"I have news!" Sanders shouts as soon as he enters his house, raising his palms up in the air. His mothers look up briefly from the intrusion during lunch, and Siam doesn't even bother, concentrates on his rice, but Sanders doesn't care because his stomach is still swooping with butterflies and he feels like—he feels like a lighted-up Sketcher. He clears his throat and proudly declares, puffing his chest, "I'm fucking and dating Becks."

He sees the moment Siam's head snaps up and his moms' eyes go wide. Hathai sputters, "Sanders. The kid."

"Oh, sorry." Sanders runs behind Siam and puts his hands on his shoulders. "I'm fucking and dating," Sanders says, and then he covers Siam's ears, "Becks."

Mahika drops her utensils, and a sound close to a whale mating call makes her way out of her lips, and she's grabbing Sanders in a bone-crushing hug. "Oh my God, honey! Is it finally—you guys are finally together?"

Hathai dances a happy dance before she joins in on the hug. "I knew it—I knew it!" she screeches, grinning from ear to ear, raising her hands in the air. "The wedding is back on!"

His moms are, well, ecstatic, and Siam is frozen in his seat, sulking, but he'll get over it (he never stood a chance with Becks, anyway), and he and Becks haven't actually...fucked yet again. (He would like to. Becks would, too, but no rush.)

After her match, they just stayed in bed after Becks's much-needed shower and change of bandages, and Sanders is holding her hand and staring at it to make sure what just happened was real, because...because how do you act around the person you've loved for three years and now loves you back? What do you do? How do you process—

"Can you stop thinking for one second?" Becks whined, throwing her leg over his waist and snuggling in deeper into his body. Her head was on his chest, and his heartbeat was embarrassingly loud. "You're making it weird. Don't make it weird."

"Sorry," Sanders breathed out, hesitantly lowering his arm onto her back, caressing her hair. He swallowed thickly and stared straight ahead. It's his third mental breakdown and it's not even five o'clock yet. "I just—is this real? Is this happening? Am I in a fucked up dream?"

Becks leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Did that feel real?"

"No, do it again."

His best friend (girlfriend???) laughed. She propped her face up on her fist and stared at him. "What are you so worried about?"

Sanders inhaled sharply and looked away from her, focusing on the sheets. "I don't know," he muttered honestly. "Just...won't it be awkward? I'm your best friend."

"You still are," Becks agreed, nodding. She sat up, and her eyes shined with amusement. "And you ask that now? After three years of hitting on me?"

"Exactly! I mean, what do I now that you actually...love me back."

Becks chuckled. "We're still best friends, Sanders. The only difference is, now that we're together, you can kiss and fuck me whenever and wherever you want."

Sanders choked on his breath. He leaned over, coughing, and punched his chest with as much force as he can. "I don't know which of that statement I need to unpack first," he choked out, glancing at her. Swallowing hard, he squeaked, "We're together?"

She was grinning. "We aren't? I thought the declarations of love and the making out in the arena cleared it up. No going back, remember?"

Sanders made a dying sound. "And the, um, the kissing and the—"

"I have to make everything obvious, don't I," Becks muttered, rolling her eyes. She put her hands on his shoulders and straddled his waist, and Sanders gulped, sitting up against the headboard, and she leaned down and kissed him. (And teased him over his boxers, and Sanders, embarrassing as it was, had to give her a hug to stay still, biting her neck, whimpering in her skin.)

And the first thing he said to Maxon in the morning is, "Becks and I are no longer friends."

His roommate raised an eyebrow. "Uh...something happen? Another fight...?"

"We're fucking together!" Sanders shouts in his face, and then jumps to tackle him.

None of their friends are surprised. Rosen and Adan roll their eyes and breathe out, "Fucking finally."

Suho grabs them both in a chokehold. "I'm so happy," he sobs out. "I'm free from Rush's miserable pining, it was a pain to watch."

Sanders smacks him behind the head. "Shut up, brat. Or I won't be buying any maple syrup for you."

"I'm your kid, though, you can't let me starve."

"True."

It feels like announcing to everyone they're getting married, which he's...been dreaming about since he knew. But more than that, Sanders feels like he's loved.

When Becks comes to the court, finishing morning training early, Sanders's whole face brightens up. In the middle of a drill with Rosen, Sanders leaves the ball and jogs up to her to give her a quick peck. "Hey."

"We were in the middle of a drill!" his friend shouts, coming over, too. "You don't just leave the fucking ball, Rush—"

"Sorry," Becks says sheepishly, running her hand over Sanders's arm. She's sweaty, and her hair is up in a ponytail, and Sanders's smile grows wider when he notices she's wearing his shirt paired with leggings, and fuck! The butterflies are alive once again, and his skin is tingling from her touch. "I'll wait 'til you're finished. I just have to talk to Sanders for a bit before you guys get back to it."

Sanders blinks at her, smiling and waiting for her to say it.

Becks glances at Rosen.

Sanders turns to his friend. He's just standing there, waiting, too.

Sanders drops his smile and pushes him. Rosen actually stumbles on his feet and loses his balance. "Leave. Fucking leave, take the hint already."

"Fine!" Rosen shouts dramatically, turning around. "He gets a girlfriend and suddenly he doesn't care about me anymore!"

Sanders rolls his eyes. Then he looks at Becks and smiles again. "What is it?"

Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, baby hairs sticking to her forehead. Her hand trails down his, and she laces their fingers together. It makes Sanders catch his breath, the little Sanders in his head jumping in joy, because it feels like they've been doing this forever—how her touch comes so naturally to him, how it can make him weak to his knees, easy. "I'm going home early to celebrate my parents' anniversary for lunch instead of dinner, since they apparently have plans for date night to themselves," she starts, brushing her thumb against the back of his hand, and Sanders's stomach swoops with butterflies, "and I was thinking that I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go on a date with me after, too. I would've texted, but I wanted to see your face before I—"

"Yes," Sanders blurts out.

"—went home," Becks finishes, lips curling into a grin. "I wasn't even finished with my sentence."

"Yes," Sanders repeats, nodding earnestly.

Becks rolls her eyes. "Okay. Come pick me up at home and we can go somewhere. Don't lose."

"Never do," he says, gripping her hand tighter when she starts to pull away, adjusting her Nike bag strap on her shoulder. Sanders frowns. "You're leaving? Already?"

Becks blinks. "Yeah...? I just said I was going to have lunch with my parents. And you saw me this morning, we live together."

"Happy anniversary to Polly and Roy," Sanders says, pulling her to him by her—no, his shirt she's wearing. One corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he looks at her. "This is mine."

"The shirt or me?"

Fucking hell. Sanders can't help the loud laugh that escapes his lips, heart soaring. "Both."

"Rush!" his coach's voice yells suddenly, and Sanders flinches, closing his eyes. "Get back here, you're not done!"

Becks lets go of him and pushes his shoulder, amused. "Go. I'll see you tonight."

"Where's my 'I love you'?"

"You're fucking cheesy," she whines, scrunching her eyebrows together. "You're such a romantic asshole, I hate this, why am I even dating—"

"I love you," Sanders says, cupping her cheek to press a quick kiss on her lips.

"—a fucking sap, I love you too," she mutters, pushing him away. "Go before your coach kills you."

Sanders will say he had a total of six breakdowns preparing for their date. He gave Rosen, Suho, and Maxon headaches, and they were pushing him out the door.

"Fine, Jesus!" Sanders stumbles towards his bike. "I'm going, fuck, I'm so nervous!"

Maxon makes a face at him, following him out. "Dude, this is Cal."

"AKA the love of my life, future mother of my children if she wants them, future bride when she says yes."

"AKA the person who's smelled your morning breath and has seen you in Spongebob boxers and didn't react," Maxon counters, crossing his arms as he watches Sanders put on his helmet. "But seriously, dude." The soccer player grins at him. "I'm happy for you."

Sanders straps on his helmet and raises an eyebrow. "Should I be thanking you for moving in?"

Maxon laughs loudly and knocks on his helmet. "Maybe. Go, have fun, be back before midnight."

"Shut up," Sanders quips, sending him a middle finger before he starts the bike. "Fuck. Okay. Let's go."

(On the date, Sanders says, "Come on, let's get to know each other more."

Becks blinks at him. She doesn't care that she has pasta sauce near her lip. "You literally have a Google Sheet about me. By the way, I'm going to need to see that."

"Sorry, no idea what you're talking about." Sanders reaches over the table and brushes the sauce away with his thumb. "Come on, just say something. There are no wrong answers."

"I used to like Maxon," Becks says, chewing on her food, staring at him unblinkingly.

"Wrong answer," Sanders snaps, stabbing his pork with his chopstick.

Becks grins. "I was joking."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"No you aren't," Becks says, dropping a piece of meat on his plate. "Okay, fine, I'll ask. What do you like?"

"You."

She shoots him a flat look, unimpressed. "I said 'what'. I'm not a thing."

"Of course you are!" Sanders says, grinning sweetly. He leans over the table to pinch her cheek, which Becks swats away angrily. "You're a thing, I'm a thing, we're a thing."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. You're paying, by the way. I paid the last time we were on a date."

"You asked me out—"

"And you asked me out tonight—")

And Sanders feels like he's loved.

"My hands are cold," he complains one evening, as they're walking home from training, and the night is strangely chilly and Sanders's teeth are chattering.

Without a word, Becks hikes her bag onto her other shoulder and grabs his hand, shoving their intertwined fingers into her pocket.

Sanders grins and blurts out, "For some reason, my lips are cold, too."

Even with her back to him, he knows she's rolling her eyes, but she turns around and gives him a quick kiss, anyway. "Such a baby," she mutters, dragging them both home.

And then Sanders takes a compatibility test one weekend, while Suho and Becks are making grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen. He raises his legs on the sofa and squints at his screen, inputting both his and Becks's names, and their dates of birth.

And then: "Can you believe this shit, babe?" Sanders yells, features tightening into an angry scowl. "This is a fucking liar!"

"Don't fight with the remote, Sanders," Becks says distractedly, and then returns her attention to Suho.

Sanders kneels up on the couch and runs to her in the kitchen, shoving his screen in her face. "It says we're only forty-one percent compatible! Forty-one, the fuck is this shit—"

Becks feeds him a small piece of cheese that he immediately chews, but he's still angry. She smiles at his expression and pulls him to her by the waist, perching her chin on his shoulder. "You're such an idiot," she murmurs in his ear, and she sounds so, so fond and Sanders's heart leaps out of his chest.

Suho stares at them quietly, picking apart a piece of bread. He blinks. "Can you guys make me pancakes, too?"

"Do my laundry and I will," Sanders says, but it comes out a little breathless, and he hugs Becks to him tight.

Her heart is beating as fast as his is.

"Ew," Suho quips, but he doesn't mean it, because he's still staring at them.

"Stop groping my ass in front of the kid," Becks whispers.

"Sorry," Sanders says, but doesn't take his hands away.

And Sanders feels like he's loved.

"Babe, Becks," Sanders says in a panic, desperately trying to pull her wrists away from her face, where she's buried her head in them, shoulders shaking from sobbing. "What happened, what's wrong?"

She was just getting ready for a night out with Adan and Kaitlyn. Sanders and Maxon were watching television in the living room, and Sanders was twirling his bike keys around his finger, just waiting for Becks to finish so he can drive her to the bar.

And then Becks called out, "Sanders?" in a small, small voice, and Sanders stood up and entered the room, finding her crying.

Sanders doesn't understand why she's crying, but he'll hold her to him until he does. He tucks her head in his chest and runs his hand down her hair, the other caressing her back. "Baby, come on. Why're you crying, hm? What's wrong? Tell me, let's fix it."

It reminds Sanders of when Becks would look at him first, would call him first when there's a problem she can't fix. It's nice to be needed, but it's nice to be needed by Becks, who hates asking for help more than anyone else, but also needs it because she needs taking care of, sometimes too.

She sniffles in his shoulder and clutches his shirt around his back. "It's stupid," she mutters helplessly.

"Tell me," he urges again, pulling back to look at her face, cupping it in his hands gently to brush away her tears with his thumbs.

Becks looks like a panda, with her eyeliner and mascara smudged from the wetness, but Sanders's heart speeds up, and he hears them ringing in his ears, and he wants to know why she's sad so he can kick it in the face, and Becks whispers, "I can't fit in my jeans anymore."

Sanders—really, really, makes an effort to keep it in.

But he ends up laughing, throwing his head back, and it's not even the laugh that's mocking her for not being able to fit in her jeans anymore, it's the laugh that says, Oh, God. I love you so much, and it's the laugh that reminds Sanders that Becks is a girl, too, and she's allowed to feel this way, and she's so worried about it and Sanders thinks it's so cute because she's never worried about something like this before.

Becks glares at him and turns around, yanking his hands away from her face.

"Wait, no, I'm sorry for laughing," Sanders rushes to get out, pulling her back to him. "I'm sorry, it's just, I think it's so cute because you never worried about those kinds of things before. Not that you can't."

"How could I not?" Becks snaps, eyebrows furrowing together in a scowl. "It's just...my body. I know I have a good one thanks to boxing, but it's just so unfair I'm not as skinny as Kait, or I don't have a tiny waist, and now my jeans can't fit because you keep feeding me—"

Sanders leans down and kisses her, shutting her up.

"I was still talking," she says, pulling away, still glaring at him.

"Were you? It was nonsense to me," Sanders replies, shrugging.

"Sanders."

"Come on, baby." He smiles at her gently, brushing his thumbs on her cheekbones. She still looks like a panda. It's cute. "You're the one who keeps feeding yourself."

"That's it, we're done—"

"No, come on!" Sanders laugh, pulling her in to hug her. "Come on, Becks, you shouldn't be comparing your body with somebody else's. I've told you a thousand times over how beautiful you already are, even before you started wearing skirts, putting on makeup, straightening your hair."

"You were just saying that because you liked me," she mutters against his chest.

Sanders sighs. "Maybe. But. Come on, Becks." He pulls back again. Stares at her. "I saw you and heard bells. The first time and every time after that. Suho and Siam will agree with me. Maxon and Rosen and even fucking Austin."

Becks starts to smile.

"I take it back about Maxon, I'm still insecure about him and I don't want to hear him say he finds you pretty."

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you being serious? I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Sanders shrugs. "You were crying about him the morning after I completely railed you."

"Shut the fuck up!" Becks shouts, laughing, covering her face in her hands. "I hate you—oh my God. Do you remember our first kiss?"

"No," Sanders says. "I completely forgot." He taps his lips with his index finger. "Refresh my memory."

Becks's smile grows wider, and she kisses him. Sanders loves it. "Don't hate me."

"If you say you were thinking about Maxon back then, I will break up with you."

Becks bites her lip. "Just briefly...?" she tries, wincing. "But then after that—"

"This is over," Sanders declares. Becks pulls him back, shouting and laughing, butt on the floor and clinging to his legs. Sanders ignores her and drags her to the living room, where their roommate glances at them briefly but doesn't comment, just returns to watching the television.

And Sanders feels like he's loved.

"Stop this," he whispers, bringing his hand over to Becks's, where her fingers are clutching his shirt. "Babe, I have a reputation. Everyone's staring at me."

The volleyball team have a two-day teambuilding at a camp somewhere. Becks refuses to let him go until she absolutely has to, and she whispers, "Call me. If you don't, I'll ignore you when you're back. I love you."

Sanders grins and kisses her. "I have no doubt about it. Take care of our kid and don't burn down the apartment."

In the bus, Rosen stares at him and raises an eyebrow.

Sanders already misses Becks. He shoots him a glance. "What? Spit it out."

"I don't get why Becks likes you. You're a zero in personality."

Sanders would say he's also a zero in personality, and has no idea why Adan likes him, too, but he'll be nice today because he's sad and, well, he is a zero. A one if he counts his sense of humor. Tiredly, he leans back against the seat and says, "You want an eight-inch explanation?"

Rosen doesn't say anything else.

And Sanders feels like he's loved, when Becks calls him before a match, and Sanders shuts his eyes tightly, leg bouncing, and says, "I need you to swear to me."

"Fuck," Becks says, as if trying to lighten up the mood.

"I need you to promise me," Sanders rewords, not even cracking a smile, because now is not the time for lame jokes he would've found funny and endearing in another circumstance—"to please, please try to make the injuries and bleeding as minimum as possible. I know you won't listen to me if I ask you to stay on the ground if you're knocked out, because you won't." Sanders sighs. His chest feels tight, like he can't breathe, and the cheers of the people around him don't help. "So please," he whispers. "Try not to bleed as much, okay?"

Becks doesn't even ask him to watch her. She just says, "Okay."

Pauses. And then, asks, says, declares, like a fact, a truth universally acknowledged: "You love me a lot. Since the beginning."

"I'd give you the world but I only have two dollars and a shrimp packet," Sanders says honestly.

Becks laughs. It fills his ears.

(When she wins, she grabs the belt and ducks, hurdling the turnbuckles and jumping down from the ring. She runs to him. Sanders tosses his phone to Rosen and stands, and Becks leaps, wrapping her legs around his waist, and kisses him in front of everyone.

"I told you not to bleed," he whispers once they've pulled away, panting, ignoring everyone's eyes on them, flashing cameras everywhere.

"I'm sorry," Becks says, staring at his mouth, and then bends down to kiss him again, tangling her fingers in his hair.)

But how does Sanders know?

It could've been when she brought him home, not just as her best friend, but as her best friend and boyfriend, and he heard it in her voice when she answered, "Sanders is an idiot," to her mom's question of: "Why did it take so long?" Saw it in her face when she smiled at him and gripped his hand.

It could've been when Becks was a warm, solid weight below him, timid fingers slowly snaking along his arms, neck, face, the smell of almond and vanilla orchid and cashmere musk. When she looked at him with trust and certainty and want, and left her imprint of a kiss and bruise on his skin.

Sanders could write paragraphs and paragraphs about how he knows, and the answer would've been the all of the above. It could've been between any of those moments, any and all of the moments they shared together. It could've been then.

But he feels like he's loved, when he prays in the morning. Thanks Him for granting his birthday wish, asks for a good day and for good health. Takes his shower (Maxon left early for training). Goes on his run to buy almond milk, and Terry greets him with a salute and a smile. Comes back to the apartment to wake Becks up.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and, already smiling, shakes her gently. "Baby. Becks. Wake up."

She doesn't stir.

Sanders's smile widens. He leans down, brushes her hair away from her face, and whispers, "I wish there were a better word for what I feel for you...but this will do."

Becks waits.

"I love you," he says. Like he does, every morning. Like a reminder. A truth universally acknowledged.

Becks opens one eye and reaches out, brushing her thumb on his arm, and whispers sleepily, "I love you too."

(Sanders's advice? Plan your wedding! Let your heart be loud! Don't fucking give up!)

(...do six things before breakfast. It worked for him.)