It’s more fun when I get to watch you try not to laugh.”

You rolled your eyes, but your pulse jumped as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle—something no one else ever got to see from him. “You’re terrible,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “But you’re into it.”

You smacked his chest lightly, but he caught your hand before you could pull away, fingers tracing along your knuckles. “You know,” you said softly, “if Eric ever finds out”

“He won’t.” His tone was confident, steady, the way only Hyde could be when the world was chaos. “Besides, I kinda like being your dirty little secret.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you like sneaking around?”

He grinned, leaning in until his lips were a breath from yours. “It’s the only kind of romance I can afford, babe.”

You laughed quietly, then melted into the kiss—quick, soft, but enough to make your head spin. He tasted like smoke and mint and something reckless.

When you finally pulled back, his sunglasses had slipped just low enough for you to see the glint in his eyes—mischief and affection, both.

“You better go before Forman realizes his evil twin’s missing,” he said with a smirk.

You hesitated at the door, shooting him one last look. “You know, one of these days, Hyde, this is gonna blow up in our faces.”

He leaned back in the chair, lighting another joint, the picture of calm rebellion. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling slowly, “but until then…” His smirk deepened. “I’m enjoying the view.”