it's literally been like two weeks since this came out and I'm already on chapter ten? what even

of gunfire and bullet wounds

"What's your biggest fear, Soda?"

It was a question I hadn't expected from him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what's your biggest fear, dipshit."

I snorted, swinging my head back as I downed the last of my shot. "I know, but like... what do you wanna hear?"

Steve rolled his eyes, slapping my shoulder. "Jesus, do you not understand? Tell me something I don't know about you."

"You know everything––"

"Sodapop," he said, sighing my name, "Just shut the hell up and tell me something!"

I thought for a moment. What was I actually afraid of? Well, a lot of things, but Steve knew most of them; that's what happens when you're friends forever, I guess. You learn more about someone, more deeply about someone, than you'd ever thought before.

After a moment, I said, "I'm scared of losing everything all over again."

"Sappy as shit," Steve drawled, the clear glimmer of whiskey in his gaze.

"I'm serious."

"What kind of everything?"

I shrugged, to which he passed me another shot. "Down the hatch," he muttered, smirking again, and this time I couldn't help but follow his order. I nearly choked as I realized that it was whiskey, but rather liked the burn it gave as it dripped heatedly into my chest, sparking a fire within me.

"Scared of losing everything," I repeated rather sluggishly. "Losing everyone."

"Well hell, you're about as mopey as your goddamn brother!" Steve lightly punched my arm. "Lighten up, man; you're not losing anyone."

"War's coming, though, and I––"

"And I nothin', ya hear?" He jabbed a finger in the center of my chest. "You shut up about war talk; at least for right now."

"But what if I don't come back? My last words are gonna be unknown if I die out there and I didn't even get to finish what I was sayin'."

"Jesus, Curtis, you're such a pessimist."

"It's true!"

Steve smirked, rolling his eyes. "True, true. Get it over with, then."

I sighed, downed another whiskey, and sighed into the open air, "I don't wanna not be remembered, ya know?"

Steve snorted, "Believe me, pal. You're gonna be remembered."

"How can you be so sure?"

Steve barked out a laugh. "Because who else would say something like 'I don't wanna not be remembered'?" He looked at me seriously, and through the alcohol, I heard something beautiful come out of his mouth:

"You're gonna be remembered because I'm never gonna let you go. You're gonna come back, Soda, and by God am I gonna make sure you're remembered no matter if you're dead or alive. Because after everything you've done––after everything you've been through––you deserve to be remembered as you were, not as you are about to become: a war soldier."

God, if only I knew how he feels now.