last five chapters after this <3 again, i luv reading comments so don't hesitate to lmk ur thoughts :c also talk to me on twitter my user is @/arrowheadswp!

*

But Sanders's mothers don't forget a cancelled wedding.

He whirls around in the kitchen, seething. "Seriously? A date?"

Mahika winces at his tone. Siam, leaning against the doorway, has a shit-eating grin on his face as he munches on his chocolate, and Hathai is...hiding. Behind his other mom.

"You're just going to tour her around the school, Sanders, don't be dramatic," Mahika says, clearing her throat. "I didn't know you already had plans."

"Ma!" Sanders yells, wanting to pull out his hair. "You could've asked me!"

"Who do you think you're talking to, young man," Hathai finally speaks up, glaring at him. "Fix your tone, we're your mothers."

Sanders is going to pull out his hair. He takes a deep breath. A very, very deep breath. "Can't I cancel?"

"They're going there on Saturday and heading back on Sunday," his mom says, crossing her arms. "Besides, the poor girl will be alone and lost. She could use a familiar and friendly face. Her parents are our friends, Sanders. Don't look at me like that—there's nothing wrong with meeting new people outside of your circle and she's a lovely and sweet girl."

He's getting a headache. "Mâae," he groans. "I don't need you to play cupid, God—"

"You barely exchanged words with Charlotte during the dinner," Mahika says, raising an eyebrow. "She and her family are moving here for the next semester. At your university. You could've at least shown some interest."

Fucking—"And when I didn't, you set me up to be her tour guide! On Saturday!"

He has plans on Saturday.

His brother rolls his eyes, but he's still grinning. The little shit. "Don't you think you're overreacting?"

He's not the one cancelling on Becks. Well. Becks's little brother, but still. With Becks. Sanders scowls at him. "You talk to Becks about cancelling. And then we'll talk."

Siam drops his grin and blinks. "Oh. Your plans are with Becks?"

Hathai steps forward and puts a hand on Sanders's shoulder. It makes him look up, and, despite the sourness in his mood, he finds himself leaning to her touch when she brushes the hair out of his forehead. "Honey. It's not the end of the world if you miss out on one thing with Becks."

It's not. It's really not. And on any other day, Sanders would've been fine cancelling—Becks will tease him about it—it's not a big deal, he doesn't have a choice, his moms set him up. She'd tell him he owed her a night of an Avatar marathon. He owed her a...a hot meal, her favorite. She'd tell him he'd be her slave for a night and let it go.

But it's Henry's birthday. 13th, to be precise—Becks's family will take him to the movies, then to his favorite buffet, and then back home for some chess and board games. He wanted Sanders to be there, too.

The very rare times Henry spoke to someone outside of his family members—it was a quiet stutter, stumble upon stumble of words, a laugh—maybe two if you're lucky. If he liked you enough.

When he asked Sanders, his voice was timid. Shy. Hesitant. But clear.

They were in the kitchen after morning training last week. Becks was talking to her brother on the phone, about a chess tournament he recently won. And then suddenly, Becks looked at him, and Sanders was eating his cereal. He raised an eyebrow when Becks kept her stare, and she said, on the phone, "You want to talk? To Rush?"

Sometimes, it was so easy to forget that Becks was the only one who ever called him by his first name. Not counting his family.

It makes him smile down at his fruit loops.

"Um." Becks moved closer to him, eyebrows scrunching together. "Okay."

Sanders blinked. Dropped his spoon, looking at the phone being handed to him. Incredulous, he yelled, "Me? He wants to talk to me?"

Becks, stunned, blinked in response and pushed it towards him. "Uh. Yeah. I'm not—I don't really know...just take it. I want to know what he wants to say to you."

Sanders stood up. Scraped his stool so far back it made a noise. Gripping the phone in his hand, Sanders cleared his throat and put it to his ear. "Hey. Henry. It's, um, it's Rush. What's up...?"

Becks made a half-scoff, half-laugh sound. Sanders grabbed her neck in a chokehold.

Becks's little brother took a few moments. For a moment, Sanders thought he hung up on him, but the screen showed that Henry was still in the call, and Becks was struggling against him and elbowed him in the ribs.

Sanders gasped out loud, clutching his stomach.

She glared at him and made a punching gesture with her fist, mouthing, you want to die?

Sanders stuck his tongue out at her, knowing she could if she wanted to, but then Henry spoke, and Sanders almost trips over air on the floor. "Can you come, too?"

His eyes widened, grip tightening its hold on the phone. Becks stared at him, eyebrows raising in concern. What did he say? Is he actually talking to you?

Meeting her stare, Sanders blinked and squeaked, "Me?" Came out a lot squeakier than he intended. He cleared his throat and tried again, leaning against the counter. "I mean, me? Yeah. Yeah, bud, 'course I'll come."

A quiet intake of breath. And then, "P-promise?"

Sanders looked at Becks.

His best friend lost her playfulness, lost her amusement and grins. She was waiting anxiously, biting her lip in worry, and—and Sanders suddenly remembered.

She took up boxing for Henry. For Matthew, too, but—but Henry was a little kid. He had bony little wrists and a terrible bowl cut, with acne scars and can barely get a sentence out without stammering, and the kid had no friends. Bullied all the time, never really spoke to anyone outside of his family.

But he was asking him. Sanders.

Becks lurched forward and gripped his arm, searching his eyes. "What? What's wrong? Is he talking?"

Becks would hurt anyone who hurt her brother. She'd hurt Sanders if he hurt him.

Sanders took the hand gripping his arm, nails digging into his skin, and clasped his hand over hers. Swallowing, he said into the phone, "Promise. Also, just to add, while we're on the topic: my gift is a lot better than your sister's."

He was already planning to buy him one. Doesn't know why, but Becks also buys gifts for Siam for his birthday. Was it an unspoken rule between them? Buy gifts for their siblings on their birthdays?

So. It's not the end of the world. But if he doesn't show up for Henry, it'll probably crush him. And then Becks will crush Sanders for crushing her little brother.

Sanders isn't that worried about Becks—he'd deserve it. But the kid made him promise, and Sanders never breaks his promises.

His parents don't understand. "Mom, I'm going to break her little brother's heart if I don't show up on Saturday."

Hathai purses her lips. "Okay," she says, resigned, dropping her hand on his shoulder. "Okay, we'll talk to Rea and Wyatt. Maybe they can explore the campus on their own."

Mahika smiles, but it's forced. She nods, too. "That doesn't sound a bad idea, too."

Ah, fuck. Now his parents are sad. Jesus Christ. Sanders groans, brings a palm to his forehead. "Fuck, I—"

"Go in the morning," Siam pipes up, finishing his chocolate. "With Charlotte. You can make it in the afternoon for Becks's brother's birthday."

"They're travelling two hours away, Siam," Mahika says, shaking her head. "They're not going to get here in the morning."

Fuck. Fuck, fine. He'll...adjust. He'll adjust. "I'll catch up to Henry's birthday," Sanders says, defeated, shutting his eyes. "I'll show Charlotte around campus. They'll be here by at least after lunch, right?"

Hathai nods.

"Fine." Becks will understand. Henry will, too. "But it's not a date."

"Thank you, son," his mom says, bringing him in a for a kiss on the head. "And we never said it was from the beginning."

"You guys were thinking about it."

"Fine, sue us." Hathai raises her palms in surrender. "We want to see you happy."

The protest is already on his lips. "I am happy—"

"You might like Charlotte," Mahika interrupts, clearing her throat. "She's sweet and lovely."

"And Becks isn't?" Sanders asks, before he can think about his words. But he already knows the answer to that.

It's not 'sweet' and 'lovely' that would describe Becks. Not at all. Strong-willed. Passionate. Loyal.

His mom places an arm around him and squeezes his shoulder. "Baby, we love Becks. You know that. But just try, okay? Just give it a chance."

Sanders doesn't want sweet and lovely. He doesn't want it. "Fine," he says.

Charlotte is nice. From the dinner, at least. Maybe it won't be so bad, as long as he catches up to Henry's birthday celebration.

*

Sanders talks to Becks at precisely two thirty-five in the morning.

He's been staring at the ceiling for hours, unable to sleep. And then, suddenly, he hears noise outside—a door creaking open, feet padding across the floorboards. A soft light turns on, from the space below Sanders's door, and then he hears the fridge being opened.

A smile makes its way to his face before he even realizes it. Sanders sits up, slipping his feet into his slippers quickly, and he takes the hoodie hanging off of his chair and puts in on, not bothering with lowering the hood before he steps outside.

As expected, Becks is in the kitchen, facing the fridge. She freezes once Sanders closes the door, like she's suddenly going to disappear into thin air if she doesn't move.

It makes him grin. Sanders shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "'Sup."

Becks sighs. "Fine. You caught me. Why are you up?"

Sanders takes a step towards the culprit, and, if possible, his grin grows wider. Becks is glaring at him, fingers tightly holding on to a piece of Nutella babka, holding the plastic container in her hand. There's chocolate on her lips, and she's drowning in her soft gray sweater with soft gray shorts that reach her knees, and her hair is messy, and as always, Sanders hears bells.

"Couldn't sleep," he answers easily, ignoring the way his heart suddenly hammers in his chest. He leans against the counter and juts his chin towards the babka. "That's mine."

"You forgot to label it." There's chocolate in between her teeth, too.

"Even if it had been labelled, you would've stolen it either way."

Becks looks at him. Then to the babka, then back to him. Sanders tries to keep his laughter in—she looks like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar even when her parents told her not to. "I'm sorry," she mutters, hurrying to close the container. Sanders blinks. "I saw it and thought it looked delicious, and it does, and I was hungry—"

"Why are you putting it back?" Sanders demands, dropping his smile, eyebrows scrunching together. He stands straight, leaning over to close the fridge when Becks opens it. "I was teasing."

She freezes. "Oh." She swallows whatever she was chewing, bringing the container back to her chest. "Sorry, I thought you were serious."

"Becks, you can eat whatever's in there. Same way I can eat whatever's in there. You—you didn't care. Before."

She doesn't look at him when she answers, "I'm trying not to be as rude or as mean as I was before. Sorry, taking your food was pretty rude, too."

This time, Sanders can't hold in his laughter.

Becks huffs, finishing the babka on her fingers, closing the lid. "What's so funny?" she demands defensively, shutting the fridge with more force than necessary. She walks to the sink and switches on the faucet, still glaring at him.

Sanders is grinning. God, she's so—she's so cute, it's annoying. "Nothing. S'just. I don't know. I appreciate it, but you aren't Becks when you're too nice. It's going to start creeping me out if you actually do something out of character."

She rolls her eyes, shaking her hands. "Fine. You like me when I'm mean, anyway."

"I like you all the time."

It's out of his mouth before he thinks about it.

"As friends!" Sanders shouts in Becks's face—her stunned expression quickly turning into surprise from the loudness of his voice. He clears his throat. "Um, yep. You're my best friend, you wouldn't be if I hated you."

Jesus Christ. He needs to work on his brain-to-mouth filter. A lot. Needs improvement, but the little Sanders up there are blaming the organ in his chest. Work on your heart-to-mouth filter, they're saying. Stop blaming us! We're hearing bells!

Becks raises an eyebrow. "Okay...uh, I was going to put on Star Trek until I fall asleep. You wanna join?"

She's grabbing a juice box from their cupboard. Sanders watches her take an extra juice box for him.

Sanders takes a deep breath. "Becks. Hold on, I need to tell you something."

She puts the drinks down on the counter and snatches the straws, quickly ripping them off their plastics. She stabs them both into the juice boxes, then looks at him, expectant, eyes wide and innocent.

Sanders's fingers itch. There's a curl falling over her forehead.

He swallows the lump in his throat, looks away from her face, and says, "Um. About Saturday. My moms set me up with the daughter of their friends, Charlotte, and I sort of...got roped in to tour her around campus for a bit. She's transferring next semester, here, to Bellevue, and they'll only be here on Saturday and going back on Sunday—so, yeah, my parents basically offered me up on a silver platter without asking me first. But, uh, it won't take a day, so I'll still be able to catch up to Henry's birthday—maybe after the movie, definitely before the buffet." He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the floor, and laughs once. Nervously. "I know, it was a sorry and subtle attempt to play cupid. And by subtle, I mean, they couldn't have been more obvious if they started planning our wedding and shit. But. Yeah, I'll be late. On Saturday."

The few seconds of silence following his monologue feel loud. At a moment of bravery, he forces himself to look at Becks, and she's staring at him, unblinking.

Becks's next words, especially the quiet calmness of her voice, has his brain going off in alarm.

"What time will she get here?"

Sanders sucks in a deep breath. He sighs. "A little after lunch."

Becks is unmoving. "Okay. So she gets here after lunch. You tour her around campus—she'll probably want to see the entire thing, considering college is a very important decision. She lives far away, so she's going to stay in the dorms, probably, she'll want to see that, too. That will take, what, two hours? Let's say she has questions. Gets distracted, sees a stall for candy. Three, then."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Sanders opens his mouth, but Becks continues, keeping her voice flat and void of emotion, "Tour's over. You walk her back to her parents' car, they're thankful to you, they're glad she knows someone already, at least. For their gratitude, they'll invite you to dinner, and it would be rude and impolite to decline, considering her parents are your parents' friends."

"Becks—"

"Dinner will take two, three hours—parents are very chatty, you see." Becks's voice wavers at that last word, and she stands straight, nor breaking her stare. "That's...what? Seven in the evening. Her parents will offer to take you home. Again, rude not to accept, they'll be insistent, too. You go home. Take the bike to the restaurant, you'll get there at nine, counting in traffic. We're done with games by then, Henry will be going to bed because nine thirty is his bedtime, and if he's not at bed by that time, he'll pass out from exhaustion."

Sanders hangs his head. "Becks. You're being dramatic."

Which. Is not a good thing to say.

Becks's jaw clenches. "You won't be late, Sanders. You'll miss everything. You didn't tell them you had plans?"

"Of course I did," he says defensively, drawing his features together. "They sprung it up on me during dinner, I was literally seated next to her, I couldn't say no. And I talked to my moms and they—can you imagine how uncomfortable and rude it would be if I cancelled?"

"But it's okay to cancel on Henry?"

"I'm not—" Sanders takes a deep breath. "I'm not cancelling on Henry. And it really looked like Charlotte could use the help, she's transferring here from a small town, that's a big change."

Becks stares at him. Then, quietly, she says, "You promised."

Sanders flinches. He never breaks his promises, but..."I know I did, but I didn't have a choice, Becks, come on. My moms asked me for this favor, and—"

"Do you realize you are the only person Henry has spoken to, outside of our family, in years?" Becks suddenly shouts, voice breaking, hands clenching into fists.

Sanders freezes.

Oh. There are tears pooling around her eyes.

"He'll be—" Becks stops suddenly, mid-sentence, catching her intake of breath. Then, she closes her eyes, and bows her head. "You know what? It's fine. You're right, I was overreacting, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. And it'd be rude if you cancelled on Charlotte."

Sanders is frozen. Her voice is suddenly steady. Stable now. Calm, quiet, firm. She raises her head, and—and even like this, even crying, Becks can keep her voice steady when she looks at him. "Just...catch up whenever you can, I'll tell Henry you'll be late."

He swallows thickly, eyes following the wetness on her cheeks. His feet start moving. "Becks. I—I know how important Saturday is to Henry. I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice, but I promise I'll be there before the dinner."

Becks grabs her juice box and turns around. She leaves the other drink on the table. "Okay."

Sanders grabs her before she can leave. "Becks. Wait, come on." He exhales heavily and shuts his eyes once. There's a searing pain in his chest. He ignores it. "I don't feel okay knowing we're not okay. You're crying."

She stops. Her arm in his hold is limp. "We're fine, Sanders. I'm making a big deal out of something that's out of your control."

"You're thinking that it's okay I can hurt you because you hurt me. Stop that."

Becks whirls around, slapping his arm away. She's angry, and—and hurt, and she snaps, "That has nothing to do with my brother."

Sanders steps closer, unafraid, grabbing her fist and bringing it up in the air. "Then why aren't you punching me in the face for breaking a promise to him?"

Becks yanks her fist out of his hold. She's still crying. "Because I don't want to hurt you, assface," she chokes out, swallowing thickly. "I never want to hurt you, and I don't want to hurt myself hurting you. But if you actually miss Henry's birthday, Sanders..." Becks takes a deep breath and turns around. "I won't care anymore. Because it's not me you hurt. It's my brother. And my brother doesn't deserve anything less than fucking happiness and love and if you hurt him, I won't care."

The door to her room closes with a quiet shut.

Sanders sits in the quiet, sipping on the lone juice box on the table. He sits there long after it's empty, and long after the sun rises.

Assface. That was a new one.

*

On Friday, Sanders wakes up early. Prays, takes his shower, goes on his run. Buys Becks's almond milk, goes to her room to wake her up.

She pushes him away when he throws aside her covers. "Go away," she grumbles.

Sanders heaves a sigh of relief. She's back to her normal self. So far. Not mad or upset anymore. So far.

"Hotdogs for breakfast, get up." He bends down to pat her back thrice, and throws off the covers again when she tries to pull it over her body. "Wash up. Don't you dare go back to sleep."

"Don't tell me what to do," she mutters, huffing, kicking off the covers and sitting up.

Sanders grins and places the almond milk by her bedside. She takes it, sluggishly, twisting open the cap. "Becks. We should try not to see each other in the morning. This whole thing," he says, waving a hand around in the air, gesturing to her face, "is not the best way to start my day, you know?"

"Like I asked for your face to be the start to mine," she counters flatly, rolling her eyes, gulping down her drink. "Every day. For three years."

Sanders doesn't have a good comeback to that, so he leaves her to wash up and gets started on breakfast.

Becks isn't mad or upset anymore—she eats four whole hotdogs with rice by herself (this is why Sanders always cooks two servings for Becks). And she thanks him for the food, washes the dishes in gratitude, and leaves to take her shower and to dress before training.

That's good.

But on Saturday, just as he's leaving to meet up with Charlotte at the university, Becks peers at him from the sofa, where she's eating oats with milk, hood pulled up over her head, and says, "Have fun." Then returns her attention to the television.

Sanders takes a deep breath and puts on his shoes. "I'll catch up, okay? Be there before dinner."

"Yep."

But Sanders doesn't make it before dinner.

Charlotte is nice. She's sweet, she's polite. Becks was right—she wanted to see the whole campus, including the dorms, and because she felt the need to tell Sanders all about her childhood and decision-making process to transferring to Bellevue for its swimming program, Becks was right—the tour took around three hours.

Sanders doesn't mind walking around, talking to a girl, showing her around campus. He doesn't mind that Charlotte had been sidling up to him, brushing his arm, smiling too widely, nearly pushing him into the swimming pool as a joke, bringing up the fact that their parents set them up. Thanked him too much for being so nice to her, told him he was handsome and that she'd love to watch him play during his next game.

(Got his number. Asked for a picture.)

It's just. Couldn't she have walked faster?

And. Becks was right. Her parents, grateful, invited him to dinner with Hathai and Mahika. And in any other circumstance, Sanders would've politely accepted. Because that's the right thing to do, these are his mothers' friends.

But he was going to be late, and Henry was going to be heartbroken, and he was fucking starving. (Thirsty, too, from all the chatting. Wow. Charlotte had really been talking his ear off.) He bowed his head and said, "I'm so sorry, Rea. Wyatt. I actually need to go, I have plans for the rest of the day. I hope you have a safe trip tomorrow."

They insisted. Charlotte was gripping his wrist, didn't want him to go yet.

But Sanders was insistent, too. And eventually, they let him go. Sad as that made Charlotte.

And then there he was, speeding towards the restaurant, half an hour after the buffet started.

And then there he is, running towards the entrance, panting. "Reservation under the Arlington family," he breathes out, and then he's being led to their table.

Becks's mother, Polly, sees him first. Her face brightens, forehead wrinkling, and she stands up, putting her fork down. "Hello, Rush. I'm so glad you made it!"

She gives him a hug. "I'm so sorry I'm late," he says, still catching his breath.

Polly smiles at him, rubbing his shoulder. "Beckett already said you were going to be. You hungry?"

Sanders groans and clutches his stomach. "Starving."

Roy hugs him, too. "Rush. Good to see you, son."

And Matthew. Sanders gapes at his amazing makeup. Today, he's wearing a fitted cropped shirt, short shorts and heels. "You look amazing, Matt. Where's the birthday boy?"

"Getting his food," Matthew says, smiling. "You should get yours too, you look starved."

"A 'date' starved me."

The older Arlington brother raises both eyebrows. His eyeshadow is glittering, and wow, that eyeliner is so fucking even at both sides. "Date, huh? What happened to you and my sister?"

"I say date with quotation marks because my moms set me up," he explains, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, yeah, I'm fucking hungry. I'll be back."

Henry is with Becks. They're at the dessert section. She's holding his plate, looking at him expectantly, like she's waiting for his answer. It looks like Henry is picking out his fix for his sweet tooth.

Sanders grins and comes up behind him. "As the birthday boy, I think you should get one of everything."

The boy turns around, stunned. Sanders watches his face—his eyes brighten, his lips pull up at the corners into the widest smile he's ever seen the kid make. Wider than when he won regional championships for chess.

Henry throws his arms around his waist. Sanders laughs, body and heart feeling warm, and bends down to hug him properly, ruffling his terrible bowl cut fondly. "Happy birthday, buddy. I'm sorry I'm late."

Sanders feels him shake his head in dismissal. "Eat," he says, voice barely above a whisper, pulling away. He has acne all over his skin, and his teeth are crooked, and he's absolutely precious. He points towards the food. "Y-you sh-should eat."

"I will. Go get your dessert, okay? Get one of everything."

Henry grabs his plate from his sister and peers over the desserts. He's grabbing one of each.

Sanders laughs heartily, but it's cut short—Becks stands in front of him, face blank.

He feels the exact moment his heart speeds up.

She's in a striped, orange sweater, tucked in ripped jeans and paired with white sneakers, a simple gold chain hanging around her neck. Her hair is down, wavy, falling over her shoulders, and she's wearing makeup. Not as extravagant as Matthew's—but. Makeup.

And Sanders is in a fucking white v-neck and jeans.

His eyes drift to her wrist. She's wearing her bracelet, just as he's wearing his.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets. "You look nice."

"Hi," she says, bending over to grab another plate. "Thanks. You too." Becks gives him the plate. Her lips quirk up into a small smile. "How was the tour?"

Sanders shrugs with one shoulder. "Fine. Tell you later."

Henry sticks with him throughout the dinner, and Polly and Roy ask him about volleyball and his parents, and they're so glad he could make it today despite his other...plans. From the look on their faces and the tone of their voices, Sanders knows they're happy Henry reached out to him. That he's comfortable with him, someone other than his family members.

(He doesn't see it, but Becks is watching him and Henry fondly.)

In the Arlington home, Henry makes his wish. They eat cake, and then he beats everyone at scrabble. Beats everyone at Monopoly, too. The kid is a fucking genius.

He loses, however, at Uno. Sanders is a champion at Uno.

Henry opens his gifts last. And then, at around nine thirty, Becks was right—he's nearly passing out from exhaustion.

Sanders grins and ruffles his hair. He's falling asleep on his shoulder. "Ah, I think the birthday boy needs to go and rest."

Polly stands up. "Okay, I better get this kiddo to bed. Matt, clean up." Roy follows her, and the older Arlington brother grumbles in response but starts putting away the cards.

Sanders puts his drink down and leans over to help. Matthew smiles at him gratefully, and they work in silence. Becks stands up, too, downing the last of her soda, and picks up all the red cups and opened but unfinished chips strewn around the room.

And then when everything's done, Sanders dusts off his hands. Matthew claps him on the shoulder, tired, and heads to the kitchen to grab himself water.

Becks snatches her hoodie off the couch and looks at him. "Get a drink with me?"

Sanders grins and nods. "Anywhere in particular you wanna go?"

Becks bites her lip. "Just the little shop down the block. They sell fish cakes and beer."

"Fish cakes and beer sound good," Sanders says.

So they end up outside, sitting across each other in green monoblock chairs under a little umbrella, with four bottles of Smirnoff ready. Becks is already finishing her first stick when Sanders sits down after paying, and it's really cold out here, but the air is nice against his skin and he can see the stars if he hanged his head far enough.

But it's also really nice sitting with Becks. Sanders frowns when she keeps pushing the end of the stick in her mouth to grab a fish cake stuck in the middle.

He sighs and leans over, snatching it from her. "You're going to hurt yourself," he mutters, pushing the fish cake to the tip with his own stick. He gives it back to her.

Becks takes it gratefully and finishes it.

Sanders smiles, taking a bite out of his own stick.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Sanders leans his head back, chewing slowly. This is nice.

He doesn't realize he's shuddering in the cold, that goose bumps are on his skin until Becks's hoodie is tossed in his face. "Didn't you bring a jacket, idiot?"

Sanders blinks, holding the hoodie in his hands. Becks looks away from him and angrily bites from her stick. "Oh, uh, no. I forgot. It was hot out earlier. Aren't you cold?"

"I'm already wearing a sweater."

"Yeah, but this is yours, you brought it. I'm fine—"

"I brought it for you, I knew you'd freeze," she says, still staring at the road. She pulls her knees up to her chest. "Put it on."

Sanders puts it on. Because Becks likes her shit oversized, it fits him.

Ah, it's warm.

Becks leans over and grabs a bottle, taking a swig.

Sanders takes a sip of his own. "Henry likes me a lot."

"Yeah," Becks says, laughing once. "He likes you more than me."

Sanders grins. "I don't blame him. You're not exactly likeable."

"If you weren't so far away, I would choke you to death."

"Kinky, but no thanks." His phone buzzes in his pocket. Sanders grabs it and squints at the message. It's from Charlotte. Hi, Rush! :) I wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm so excited to start college at Bellevue. I'm home safe, if you were wondering. I wish you could've stayed for dinner :/

Sanders tosses his phone on the table and takes another swig.

Becks raises an eyebrow, gripping her own bottle. "That her? Your date?"

"Yeah. Becks, I have a question."

She looks away from him, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Mm."

Sanders pauses.

Becks lets the alcohol sit in her throat for a few seconds before noticing his hesitation. She raises an eyebrow and meets his gaze. "Spit it out."

"Do you still like Maxon?"

The question takes her by surprise, but Becks doesn't show it in her face. It's carefully blank, like she's thinking about it as she holds his stare, unblinking.

Sanders doesn't take it back. He wants to know.

"A four-year crush doesn't go away," she says.

"That's not a yes or a no. And I thought it was more than just a crush."

"Why does it matter?" Becks asks flatly. "I don't get it, Sanders. Why are you asking now?"

"Don't..." Sanders takes a deep breath. "Don't confuse me, Becks. I'm asking now because of how you've been acting. Were you really upset about this whole thing with Charlotte because of Henry?"

"I'm not upset, I wasn't upset," she's quick to reply, scrunching her eyebrows. "And even if I were, what else would I be upset about?"

"That Charlotte thought it was a date. She texted me just now."

"I don't care who you date, Sanders," Becks says in response. No hesitation. "It's not my business, you can date whoever you want."

Sanders can't help it. His lips turn up at the corners. "You know I know when you're lying, right?"

Her expression stays carefully neutral. He wants to laugh. Oh, Jesus. "Sanders."

"It doesn't work on me. You've been lying to Maxon for months, you think I wouldn't notice when you lie?"

"Fine," she says, jaw clenching. "Let's say I care. What does that have to do with my feelings for Maxon?"

"Hm," he says, keeping the grin on his face. Like a fool. "I'm trying to see if you're jealous, Becks."

She scoffs, incredulous. "Get over yourself, I'm not jealous." It's a quick answer. Again.

Sanders clicks his tongue and takes a sip. "That's another lie."

Becks takes another swig, and doesn't bother responding.

"I'm not going to carry you home if you get drunk," he warns her, raising an eyebrow.

"I did the same for you," Becks says, rolling her eyes.

"This is different, my spine will snap in half. You're heavier than you look, you know."

Becks puts down her drink on the table with enough force to wake the whole neighborhood. Her eyes are sharp, and she snaps, "You think I enjoyed carrying you home, you ungrateful asshole, after you fucked someone else? You reeked of cologne."

"So I was right," Sanders says, leaning back on his hair. He tilts his head to the side. "You are jealous."

Becks's mouth opens. And then closes. She blinks dazedly, like he caught her off guard. "It's not my business who you fuck around with," she mutters weakly, turning her torso away, facing the sidewalk. "It shouldn't be. And I'd say 'jealous' is a pretty strong term..."

"But it's what you feel."

"Did you have fun, though? With Charlotte?"

Sanders is getting a fucking whiplash. "Yeah," he says, gritting his teeth. "Yeah, I had fun."

Becks finishes the beer. She grabs another fish cake stick and bites it off. "Good, then."

"Good," Sanders repeats.

"Sanders."

"What."

Becks hums. She's on her second bottle. "Nothing," she mutters, shaking her head. "I just love your name."

He...okay, he blinks. "Becks. I don't...I don't understand you."

She shakes her head, and when she looks at him, she smiles. "Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind. Thanks for coming to Henry's birthday. It means a lot to him."

Shoulders slumping, knowing this conversation isn't going the way he wants it to go, he nods. "'Course."

"And to me," she says, sighing. "I wouldn't have actually...hurt you, you know. If you didn't come."

Sanders scoffs, sipping on his bottle. "Please. You would've beaten me to death."

Becks laughs. She laughs out loud, throws her head back, and it sounds like a gasping cough, and without realizing it, Sanders laughs too.

"If he had cried, maybe," she tells him, eyes twinkling. "Hey. How many fish cakes do you think I can fit in my mouth?"

"Don't try. You're disgusting."

She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him.

(She can fit six.)

And when Becks lays her head against her chair, arms hugging herself from the cold, Sanders groans in complaint, stands, and hoists her up on his back.

"I told you I won't fucking carry you," Sanders grunts, face twisting into a sour expression, as he hooks his hands under her thighs. "Jesus, I'm too old to do this."

"Shut the fuck up," she mutters sleepily, wrapping her arms around his neck, savoring in the warmth of body heat. "You're only a few months older than me. And you can carry me just fine."

"My spine will break."

"Fuck," Becks mutters, teeth grinding against each other. "It's cold."

"Get down for a sec, I'll give you back your jacket."

"Idiot, just walk," she whispers, lips shivering, and Sanders tries to ignore the brush of her mouth against his skin. "Or I'll throw up on you."

Knowing it's not an empty threat, Sanders walks.

(Tucks her into bed as soon as they get home.)