accioharrington9

[accioharrington9]

WRITE IT ANYWAY!!! EVEN IF YOU DONT THINK YOURE GOOD ENOUGH!!! WRITE!!! IT!!!! ANYWAY!!!!!!!

[accioharrington9]

get out. And take your sad weird bisexual man with you

[accioharrington9]

Endless gifs of Steve Harrington - 59/∞

[accioharrington9]

Endless Gifs of Steve Harrington (94/?) Stranger Things • 2.09 The Gate

[accioharrington9]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[accioharrington9]

THE HUNGER GAMES: CATCHING FIRE 2013, dir. Francis Lawrence

[accioharrington9]

THE MATCHMAKER | an emma retelling | s.h. x gn!reader

summary: as a romance books reviewer for the hawkin’s post, valentine’s day has always been your favourite holiday. not that you’re the relationship type, but every year you entertain with the selfless endeavour of matching two lovebirds to become the new it couple of hawkins. this february 14th should be no exception, unless your father's protégé decides to ruin your fun.

journalist!steve harrington x gender neutral!reader | enemies to lovers | no use of y/n | no use of pronouns for reader | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 17.4k

warnings: NO SMUT. fluff, some angst, and so much enemies to lover's tension !! since this my first fic with a gender neutral reader, i decided to make reader's sexuality ambiguous but keep in mind that there are romantic feelings between them & steve !!

author's note: hello my cherubs!!? for my first valentine's fic i wanted to bring you all something fun & a bit different! emma is not my favourite book by jane austen but in my opinion it is one of the most cleverly executed, which is why i wanted to do a kind of weirdly funny adaption for valentine's day. i've read lots of people here expressing their feelings on how they wished there were more long fics with no smut in them and i decided to bring you a long piece full of sassiness, fluff & a few references to clueless. enjoy and let me know what you think x

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

Handsome, clever and the most popular book reviewer in Hawkins.

What else could you ask for? The Hawkins Post had been in circulation since the 1940s, and yet according to your father’s calculations, the newspaper had never had these many readers since the war.

It had started as a favour to him, one Sunday night in which he realised no one had been able to cover for one of his junior writers. He knocked on your room almost hysteric, and you, his only child who took such good care of him, almost had to reprimand him for not controlling his temper in a moment of stress. Your father needed one article, no more than just five hundred words, and still, he didn’t know what to write about. If there was anything men truly cared about that was worth writing about, you thought. And then, just as quick, it came to your mind.

‘Just publish that one article I wrote for my Bestsellers assignment, daddy.’ You said as you stood up from bed to search for your college essays inside your desk’s drawer.

‘The— The review?’ He asked unsure.

‘Yep.’ You held the paper sheet in the air once you found it. ‘It’s not Pulitzer worth, but I got a good grade, and you can edit whatever needs to be fixed.’

‘I… I don’t know, petal.’ He said once he held the essay in his hand before he looked at you with an apologetic smile. ‘I mean, I’m very proud of you, but I don’t think I could pay you for this kind of work.’

‘You don’t have to, daddy.’ You took a hand to your chest as you laid your back against the desk. ‘Please, I could never try to take advantage of your position.’

He didn’t say anything else as he looked back at the page, giving you a small, tired smile.

Then on Monday, it was there. Your little review of one of those sickly-sweet novels you adored, fairly edited by your father but that was not important, printed and published in The Hawkins Post. Later that week Mrs Hudson, the town librarian, contacted the newspaper to notify them that there was no more stock available from the author, and by Friday several booksellers in town had called for the same reason.

‘Let’s do an experiment.’ Your father said next weekend at dinner. ‘Two book reviews a month, one published every fortnight. If you bring me three, I’ll pay you for the third one.’

‘I’ll bring you four monthly, and you can pay me for three of them.’ You proposed instead.

Steve was hiding a smile from the other side of the table. He had brought some girl called Heather to dinner tonight and she absently played with her peas as you spoke to your father. In some unaccustomed way, Steve’s amusement pleased you, but you didn’t acknowledge it as you looked at your father very seriously.

‘I can’t publish one book review a week, petal.’

‘You’re right.’ You simply said. ‘You can’t, actually. Specially for the kind of books I read, which I get either from the city or the college’s library. It won’t give local booksellers enough time to purchase them. Let alone the library. But in a space of three months, you’ll have enough content secured for the next six, and if you take my offer for six months, you’ll have secured the book review column for the rest of the year.’

‘I don’t know.’ Steve said then. ‘I mean I’d say go for it, if it wasn’t for the fact that you only read romance. I think you should commit to start reading more genres if that’s the kind of deal you want.’

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to reply as you sat straighter, still looking at your father.

‘Think about it in marketing terms,’ You proceeded as you looked at your father. ‘Let’s say I read a book, and I think is good enough to review it. I write the article, the team gives you the green light, and they start editing. Now, let’s say it’s finals week, and I can only give you the two articles you’re asking. But then, it’s two days before the issue goes out and the author of said book I reviewed is involved in a terrible scandal, which happens often in the literary romance community. You’re going to write about it, of course. Maybe you’ll give the big story to someone pretentious with a loyal readership of pretentious people. Someone like Steve. But you’ll need to remove my article, of course. And then you have nothing for the book review column, but you can’t knock on my door like you did last Sunday because it’s finals week and I’m away. What are you gonna do, daddy?’

Steve scoffed as you dad stayed silent. Heather was kindly asking one of the maids for salt, and something inside you felt kind of uncomfortable by the fact she hadn’t even bothered to listen to your conversation.

‘It depends how you handle it.’ Steve said. ‘The Hawkins Post it’s a morally neutral newspaper—’

‘There are no morally neutral newspapers.’ You said, and yet he kept talking over you on the table.

‘…And in a situation like that maybe showing your review could enforce our credibility. Transparent journalism. That’s what we stand for. You’re creating problems here to justify your lack of experience.’

The telephone started ringing in the room next door then. A tense silence fell on the table as you crossed your arms over your chest and one of the maids came to the dining room to tell your father it was a call from the office.

Steve took a sip of water then, rising his eyebrows at Heather behind the glass as you tried to cool down. It was the shy smile that she gave him back what incited you to resume the debate.

‘Transparent journalism might be what we stand for but not necessarily what we execute.’ You said once your father left the dining room. ‘This is still a small newspaper in a small town, Steve.’

Steve looked back at you with that condescendence he usually reserved just for you as he put his napkin aside.   

‘This newspaper was founded in the middle of the biggest historical tragedy of the 20th century.’ He said firmly, putting a finger over the neat white tablecloth to emphasise his patronising tone that only made you roll your eyes. ‘Generations of people from your family have been working in it to make it what it is today for you to be pretending that useless vanity could jeopardize it.’

‘My novels are not useless vanity.’

‘They’re very much useless and almost as vain as you.’ He said seriously. ‘Do you know what Jane Austen said about vanity?’

‘Oh, please.’

‘She said that when it works on a weak head it produces every sort of mischief.’ He sat back as he looked back at you. ‘Your dad’s not gonna say this to you, so I’m gonna say it for him, dimples. You’re not ready to write for the newspaper.’

‘Oh my god, could you be more patronising?’ You said then. Nobody had called you dimples in ages. ‘We’re not kids anymore, Steve. It’s like you moved back and suddenly you decided you needed to educate me or something.’

‘Because you still behave like a spoiled child.’ He laughed mockingly. It was as if he was looking for reassurance from Heather for a second, but she stayed quietly looking down at her plate. ‘Look at you, you’re supposed to be living at college and you’re having dinner with your dad and me on a Saturday night.’

‘You’re a college graduate who lives in our summerhouse.’ You had been more hurt by his words than you let out, but you couldn’t let him notice. ‘And you’re not even part of this family.’

Heather only dared to lift her careful eyes then, as if what you had said was out of place, but it really wasn’t.  This was your house. And the only reason why Steve was living here and working for your father was because Mr. Harrington had once been your father’s best friend until he died years ago.

‘I don’t really care about what someone who spends most of their time reading bestselling romance novels has to think about my life choices.’ Steve said with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Mark my words, all that stuff is gonna look like bullshit to you the day you finally get a boyfriend.’

‘Ugh, as if.’

‘Sorry.’ Your father said then as he came back into the dining room. ‘I’m waiting for Robin to send me the CVs of a few interns.’

‘Oh, daddy! I need to fill you in on the details of the wedding planning.’ You said enthusiastically as you pushed your little quarrel with Steve aside.

‘I’ll make sure to remind you after dinner, petal.’ Your father said as he took a sip of his drink.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t forget.’ You said as sat better on your chair. ‘I’m so excited for her and Vicky, I knew they’d make a nice couple.’

‘… Here we go again.’ Steve said under his breath as he put his napkin back on his lap.

‘I made the match myself last year.’ You said to no one in particular but hoping that Heather might wanted to jump into the conversation. ‘And now they’re engaged.’

‘That must be very satisfying.’ Heather simply said as she sat straight. ‘Given your literary taste.’

‘It is very satisfying.’ You agreed, pleased by the fact she was finally deciding to put her rude shyness aside. ‘Steve would never admit it, but my boldness was extremely useful when it came to arranging their happiness. Robin is the sweetest person I know, I always knew that would only force Vicky to inevitably fall in love with her.’

Heather licked the smile that was threatening to form in her mouth as Steve took a deep breath, extending his arm to have a sip of his drink.

‘I wouldn’t call it boldness as much as I would call it a tendency to be inconveniently obtrusive and imprudent.’

‘Well, that’s ironic.’ You said smiling at him. ‘Given this time it was incredibly convenient to you since she’s your best friend. You just don’t like the fact that I was the one to succeed.’

‘Whatever you say.’ He finally gave up with a roll of his eyes. Then he smiled at Heather; a simple but gentle thing that made you feel excluded out of sudden. ‘You can never win a fight against dimples.’

Heather thought it was endearing, by the way she smiled back. You felt a little childish then, almost invisible as you looked back to your dad, who had forgotten your previous conversation in favour of reading the newspaper.

Later that night, you were in your room reading an economy theory book for college. The romance novel that you were eager to finish laid heavy and worn on top of your bedside table while you tried to highlight a few terms into your essay on commercial literature.

That’s when you heard them outside the summerhouse. Heather was laughing softly at something Steve had said, and you heard your name briefly, so you couldn’t help but open your curtain subtly, dying to hear their conversation.

‘So sweet,’ she said as Steve laid against his car’s door, entwining his hands with her. ‘Just give it time. I’m sure you’re a good influence.’

You couldn’t help but scoff at the simple idea of Steve having an influence on you. That had never been the way things worked, and it never would.

He shrugged.

‘What can I say?’ He said then. ‘I mean, you met Dustin and the rest, it’s like I’m everyone’s older brother around here.’

‘He wishes.’ You murmured. Steve had never been anything else than just an annoying arrogant boy in search of a spotlight his parents had never given him, and now he desperately searched for in your father.

‘That’s cute.’ Heather said, followed by something else you couldn’t quite grasp as she leaned in to leave a peck on his lips. ‘I like it.’

Steve searched for her mouth, needily in a way that made you swallow hard as you observed the intimate moment from your bedroom’s window. It shouldn’t have made you feel so small and stupid, but it did. The blade twisted deeper the moment he cupped her face and softly led her to the summerhouse’s porch. A gasp of surprise left your mouth as you closed the curtain and decided to walk back to your bed.

It took you a few minutes for the temperature on your cheeks to go back to normal, sitting on the edge of your bed as you pondered. How could he use you this way to make himself look better? In front of a girl like Heather? It was ridiculous, really. She didn’t know anything; she had only met this side of Steve: the seemingly mature and responsible one. She had never seen him being his goofy self, she hadn’t noticed the way he smiled quietly when he lost against a well-constructed argument.

Your eyes instinctively found the romance book on your bedside table, and you grabbed it, hugging it against your chest as you silently pondered. It didn’t matter anyways, because today it was Heather, but last month it had been Emily and next week it’d be Natasha or Kelly. It didn’t matter, because there was something that you knew about Steve Harrington that Heather didn’t. He didn’t believe in romance, and he didn’t believe in love. He was unmatchable.

The agreement was fair. Your father had offered to pay you monthly for two of your book reviews as long as you handed in four. This conditional offer was based on the fact that he was giving you an opportunity that was mostly subjected to your relationship to him. There were two available intern positions at The Hawkin Post, and you were filling one of them without going through the normal selection process, so he would only give you this to you if you were willing to earn less than the other intern.

So, you said yes, because you were confident enough that the terms would change eventually. All the advantages were on your side, and most importantly, you knew that you could do this. You’d only have to come to the office twice a week, which was not too far from campus and very close to your home. Your reading pace was fast enough to hand in your reviews on time, all you had to do was make sure that you’d keep up with your college reading, and if you managed to do this for the rest of the term maybe you’d end up with a permanent part-time position by the end of summer.

You smiled to yourself once you parked outside the building on your first day. The Hawkins Post had always been like a second home to you, you still had the memory of your grandfather bringing you to work with him on a distant day of your childhood. He’d be proud of you, so would be your mother, who you missed dearly.

That hopeful mood was only managed to be affected by one person. You jumped slightly at the knock on your car’s window as you undid your seatbelt.

‘Hi, dear.’ Joyce Byers said as you looked back at her confused.

You frowned slightly, fighting the urge of rolling your eyes as you stepped out of the car. Her hair was tangled and a bit messy, and she had a few drops of coffee staining her wrinkled shirt, next to the folder she held against her chest. As much as you tried not to, you couldn’t help but cringe.

‘Hi, Mrs Byers.’ You simply said as you fixed your scarf.

‘You look as smart as always.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, you take it from your mother. From your father too, of course, but your mother was always so impeccable.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Byers.’ You replied as you started to walk towards the building.

‘I was hoping you could help me with a little thing.’ She said then.

Your frown turned deeper as you stopped in front of the building’s doors, almost fighting not to release the scoff stuck on your throat.

‘If I am able to.’ You said.

She smiled shyly as she started struggling to open the folder.

‘Well, as you know I’m currently unemployed and I was hoping that you’d might fax my CV to anyone who’d might call to list a job on the classified section.’

‘Huh.’ You said after a while. ‘Right.’

You took the document she offered you slowly, feeling the texture of the poor-quality paper under your fingers.

‘There’s a typo at the end of it.’ She said pointing at the paragraph at the bottom. ‘I had to fix it manually because it’s the only copy I have. But it would be really helpful if you faxed it or just mention my name if anyone calls.’

You nodded once. ‘I’ll try to remember to mention it to Robin today.’

‘Right.’ She smiled as she took a step back. ‘Thank you, dear.’

You bit the inside of your lip as you folded the piece of paper in two.

‘Have a good day, Mrs Byers.’

The little incident was forgotten once you’d managed to make yourself comfortable inside the office. Your desk was far from your dad’s office, but close enough to Robin’s desk that you could ask for help in the instance that you might needed it. It was a small cubicle, meant to be shared between you and the other intern, but it was something.

‘Oh.’ You heard an unfamiliar voice behind you as you were putting your things down. ‘Hi.’

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty girl with the curly brown hair in front of you. She stood straight and wore a dress of flowers under an adorable coat. Her nails were cleaned and polished but not painted, and her air was that of someone who still hadn’t discovered their full potential but couldn’t wait to. 

‘Hey.’

‘I’m Nancy.’ She offered her hand. ‘Nancy Wheeler. Are you the other intern? I’m not sure if—’

‘Yes.’ You said with a wide smile before you offered your name.

‘Oh my god.’ She took her hand to her mouth. ‘Are you not related to…?’

‘Yes. But my dad wants me to work for this, so he made me an intern so I could start from the bottom.’ You smiled confidently. ‘We’re not competing, though. Congratulations, I can’t imagine how much effort you must’ve put into your application.’

‘Y-Yes.’ Nancy said as she put a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m a bit nervous. Like, I don’t really know how I’m going to manage between college and this, but I’m also excited.’

‘Oh, there’s no need to be. The Hawkins Post it’s the most interesting place in Hawkins.’ You said as you grabbed her wrist. ‘C’mon, I’ll show you around.’

The first stop was the reception desk of course.

‘This is Robin.’ You said with a smile as Robin offered her hand to Nancy. ‘She’s the receptionist, but also the point of contact if you need any help at all. Robin’s like everyone’s older sister and mother. She knows everything.’

‘I don’t know everything.’ Robin said as she rolled her eyes.

‘She does.’ You insisted.

Nancy was better than anything you could’ve imagined. She was well-spoken and educated, she was majoring in journalism in Hawkins Community College and had a soft spot for detective novels with female protagonists. Her job offer didn’t include the possibility of writing articles just yet, but you knew that with a little bit of help she could become a great addition to The Hawkins Post. You simply had an eye for these things.

After introducing her to a few people, Robin talked you through the tasks of the day. You pouted a little bit at the idea of having to focus on archiving old documents while Nancy took care of the coffee order for everyone in office, but the last thing you wanted was having your father thinking you weren’t taking this seriously. So, when he walked in with Steve, Chrissy and Billy later that morning you were almost finished with your task.

‘Hi, daddy.’ You said with a small smile.

‘Hi, petal.’ Your father said distractedly.

‘Hey, trouble.’ Billy Hargrove said to you with a kind smile as you leaned against the desk. Your father had walked down the hallway towards his office, but Steve had stopped a few steps behind Billy the moment he spoke to you. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Organising some articles from the summer of 1954 to send to the library.’ You smiled.

‘Wait.’ His smile turned wider as he looked back at you. ‘Don’t tell me your father finally decided to hire you.’

‘Not exactly.’ You said with a satisfied smile. ‘I’ll be helping a couple of days a week and write a few unpaid articles here and there.’

‘Your review.’ He said sincerely. ‘I still have to read it.’

‘Oh, don’t bother.’ You shrugged as if it was nothing.

Billy opened his mouth to say something else, but Steve was tapping his arm with an unamused face.

‘Do you mind?’ He said to Billy. ‘We’ve got a meeting.’

‘Delivery!’ Someone called behind you.

All Steve did was nod at you with indifference.

‘That’s your call, intern.’

You couldn’t even think about what to say when he and Billy started to walk in the same direction your father had left. With your mouth still open and your cheeks on fire, you turned back to face whoever was repeating the word delivery over and over again.

‘Where’s Robin?’ You said under your breath as you walked towards the office entrance. Your eyes opened in surprise briefly as you found Jonathan Byers wearing his little ridiculous post-office uniform next to the empty reception desk.

‘Oh.’ His eyes lit up at the sight of you. ‘Hey. How’s it going?’

‘Hi, Jonathan.’ You simply said as you opened your palm, so he’d give you the clipboard.

‘I didn’t know you worked here.’ He said with a sincere smile.

‘I didn’t know you worked for the post-office.’ You said indifferently as you signed the delivery form.

‘Yeah, it’s kind of a recent thing.’ He shrugged as he piled the boxes over Robin’s desk. ‘Do you know if your dad got my pictures?’

‘Pictures?’ You stood awkwardly next to the desk.

‘Yeah, for the article about the flood.’ He said softly, as if he was regretting mentioning it. ‘I was hoping to make some cash from them.’

‘Uh, I don’t know about any pictures.’ You said as you thought about your encounter with Jonathan’s mother that morning. ‘Or any article. I actually don’t get a lot of updates here about anything if I’m honest with you. I don’t even know what stage of the next issue we’re on.’

‘That’s alright.’ He said as he grabbed the clipboard. He nodded once at you before giving you a polite smile. ‘Have a good day.’

When lunchtime finally came you were able to hang out with Nancy again. You sat together on the café as you talked about books and college. She was so proper and easy to talk to you couldn’t wait to go out shopping or lend her your favourite novel.

‘I’m actually so excited for the next few months.’ She said enthusiastically as she had a sip of her coffee. ‘Today I was refilling the stapler in your father’s office, and I was like Oh my god, Nancy. You work at a newspaper!’

‘Isn’t it cool?’ You agreed. ‘I’m so happy daddy hired you!’

‘Me too. It’s been such a remarkable day.’ She giggled for a second before she looked at you shyly. ‘I don’t want to sound silly, but I even talked to a cute boy this morning inside the elevator when I was asked to bring the second order of coffee.’

‘What?’ You leaned in as you grabbed her hands. ‘Tell me everything.’

‘Well,’ Nancy blushed under you stare and you thought it was adorable. ‘I was trying not to lose my balance because I was carrying the coffee tray and those doughnuts Robin said the senior writers like and then the elevator opened and this—this cute guy walked out, and I was so stupid and so nervous that I dropped the bag of doughnuts!’

‘So, what did you do?’ You asked mortified.

‘Well, that’s the thing.’ Nancy said. ‘He said he’d drive back to the Dunkin’ Donuts for me, and he did! Of course I had to give your dad the coffees first, but I told him that I had left the doughnuts in my car and turns out Jonathan made sure to get the warm ones that came straight out of the oven.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Everyone in the meeting room seemed so pleased.’

‘Jonathan.’ You simply said as you sat back. Nancy’s eyes lingered on the way your hands had abandoned hers. ‘You mean the delivery guy. From the post-office.’

‘You know him?’ She asked curiously.

‘Not exactly. I am aware of his existence.’ You simply said. Nancy stayed quiet for a second as you sighed. ‘Nancy, you’re not from Hawkins, so I must be honest with you. Most people here know each other. Jonathan is a very kind guy, but he’s a college dropout. Nothing wrong with that, but you, you are a college student. An individual with ambitions.’ Nancy nodded as she listened attentively. ‘People like us read Austen, Conan Doyle, Dickinson. People like Jonathan read comics.’

Nancy seemed to open her mouth for a second, but she abandoned her thought at the very last moment, nodding a couple of times.

‘I guess so.’ She murmured to herself before looking at you. ‘I do like smart guys.’

‘Well, there are more things to consider at the moment of choosing someone than just attraction. I should know about it, considering I love matching people, and I always succeed at it. Specially during this time of the year.’

Nancy smiled softly at the heart garlands over the café’s counter before her eyes fell on your again.

‘Okay.’ She sat straighter on her seat before entwining her hands over the table as she looked at you seriously. ‘What else should I consider?’

‘You need someone who represents you.’ You said carefully. ‘You’re a well-read, educated girl who must be seen with a well-read, educated person. Maybe someone older, but not necessarily. Are you only into men or do you like girls too? Any preference?’

‘Uh, only men.’ She said before she blinked repeatedly. ‘That I’m aware of.’

‘Excellent.’ You smiled. ‘Clarity is very important when it comes to dating. Just keep your standards high and when you find someone interesting, I’ll take care of the rest.’

‘Wow.’ She giggled again as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘You’re like, so confident. I bet you must be really good at picking your boyfriends.’

‘Oh, no.’ You laughed shyly at her flattery. ‘No, I don’t make matches for myself, that would spoil the fun. Besides, I don’t know very well where I stand in the sexuality spectrum. I just enjoy using my charm for the benefit of other people. I’m on a mission to find romance even in the most ordinary people. But you are not ordinary, Nancy Wheeler. So, I must be extra careful.’

A week passed and you were still getting used to balancing all your responsibilities between work and college. The second review made it to the paper, and you couldn’t help but read it and reread it again as you sat on your desk next to Nancy.

You only lifted your eyes when you heard the odd sound of Steve’s laugh echoing through the office. Frowning subtly, you peeked over your desk to find him resting against the desk as he talked to Chrissy Cunningham, the other senior writer. Chrissy had always seemed to you like an average writer, nothing out of the ordinary, which was why you didn’t understand why she oversaw your reviews. There were a few editing choices you had discussed with Nancy earlier that day, things she had changed that you didn’t like, verbs and stylistic choices that were part of your unique voice. Your eyes lingered through them again as you bit the inside of your lip.

‘Stop.’ Nancy finally said as she held your wrist. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

‘I just don’t understand why she’d make it sound that way.’ You simply said as you folded the newspaper and put it aside.

‘Maybe you should talk to her.’ Nancy said. ‘Ask for her feedback. Maybe you two can go through the editing process together next time.’

‘That would only make me look like a brat.’ You said as you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘I’m just not good at accepting criticism. I need to do better. But anyways, how was your assignment? Did Steve have a look at it?’

‘Actually,’ Another voice interfered then. Billy was resting against the wall of the little cubicle next to you. He placed a sheet of paper over the desk as he looked from you to Nancy. ‘I asked Steve if I could supervise the assignment this time.’

‘And how was it?’ You asked enthusiastically as you grabbed the piece of paper, looking from Nancy to Billy. ‘Isn’t she so incredibly talented?’

‘She is.’ Billy agreed as he smiled at you. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me that you know that, trouble. You’ve got an amazing eye for these things.’

Billy gave you two another smile before leaving, and you seemed so pleased you had almost forgotten the fact that Chrissy had said something else that made Steve laugh again.

‘Look at that.’ You leaned towards Nancy as she read Billy’s annotations. ‘What does it say there?’

‘Good use of ethical criticism.’ Nancy softly said as she kept reading his notes. ‘This is very helpful.’

You skimmed a little bit through his notes, smiling pleasantly to yourself.

‘“Impressive work”?’ You spoke. ‘That’s so encouraging! I didn’t think Billy could be such a supportive mentor.’ Then you gasped out of sudden, almost making Nancy jump as you held her wrist. ‘Nancy. He wanted to read your assignment.’

‘I-I suppose.’ She blushed a little bit under your stare as you gave her an obvious look. ‘What?’

‘You made an impression.’ You said then. ‘He’s absolutely intrigued by you.’

‘Is he?’

‘He likes you.’ You said and then you giggled. ‘Oh my god, it’s so obvious.’

‘Likes me?’ Nancy said shyly. ‘But he’s a senior writer.’

‘And you’re a talented intern with a promising career in front of you.’

Nancy opened her mouth to say something, but Steve had walked to your cubicle then and you two had to shut up quickly to keep him from overhearing you.

‘Everything alright here?’ He said seriously as he stood with his hands in his pockets.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his air of superiority.

‘Delivery!’

‘Nancy, could you please get that while Robin’s in the toilet?’ Steve asked as he took a step inside the cubicle.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Nancy was already standing up as she smiled shyly at Steve.

‘This is for you.’ He offered you an envelope once Nancy had left. You took it absently as you stood up, following her silhouette with your eyes as she went to greet Jonathan. Steve silently followed your stare as he frowned. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yes.’ You looked back at him before stealing another look at the exchange between Nancy and Jonathan. ‘What is it?’

‘A letter.’ He said. ‘From Eddie Munson. Do you have the next review?’

‘The writer?’

‘From The Indiana Daily, yes.’ He said. ‘Don’t let it get to your head.’

‘Did you read it?’ You said as you took the letter out of the envelope.

‘I didn’t have another option.’ He said. ‘It was directed to me so I would give it to you.’

‘Do you know Eddie Munson?’ You said with disbelief as your eyes scanned through the writer’s words of praise. ‘He says he’s impressed at the impact my reviews have had on the people of Hawkins. I’m telling people what to read.’

‘I know. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.’ He said to you without blinking. ‘The next review? Please?’

You ignored his tone as you kept reading, taking the papers out of your desk distractedly. Steve grabbed them as soon as you offered them to him while you sat back against the desk with a little smile lifting your lips.

‘What’s this?’ He said then.

You lifted your eyes to find Steve reading through the thin piece of paper that had mixed up with your things.

‘Oh.’ You said as you stood straight. ‘Joyce Byers gave it to me about a week ago. I completely forgot about it.’

‘Huh.’ He said as he read through it before he looked back at you. ‘What were you going to do with it?’

You mouth opened partly, but there were no words coming from it as you looked back at his serious stare.

‘I’m gonna keep it.’ He finally said as he nodded once at you.

You felt a bit weird when he left, as if he had caught you doing something wrong, but you didn’t really want to know what. Nancy’s laugh echoed through the entrance as you left the cubicle, and she took her hand to her mouth quickly as she realised how ridiculous she was being. Behind her, Jonathan gave you a polite smile as you looked from him to her.

‘Can I show you something?’ You said as you held the letter in the air.

‘Sure.’ She said before nervously smiling at Jonathan. ‘It was nice to see you.’

‘Have a good day.’ He said as he observed Nancy’s figure walk back to where you were. Yet your eyes stayed on him for a second as you both walked back inside the cubicle.

That weekend Steve brought a different girl home. She was in law school, and as any other of the girls he brought home, she was intelligent but quiet. They were all quiet no matter how many times you tried to bring up innocent subjects that they might wanted to agree or disagree with. Most times your father ended up tending to a call or immersing himself into reading while you and Steve got into yet another fight about why you weren’t at some party at college or the political undertones in Romeo and Juliet.

‘All I’m saying is you’re looking at it from the most basic point of view.’ You said then. ‘It’s a tragedy. And the tragedy itself it’s not the fact that they’re lovers who die.’

‘They’re thirteen.’ Steve laughed. ‘It’s ironic. It’s a comedy, dimples. These kids don’t know anything about love.’

‘Just because they don’t know anything about love it doesn’t mean it’s ironic.’ You said then. ‘It’s sad. How many thirteen years old die because of street violence nowadays only in America? And why do they die? Because this is the country they’ve inherited from their parents. How’s that not the same thing?’

Steve sat back as he released a deep breath. Your eyes were looking for it, that little sign, that subtle smile that would grant you victory. But then he did something that caught you out of guard, he looked from you to your dad and simply asked:

‘Did you have a look at Joyce Byers’ resume?’

Your mouth opened partly as your dad nodded absently.

‘Yes.’ He said. ‘She starts on Monday.’

‘What?’ You said under your breath before you cleared your voice. ‘Doing what?’

‘She’s going to be kind of a general assistant.’ Your dad closed the newspaper as he looked back at you. ‘She’ll learn how to work the archive, the fax, the photocopy machine… just basic stuff.’

‘Basic stuff.’ You repeated as you frowned. ‘Why do you need people to know basic stuff in an office like The Hawkins Post?’

‘Because this newspaper is in favour of the people.’ Steve said.

‘Because Robin might leave us soon.’ Your father said at the same time.

‘What?’ You jumped. ‘Why? Robin can’t leave us. She can’t leave me. Robin is Robin. Robin’s been Robin since she used to babysit me.’  

Your father looked at you with a sight of resignation before his eyes fell on Steve.

‘I need you to keep quiet about this.’ Steve said as he looked back at you.

‘Can I have a bit more of pepper?’

‘Not now, Gina.’

‘My name’s Giselle.’ She said then.

Steve couldn’t look back at her though. All he could do was stare at you while you tried to bite the smile that was taking over your face.

‘Giselle.’ He said after a while as he held her hand, looking back at the girl with an apologetic smile as he passed her the pepper. ‘Of course, I’m sorry. This is a bit of a delicate subject.’

‘Is this your friend who’s thinking about getting pregnant?’ Giselle said then.

For some reason unknown to you, your eyes watered right that second. You took a deep breath as you smiled from Steve to your dad, excusing yourself as you stood up from the table.

‘Petal—’

‘Sorry, dad.’ You said as you walked out of the dining room.

You took a deep breath as you slowly climbed the stairs to your room, biting your lip as the absurd tears fell down your face. You didn’t know why this was affecting you so much, it was good news that Robin was trying to conceive with Vicky, it was amazing news in fact. But for some reason it felt so unfair, so bitter.

‘Dimples.’

Steve had somehow caught up to you and now you were both standing outside your bedroom’s door. You felt the embarrassment wash over you as you looked back at him with a teary face.

‘I don’t have dimples.’ You said. ‘Not anymore.’

‘But you used to, when you were five.’ He said as he stood in front of you with his hands inside his pockets. ‘I remember.’

‘I don’t care.’ You said with a hoarse voice as you lingered outside your room. ‘What do you want, Steve?’

‘I need you to promise not to tell anyone about what Giselle just mentioned.’

‘You told some girl whose name you couldn’t even remember but you didn’t tell me?’

‘It slipped, okay?’ He said as if he was tired of dealing with you. ‘Giselle doesn’t even know Robin. I didn’t want to tell you like this, I shouldn’t even be the one telling you. This is Robin and Vicky’s thing, but it’s still a secret so please keep it that way.’

‘Okay.’ You said after a while.

‘I know you’re a bit possessive about Robin, but this is a good thing, dimples.’

You scoffed then.

‘I’m not possessive about Robin.’ You said. ‘I just love her. She’s like an older sister to me. She always took care of me.’

‘Oh, please, dimples. That’s not true.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Besides, she’s not leaving you. She’s only thinking about having a baby.’

‘It is true.’ You crossed your arms over your chest. ‘And I’m happy for her, it just feels like a grownup decision, that’s all.’

‘I think you’re projecting.’

‘Excuse me?’

Steve stayed quiet for a second, a little smile of condescendence lifting his lips as you looked at him with the outmost hurt.

‘You know what I mean.’ He spoke. ‘This happens to you every time you have a girlfriend. You obsess over them. With Robin you wanted to play the daughter, with Nancy you want to play the mom.’

‘Nancy and I just met, of course we’re obsessed with each other.’

‘I think you’re more obsessed with the fact she’s obsessed with you.’ He said amused, as he took a step towards you.

‘I’m sorry, Steve.’ You blinked repeatedly as you shook your head. ‘But I’m tired and you have a date downstairs. Can you just leave me alone?’

Steve bit the inside of his cheek as he looked back at you, until he finally nodded after a while.

‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’ He admitted.

‘I’m okay.’ You said. ‘I’ll get over it. And I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Thank you.’ He said as he lingered on his place.

‘Goodnight.’

He was still standing there as you walked inside your room.

A couple of weeks later Chrissy called in sick. You were on your desk writing yet another letter to Eddie, who in the last three weeks had become kind of a platonic pen pal who enjoyed discussing your reviews and any general comment on the books you were reading for college. His letters were bringing you so much joy that seeing Jonathan walking into the office with the mail filled you with happiness rather than annoyance.

If only was the same with his mother.

Joyce Byers was probably the most annoying woman you knew and now you had to deal with her twice a week. She would always walk into your cubicle with her apologetic smile saying the same thing. Sorry dear, can I ask you a favour? Can you teach me how to turn on the printer? Can you teach me how to direct this call to your father’s office? Can you tell me where they keep the stationary?

Sometimes you’d manage to brush it off, especially when Robin sat behind the reception counter. But at least twice a day, Joyce would knock on the little cubicle wall before she walked in to ask you yet another useless favour. That afternoon she was about to ask you something new when Steve appeared behind the cubicle’s wall.

‘Everything okay?’ He asked Joyce before he looked back at you.

‘Oh, hi, Steve.’ She said with nervous laugh. ‘See, I’ve been trying to start the vacuum cleaner all morning, but I don’t know what I’m doing wrong and there’s no one that can help, really so—’

‘Joyce, why don’t you take a little break downstairs, huh?’ He placed his hand on her shoulder as he gave her a gentle smile. ‘Go get yourself a coffee, dimples and I need to talk for a bit. Forget the vacuum cleaner.’

Joyce cluelessly nodded and gave you a little smile, that you reluctantly returned before she left. Steve leaned back against the side of your desk as you kept on writing your letter to Eddie.

‘I need to ask you a favour.’ He finally said. ‘Is that work?’

‘It doesn’t concern you.’ You said indifferently as you folded the letter before looking at him. ‘What do you need?’

‘It does concern me if you’re not doing what you’re supposed to do.’

‘I was taking a break from writing the next issue’s review while taking a break from writing my Publishing essay. What do you need?’

Steve’s eyes studied you for a second before his eyes landed on Nancy’s chair.

‘Chrissy is sick. She was supposed to oversee Nancy’s assignment this week, but apparently whatever she caught is kind of bad, so she won’t be here until next Monday.’ Then he licked his lips as he studied your face. ‘I was thinking that maybe your assignment this week could be editing Nancy’s article. If you two work together successfully, I’ll ask your father to publish it in the next issue.’

You looked at him with a frown as you leaned back slightly.

‘Is this your way of apologising for what you said the other day?’

‘Is that a yes or a no, writer?’

You looked at him for a second before you nodded.

‘It’s a yes.’

‘Great.’ He stood straight. ‘Tell Nancy as soon as she comes back from her break. Fifteen hundred words on my desk by tomorrow morning, proofread and edited accordingly. Good luck.’

The next day, as promised, the article was on top of Steve’s desk. You and Nancy were talking enthusiastically as you sipped on some coffee next to the photocopy machine when Billy walked in with the article in his hand.

‘This is excellent.’ He said with a childish smile on his face as he looked from you to Nancy. ‘It’s absurd how good it is.’

‘Well, it was excellently written.’ You said as you smiled at Nancy.

Nancy blushed softly under her proud smile, shrugging casually while she took another sip of her coffee.

‘You two should be very proud.’ He said as he looked at you. ‘I’m gonna frame it once is published.’

Nancy and you laughed then.

‘Frame it?’ You said in between giggles. ‘Billy, it’s not even that long.’

‘It’s just so… thought-provoking.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m proud of you, trouble. You two might end up in The Times one day.’

‘Can you imagine?’ Nancy said.

‘Of course I can. You’re a great writer.’ You said with a cheeky smile as your fingers delicately took the article from Billy’s hands. ‘Here’s the proof.’

Later that day you two decided to have lunch together somewhere else. You and Nancy drove around Hawkins listening to music in your car while she took pictures with her camera, until you made it to a nice little café where you were able to celebrate that you had finished the article.

‘I’m telling you; I think Billy’s crush on you was getting a little out of control this morning.’ You said.

‘You think so?’ She said with a shy smile. ‘I mean, that thing about framing the article was a bit too much wasn’t it?’

‘I think it was so stupid it sounded actually romantic.’ You said as you ate the last bite of your sandwich.

‘Hm.’ She said. ‘He’s cute. But I’m not sure about this happening while I’m working there. The internship ends at the beginning of March, so if he still likes me by then maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I could ask for his number.’

‘I agree.’ You nodded. ‘He will totally say yes. Unless…’

Nancy stopped speaking as she looked back at you.

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless he can’t help himself and he ends up doing it before that.’ You shrugged. ‘Like on Valentine’s Day.’

‘Oh.’ She giggled. ‘Oh. I-I don’t know. That seems too perfect to happen to someone like me.’

‘Nancy, please!’ You said. ‘One must believe in romance, or else romance won’t happen.’

‘That’s true, I suppose.’ She said as she cleaned her hands with some napkins. ‘Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you…’

‘Yes?’

‘I know it’s none of my business at all, but is there anything going on with the guy from the letters?’

‘The guy?’ You laughed amusedly. ‘Nancy, Eddie Munson is probably the most renowned journalist in the whole state of Indiana.’

Nancy seemed to blush as she crossed her arms over the table.

‘But do you like him?’

‘I’ve never seen this man in person.’ You smiled cheekily before you shook your head. ‘I don’t know. I know he’s handsome though, for the pictures I’ve seen. He’s very clever, too. He makes me laugh and he makes me think. I like that.’

‘It does sound like you like him.’

You shook your head.

‘I don’t know, Nance. I’ve never seen myself as the dating kind.’ You bit your lip. ‘But maybe I want to… you know, be liked. By someone specifically like him.’

‘I think that’s nice.’ Nancy squeezed your hands over the table. ‘Don’t you think is nice?’

‘I guess.’ You smiled before you two giggled together.

The next weekend it wasn’t Heather or Giselle. It was Nisha, a gorgeous, brown-eyed creature that engaged in conversation with your father, complimented your dress and laughed sincerely at Steve’s jokes. It was worse than the previous two simply because she was everything anyone could dream of and yet the twisting feeling on your stomach persisted through the whole meal.

You smiled softly as she asked you questions about your college course and your major until you mentioned that you had been writing book reviews for your father’s newspaper.

‘That sounds so cool.’ Nisha said. ‘I’ll make sure to buy the next issue to read your review and, who knows, I might buy the book myself to see if I agree with you or not.’

You smiled shyly, equally grateful and hurt by her flattery until Steve intercepted.

‘Don’t waste your time, Nish.’ That unbearable smile took over his mouth as he rolled his eyes. ‘It’s all romance. Little dimples can’t read anything else.’

‘I absolutely can read other genres besides romance.’ You said a bit too defensively. ‘I do it for college all the time. I just have a preference for romance and most importantly a talent for reviewing it critically.’

‘You do have a talent, but you don’t apply it effectively.’ Steve shrugged as he took a sip of his drink. ‘You’re the smartest person I know, and you keep reading all that garbage almost addictively. All those books do is sell agendas and reduce gender roles. They’re not subversive or revolutionary in any way. The best romance classics are not classics because they were romantic, dimples, but because they talked about class, inequality, colonialism…’

‘Why do you assume I don’t know all of this?’ You scoffed. ‘The whole point of those books is that love persisted despite any social construct, any man-made structure built to destroy it or transgress it. That’s what love does, Steve. It persists. That’s the truth universally acknowledged. And that’s a principle every single novel of any genre works with. Every story, no matter how disturbing or experimental, it’s about love.’ You scoffed. ‘But what do you know about that, anyways? You flirt with Chrissy at work, you bring a new girl to dinner every week and you got your degree in English just to end up writing on the economy section of the newspaper.’

‘Okay.’ Your father finally said as he closed the paper. ‘Enough reading for tonight. Nisha, I can call you a taxi unless you want to stay for dessert.’

Nisha looked down at her dress with a little smile before she looked back at your father.

‘A taxi sounds like a good idea right now.’ She said biting the inside of her cheek.

Your father stole a look from you two on opposite sides of the table as he stood up and Nisha followed him.

‘Was that really necessary?’ Steve finally said. ‘Painting me like an asshole that doesn’t believe in love in front of my date?’

‘As if you weren’t going to dump her in a week or so.’ You rolled your eyes.

‘I really like Nisha, you know.’

‘I’ve heard you really like Chrissy too.’

‘What’s with this thing about Chrissy, tonight?’ He let out a scoff-like laugh. ‘Yeah, so what if I like her too?’

You let out a laugh of disbelief as you shook your head.

‘You literally just proved my point.’

‘I really can’t wait until the day you go out into the real world and see how different real relationships are from fictional ones.’ This time when you rolled your eyes Steve clenched his jaw. ‘Real relationships thrive in— in disagreement, and patience and struggle, dimples. They challenge you emotionally and intellectually. They don’t grow in the imaginary, and they definitely don’t start off through letters and deceptive flattery.’

‘What are you—’

‘Hey.’ Nisha’s voice kept you from proceeding. She was standing next to the dining room’s door, wearing her coat and bag. ‘My taxi’s here, so… I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘It was nice to meet you, Nisha.’ You said softly. ‘I’m sorry about tonight.’

She gave you an empathetic smile as Steve stood up.

‘I’ll walk you out.’ He said.

Then you were left alone with your thoughts, sitting in front of your half-eaten dinner as you wondered if the novel you’d read that night would be romantic enough to take your mind off real life’s disappointments.

It was Valentine’s Day, and you were absolutely sure that this would be another year of a successfully arranged match. Billy had spent the rest of the week constantly complimenting Nancy’s article, he even suggested a few more points that could be added once it was selected for printing, given at least an extra five hundred words should be added before printing. The three of you spent about an hour discussing how this or that point could be expanded, and Nancy seemed so enthusiastic about it that even your heart beat fast at the idea of what could happen today for her.

‘Delivery!’ Jonathan called that morning. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day!’

Your heart skipped a beat at the voice of Jonathan, feeling suddenly flushed as you hoped that there was a letter— maybe even a card for you in the mail.

‘This one’s for you.’ Jonathan said as he gave you the envelope you were waiting for.

‘Is there anything for me, Jonny?’ Chrissy asked Jonathan before giving you a subtle smile.

‘I don’t think so, Chrissy.’ You heard him say as you opened the envelope. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘S alright.’ She shrugged as she turned to you, whispering. ‘Can I ask—’

‘Do you know if Nancy’s here today?’ Jonathan asked you then. Your fingers stopped your motions as you looked back at him.

‘Why?’

‘I… just… wanted to say hi to her.’ He simply said as he gave you his usual polite smile.

‘She’s at her desk.’ You said as you looked back at the cubicle, where Billy stood talking to her. ‘But she’s really busy as you can see.’

‘M just gonna go say hi.’ He simply said as he walked past you.

You were about to move when a pair of familiar hands squeezed your arm.

‘Morning, dear.’ Mrs Byers said. You bit your uncomfortable smile as you looked back at her. ‘I just wanted to ask you a little favour, the fax machine’s making this very strange sound, and I don’t know if it’s something I pressed, or maybe some sort of thing that I’m doing wrong…’

You stole a quick look at Jonathan as you walked away with his mother. He was talking to Nancy, and there was no sight of Billy anymore, somehow this gave you a bad feeling.

The fax issue turned out to be a real issue, and Robin had booked the day off for her anniversary, so she wasn’t here to sort it out. You had spent about an hour trying to find the problem, but you were completely unable to as you searched for the number of a technician on the office’s address book.

After two hours of hearing Joyce Byers rambling, you were tired, hungry and moody, and you still hadn’t been able to read Eddie’s letter. When you walked back into the cubicle Nancy seemed quieter than usual, focused on reading a book as she drank from a cup of coffee.

‘I’m sorry, Nance.’ You said as you sat down next to her. ‘Mrs Byers kept me busy for an eternity.’

‘That’s fine.’ She said softly as she closed her book. ‘There hasn’t been a lot to do. I asked Chrissy if she needed any help, but she seems quite stressed today and I didn’t want to bother her.’

‘Hey.’ You squeezed her wrist as you looked for her eyes. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Well, the strangest thing did happen earlier.’ She said as she looked back at you. ‘Jonathan asked me out on a date.’

‘He did what?’ You looked at her shocked. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said no.’ She said softly. ‘Because, well, I thought about what you said but also, I didn’t want to lead him on if I knew that I liked Billy, you know. But then…’

‘Oh, no.’ You said as she looked away almost embarrassedly. Taking her hands in yours, you searched for her eyes. ‘Nancy, what happened?’

‘Well,’ She said as she grabbed a red envelope from the desk. You frowned as soon as you read your name written on it. ‘Billy left this for you.’

You blinked a couple of times as you took the card out of the envelope. It wasn’t anything fancy, just one simply heart with the words BE MINE at the front.

Happy Valentines, trouble.

Yours,

BH.

‘This is ridiculous.’ You said as you looked back at her. ‘He couldn’t… Nancy. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. I can’t believe I was wrong, I’m never wrong.’

‘S okay.’ She shrugged sadly. ‘I’m used to it. I was never the pretty friend while I was at school.’

‘Don’t say that.’ You rested your hand on her shoulder, rubbing your thumb against the soft fabric of her dress. You were about to speak again when a knock on the door startled you two. ‘What do you want Steve?’

‘Literally just a ten-minute meeting in my office.’ He said then.

‘Can it wait a little bit?’ You asked softly as you stood up next to Nancy.

‘If it could I’d tell you, but Chrissy just left because she felt bad again and I need to cover her story before the issue prints tomorrow, so I don’t have a lot of time.’

You took a deep breath, nodding softly before you and Nancy followed him towards his office.

‘Okay.’ He finally said when he sat behind the desk with his hands entwined in front of him. You and Nancy sat on the other side, expectantly. She still looked sad, and you were dead worried as you searched for her eyes. ‘I’ll try to be quick about this. I want you both to know this is not personal at all, but the paper has decided not to include the article in the next issue.’

‘What?’ You said under your breath. Nancy looked pale under her freckles as she looked back at Steve, who gave her an apologetic smile.

‘As I said, it’s not personal.’ He said to both of you before his eyes fell on Nancy. ‘You did a great job. It’s a well-constructed article.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You said then. ‘Dad knows how much effort we—Nancy put into it.’

‘I agree.’ Steve said to you before his attention fell back on Nancy. ‘It’s got to do more with what fits and what doesn’t fit in the next issue. Rejection is a natural part of this job; it happens to everyone at every single stage of it.’

Nancy nodded softly then. You heard her sniff once as you sat back on your seat, thinking about how unfair all of this was, how Nancy didn’t deserve any of this, when your eye caught the sight of Billy’s hair through the office’s window.

‘I’m sorry, can I be excused for a second?’ You asked Steve as you sat better on your chair.

He stayed quietly surprised at your calm tone before he nodded once, eyes following the way you squeezed Nancy’s shoulder once before walking out. Behind you, you could hear him trying to encourage her about the article, but now you were too focused on Billy Hargrove to listen to their conversation.

‘Can I speak to you for a second?’ You walked inside Billy’s office without waiting for his response.

‘Hey, Valentine’s.’ He was smiling back at you as he spun on his chair confidently.

‘What the fuck, Billy.’ You said as you stood in front of his desk. ‘Why would you do that to Nancy!’

‘You mean handing my article?’

‘Your article?’ You asked perplexed. ‘Is that the reason why hers is not making it?’

‘Listen, trouble.’ He said calmly. ‘She’s a good writer; she’s just still inexperienced and your dad knows it, which is why he chose mine. If it makes you feel better I’m sure she can post it to Teen Magazine and they’ll take it.’

‘I…’ You shook your head as you looked back at him. ‘But you spent the last week saying how good of an article it was. You haven’t stopped complimenting Nancy, and you— you left a card of my desk?’

Billy laughed perplexed for a second.

‘I think you got things a bit mixed up here, trouble.’ He said as he smiled at you. ‘I’ve been flirting with you since you started because I like you. And you’ve been encouraging me to keep going which is why I gave you the card.’

‘No, I haven��t.’ You said angry as you took a step back. ‘And you haven’t either. It’s Nancy that you like, you— you said that thing about framing her article the other day!’

He laughed. ‘Because you edited it, silly.’

‘That doesn’t make any fucking sense.’ You said hysterically as you shook your head.

‘Trouble, look at me.’ He said as he stood up from his desk, walking around it to stand in front of you. ‘You and I, we make sense. You come from a family of journalists, I come from a family of writers. When you graduate, we’ll have the same Alma Mater. Nancy’s a very kind girl, but she doesn’t have what it takes, and she also goes to Community College.’

‘What’s the problem with that!?’ You crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Nancy is an incredibly well-educated girl; she can analyse Chaucer in ways none of my classmates can.’

‘That might be impressive for some sort of merciful academic who’s interested in some charity case, but not for me, trouble. People like you and I understand each other. People like Nancy spend their lives constantly starstruck by people like us.’

You blinked your tears away at the effect of Billy’s words. It wasn’t like that, and you knew it. It wasn’t like that at all. Nancy was smart and capable; she deserved the opportunities that Billy gave for granted, what made you angry was the fact that you had made her believe she deserved someone like him, because she didn’t. She deserved someone so much better.

‘Don’t touch me.’ You said when he tried to take a step towards you. ‘Forget about Valentine’s and don’t speak to me again.’

Without Steve’s permission, you left earlier that evening. He was probably going to reprimand you as soon as he saw you at home and you knew it, which is way you drove all the way to campus to stay away from the newspaper for the next couple of days until you had to come back again.

It wasn’t until after dinner that you had the time to read Eddie’s letter. As always, he asked you a few questions about the office, he wondered about your views on a few of the articles that Chrissy and Steve had published in the previous issue.

You didn’t always agree with his insights but that was the most fascinating part, how you both managed to debate politely. You were so immersed in the point he was making that you had to reread the last paragraph to double-check that you had understood right.

I can’t wait to have this conversation in person next week when I visit your father at his office, he had written.

No one in the office was as ecstatic as you and Nancy by the news of Eddie’s visit. You had made Nancy promise not to mention anyone anything about your little crush on him, yet there was a part of you that thought maybe Robin suspected something by the way she answered your questions about the writer.

‘So how long has it been since the last time he was here?’ You asked casually as you helped her organise the paper clips.

‘About two months.’ She simply said. ‘Your father commissions him with politics articles every now and then and Chrissy assists him with the fact-checking.’

‘Huh.’ You said casually as you pretended to fix the position of the pot plant over her desk. ‘Daddy never mentioned it.’

‘Maybe he didn’t think it was that important for you.’

‘It’s not important.’

‘I bet it’s not, honey.’ She said with a tendered smile. ‘Listen, why don’t you do me a favour and call this number to confirm the restaurant booking for tonight?’

‘Sure.’ You shrugged as you grabbed the telephone.

The line beeped on the other side when the elevator’s doors opened. Your heart skipped at beat for a second before you recognised the face of Mrs Byers as she walked in with the mail. The image seemed almost strange as she engaged in conversation with Robin, leaving a few letters on the desk for her before she walked past you two.

‘I wonder what happened to Jonathan.’ Robin softly said with an air of sadness. ‘I haven’t seen him this week.’

‘I’m going to make this call from my desk.’ You said as you hung up the phone before you gave her a small smile.

‘Do you think there’s going to be a lot of people tonight?’ Nancy asked later inside the cubicle.

‘Just the people from the office, I suppose.’ You said as your eyes got lost in this week’s romance novel.

‘I don’t really like social events very much.’ She admitted. ‘I get really— Oh.’

You lifted your eyes when she stopped speaking, and the heat rose to your cheeks as soon as you noticed the figure standing next to your desk.

‘Hello.’ Eddie said to both of you as you stood up.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly before you found your composure. ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

You lingered on your place for a second before he opened his arms to give you a friendly hug. Your heart was beating hard against your chest as you were engulfed by his peppermint cologne.

‘I can say the same.’ He said with a smile before offering a hand to your friend. ‘And you must be Nancy. My pen pal here hasn’t stopped talking about you in our letters.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Nancy said shyly as she shook his hand.

‘Well, I hope you’re hungry because somebody mentioned we’ll be having drinks and food tonight at my favourite restaurant in Hawkins.’

‘Drinks?’ Nancy said under her breath.

‘We’re actually starving!’ You said enthusiastically as you took your coat. ‘Let’s go.’

Nancy’s knees were almost shaking when you two walked inside the restaurant. You had to fight your need to roll your eyes at her nerves as she offered her ID to the guy outside. Your father couldn’t make it that night, so Steve was set to drive you and Nancy, which meant you could drink as much as you wished.

‘I think I’m going to throw up.’ She said.

‘Oh, no.’ Robin patted her back sweetly as she looked at her with arched eyebrows. ‘I hope you’re not getting that thing Chrissy had a week ago.’

‘I think it’s more—’

‘Hey, writer.’ Steve said to Nancy with a little smile as you walked together towards the table.

‘Hi, Steve.’ She replied shyly as you ignored him, too engrossed in a conversation with Eddie about the novel you were currently reading.

Not only was Eddie charming and attentive, but he also had a soft spot for romance literature and his remarks and observations only made you more fascinated with him as your conversations progressed. It was weird to like someone, but this thing was so much better in person than it had been in letters. He was charming, well-spoken and incredibly kind as he sat down next to you on the restaurant, talking enthusiastically about a book he was thinking about start writing soon.

The table filled with chatter and joy as the waiters brought the food and drinks. Your enthusiasm only grew with the influence of alcohol as you found yourself feeling flirtier than before. You were so happy you didn’t even care that Billy was there, sitting silently at the end of the table.

Nancy’s grasp of your hand about half an hour later made you turn to her. She seemed a bit pale under your stare as you frowned softly, before your eyes fell on the faces of Chrissy and Joyce, who were joining the table.

‘Sorry we’re so late.’ Mrs Byers said as you fought you need to roll your eyes.

‘We had a problem with the printer.’ Said Chrissy as she sat with a satisfied smile in front of you.

‘Are you okay?’ You said as your eyes fell back on Nancy.

‘I don’t…’ She started. ‘I don’t know. I’m not really used to drinking alcohol.’

‘I specifically asked them for a virgin daiquiri.’ Steve intervened, sitting next to her.

‘I know.’ Nancy smiled weakly. ‘I heard you, but maybe the waiter got confused.’

‘What’s the problem?’ Eddie said as he squeezed your hand under the table.

‘Nancy doesn’t react very well to alcohol.’ You said worriedly before you looked back at her. ‘Maybe we should call you a taxi.’

‘A taxi?’ Eddie intervened. ‘Absolutely not. I can drop her home now.’

‘Really?’ Nancy asked.

‘So soon?’ You asked then as you looked back at him.

‘Sorry, babe.’ He said softly. ‘I have to be in the city by eight.’

The heat rushed to your cheeks by the pet name, but you decided not to acknowledge it, nodding as the eyes of a few people fell on you. Eddie gave you a soft smile as he stood up from the table as Nancy did as well, promising to call you as soon as she was safe at home. You were left with a hard-beating heart and a disappointed look on your face as they left the restaurant together and Steve moved a seat next to you.

You hadn’t spoken a lot to each other since the day of the meeting in his office. A part of you was still mad at him for some reason, as it was mad at your father for not having chosen Nancy’s article.

Without Eddie the party suddenly seemed dull and boring. Billy didn’t like a lot of people in the office, while Steve got perfectly along with Chrissy and the unbearable Mrs Byers. It only meant you were left with Robin as the only object of your respect, but she was sitting too far to be able to establish a conversation with you.

It was so annoying that Eddie lived so far from Hawkins and that the stupid waiter had confused Nancy’s drink that you couldn’t help but say something when he brought the second round of drinks.

‘I just wanted to say, it’d be good if next time you were more careful.’ You said. ‘My friend suffers from social anxiety, and it only got worse because of the alcohol.’

‘I-I’m sorry, madam.’ The waiter frowned softly at you before he looked back at the rest of people in the table. ‘Thought it’s strange that the non-alcoholic cocktails got mixed up as they’re the ones with the yellow straw. I’ve got here three virgin daiquiris that I delivered to the table?’

‘Three?’

‘Yes.’ Mrs Byers intervened. ‘Chrissy and I are not drinking tonight, dear. I thought you weren’t either, since you were drinking the one with the yellow straw too.’

You could feel your cheeks getting hotter as you looked at the empty cocktail glass in front of you with the yellow straw, while a green one rested inside Nancy’s next to her untouched plate.

‘She probably just got confused.’ Steve said to the waiter as if it was nothing. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

You didn’t say anything else as the waiter offered everyone the dessert menus and you rejected it with no words, sitting in silence as the conversation resumed and the little embarrassing moment was forgotten.

‘Sorry that we’re having dessert this late, everyone.’ Mrs Byers said a bit later as she dived her spoon inside a chocolate mousse. ‘It’s my fault that Chrissy and I were late.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ Chrissy rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. ‘I was also extra slow today; I’m still recovering from feeling so fatigued last week.’

‘It was just the silly printer machine.’ Joyce said with a nervous laugh. ‘Besides, I didn’t want to bother Mr — because I had already bothered him this morning with the fax machine, and I didn’t want to ask him more than two favours. I know he’s a very busy man.’

You laughed sarcastically at the mention of your father as you looked back at her.

‘Oh, Mrs Byers, but when have you ever stopped at two?’

It took a few seconds for your smile to fall off your face as the table turned silent. An uncomfortable smile lifted Mrs Byers lips as she looked back at her dessert, but it didn’t make it to her eyes as you swallowed hard. For a few unbearable seconds it was only the sound of cutlery what filled the silence on the table.

‘Can you go start my car?’ Steve finally said as he placed his keys on the table. ‘Wait for me there.’

His tone made you even more flushed, but you weren’t going to question his attempt of an order as he was giving you an easy way of leaving the table. You couldn’t look back at anyone as you grabbed the keys and sneaked out of the restaurant.

‘I must be very annoying, I guess.’ You heard Mrs Byers say to Robin behind you. ‘If she said something like that to me.’ 

Half an hour later, Steve opened the driver’s door as you sat in the passenger seat. He purposely ignored you, dropping his coat at the backseat and turning the radio’s volume down as he drove out of the restaurant. You waited for it, for his reprimand and his disapproval, but he had already been driving towards your house for ten minutes and still there was nothing.

‘So that’s it?’ You said when you had both stepped out of the car after he parked in front of the summer house. ‘You’re not going to lecture me tonight?’

‘I figured that if you’re adult enough to humiliate yourself in front of your father employees, then you must be mature enough to find a dignified way to apologise.’

Your eyes stayed on his back as he walked towards the front door of the summer house.

‘I didn’t humiliate myself.’ You murmured as you stood on his porch.

He laughed bitterly.

‘You certainly did.’ He said as he unlocked his door. ‘You made yourself look cruel, ignorant and spoiled. Everyone was comforting Mrs Byers when you left.’

You swallowed hard as you felt tears rising to your eyes, feeling the embarrassment washing over yourself.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ He turned back to face you. ‘You know, I find it ironic that someone like you wouldn’t take the time to be patient and kind with Mrs Byers given you’ve never had a mom.’

You scoffed softly as you looked away.

‘My mom would’ve never begged for pity as much as she does.’

‘She might have if your father would’ve died instead of her.’ Steve said firmly as he looked back at you. ‘But of course, what do you know anyways? You can’t remember how kind she was, or how she treated Joyce, but I do. You might look exactly like her, but you’re nothing like her.’

You sniffed softly at his words as you clenched your jaw.

‘That’s not fair.’

‘No.’ He took a step towards you. ‘You know what’s not fair? Having to drop out of college because you have to help your unemployed mom with the bills. Did you know that Jonathan applied for the internship too? The choice was between Nancy or him, because your father didn’t think twice before saying yes to you. And it’s not because he wanted to spoil you, but because he wanted you to learn what it takes to have a job, earn a living and being a person of integrity.’

You bit the inside of your cheek as the embarrassing tears rolled down your cheeks, hugging yourself as you faced his disappointment stare.

‘If I was your father I would fire you.’ He said seriously before shaking his head. ‘Goodnight.’

The next time you were at the office was dull and miserable. Nancy was the only person that seemed enthusiastic when you walked inside the cubicle.

‘You won’t believe what happened.’ She whispered as she held your hands, pulling you so you’d sit next to her. ‘You were so right. About keeping my standards and finding someone right for me.’

‘Oh my god.’ Your heart beat hard against your chest as you looked back at her. An opportunity to match Nancy was exactly what you needed to fix your sad mood. ‘Tell me everything.’

‘It was so clear to me on the way home from the restaurant.’ She murmured then as she looked expectantly back at you with her pretty blue eyes.

‘Oh.’ You leaned back softly as you blinked a couple of times. ‘Of course.’

‘Right?’ She said looking for approval in your eyes. ‘I mean, I need to tell you the whole story, but it was like… some sort of wonderful epiphany.’

‘Well, I’m so happy for you, Nance.’ You said sincerely as you felt the disappointment setting on your chest a little bit. ‘Eddie’s a very smart man.’

‘Eddie?’ She frowned as she observed you for a second. ‘Oh. No. I’m not talking about him.’

‘I-I thought something had happened after the restaurant?’ You said staring back at her, feeling the hope rising on your chest. ‘You just said.’

‘That’s not what I meant at all.’ She giggled softly. ‘I meant I realised on my way home from the restaurant. Eddie was a gentleman, but he was so desperate to drive back to the city he was speeding the whole time.’

‘So, who are you talking about?’ You said expectantly.

Nancy didn’t say a name. Instead, she just lifted a piece of paper from her desk that she offered to you, a freshly new version of her article that had been re-edited in a way that made your edition look like a High School assignment. That would’ve triggered so some sort of angry reaction if it wasn’t for the fact that you recognised the writing style perfectly.

‘On Valentine’s Day,’ She murmured, leaning towards you. ‘Steve offered to stay after work with me to work in my article. He said that he could help me turn it into a great one, and that I could resubmit it for the next issue. He stayed here with me two hours after everyone left home to get it ready for this week. It was so thoughtful and sweet of him, and then he started calling me writer because he said I had earned it and… Then in the restaurant— He was being so careful that I felt comfortable and it did help a little bit that he was there. That’s when I realised.’

You released as tense breath as you felt your heart breaking inside your chest. You didn’t know why you felt so angry out of sudden, so unconsolable under Nancy’s eyes.

‘What do think?’ She bit her lip as she looked back at you. ‘Do you think we’re a good match?’

You mouth stayed partly opened for a second, but you couldn’t find your words.

‘Well,’ You started. ‘I’m not entirely sure, Nancy. You see, Steve it’s not exactly the romantic kind.’

‘But he’s so sweet.’ She argued, and you couldn’t agree more.

Was he? He was caring, very caring. Which is why you didn’t understand why someone like him couldn’t believe in love.

‘I guess so,’ You said, ‘But, Nancy, I don’t think he’s the relationship kind.’

‘Well, you could be wrong.’ She said after a while as she looked at you. ‘Just like you were with Billy.’

‘That was different.’ You said softly. ‘But I know this.’

‘I don’t think you do, actually.’ She said then as she removed her hands from your embrace. ‘Like, c’mon. You don’t even know what you like. Or if you’re even capable of liking people.’

The knot on your throat made you swallow hard as you looked back at her with glossy eyes, feeling betrayed, and so, so small.

‘That’s a bit harsh, Nance.’ You said under your breath as you sat back.

Nancy didn’t say anything else, in fact she didn’t speak to you the rest of the day as you sat in silence inside the cubicle. You didn’t feel like having lunch out or anything that day, because you still were thinking about a way to apologise to Mrs Byers despite your cowardice.

That weekend you didn’t join Steve and your father at dinner with the excuse of a headache. It wasn’t just that you couldn’t face him, it was more of the fact that you couldn’t stand seeing him next to another pretty, smart girl on the dinner table. In the last few days, you had sat down for your classes and written your assignments quietly as you tried to stop overthinking about your conversation with Nancy.

It had always lived inside the back of your mind, that innocent acknowledgement that there was probably no one in the world who deserved him. Steve was irritating and often condescending, but he did it out of concern and care. He always listened to what you said even if he didn’t agree, he was always willing to debate you whether it was out of entertainment or to stimulate you intellectually. He cared very much about other people, about your dad, too. You had always felt so safe knowing that you weren’t alone with the duty of taking care of your lonely father. He had always made your house —and your life, less lonely. Now he hated you for valid reasons, and it made you feel so heartbroken that there didn’t seem to be one romance novel in the surface of your bookshelf that could fix that. In fact, you were terribly behind your next review because you hadn’t been able to pick the book you should’ve finished this week.

A knock on your door made you lift your eyes from your ethics book, then you climbed down the bed to find your father standing behind.

‘Hey, daddy.’ You said with a little smile.

‘Hi, petal.’ He said with his hands inside his pockets as he looked back at you. ‘I wanted to check on you.’

‘Oh, I’m feeling a bit better.’ You said as you looked back at him. ‘I just have an important paper to hand in this week, so I need to work on that.’

He smiled at you for a second before he nodded.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’ You said taking a step back.

Your father’s steps echoed through the room as you sat back against the edge of the bed, while he sat down on your armchair. He looked so funny out of place between your teddy bears and flower pillows.

‘Did Steve leave already?’ You asked softly as you played nervously with your hands.

‘Oh, he said he couldn’t come to dinner tonight. So, it was just me.’

‘Oh, daddy. I’m so sorry.’ You said worriedly. ‘You should’ve told me.’

‘It’s fine, petal.’ He smiled softly. ‘You were busy.’

You gave him a sad smile before you sighed softly.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about your mother.’

‘My mother?’

He sighed.

‘Yeah. I feel like we don’t talk a lot about her these days, you know?’

You stayed quiet for a second, feeling suddenly sadder than you were before.

‘If I missed her less, I might be able to talk about it more.’

Your father smiled softly at your words, tendered for a second before he looked away, maybe pondering, maybe remembering.

‘I’ve just started wondering recently if I left you on your own too much when you were a child, petal.’ He admitted. ‘I’m scared you might feel lonely.’

‘I’m not lonely.’ And then, you almost added I’ve got my books, but you didn’t know if that was true anymore. Even Eddie had stopped responding to your letters. ‘There are just some things I’m not exactly sure how to do, daddy. It has always taken me a while to caught up with other people, I suppose.’

‘Everyone lives life at different paces, petal.’ He sighed. ‘You mother knew about that; she was only able to get her bachelor’s degree when she was in her thirties. You don’t need to compete with anyone.’

You smiled softly to yourself. You wished you could be a bit more specific, a bit more open about your concerns, was there a right way to like people? A right way to love someone? Or was your cluelessness on these subjects what made you absolutely unmatchable?

‘When did you realise you loved her?’

‘Oh, I don’t think I had a moment of realisation.’ He said, thoughtfully. ‘I think I always knew, but I’ve never been able to verbalise things very well. That was what took the longest.’ He smiled to himself for a second before he looked at you. ‘You know, we talked about it once. She said she always knew, ever since we were at school. She just had to wait for me to figure it out. That takes a lot of love.’

You thought about your father’s words throughout the week, as you forced yourself to finish the stupid romance book on your bedside table that you had grown to hate at this point. Then you had to force yourself to finish the review as Nancy stayed silent on the other side of the cubicle, hating yourself every time you heard Mrs Byers voice because she didn’t come to your desk to ask for favours anymore.

That afternoon the knot on your throat was so painful that you took a deep shaky breath as you walked towards the toilets to compose yourself. But it seemed like someone had had a similar idea, because as soon as you walked inside, the sound of sobbing made the blood abandon your face.

‘Hello?’ You asked softly as you walked down the space between the stalls and the sinks.

The sobs suddenly stopped until your eyes fell on a pair of burgundy patent shoes. You were trying to remember who the owner was as you knocked on the metal door of the stall.

‘Chrissy?’ You called softly. ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘I’m fine.’ She said tearily before she sobbed again. ‘Please go.’

You lingered outside the stall for a second, thinking about what to do before you walked out, feeling embarrassed that you couldn’t help. Then, as if it was a sign, someone stumbled over you, and you almost lost your balance when Steve was able to catch you in time.

He was about to lecture you, and you almost held on to that stupid need for his attention, but he seemed to have changed his mind as soon as his eyes fell on your softened, apologetic stare.

‘I was just about to go to your office.’ You murmured softly. ‘Chrissy’s crying in the toilet, I’m not really sure why.’

Steve’s hand fell on your shoulder, squeezing once before he walked into the toilet with you behind. Chrissy wasn’t inside the stall anymore, instead she just stood sobbing in front of the sink, trying to dry her teary face with tissues.

‘Hey.’ Steve said as he approached her. You had to look away because you couldn’t stand the way he was rubbing her back as he searched for her eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I—’ She kept sobbing softly. ‘Steve, I’ve made a stupid mistake.’

You should’ve felt jealous by the way she threw herself in his arms, you probably were, but you were a bit more worried about whatever was upsetting her this much. Steve searched for your eyes behind her shoulder as Chrissy sobbed a bit more and you stared at their embrace, wondering if you should leave.

‘S gonna be fine.’ He patted her back. ‘It’ll be fine. I just need you to talk to me, okay?’

‘Can I bring you anything?’ You asked softly, feeling stupid that there was nothing that you could do other than stand there.

All she did was shake her head as she cried a bit more, and you simply grabbed some toilet paper from the closest stall to help her clean her face.

‘Come on.’ You said as you brushed her wet bangs with your fingers, tapping the tissues over her teary cheeks as Steve still held her. ‘Take deep breaths.’

You took a step back under Steve’s stare as she swallowed hard, slowly calming herself down as she looked from you to Steve.

‘I’m sorry.’ Chrissy finally said. ‘I’m just very… I don’t know. Everything is falling apart.’

‘Why? What happened?’

Your hands hovered in front of her as Steve’s thumb rubbed against her shoulder. A part of you felt stupid for forcing yourself to stay as your eyes fell back on him. Then his eyes instinctively caught yours, making the heat rush to your cheeks as he realised you were staring.

‘I think I’m pregnant.’

You blinked a couple of times, feeling the back of your throat suddenly dry as you looked at her.

‘Oh.’

‘What?’ Steve said as he searched for her eyes and now you knew you definitely had to leave them alone.

‘It makes so much sense now, Steve.’ She said to him as you hugged yourself. ‘The sickness, the fatigue, I’ve missed two periods already. I’m fucked.’

‘Did you speak to you boyfriend?’ He asked then. Your eyes jumped from his face to hers as your heart beat faster. ‘I mean who the fuck is this guy who got you crying yourself inside a toilet thinking that “you’re fucked”?

‘He’s…’ She said as she shut her eyes hard. ‘Not exactly my boyfriend.’

You and Steve stayed silent as she rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

‘I was so stupid.’ She said under her breath as she looked back at him. ‘It was two months ago; Eddie and I were editing his article, and he invited me for a drink and then we went to my place…’

‘Does he know?’ Steve asked.

Chrissy laughed bitterly as she hugged herself.

‘Oh, believe me, he does.’

She took a deep breath as she looked back at you embarrassedly.

‘You must hate me now.’ She murmured.

You shook your head, feeling a bit dazed as you tried to process her words.

‘No.’ you said softly. ‘Of course not. Why would I hate you?’

Chrissy rolled her eyes as a tired smile lifted her mouth, but didn’t make it to her eyes.

‘Don’t try to be nice.’ She said in a hoarse voice. ‘I know you like him. Everyone does.’

The heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to avoid Steve’s stare, but your eyes were fixed on Chrissy as you shook your head again.

‘It was a silly crush.’ You said softly as you shrugged. ‘Besides, I could never like someone who does something like this. Now I understand why he left so quickly that night at the restaurant.’

Chrissy nodded as her eyes turned teary again, and you couldn’t do anything else than hug her tightly, feeling Steve’s arm loosening around her as he stood next to you two.

‘I think you should take the rest of the day.’ You said as you leaned back. ‘Go home, have a bath and then we’ll help you sort out the rest. Whatever you want to do.’

She looked for Steve’s eyes, but you couldn’t care less if he approved it or not. You’d help her with whatever was necessary, even if that meant you’d have to call your father. But all he did was nod with a soft smile as he rubbed Chrissy’s back once again, and she sniffed a few times more before she left the toilet.

You and Steve lingered inside for a few seconds, maybe thinking about something to say or maybe trying to process what Chrissy had just confessed. The tension in the air was palpable, you could almost feel the heat exuding from his body as he stood next to you. When you looked up his eyes were already on you, overflowing with a strange vulnerability under his arched eyebrows as he swallowed slowly. You did so too, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, his integrity, his goodness that was so him, so Steve. You could never compare.

‘Let’s keep this to ourselves.’ You murmured then.

‘Of course.’ He said immediately as he scratched the back of his neck.

You nodded a couple of times as you still looked at him. Maybe you were waiting for him to say something else. It seemed like he was hesitating, but the second passed and you felt more flushed, more embarrassed until you started slowly walking out, and his shy steps followed.

You packed your few belongings that night after everyone left the office. Only your dad waited for you next to the reception as you walked out with the box in your hands, feeling a bit nostalgic but certain that you were taking the right decision.

A week of reading, assignments, and finals passed until you came back home on Friday morning. Once you drove past the Welcome to Hawkins, Indiana sign, you took a left to make a stop outside your dad’s office.

‘Oh.’ You said as you walked in with the basket in your hands. ‘Hi, Mrs Byers.’

‘Hi, dear.’ Joyce said softly as she sat behind the reception counter. ‘Robin is on her break right now, but I can call her.’

‘Oh, no, no.’ You said as you placed the basket over the counter. ‘I was actually hoping I could talk to you. I owe you an apology for the way I talked to you that day at the restaurant.’

‘Oh.’ She laughed nervously as she looked away. Just the sight of hurt in her eyes broke your heart again. ‘It’s okay, dear.’

‘No, it’s not okay.’ You said softly as you took a few things from outside the box. ‘I’m very sorry and I wanted to make it up to you, so I got you this book on how to operate a PC. I know things are still quite manual around here, but I heard daddy say he might acquire one of those machines by the end of the year and hopefully you’ll stay here for that long, so I thought it’d be easier for you if you’d started learning from now. If it makes you feel better, I don’t know how to operate one yet. I don’t really see the use for one outside the office if I’m honest.’

Mrs Byers seemed deeply fascinated by the book as she took it from the counter, stroking the cover as you smiled shyly at her.

‘Thank you, dear.’ She said sincerely. ‘I really appreciate it.’  

‘Also,’ you said as you took out a box from the counter. ‘I got this for Jonathan. I know he likes photography. Maybe he could make better use of it than me.’

You laughed nervously as you pushed the camera box towards her.

‘You’re so sweet.’ She said as she squeezed one of your hands over the counter. ‘Just like your mother.’

A nervous smile lifted your mouth as you took a deep breath, grabbing the basket as you lingered on your place. 

‘Dimples.’

You turned back to find Steve resting against the door of his office. Your eyes instinctively fell on the little empty cubicle where Nancy worked, but only her coat was hanging from her chair.

‘My office.’ He said.

‘I don’t work here anymore.’ You said as you stood next to the reception desk.

Steve shook his head before walking inside, until you finally decided to follow him.

‘What’s up?’ You said once you closed the door behind you. Steve leaned back against his desk, looking at you with a soft smile on his face.

‘You left without saying goodbye.’

‘We’re neighbours.’

‘Still.’ He said with a playful frown that you didn’t find amusing. ‘It seemed kind of unprofessional to me.’

‘Again,’ you said fighting the need to roll your eyes. ‘We’re neighbours. You can literally call me on the intercom any time.’

Steve smiled at you again, as if he was hoping that you'd join his game. It had been a while since the last time you’d seen him be this carelessly friendly.

‘Nancy really misses you.’ He said then.

Your semblance turned soft at his words as you licked your lips, taking a glance at the distant little cubicle before you looked back at him with a polite smile.

‘How’re your couple matching endeavours?’ He walked towards you with his hands in his pockets, eyes curious and honest as he stared at you.

‘I don’t think I’m doing that anymore.’ You hugged yourself as you looked up at him. ‘Most things that used to entertain me seem very boring now.’

Steve’s eyebrows were lifting as you looked up at him, he was smiling in the softest way, engulfing you in that cologne of his that smelled like home, like childhood, like safety.

‘That’s a shame, dimples.’ He said. ‘Since I’ve seen lots of potential between Byers and Wheeler lately.’

You scratched the back of your neck as you looked down to your shoes. Steve took another step towards you, studying your face before his finger lifted your chin so you’d look back at him.

You did so. Shyly, and softly, feeling your heart beating hard against your chest as your eyebrows lifted slightly. You had been so foolish, hadn’t you?

‘I couldn’t do this to Nancy.’ You leaned back as you shook your head.

Steve’s smile disappeared from his mouth, his hand falling from your face as you turned around on your heels to leave the office, but right then your eyes fell on the sight beyond his office window. Nancy was sitting down on her desk once again, while Jonathan leaned in with the camera you’d given his mother. He was trying it probably, attempting to take a picture of Nancy as she giggled and blushed in that so adorable way of hers.

‘What do you say, dimples?’ Steve whispered on your ear as you felt his hands wrapping around your waist. You closed your eyes softly as he embraced you, feeling his nose brushing your earlobe as he spoke. ‘We could work together for once.’

‘Maybe we could.’ You leaned in against his touch.

He was already smiling at you when you opened your eyes, before you both looked together at the cute soon-to-be couple on the other side of the office.

‘What if you were in need of a new photographer?’ You asked then.

‘Right?’ He agreed playfully as he rested his cheek against your temple. ‘And maybe I could commission one of my writers with a last-minute story.’

You turned around in his arms to have a look at him with a complicit smile on your face.

‘It seems to me like you’re quite the matchmaker, Steve Harrington.’

He smiled shyly, looking away beyond the window as he shrugged softly.

‘Maybe it’s all those books I’ve been reading recently.’

That weekend, the three of you sat on the dining room for dinner. Your father peeked from the top corner of his newspaper at the awfully silent table, finding Steve engrossed in one of those novels you had reviewed a few weeks ago, while on the other side of him, you frowned in silent concentration at the history book you held in your hand.

The telephone seemed to have only surprised him, because he folded the newspaper neatly before the maid came, calling your name twice until you realised she was talking to you.

‘There’s a Miss Wheeler for you on the phone, ma’am.’

‘Of course.’ You said as you stood up, not before stealing a mischievous smile from Steve’s face as your father resumed his reading.

You took a deep breath before taking the phone to your ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey.’ Nancy’s voice made you suddenly feel relieved and tendered.

‘Hi, Nance.’ You smiled. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’ She said softly. ‘It’s been quite a busy time at the newspaper.’

‘I heard Steve assigned you a good story.’

‘He did.’ She laughed nervously. ‘On the new movie theatre opening in Starcourt. I was covering it yesterday.’

‘Was it fun?’ You asked sincerely.

‘So fun.’ She said, and you could almost hear her smile on the other side of the line. ‘Jonathan’s working as a photographer now. Well, at least for this story.’

‘That sounds nice.’ You said. ‘Was he excited?’

‘Very excited.’ She assured you. ‘We kind of… you know, we’re kind of starting to be friends.’

‘Is that what you want?’

Your blood was running fast as you wondered where Nancy heart was, because you would always make sure to take care of it and protect it if it was in your hands.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m working on finding a way to ask him out.’ She said shyly. ‘But that’s not important now, I actually called to talk to you.’

You smiled softly at her words, feeling a wave of relief mixing with your anxiety.

‘I’m sorry about what I said.’ She said sincerely. ‘I was unnecessarily mean, and I behaved like a bitchy friend. I’ve missed you so much and I can’t believe I said such a hurtful thing to you.’

‘Oh. Don’t worry about it, Nance.’ You laughed nervously. ‘I’m sorry too. I’ve missed you too much to hold grudges. I’ve been so lonely without you.’

Nancy laughed with relief on the other side of the line.

‘We should meet tomorrow.’ She said then. ‘Let’s go for a coffee.’

‘Of course.’ You agreed immediately. ‘And then we can go to the bookshop. I’m reading history books now and— Oh my god, Nance,this is juicy!’

She laughed softly on the other side of the line while you heard some sort of noise behind her.

‘Hey— I have to go. My mom needs the phone.’ She said then. ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow? Around three?’

‘Perfect.’ You said. ‘Goodnight, Nance.’

When you walked back to the dining room you father was no longer on the table. It was just Steve, your Steve, looking at you with a careful smile as you looked around for your dad.

‘Clear?’ You murmured as you looked back at him.

‘Clear.’ He patted his lap as his smile slowly turned wider.

You walked around the table almost giggling, eager to find your place on his legs as he wrapped his arms around you.

‘Everything okay?’ He asked as his thumb brushed your cheek.

‘Everything’s perfect.’ You said as you stroked the hair over his ear. ‘I think Nancy’s going to ask him out, you know. But I’m not going to interfere this time.’

‘Huh.’ He said with a cheeky smile. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘I am.’ You whispered softly as your hands rested over the collar of his shirt. You leaned in so your noses where brushing, biting the smile of complicity that lifted your lips. ‘I’ve got much more important things to occupy myself with now that I’m dating you in secret.’

He laughed softly as he searched for your mouth, while his breath stroked your lips and you leaned back teasingly.

‘Hm.’ He hummed against your mouth. ‘So do I.’

‘Really?’ You squinted your eyes as you held his face in your hands. ‘Like what?’

‘Well,’ He held your hand over his face to leave a soft kiss inside your palm. ‘Let’s say I’m going to be very busy showing you all the things I’m learning from those novels of yours.’

Steve’s lips kissed your smile as he hugged you tighter over his legs. His sigh was deep and longing as you stroked the hair behind his neck, tender lips stroking each other’s mouth as you shared that little instant of intimacy together. One that you had spent years saving in the deepest corner of your heart, and now, finally, could be safely released in the warmth of your home, where you had both chased each other since you were children. And Steve, well, he had no other choice but to indulge himself in the tender affection you stirred in him. He was absolutely powerless before his love for you, and so he had to welcome it warmly into his heart, and so, so carefully.

🏷️: @cuddlyklaus

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[accioharrington9]

Secret's Out

Pairing: !bfSteve Harrington x Reader

Synopsis: (2.4k wc) The kids have been telling Steve for months to start dating and that doesn't change when a new girl walks into Family Video. Little do they know, he's already dating her.

Warnings: fluff, secret relationship

masterlist || steve harrington taglist

Hello it's been a minute! I haven't had the urge to write in a while but somehow was able to get this out haha. Enjoy!

“Why didn’t you ask her out?” 

Why didn’t he ask her out…that was the question that had been stalking Steve for the past five months. Every time a woman came into Family Video, any time he walked past a pretty girl at the movies. Someone always asked the question: Why didn’t you ask her out?

It didn’t matter who he was with; Robin, Dustin, or even little Erica. The question found a way of coming up. He didn’t blame them in the early days. Robin had gotten used to his constant flirting with customers, spending most of their shared shifts complaining about it. But then one day, it all stopped. No more flirting, no more dates, no more suave Steve Harrington.

To say his friends found it odd was an understatement. Almost everyone he had gone out with for a solid year had been entertainment for his friends. It became a running joke that Nancy had taken away his ability to get any girl or go on more than one date with one. So they became concerned when it all stopped one random day in March.

They asked the question out of worry over anything else. Worried that their dear friend Steve was hiding something important, wanting to make sure he was okay. Dustin especially knew how Steve could withdraw from the group when something was wrong, spending more days at home alone than out with the party. 

But that wasn’t the case, quite the opposite. 

“Why didn’t you ask her out?” Dustin asked. He was leaning over the counter at Family Video. His feet barely touched the floor as he tried to hold himself up by his arms. 

Steve sighed as he placed the last of the cash in the register. Another girl had come in for some romance movie, and Steve didn’t even try to make a move. Instead, when the girl reached forward to pay with cash, her fingers lingering over his, he retreated his hand quickly. 

“Not my type,” Steve said, not looking up at Dustin. 

“Bullshit, I saw you ask a girl out like that when you and Robin were working at Scoops. She's your type.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man, I didn’t wanna ask her out!” 

The bell at the front of the store rang out, indicating a new customer. Steve looked toward the door as the last of the words left his mouth. He froze when he saw who it was. Y/n, the love of his life, the one he had been hiding from his friends for almost five months. She looked as beautiful as the first time he had seen her browsing records at the local shop on Main Street. 

Dustin craned his neck to see what had left his friend so starstruck, and when he saw Y/n, he did everything except roll his eyes. “Okay, you’re practically drooling over that girl. Why don’t you ask her out?”

The comment brought Steve back to reality, watching as Y/n tried to hide her smile and turn down an aisle of movies. “Uh, no man, I’m good,” Steve told Dustin.

Dustin groaned, practically throwing himself on the front counter. “That is bullshit and you know it!” 

It was bullshit. The most bullshit he had ever said in his life. The moment he saw her in the record store five months prior, it was like a magnet had pulled them together. Glances from across the store, blush not hiding from their cheeks, they inched closer and closer until finally colliding. Yes, literally colliding, in front of the new releases section. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I must be really clumsy today.”

Y/n giggled right back, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No it’s okay I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She was gripping a twelve-inch in her other hand, looking down at the floor. It was clear neither of them wanted the conversation to end and Steve had no plans to do so. 

“Stacey Q…I don’t think I’ve heard of her before,” he said, motioning to the record in her hands.

Y/n glanced down too, before looking back up at him. He almost got lost in her eyes, and the softness they showed him. “Uh, yeah me neither. But my friend recommended it, so here I am.”

Steve nodded along, going to rest against the carton of records but pulled away at the last second, realizing how bad it would be for the vinyl. He felt like such a clutz, making a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl. But then she giggled, that infectious giggle that he would come to pull out of her in the following months, as he knew he still had a shot.

“I uh, I haven’t seen you around here before, in Hawkins I mean,” he choked up.

Y/n shook her head. “Just moved here, I’m from the west coast.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The west coast? Must get a lot of sun out there.”

“Oh so much,” She continued. “Too much if I’m being honest…I’m Y/n by the way.”

She extended her hand out for him to shake and Steve reached out to grip it immediately. As he shook her hand he gave out his own name. “Would you wanna grab coffee at the diner across the street? You can tell me more about the west coast and I can tell you about how much you’ll miss it after moving to Indiana.” 

Y/n laughed again, but in the type of way that Steve knew he hadn’t fucked up this interaction. “Yeah, I’d like that.” For a moment she looked up at him with a smile he couldn’t stop thinking about. But then her eyes flickered down and he realized that he had still been shaking her hand.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, pulling it back and moving to fix his hair. He always fixed his hair when he was nervous. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let me just pay for this and we can head over?” 

All Steve could do was nod, watching as she walked toward the register. How had he fumbled so hard and still gotten a date? If that was any other girl in Hawkins, she would have been out the door before he could say a word. 

Steve waited near the front door for her, watching as Y/n looked back around her shoulder while checking out to make sure he hadn’t gone, each time with a smile that Steve swore was melting his heart by the second. 

He knew even then that she would be the best thing that would ever happen to him. And he was right, which was why all of the secrecy. 

Y/n had been busy with work since the moment she arrived and Steve had the noisiest friend group in all of the midwest, so it seemed almost natural to keep their relationship on the downlow. 

That still didn’t stop Dustin from trying to set him up.

“Why are you like this?” Dustin’s question brought Steve back to the present. 

He sighed as he sat down on a stool behind the front counter. “Like what?”

“All opposed to dating?” Dustin said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What happened to getting over Nancy, going on dates, finding the one?”

“You think I’m not over Nancy?”

He was deflecting and Dustin knew it. “Not the point, Steve! Ever since March it’s like you’ve sworn off girls. It’s sad that I have a girlfriend and you don’t.”

He scrunched his eyebrows. “Hey! Being in a relationship isn’t everything you know.”

“Oh I know that,” Dustin said. “But to you, Mr. Harrington, it’s like single isn’t in your vocabulary, at least it wasn’t until, like, March.”

Maybe Steve had dragged out this secret for too long. His friends were concerned for him, albeit more concerned than they should be. But Steve was happy, in the best, healthiest relationship in his life. Maybe it was time to come clean. 

He looked up across the video store, scanning to see where Y/n had walked off toward. He spotted her quickly in the romance section, peeking out from behind a corner. He could tell she was blushing even from behind the shelf of tapes. 

A plan forming in his head, Steve turned back to Dustin. “If I ask for her number, you have to shut up about my dating life, forever. Not another peep.”

“Yes! Totally!” Dustin said eagerly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stood up from the stool, making his way over to where his girlfriend was browsing. 

“Hey,” she said as he approached. “I thought you were working along today I wouldn’t have come if I thought--”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “In fact, I was thinking maybe it was about time we let the cat out of the bag.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “Really? I meant I know how much you liked keeping this between us and with my work schedule it’s not like I’ll be seeing your friends often.”

“I’m sure,” he said, reaching for one of her hands. She dropped it to her side, letting his fingers gently brush over the back of her hand. “And I want you to meet them all properly but I wanna shut that little twerp up so badly right now.”

Y/n looked briefly over at where Dustin was sitting. The kid looked away quickly, pretending like he wasn’t paying attention. She laughed, looking back up at her boyfriend. “Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“Oh I can think of a million ways.” Y/n giggled. “But I think for now I’ll settle for a kiss.”

“That I can help with.”

With her other hand, Y/n put down the tape she was holding and then brought it up to rest on Steve’s jaw. She leaned forward and slowly planted her lips on top of his. It was a sweet kiss, no need to do more in the sanctity of a video store, but she was sure to make it drag out. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his arms grip either side of her waist. 

On the other side of the store, Dustin’s jaw was on the floor. 

He stood shocked at what he was seeing. Here was a guy that fumbled through every pickup line since his breakup with Nancy Wheeler, and now he was locking lips with a stranger in record time. 

The bell of the video store rang but Dustin couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene in front of him. That girl was hot, there was no denying it and was so out of Steve’s league. But with the desire to see him happy, Dustin sent his friend over there anyway. 

“What are you looking at?” asked a voice. Dustin didn’t look away, knowing it was Mike who asked the question. He had just walked in with Lucas and Max. Dustin was supposed to pick up a movie for them but he guessed his annoying Steve went longer than he expected. Dustin couldn’t even muster words, just point to where Steve was locking lips with a total stranger. 

“Holy smokes!” Lucas exclaimed. His voice echoed across the store, making Steve and Y/n pull back. Steve guessed they had more of an audience than he intended. 

Taking his girlfriend's hand he asked, “Wanna meet the little shits that I look after?”

“Sure,” she said through a laugh. 

Steve turned to look back at Dustin for the first time since walking over, finding that the other little shits he looked after had joined him. Well, the more people there now, the less he would have to tell later. His hand was still gripping Y/n’s as they walked over, and Steve beamed at the shock look on Dustin’s face. 

“How did you-” Dustin began, but stopped, not being able to comprehend what happened. 

Lucas chimed in. “She’s way out of your league,” he said, earning a smack on his arm from Max. He yelped in surprise. 

“Twerps,” Steve addressed, “This is Y/n, my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend!” Dustin shouted with a gasp. “Since when?”

“Uh since March?” Y/n said, trying to think back to the start of their relationship. “Nice to meet you guys. I've heard a lot about you.”

“March?” Mike asked. “You’ve had a girlfriend since March and we didn’t know?”

Max rolled her eyes. “You guys just don’t pay attention. El and I knew so long ago.”

“You knew?” Steve asked. 

She shrugged her shoulders, crossing her arms over her chest. “We made an educated guess. And we were right.”

“You must be Max,” Y/n said, pointing out the fiery girl from personality alone. She turned to Dustin and his curly hair. “And Dustin. Mike.. and Lucas?”

“Wow, you’re good,” Mike said. 

Y/n giggled at the young teens words. She leaned into Steve’s side just a little more, her head bumping with his shoulder. 

“How about once my shift’s done we take these little twerps out for some food?” Steve asked her.

She hummed in agreement. “Food sounds good.”

“Only if you're buying!” Dustin exclaimed, pointing a finger at Steve.

Steve pointed a finger back. “Only if you keep your end of the bargain.”

“You tricked me!”

“And yet, Max figured it out.”

Dustin shot a glare toward the red head. His eyes filled with annoyance. She only shrugged and said, “It’s not my fault you’re oblivious.”

Dusting turned back to Steve, Y/n still leaning into his side. He let his shoulders relax with a sigh, his head dropping back with defeat. “Fine! I’ll shut up.”

“I call the front seat!” Lucas called out.

Mike groaned, heading for the door in an attempt to beat his friends. “No fair you got it last time!”

Steve put up his hands in an attempt to quiet them. “Hey twerps I’ve still got an hour and a half left of my shift. Besides,” he turned to his girlfriend. “Y/n gets passenger side.”

Dustin and the rest of the young teens groaned. “Is this how it's gonna be from now on?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a smile, hugging Y/n closer to him. “That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @halflifejess @nix-rose @palmtreesx3 @cilliansnostolgia @sweetdazequeen @blckburd @hollandweather

[accioharrington9]

so, i've started writing something new for steve x reader, and this is the aesthetic i'm going for, can you guess the inspiration and/or the tropes? 👀

excited to share once it's done!

[accioharrington9]

about me ✨

morgy, she/her, frenchie, virgo, isfj, autumn core, writer, swiftie, steve harrington defender

fics 🖋️

we can't be friends (but i'd like to just pretend) - steve harrington x fem!reader

other wips to come 🎀

[accioharrington9]

*romantically calls you dude*

[accioharrington9]

just friends (again) (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you’ve convinced everyone around you that you and steve are just friends. now you just have to convince yourself—but it proves difficult when steve finally admits how he feels.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ just friends (part one) ✶ the library

tags: pining, yearning, they want each other so bad they're so stupid, little angst/hurt/comfort, oh steve harrington the man that you are. didn't proofread so ignore any mistakes oops.

buy me a ko-fi! (my blurb commissions are also still open!)

“I’m having a little carpet picnic.”

Julia Roberts’ voice filled the living room with a familiar warmth. The pinks and whites of the Beverly Hills hotel room from Pretty Woman coated the couch and the surface of your face with a gentle glow. The Chinese food you ordered a few hours ago was starting to stink. Even Ted, who was curled at your feet for most of your movie marathon, could no longer stand the vegetative life and scampered away.

It had been a week since Eddie broke things off. After Steve punched him, you spent the Sunday post-knockout calling and texting, hoping to sort things out. But Eddie never picked up. Eddie never replied. You figured stopping by the shop was a bit too far—if he wanted to talk to you, he would’ve by now.

So here you were, spending another weekend on the couch. Single. Broke. Lonely.

“He thought I was cheating on him,” is the excuse you have for getting dumped.

But the look on Theresa’s face when you told her is the first time it made you recoil. The first time you doubted that Eddie was 100%, entirely out of his mind.

Theresa winced into the overpriced lattes you were drinking at a curbside patio on Wednesday. “Well…I mean…”

And you gasped, mouth agape and heart hammering in your chest. What the fuck did that mean? Because you were just friends. All Steve ever was and is: your best friend. Why did everyone act like you were having a secret affair when the doors were closed on the public?

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—“

“I’m not defending the prick,” Theresa justified. “He was an asshole for talking to you like that. But I can see why he might have thought that. You and Steve are really close. Like…very close.”

“We’re friends,” you insisted.

And Theresa dropped it, holding her hands above her latte with innocent agreement. But her words haunted you the entire week. Every time Steve filled your coffee and had it ready on the counter for your commute to work (he even used your favorite travel mug). Every time he came home with a bag of peanut m&ms when he dropped by the store because it was the little treat you always asked for, but he didn’t even need to be asked anymore.

But like any other Saturday, the apartment was void of him for most of the day. He mumbled some excuse about going to the mall through your door this morning, and when he came home twenty minutes into Pretty Woman with an Abercrombie shopping bag, you knew he’d been date shopping.

“Hey,” he called to you, door clamping closed behind him. His keys jingled on their toss toward the table cluttered with half-opened mail.

Cheek squished against a throw pillow, body splayed flat on the couch, you cut him a glance sideways and adjusted the volume. “Hey.”

Steve kicked off his shoes and set his bag near the door, making your chest tighten when he immediately sauntered toward the couch. He turned to the tv with his hands on his hips.

He asked what he always asked, despite his eyes watching the very thing. “Watchya watchin’?”

“Pretty Woman.”

“Did you already watch Mystic Pizza?”

“Yep.”

Steve sighed. “Damn. Alright, well, scooch over.”

When he plucked your feet up and flopped down under them, he smelled like the sickeningly sweet butter of a soft pretzel, and the overwhelming stench of Abercrombie & Fitch. You couldn’t believe he still shopped there.

His hands were still resting on your ankles, bracing your feet against his jean-clad thighs. His touch was warm, soft, all-encompassing—and suddenly all you could think about even as Richard Gere came on screen. Steve's touch, his heat, the body those hands came attached to resting just inches away. He was wearing blue today. He looked so good in blue.

You swallowed and coughed, cheek rubbing on the pillow. Steve’s finger twitched around your calf.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you croaked.

His eyes bored into you for a moment before he turned back to Julia Roberts. "Notting Hill or My Best Friend's Wedding after this?"

Your lips parted to reply, but then his finger began tracing shapes into the patch of skin between the bottom of your pant leg and the elastic of your sock. Air choked in your throat. Your eyes bulged on the glowing television screen. The muscles in the center of your body knotted and squeezed like nausea.

In your stock-still state, it didn't even occur to you that Steve somehow knew your entire I'm-sad-and-can-only-watch-Julia-Roberts-movies marathon setlist, but it certainly crossed your mind later on. You and Steve are really close. Maybe Theresa had a point.

"Um..." Your tongue darted out to lick your suddenly-dry lips.

"You good over there?" Steve chuckled, head tipping to gauge the features and their current predicament on your face.

You buried it further into the pillow, as far as it could go without hiding completely. "Yes, Steve, I'm fine."

Steve pulled back, settling into the couch again. "Jeez, oh-kay."

He waited a moment, and you inched free from your pillow enough to bring your eye back to the television, doing your best to focus on the movie you'd seen a million times and not Steve's hand sweeping under your pant leg. He'd done that a million times, too. Touched you. Felt you.

He held your hand when you crossed the road like a child that needed guidance. He braced your back to move you which way he wanted, and to pull you close when public situational occurrences arose that made him uncomfortable. He brushed your hair once when you were victim to an ungodly illness that had you picturing death. He removed your makeup on your birthday last year when you got so drunk you puked in the doorway.

His hands were always so gentle. His touch was always so soft.

But, God, why did it feel so different right now? Why did it feel so good?

"Want a mall haul?" Steve asked, too uncomfortable in the sudden silence of the living room. He was already standing and placing your feet back on their own before you could reply.

In your periphery, he headed toward the door to retrieve the bags he neglected. "Got a couple shirts to try. Also, am I too old for that store? I swear, everyone in there was like a little Taylor Lautner wannabe from 2012—meaning they were fourteen and on steroids—"

"Steve!"

He stopped. Standing at the edge of the rug with both hands on the corded handles of his Abercrombie & Fitch shopping bag to pull it open. The snicker gathering in his throat hitched into a snort, smirk drooping into wide-eyed surprise.

You never yelled. Not at him. Not at anyone that didn't deserve it, like the neighbors when they were arguing too loud again and you were trying to nap. Like the guy that tried to steal Steve's package a few months ago that you nearly tackled down the hall.

But never Steve.

You shot up on the couch, hands flying to your pounding head. "Just...please! I don't want a mall haul, I don't want to talk, I just...—I just wanna be alone."

Steve blinked, cheeks colored pink. He closed the bag slowly, paper crinkling as he went. He took it in one hand and backed up, stepping off the rug foot by foot. He glanced at Ted, who skittered in surprise at your outburst and was standing with an arched back and black pupils near the tv stand.

"Uh...yeah, okay. Sorry," he mumbled, scratching at the nape of his neck.

Your shoulders slumped, deflating into the couch as Steve turned his eyes to the floor and tugged at the back of his hair. That stress tick again—the one you hated causing. He turned slowly, caution stiff in his spine. You watched his finger twist and wind into a lock of chestnut hair as he trudged into the hall. His door clamped closed a moment later.

A heavy, moaning sigh shuddered from your mouth as you flopped back on the pillow. Two arms locked over your head, pressing down on your eyes to blind them and the horror you created.

"Slippery little suckers," Julia Roberts snickered on the screen.

"It happens all the time."

✶ ✶

You ate dinner separately. It was the first time you'd ever eaten dinner separately within the same four walls. Even the night you moved in together, when you were nothing but a pair of strangers gauging how weird it might be to live with the opposite sex without something romantic or sexual in the undertones—even then, you ate a greasy cheese pizza together on the living room floor with an empty box as makeshift table.

He asked all the right get-to-know-you questions, and when he successfully made you laugh with all his snarks and quips, you knew Steve Harrington would be an alright roommate. You never figured he'd become your best friend.

Tonight, you pouted into the salad you regretted purchasing yesterday because a "healthy" lifestyle was born and had died within the span of your forty minute shopping trip. And now, you wanted nothing but another wet, shiny pizza, and Steve Harrington's dumb jokes.

He ate in his room. Shuffled out while you were finishing Notting Hill and made another bland chicken-rice-and-broccoli dinner. And then he shuffled past you, shut his door, and ate it alone. Never even giving you a chance to tease his unseasoned plate for the purpose of "gains." You thought he could remain just as toned and handsome with flavor on his food.

By the time you were showered, redressed, and gurgling with lingering hunger, you were properly sour with guilt.

And maybe the black sweatpants with the bedazzled jewels on your ass were pulled on with manipulative purpose before you shuffled to Steve's door. You lingered there a while, gnawing on the skin around your thumbnail and glancing between the wood grain of Steve's door and the plush surface of your yellow slippers. At this proximity, you could hear the low hum of his radio behind the door. He had a strange affection for the 70s and 80s station.

If only you knew that it was because Steve knew "the all time hits of the 70s and 80s" were your favorite.

The radio dimmed, and a moment later Steve's voice called through the door. "I can hear you lingering out there."

You jumped, stepping away from the door. Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth piercing the skin to nibble it away. The shuffle of feet and jingle of the doorknob came too swiftly for you to evade, and then the door swung open to reveal Steve in grey sweatpants and a tight red t-shirt. He looked good in red, too.

"Oh. Hi," you murmured, hand instantly dropping to your side.

Steve caged the doorway, biceps bulging on either side. You averted your eyes with a swallow.

He sighed. "Hi."

Steve watched you sweep a slippered foot back and forth like sloshing through water. He tipped his head and bit away a smile when he caught the edge of a jewel on your hip. His favorite sweatpants.

"Are you mad at me?"

Steve sighed again, this time a little shaken with laughter. "No, kid. I ain't mad at ya."

To prove his point, he nudged the door open with his palm and motioned toward the bedroom behind him. "Come on in."

You flopped on the edge of his bed, bounced up and down by old springs. Steve swung the door closed and joined you, easing back against his wooden headboard to reassume his rumpled position. He reached toward the nightstand and turned the knob on the radio to lower the Elton John song playing.

Steve snatched the small plastic basketball from behind the radio and tossed it in the air. "So, what's goin' on?"

You watched the ball soar into the air and come back down into his palm. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just...cranky."

Steve quirked a brow, catching your eye over an orange blur when he threw the ball again. "Yeah? That all?"

The corners of your mouth pulled down. "Yeah...? What else would it be."

Steve shrugged, chin turned up toward the ceiling as he watched the basketball fly toward it. Elton John died down and switched to Def Leppard. "Hysteria" was one of Steve's favorite songs.

"You tell me. You were having a Julia Roberts marathon."

"So?" Your thumb returned to your mouth, teeth ripping at the skin.

"You only watch Julia Roberts when you're sad."

"Not true."

Steve fixed his head straight again, eyes narrowing into a pointed look. The basketball sat in his right palm against his chest. You huffed, angling yourself toward the door to glare at it instead of your roommate and his smug, all knowing expression.

He waited a while, like he always did—waiting out your stubbornness and refusing to let it break him. You could talk to him, you knew that. He wanted you to know that.

"I guess..." You sighed, throwing yourself back on the bed with your arms locked over your eyes. "I guess I'm just upset that Eddie still hasn't called. I've been calling and texting him, but...he doesn't wanna see me."

Steve immediately felt every blood cell in his body curdle. Like they were burning and festering, irritated under his skin. He swallowed, bringing the basketball to sit between his knees where he could pick at the design with blunt fingernails.

"And you want to see him?"

You dropped your arms, letting them plop to your sides. "I mean...yeah."

Steve couldn't help it—he scoffed.

The sound had your head turning, brows furrowed his way. His head was shaking, eyes focused distinctly downward to avoid yours. All the smugness of his expression dimmed into something distasteful and angry.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Nothing."

"You scoffed."

"I sighed."

"No, you scoffed."

"Well—"

This time, Steve did sigh. He took the basketball in his hands and chucked it toward the door, causing it to boomerang off the wood and catapult back toward the mattress again. The sharp smack had you jolting upward, and your eyes widened on Steve when he hopped from the bed and stood to his feet.

"What the hell—"

"He's not good enough for you!"

You paused on weak wrists used to push you upward. Steve stood a foot away from the bed with pink cheeks and outstretched hands. They curled back toward him to sweep through his hair and tug hard at the roots.

"Steve—"

"He sucks. Alright? All your ex boyfriends sucked, but especially Eddie. He didn't understand you, he didn't appreciate you. He made you cry, for fuck's sake, and you want him back? I just don't get it."

Your lips parted, but it felt like gulping for water on dry land. And Steve watched, helplessly, as you stammered for words in the face of his impending and inevitable confession. Inevitably painful, he knew, but he could no longer stomach the tireless routine of finding the body closest to yours in another dark bar, hoping she would comfort him enough to soothe the ache he had for you.

You, who slept across the hall and shared the sofa with your head on his shoulder. You, who looked at him like some sort of light source with those little round eyes. You, who made his heart pound and weep endlessly every second that you were near, and every moment you were away—leaving him in a constant, centrifugal loop of torture.

So—knowing it might ruin every bit of good the pair of you worked so hard to keep—Steve stepped closer to the bed and swallowed. He prepared himself to form the words he'd practiced a million times over in his head.

"I just figured that eventually...you'd get tired of all the wrong guys, and realize that...I'm here. That it was me, that you loved me. Because I love you—don't you love me?"

He paused, but it would never have been enough time for your mind to process his proclamation. He had a look of such anguish embedded in his features, all scrunched and screwed together with wet, shiny eyes.

"And I figured it was easier to sleep my way around than sit and watch you waste your time with these idiots. But they were never you. And I never bothered to get to know them, because I only wanted to know you."

Your breath hitched when Steve crowded your corner of the bed, hands clasped over his chest. You had to tip your head back to meet his eye, and you felt your arms shake in their locked position holding you up. The sight of him blurred with the onset of your own hot, salty tears.

Steve sniffed: a wet slurp proceeded by a tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped it quickly and sank to his knees before you on the bed, hands coming to cradle your bent knees.

"I just can't take it any longer," he whispered, and his hazel eyes were like shiny coins gazing up at you.

His lips were wet with his own tears. His tongue swept them away. Every breath inhaled rattled in his chest, and every exhale shuddered his cheeks full. He chuckled when he rubbed his palm into his eye and turned it red, sweeping his forearm over his face to clear the tears again but they just kept coming.

"Fuck, say something, please," he huffed, lacing it with laughter despite its absence of humor.

Your throat felt like it swelled to twice the size. Sickness rolled in your stomach. But it only grew at the thought of breaking Steve's heart with your silence. Because the longer he looked at you with those almond eyes, and the longer he sniffled and massaged your knees to comfort himself—the more your heart crumbled.

"I...I don't know what to say," you croaked.

Steve inhaled again, stuttering through a sniffle. He wiped his cheek on your knee and chuckled again. "Yeah. Yeah, of course—it's okay."

"Steve—"

"It's okay," he insisted, scrambling to his feet. He backed away toward the door and you finished pulling yourself upright.

"Steve, wait—"

"Really, it's okay, honey. I'm just gonna...—we ran out of ice cream, so 'm gonna g-go—go get some. Mint chip, yeah? Okay."

He sniffled again upon his exit, slipping through a small crevice he opened the door to. The front door slammed shut moments later, and you rolled onto your stomach to unleash a scream into Steve's mattress.

"Stay tuned for more all time hits of the 70s and 80s!"

✶ ✶

Steve did not return with the mint chip until nearly midnight. It came in a plastic bag that announced his arrival even before the clamber of keys. Yet, it was the squeal of old hinges that woke you from your couch slumber, and you jolted upright as the door swung open.

Steve closed the door and stood there for a moment, spotting you in the dimness of the living room. You rubbed your eye and he shifted on his feet. Ted scampered off the couch and butted at Steve's calf.

He held up the plastic bag. "Got the mint chip. It's uh...it's all melted now, though."

You wanted to reply, to make him feel better again. His eyes were still pink and puffy, and you hated the thought of him spending hours in his car or another dark bar agonizing over what you might be thinking. Worst of all, regretting any of what he said.

Because you spent the past few hours doing plenty of thinking. You laid in his bed, curled on your side, and looked at all the pictures pinned to a cork board above his desk.

The sepia toned film strip from a wedding last fall where you took him as your date. You were smiling in every one, and to the unbeknownst you might have already appeared as a couple.

The Polaroid from his most recent birthday, where you were sitting on his shoulders and clutching onto his hair for dear life. His sister took the picture.

The black and white he printed from his phone of just you on a park bench, feeding the ducks. You never even knew he had that one.

And when you shuffled to your room, you suddenly stopped. The clack of hard-bottomed slippers caught your attention, and you looked down at the plush yellow footwear around your toes—a gift from Steve.

You stood on the other side of your bed and stared at the windowsill full of miscellaneous yellow items all gifted from Steve. The movie ticket stubs shoved in your mirror and the hundreds thrown in a box on your dresser because you'd probably seen a thousand over the years with Steve, who loved movie theater popcorn and sitting close to you in the dark.

The birthday cards he wrote extensive messages of well wishes and gratitude for your friendship in with terrible penmanship. The purse he bought you for that you said you liked in passing but would never spend that much money on, and the note still tucked inside the zipper that came pasted to the bag on Christmas morning:

Because you deserve it.

Love, Steve

And then you ended up on the couch, falling asleep watching the door and waiting for it to open.

Steve trudged to the kitchen while you were lost in thought, and you hurried to catch up as he swung the freezer open. He wrapped the plastic bag around the pint of the ice cream and stuck it on the top shelf, hand reaching to close the door—when he was pushed forward by a force crashing into him.

And then there was warmth around his stomach: two arms curling around his ribs. Two hands pressing to his stomach and pulling him in. Steve stopped, immobilized in the open freezer door.

"I'm sorry," you breathed into his shirt, eyes closed tight. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I was just so stunned. And I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, Steve, for letting this go on for so long. Of course I love you, of course you love me—God, I just never wanted to ruin everything. But you make me so happy, and I—"

Steve spun around, causing your head to lift off his back. You went to drop your arms, but he instantly brought them around his neck. Two hands, still frozen from melting ice cream, braced your cheeks.

"You mean it?"

You nodded in his hold, happy to see his hazel eyes free and clear of tears. "Yes. Yes, of course I mean it—"

"Oh, thank fucking God," Steve breathed, and then his mouth descended on you.

You curled to the tops of your toes to press into his kiss, whimpering at the warmth and softness of his lips. It felt exactly as you thought it would—anticipating their plushness every time he pressed his lips to your cheek over the years.

It lasted until the pair of you were breathless, and you heaved for air upon release. Steve brushed his thumbs over your bottom lip, smearing spit and hemming your airless grin.

He kissed you all night, and let his hands roam where they could not roam before. You fell asleep in his bed tucked under his arm, and when you woke you shared the refrozen pint of mint chip with one spoon.

And when Steve called his sister while you were showering to share the good news, all she did was laugh.

"Jesus, about fucking time."

[accioharrington9]

just friends (roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: you and steve have been just friends for years now. but how long can you convince everyone you're 'just friends' before it becomes a lie? or steve harrington is your super hot roommate and everyone thinks it's stupid you guys aren't dating yet.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ just friends (again) (part two) ✶ the library

tags: roommate!steve, kinda shitty boyfriend!eddie, pining, fluff, angst, casual dominance from our casual dominance king steve, honestly going to try so hard not to make this a series but you know me.

a/n: i've wanted to write roommate!steve for so ages. you can thank a much-needed new girl binge and my tendency to take my frustration out on my mop for this.

The bass-heavy bump of music came at Steve full force before he even stepped out of the elevator. He paused, staring down the door of your shared apartment knowing that the sight that would welcome him would not be pretty.

In the kitchen, you were hunched over the handle of a mop, furiously dragging it over a sliver of tile. Teeth gritted together, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair disheveled and pulled away from your face, a pair of cotton shorts and an old t-shirt rolled up to the shoulders—you were a mess.

You were sad.

"Uh-oh." Steve stepped into the room, calling over the booming music. "What happened?"

You jumped a little, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment on Saturday nights. Steve almost always spent weekend nights at the bar down the street hitting on girls too sweet for him. You usually had until at least 11:30 to do whatever you wanted before some random girl came scampering in, clinging to Steve and giggling as they fumbled to his room.

But he was home early. And no matter how long you'd lived together, or how well he knew you, you still hated being seen like this.

So, you never took your eyes off the mop, scrubbing away a sauce stain on the tile.

"Nothing." You shrugged, flicking wisps of hair out of your eyes.

Steve watched you whirl around to drag the mop toward the bucket again. You stabbed it into the soapy water with a vengeance, nose scrunching with every slosh and splash. Steve leaned against the doorway and quirked a brow.

"Yeah? You're playing your sad music, though."

Your sad music consisted of a handful of hard rock records that most people would consider music for a dive bar—but you only ever played it when you were staving off tears. The louder you played it, the more upset you were.

Steve knew you a little too well.

This comment went ignored as you slapped the mop back on the floor and continued an angered scrubbing. Steve sighed, scratching at his temple. Most of the time, it was best to leave you alone. Sometimes, you needed to talk it out. It took a little coaxing—a pizza and a cold glass of Coke with a straw usually did the trick—but eventually, you'd spill.

And Steve would fix it.

Calm you down, help you figure it out, offer some advice. He gave pretty good advice for someone still struggling to get his own shit figured out.

Steve could tell from the way the song went unsung, the way you huffed every time the mop head flipped, the way you started stomping your foot when you found a stale French fry under the stove—you needed him to step in.

Pushing off the wall, Steve crossed the room and placed his hand over yours on the mop handle.

"Hey. Hey, come on."

You struggled at first, scowling at him as you tugged on the handle. "Stop it."

He sighed again. He was always sighing at you like a disappointed teacher.

"Hey." A little firmer this time, accompanied by a sharp snatch of the handle from your grasp into his. When you dropped your hands and obliged, the furrow of his brow relaxed. "Thank you. Now, why don't you go take a shower. The house is clean enough."

You frowned, wiping at the sweat on your head. "I just—"

Steve pressed his hand flat into the small of your back, steering you toward the door. "Seriously, honey, it's fine. You do stink, though."

That made your lip twitch—a semblance of a smile—with an amused little huff. You took a step toward the door, slippered feet scuffing. You looked over your shoulder toward Steve standing where you left him, still holding the mop.

He waved you off. "Go on. Take a nap, too.”

You nodded, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, Steve."

He watched you shuffle away, shoulders slumped and eyes down as you went. He propped the mop against the kitchen counter and shook his head at the mess of cleaning supplies on the table.

When he heard the bathroom door clamp shut and the hiss of the shower head turn on, Steve rushed the front door again.

He opened it a smidge, enough to fit his head in and smile sweetly at the girl waiting in the hall picking at her nails. She perked up, stepping toward the door eagerly.

"Hey," Steve cooed, voice dripping with honey. "I'm so sorry, my roommate got sick all over. I think s-he needs to go to the doctor, so...would you mind if we raincheck?"

The girl—Sarah, as he would recall later on—broke into a concerned pout, clasping her hands over her chest. "Oh my god, that's terrible! You're so sweet taking care of him."

Steve chuckled, a breezy smile on his mouth. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for understanding."

She tipped her head, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder. "Of course. Call me when he's feeling better?"

Steve nodded, knowing the phone number in his back pocket would dissolve in the washer in a week, and he had no intention of ever calling her to begin with.

"Yeah, for sure. Night."

"Goodnight."

He waited until the elevator dinged, watching the doors close on her grinning face, before pulling back into the apartment and locking the door. He blew a sigh out of his cheeks, head shaking as he headed toward the hall.

The shower had stopped, and he could hear the soft, wet patters of your feet behind the door when he leaned against the wall beside it. He knocked two knuckles gently into the wood.

"Honey?" he called. "Need anything? Wanna order a pizza?"

He waited, adjusting the hem of his shirt to spread out a wrinkle in the fabric. He knew what the answer would be, but he couldn't always be so obvious. He had to pretend that he didn't know you like the back of his hand, because everyone started telling him how weird it was.

"You've lived with this girl for two years and haven't boned? You're either gay or dumb as a box of fuckin' rocks," is what Max told him when they met for lunch a few months ago.

Everyone said the same thing. His sister, who teased him at birthday parties and summer barbecues that you were always his date for. Sabrina did everything in her power to push the two of you closer together at family events, ensuring your seats were always paired and your activities were always coupled up.

"You look at her like a dog with a bone," she teased last Fourth of July.

But Steve only shook his head, glancing your way where you were helping his mother decorate cupcakes. You were dating some guy in IT at the time. Total fucking nerd. He made you pay for most of the dates.

"Nah...we're just friends. She's got a boyfriend."

We're just friends was probably Steve's most popular sentence in the English language since the day he met you. A pair of college graduates who had no clue what the hell they were supposed to do with their lives, roommate-matched by the apartment complex and so content with each other that you just kept renewing the lease.

When you finally replied to his question, your voice came like a small, pipping whisper behind the door. "Yeah...but with mushrooms this time?"

This time, as if you didn't order a mushroom and sausage pizza every time. Steve smiled, pushing off the wall.

"Okay—"

"And—"

"And sausage, I know. I'll call 'em."

"Okay."

While Steve called the pizza place a few blocks over, you clutched a towel to your chest and padded to your room. You pulled on the softest items you owned and sat on the end of your bed. A long day of cleaning certainly tired you out, but that wasn't what ailed you.

It was the fight with your boyfriend last night at the bar, when he yelled at you for laughing at Steve's jokes even though you always did. He thought you were too close, too "chummy" to be just friends.

Unbeknownst to Steve, we're just friends was one of your most common phrases, too. You should've had it engraved on your forehead at this point.

"Hey." Two knuckles on your door this time before it skittered open. Steve popped his head in and grinned at you. "Wearin' my favorite sweatpants? Must be feelin' better."

You glanced down at the black sweatpants on your legs, snickering softly. Steve thought they hugged your ass perfectly, and loved the way they flared at the calves. The logo right on your left ass cheek was especially beautiful.

When you opted to leave that soft noise as your reply, Steve stepped into the room. He flopped beside you on the bed, springs squeaking shrilly.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

You shook your head down at your lap, rubbing at your eye. You hated crying, and so far today you'd been doing well swallowing them down. Steve had only seen you cry once, and you avoided him for three days after.

Something about vulnerability made you cower.

"Okay...wanna watch a movie?"

You sighed, shifting a little away from him. Steve clocked it with a brow-furrowed frown.

"Steve...you don't have to make me feel better. I'm fine."

His lips parted to reply—most likely in protest—but the door chittered on its hinges once more with the small butted head of your tuxedo cat, Ted.

Steve immediately stood and scooped Ted up, turning to bring him to the bed. He scratched under his chin and brought forth a low humming purr immediately.

Not even cats could resist that pretty boy charm.

"Well, I reckon this lil guy will do a better job of cheerin' you up," Steve cooed, plopping Ted beside you.

A quiet giggle slipped from your mouth as you reached to swoop his tail. "Reckon?"

Steve shrugged, a sheepish grin on his mouth. "Just came out. I turn Southern in a crisis, darlin'."

He was just trying to make you laugh now, and he couldn't help but mirror the sound when it proved effective. Though, it also proved temporary. You soon settled on your side, tugging Ted to your chest with a fading smile.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, gathering a chunk of it at the top to pull. A stress tick. You tried not to feel guilty for causing it.

"Well...alright." Steve shuffled backward toward the door. "Pizza in fifteen."

You nodded into the pillow. "Okay. Thanks."

Steve lingered a beat too long, eyeing your balled up form on the bed before slipping into the hall. You'd been sad plenty times over the years: breakups, let-downs, missed jobs.

But the guy you were dating now...you really seemed to like him. He was over all the time, practically living here at one point. Steve didn't really understand what you saw in the guy—Eddie. Steve scoffed to himself, head shaking. Stupid name.

You met Eddie at the auto shop where he worked. He gave you a discount on your oil change, and his tire talk was so smooth that you went on a date two days later. Six months later, and things still seemed to be going smoothly despite the pair of you having very little in common.

Usually, you dated harmless little nerdy guys. Steve actually laughed in the face of a five foot eight finance bro who threatened to "hurt him real bad" if he got in the way of your relationship. You dumped him that night, and the pair of you still laugh about it to this day.

But Eddie was...different. Sleeves of dark ink and a chainlink on his belt. A handful of chunky silver rings and another one in his nose. He always clinked in with a nod Steve's way and a hand on your ass, and it seemed that every time he kissed you in front of Steve, he looked him right in the eye while he did it.

Steve didn't like how small you made yourself around Eddie, and he didn't like how much Eddie seemed to enjoy it.

For everyone's sake, he hoped it wasn't Eddie that made you sad. For once, he wasn't sure he'd win that fight.

✶ ✶

There were many things about your behavior that night that concerned Steve.

Number 1: You only ate three pieces of pizza, and he got one small mushroom-sausage with extra cheese just for you.

Number 2: You didn't let Ted in when he scratched at your door, and Steve had to bring him to his own room for bed.

But worst of all.

Number 3: You didn't say goodnight.

So, Steve went to bed with Ted curled at his feet and a lump in his throat. Whatever you were upset about was bad, he could just tell; and everything in him was itching to make it better. He had this terrible, stupid ache to make life easy for you, and it never really went away.

He opened all your jars, refilled all your water bottles, made sure your phone was charged when he saw the little red bar. He bought more of your favorite snacks when he saw them running low, picked up things that "felt like you" when he saw them at the store. You had an abundance of miscellaneous yellow items sitting on your windowsill because you told him it was your favorite color two years ago.

In Steve's eyes, everything yellow in the world belonged to you.

Steve stirred in a half sleep for hours, kicking at his covers and offering murmured apologies to a miffed Ted who meowed at him. His concerns, however, came to a head when the sound of muffled shouting startled him completely awake.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and tapped the screen, rubbing his eyes clear to read the 1:15. He wondered which couple in the building was fighting this late. His bet was on Jax and Monica in 1F who were always on the outs.

"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot? I see the way he looks at you!"

But that was Eddie's voice.

"I don't understand where this is coming from."

And that was yours.

Steve shot up, fumbling for his glasses in their case somewhere in his nightstand drawer. He shoved them over his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed.

"I'm tired of competing with your fucking roommate."

"You don't—you aren't! Eddie, please, you know we're just friends."

"Spare me. You're a shitty liar. Hey! C'mere, I'm not done talkin'."

Oh, hell no. Pants abandoned, Steve swung his door open with banging force and rushed into the hall.

He found the pair of you in the entryway, Eddie's hand around your arm and your cheeks soaked with tears. You still had your pajamas on, and those little yellow slippers Steve bought for you last Christmas.

Both heads turned when Steve hurried into the room, tailed by a confused Ted butting at his leg.

Eddie huffed, motioning toward Steve. "Oh, great, of course you're here."

Steve braced his hands on his hips, glaring at the raven-haired man. "I live here, dick-wad. Remove your hand."

Eddie ignored him, still wringing your arm out. You cast your eyes away from Steve, ashamed by the state he found you in.

"You live up my girlfriend's ass, Harrington. And I'm kinda tired of you being there all the fucking time."

"Remove. Your. Hand."

"Stop," you sniffled, wiping the tears from your cheeks though it wouldn't do much to hide the pink rims of your eyes. "Eddie, he's my friend."

"If he's gonna be your friend, then we're done."

You gaped up at him, more hot tears bubbling over and stinging your eyes. "W-what? Eddie, that's—"

Eddie shrugged, smug and uncaring. "You heard me."

Steve's eyes moved your way, and he could only stomach the absolute heartbreak on your face for a split second before he was stepping forward.

"Alright," he barked, and then he was shoving the arm Eddie was holding you with. "Let her go, Aerosmith, and get the fuck out."

Eddie let you go, but spun sharply to face Steve. You weren't sure whose glare was more frightening.

Eddie stepped until he was toe-to-toe with your roommate. "You like fuckin' another man's girl? You like my sloppy seconds, you pussy bit—"

Steve might not have been much of a fighter, certainly didn't fare well with a man who lifted cars for a living—but he certainly excelled at being discrete.

Which is how he got a right hook in before Eddie could fight back. Which is also how Eddie ended up on the ground, and unable to stand again for a few moments.

"Jesus, Steve," you scolded, peering down at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “You knocked him out!”

Steve cleared his throat, ignoring the buzzing pain in his knuckles as he swept them through his hair and motioned toward Eddie.

“Hm? Nah, honey, he’s just…he’s takin’ a nap.”

Though still numbed by shock and worry, you couldn’t help the amused snort that rippled through you. Steve’s lip quirked, and he glanced at Eddie when he groaned on the floor.

“Um, well…let’s get you up, bud. Yeah, you’re okay, c’mon.” Steve began talking to Eddie like a child, cooing as he helped him to his feet by the arm.

And maybe he wasn’t nice about walking him to the elevator, watching him crumble to the floor as the doors closed. Maybe the shiner swelling on Eddie’s cheek filled Steve with incredulous joy.

But he swallowed all of it down when he returned to the apartment and found you standing right where he left you. If you were ashamed of your tears this time, it didn’t show. You grew inconsolable, and Steve had no other thought in mind that didn’t involve picking you up and taking you back to bed.

So he did just that, letting you soak his bare chest with tears as he went. When he sat you on the bed, he tipped your head up by the chin and wiped your cheeks.

“He’s not comin’ back tonight, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Sniffling, you let him dry your tears and pull strands of hair from the sticky residue. “He thinks we were cheating. I t-tried to tell him…that we’re just friends.”

You deflated with a hiccuped sigh, and Steve’s smile was full of pity and pain. He rubbed his thumbs into your cheeks, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah. Just friends, honey.”

Your eyes fluttered with exhaustion, and Steve swallowed thickly. He pinched the edge of your pillow to pull it down, and gently coaxed you down by the shoulders. He pulled the covers up to your chin and plucked Ted from the ground to join you on the bed.

“He ain’t worth your tears, honey. Get some sleep.”

Sniffling again, you nodded quietly. Steve flashed another smile, and stepped back toward the door. As he reached for the light switch, he glanced over his shoulder to find your eyes again.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered.

He shut the light off so you wouldn’t see the way he closed his eyes, like it pained him to hear you with another cry in your throat.

“Goodnight, honey.”

Steve sat awake until 6 a.m waiting for Eddie to come to his senses and return for vengeance. But he never came. In some way, Steve knew that would hurt you even more.

So in the morning when you woke, he greeted you with a handful of sunshine yellow daffodils and your favorite coffee. A soft kiss on the head and a scratch at Ted’s chin on his way out.

“Gonna meet up with a friend today. Call me if you need me, ‘kay?”

He went home with the first girl he met at the bar that day just to get you out of his head, and lied about it when he came home.

Just friends. Yeah, right.

[accioharrington9]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you. 

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”  

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face.  

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly. 

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.  

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst. 

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.  

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”  

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him. 

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”  

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours. 

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building. 

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”  

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.”  

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”  

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”  

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom. 

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.  

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.  

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.  

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”  

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.  

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

[accioharrington9]

[accioharrington9]

Endless gifs of Steve Harrington - 55/∞

[accioharrington9]

"can u multitask" yes actually i am losing my mind and chilling at the same time