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harringtonslvr · 9 days ago

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there is no other love (it’s only yours) - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female! reader

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Summary:

You and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it.

Or, 5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.

Warnings:

Kissing, underage drinking, just fluff

Word Count: 8k

A/N:

Wow this is finally getting posted! This has been in my docs half written since JANUARY. I’m excited to finally share it with you, and anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around to see it! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for my banner ❤️

The first time you were mistaken for Steve’s girlfriend, you were in high school. It was a Friday night and the atmosphere in Hawkins was electric. The basketball team was about to play the championship game, and the whole school was crowded into the gym.

You dressed in a shirt you made with Steve’s number, 11, painted onto it, Harrington across the back. You used face paint to draw little 11s onto your cheeks. When you walked into the gym, Steve spotted you immediately, running up to you and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Look at you, all school spirit-ed up!”

“Just for you,” you laughed. “Harrington’s #1 fan.”

Steve looked genuinely touched. He pulled you into another hug, holding you until his coach called for him.

“Harrington! We need you over here!”

Steve pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he smiled at you. “See you after the game. I better hear you in the crowd.” Then he turned and jogged back to where the rest of his team waited for him.

You were still smiling as you climbed the steps, finding a spot with a great view of the whole court. Carol and Tina gave you a strange look as you passed, but you ignored them.

The game started, and the crowd came alive. Your eyes were glued to Steve the whole time, watching as he expertly blocked the other team’s shots and made basket after basket. He was running the court, and you had never felt more proud.

The other team was not having a good time. One of their players in particular started getting rough with Steve, elbowing him and knocking him to the ground. You gasped, standing to get a better look, but he was fine. Jason offered him a hand and helped him up, and the ref called a foul.

Steve was awarded a free throw. He stood behind the free throw line, bouncing the ball a couple of times as he lined up his shot. He tossed the ball and it effortlessly flew through the air, swishing through the basket. He took his second free throw, once again sinking the ball in the basket. His teammates clapped him on the back as they got back to the game. Steve looked into the stands, spotting you immediately and giving you a smile and small wave that you happily returned.

The game was close. The clock ticked down the remainder of the fourth quarter, and the other team was just barely in the lead, 71 to 70. Steve got control of the ball, spinning around to face the net. The timer went on - 2 seconds, 1 second - and Steve took the shot. All of Hawkins held their breath as the ball flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion - and swished through the basket.

The crowd went wild. You stood, jumping up and down as you screamed your head off. The team surrounded Steve, lifting him high in the air as they chanted - “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”

You ran down the steps as fast as you could. Steve turned to you like you were the only person in the room, holding his arms out for you to run into. He scooped you up, twirling you around as you laid your head on his sweaty shoulder.

“That was incredible!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. “You were amazing out there!”

“Thank you,” he said, the huge grin plastered to his face. He was riding the high of the win, of being the star player of the Hawkins varsity basketball team. It was a well deserved pride.

Your moment was interrupted by Carol and Tina approaching. They gave you a look, eyes moving between you and Steve.

“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Carol asked, her tone bitchy as usual.

You opened your mouth to say no, you were just friends, but Steve beat you to it.

“Yeah, we are,” he said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. She’s the best, isn’t she?”

You looked up at him in confusion, but decided to go along with it. “Oh, yeah,” you added. “Steve is just amazing. He’s the best boyfriend ever.”

Steve went on. “We’ve been best friends forever, you know, but I finally confessed my feelings and asked her out. I was terrified. But she said she felt the same, and the rest is history, as they say.” He chuckled. “Best thing I’ve ever done. She’s my dream girl.”

Carol and Tina both looked between you, their expressions judgmental as they chewed their bubblegum. “Well, good for you guys, I guess,” Carol said, before the two of them walked off.

When they were out of earshot, you turned to Steve, brows furrowed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months?” You questioned him, a laugh in your voice.

Steve shrugged, grinning. “Why not? It’s none of their business anyway.”

“You came up with a whole backstory.” You shook your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Everyone at school thought you were dating after that, and neither of you ever corrected anyone. When prom season rolled around, Steve asked you to go - just as friends. You went shopping with Robin and found the perfect dress - dark purple, sleeveless and with a poofy skirt. It fell to just below your knees. It made you feel beautiful, you had been looking forward to prom your whole life, never having an excuse to dress up like this.

Your older sister, Lori, came over, excited to help you get ready. You sat on the bench of your vanity, talking and laughing with her as she curled your hair, then did your makeup. She did your eyeshadow first, a smokey eye that went well with your dress. She painted your lips with a nude color.

Steve picked you up that evening, knocking on your door and using his Harrington charm on your mom, who already loved him. She always told you that you and Steve should get married, and jokingly called him her son in law when he wasn’t around.

When you walked down the stairs and saw him, your heart skipped a beat. In reality you were just friends, of course, but he looked so handsome it nearly took your breath away. He was dressed in a black tux, a dark purple tie on to match your dress. He might have looked even better than you did, you thought.

“You look beautiful,” Steve said. He held a purple corsage in his hand, still in its clear box.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” You reached for the hall table and grabbed the matching purple boutonniere sitting on top.

Your mom took about a million photos as you pinned the boutonniere to Steve’s jacket and he slid the corsage onto your wrist. Then you were made to pose for another million photos. You didn’t entirely mind, and Steve sure didn’t - he was absolutely eating up the attention - but you were ready to get going when she was finally satisfied.

Steve held out his arm and you looped yours through his. Your parents and Lori watched you from the front door as you walked - and saw a limo sitting out front.

“Steve!” You gasped. “This is too much.”

“It’s not every day we go to prom,” he smiled. “I wanted to make it special.”

Steve held your hand as you climbed into the back of the limo, him right behind you. When the limo began moving, he reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up on display and raising his eyebrows. “Want a drink?”

“Uh, yes,” you said, like it was obvious - which it was. Steve grinned as he grabbed two champagne flutes and filled them with the bubbly liquid.

You laughed together as you drank on the way to school, and by the time you got there you were both pretty tipsy. It was going to be a fun night.

Steve helped you climb out from the limo, escorting you inside. You stopped to take a photo together where Jonathan was running the booth. As you walked into the auditorium, Time After Time was just beginning to play.

Steve held out his hand - “Dance with me?”

You didn’t have to be asked twice. You took his hand and he led you to the dance floor, his hands sliding to your waist as your arms went around his neck and he held you close. You slow danced with your best friend, worried he could feel your heart beating against his own chest. The way he looked at you sent butterflies flying in your stomach. You almost thought he might kiss you.

But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?

After high school, you and Steve both got jobs at Scoops Ahoy. The uniforms were stupid and the job was mundane, but at least you got to work with your best friend. And Steve was pretty cute in the sailor outfit.

“I didn’t even know there were this many ice cream flavors in existence,” Steve said on your first day, looking down at the freezer in wonder. “It’s like…ice cream wonderland.”

You snorted. “Do you want some ice cream, Stevie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah, I do. You’re telling me you’re not excited by free ice cream?”

“I guess it’s one perk of this shitty job.” You grabbed two of the sample spoons. “What flavor?”

Steve examined the freezer again. “Rocky Road.”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough for me,” you said, opening the glass door and scooping one of each flavor. You handed the spoon to Steve, who ate it right away.

Steve watched you as you ate the ice cream off the spoon, making you blush. You licked the delicious treat off the spoon, him watching you intently the whole time. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head as he turned back to the cash register, acting like he was doing something very important as his shorts suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, the skin of his neck heating in a blush.

The two of you goofed around until the mall opened, then it was a steady stream of customers ready to cool down from the summer heat. It kept you busy, but some of the customers liked to talk.

“You’re such a beautiful girl,” one older lady commented one day as you scooped her mint chocolate chip. “Is that handsome young man your boyfriend?”

You started to laugh, “Oh, he’s-“

But Steve interrupted, putting his arm around you. Your heartbeat sped up, beating hard in your chest, although you didn’t know why. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for years. High school sweethearts. It was our dream to open this ice cream shop together. Now it’s finally come true, hasn’t it sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “That’s right babe. I’m just happy to be on this adventure, setting sail on the ocean of flavor, with you.”

Steve kissed you on the temple before he beamed back at the woman, who seemed to believe you as she took her ice cream, smiling at you both. “How cute. That’s wonderful. You remind me of me and my husband at your age.”

When she left, you and Steve busted out laughing. “Nice job, sweetheart,” he laughed.

“You’ve got to stop telling people we’re together,” you shook your head with a smile.

“Why? It’s fun.” Steve lifted his sailor hat to run a hand through his immaculate hair. You couldn’t help but notice his new sneakers he got to match his uniform. He would do something like that.

Steve was in the back when a group of familiar kids walked in. Before they could even ask, you turned. “Stevie, your kids are here!”

Steve came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?”

“It’s Day of the Dead,” Dustin reasoned. “We can’t get in and we aren’t missing it.”

You wandered to the back, leaving Steve to deal with the group of kids using him to sneak into an R rated movie. You decided it was the perfect time to take your break, sitting at the table and grabbing your book from your bag, flipping to where you left off.

Out front, Dustin gave Steve a smirk. “So, that’s her?”

Steve’s head twisted around in a panic to make sure you were out of earshot. When he turned back to the kids, his expression was irritated. “Dude.”

“She’s pretty,” Mike commented. “I see why you’re so obsessed.”

“I am not-“ Steve looked around again before leaning closer onto the counter. “I am not obsessed.”

“Yeah, okay, man,” Lucas said, telling Steve he didn’t believe him for a second.

“You never shut up about her,” Max contributed. “We’re not dumb. It’s obvious you’re in loooove.”

Steve blushed furiously, looking down to hide the redness of his cheeks. “I am not…you know what, don’t you have a movie to catch?”

He quickly led them through the back, not giving a single one of them the opportunity to speak to you. He didn’t trust them one bit. He opened the door to the back hall and the kids all filed out, making kissy noises at him as they left.

Because Steve definitely wasn’t in love with you. You were just his best friend. Nothing more. He swears.

Your sister Lori had a baby girl 6 months after you graduated high school. She named her Annie, and she was really a perfect baby. Always so calm and well behaved, and she loved spending time with you and Steve.

You were basically volunteered for babysitting duty whenever it was needed, but you didn’t mind. You always loved kids, and you loved your sister and your niece. It was fun to play house for the day, go out in public and pretend you were a mom. It was especially fun when Steve tagged along, because, well, he made everything more fun.

When Annie was 1 year old, your sister left you in charge while she and her husband went to Indianapolis for the day. You and Steve decided to have a fun day and take her out to the children’s museum. She had just gotten walking down and always wanted to be independent now.

It took Steve an annoyingly long time to find a parking spot and it was making Annie fussy, so when he finally did, you were all relieved.

“Way too fuckin’ busy for a Tuesday,” Steve grumbled as he killed the car engine and started unbuckling his seat belt. You grabbed Annie from the back and got her buckled in her stroller, which Steve pushed to the front door. He bought three tickets from the counter and you all headed inside, Annie looking at the surrounding ocean exhibit with wide eyed wonder.

Steve was amazing with kids. It always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside to see him interact with them, and the way he played with your niece was no exception. He sat her on his shoulders as he walked through the museum, giving her the best view of anything she could want to see.

When you reached the mini grocery store setup, Steve sat the wiggling toddler down and she grabbed his hand, leading him through the fake store. She added all kinds of pretend food to her mini shopping cart, and when she was done, Steve manned the cash register and scanned her purchases.

“Having a cookout this weekend?” Steve asked as he scanned a pretend pack of hot dogs. “Beautiful weather for it.” When she was done, she walked off with her cart. Steve stopped her - “Ma’am! Your change!”

In the playground area, Annie found some toddlers her age and began playing with the blocks with them. You and Steve took a much needed break as you sat together on a bench with Annie in full view.

“Long day,” Steve sighed, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up the slightest bit, revealing a tiny bit of skin. Your eyes went right to it.

“Yeah,” you agreed when you wiped the drool off your chin. “You having fun though?”

“‘Course,” Steve smiled at you. “I love hanging out with my girls.”

His girls. The sentence made you feel giddy, like you weren’t just babysitting your niece and maybe had an actual family with Steve. A wedding ring, an adorable brown haired hazel eyed child. You let yourself entertain the thought.

The couple sat on the bench next to you turned your way, the woman giving you a friendly smile. “Is she yours?” She asked, pointing to Annie.

“Oh, yeah,” you answered. Steve leaned around you to look at the couple. “Her name is Annie.”

“She’s adorable,” the woman said. “That’s mine, Oliver.” She pointed to the little boy handing Annie a block. “Sorry if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you two?”

“We’re nineteen,” Steve answered for you. “Just graduated from Hawkins High a year ago.”

“That’s where we met,” the woman said, smiling at her husband before turning back to you. “You’re so young. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well,” you began, looking at Steve. “It’s definitely hard, but we always knew we wanted kids. Especially Steve.” You leaned on his shoulder, smiling at the couple like you were head over heels in love. “So we got an early start.”

“I’m 30 and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” she laughed. “You two are doing great. You have a beautiful family.”

The comment made your heart soar, as if you hadn’t just completely lied to this woman and it wasn’t all pretend. You squeezed Steve’s hand, and he returned it.

When Annie started fussing and rubbing her eyes, you knew it was time to get her home for a nap. You just hoped the day’s excursion had worn her out enough to lay down without a fuss and take a good one. You put her back in her stroller, and Steve pushed it as you left the building.

“So I have to stop making up stories about us being together?” Steve whispered, teasing you for your earlier words.

You blushed. “It was just the perfect opportunity. She totally assumed we were together and Annie was ours.”

“She did,” Steve agreed. “But you surprised me, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I mean, I would have if you didn’t, but still.”

You burst into laughter. “I knew you were thinking it!”

Steve laughed, too. He shook his head, brown locks brushing against the collar of his shirt. “Of course I was thinking it.”

Annie was passed out by the time you got her back into her car seat. Steve was such a natural with her, it made your heart flutter in your chest. You thought about what it might be like if you were together, if Steve was really your boyfriend - or husband - and you had a child together. You knew he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

He played the radio quietly as you drove back home. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to wake Annie. She probably wouldn’t nap once you got home, so you wanted her to get as much rest as possible. But every now and then Steve would turn to you, giving you a soft smile that made your stomach do flips.

When he dropped you off, he helped you carry the sleeping baby inside. Your sister held her hand over her chest as she watched Steve with Annie, shooting you a knowing look behind his back that had you blushing.

“Thank you for taking her,” she told you both. She kept shooting you glances that were far too obvious for your comfort.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steve said, usual charming smile on his face. “We had a good time.”

“Yeah?” Lori asked, smiling between you two like an idiot. You gave her a look that said please stop.

“Yes,” you answered for the both of you. You pushed Steve through the house and to your bedroom as he laughed.

“I like your sister,” Steve said, laughing. “I don’t know why you’re always trying to get away from her.”

“She’s embarrassing,” you muttered.

“She’s nice,” Steve said.

Yeah, when she isn’t trying to embarrass you in front of your friend. You shook your head. “You don’t get it. You don’t have any siblings.”

Steve kind of deflated at that, and you instantly felt bad. You knew Steve’s family was a touchy subject. His parents were pretty emotionally neglectful, never around, hardly cared what Steve did as long as he showed up to school and didn’t get himself killed. But he was lonely, and always had been. He’d wished for a sibling for as long as he could remember.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You can have her, if you want.”

That got a smile out of Steve. He nudged your forehead with his own. “Nah. I’d rather just spend time with you.”

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Eddie asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as he cornered you, Steve, and Robin at Family Video.

“It is Tuesday,” you said, closing up a VHS box and giving Eddie a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ed.”

Eddie was beaming as he turned to Steve and Robin expectantly. Steve had been leaning against the counter on one arm, watching you and Robin. With Eddie’s waiting gaze on him, Steve looked between you and him. “Well, I don’t go anywhere without her, so. Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“We’ll all be there,” Robin said. “Calm down.”

Eddie was practically bouncing off the walls. This was a big show for Corroded Coffin - not the typical Tuesday night crowd with five drunks. The rumor was someone from a label was supposed to be there. Eddie had been demanding you all come for moral support - and to make the crowd look at least a little bit better.

That night, you dug through your closet looking for something metal concert-appropriate. You didn’t have much to choose from. You ultimately decided on a black top that tied in the front and a tiny little matching skirt. Some tall lace up boots and tights pulled the look together.

When you walked outside to Steve’s car, you could see his eyes widen through the window. You had to pull your skirt down as you got in to keep from flashing him.

“Jesus,” Steve practically choked out. “You look-“

“Ridiculous?” you filled in for him. “Yeah, I know.”

“That…is not what I was going to say.” Steve shook his head, blowing out a long breath of air as he backed out of the driveway.

You picked up Robin next, who slid into the backseat behind you. Both Steve and Robin were dressed in their normal wardrobe - you felt kind of like a total fucking idiot. This wasn’t you.

You didn’t notice the way Steve kept looking at you, letting his gaze linger way longer than he knew he should’ve. Robin noticed.

At the Hideout, Steve put a hand on your lower back and led you into the crowded bar. It was packed for a Tuesday. Steve left you and Robin in a booth and took to the bar with his fake ID.

When he came back, he had three beers held in his hands. He placed them down in front of each of you and slid into the booth on your side.

There were a few opening acts before Corroded Coffin - no one particularly interesting. You were barely listening to the music at all as you chatted with Robin and Steve, laughing harder and harder the more drinks you got in your system.

When Eddie came onstage, the three of you cheered louder than anyone. He caught your eyes in the crowd immediately, smiling and waving back. The band started playing, and you nodded along to the music.

“I need another drink,” you said, hinting that Steve should get up to let you out.

“I’ll go get it for you,” he said, standing.

“No, I need to stretch my legs,” you said. You had forgotten just how tiny your skirt was until you stood and could feel the breeze on your upper thighs. “We can go together.”

Steve nodded, leading you through the crowd. You may not have noticed, but Steve didn’t miss the way every guy in the bar was looking at you, letting their eyes freely drop to your barely-covered ass. Steve shot dirty looks to all of them, staying close behind with his hands on you at all times.

You made it to the bar, leaning against it. It was packed, the bartender all the way at the other end. “This is gonna take forever,” you groaned.

“Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll go catch him down there. Another beer?”

“And some shots,” you smirked, which Steve returned. You watched him go, disappearing into the crowd of people.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turned around, startled. A large man stood behind you, not entirely unfriendly looking, but you knew better than to trust strange men in bars. “What?”

“Was that your boyfriend?” the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. You looked back at him at the bar before turning back to the man.

“Yes,” you said on instinct.

The man looked like he didn’t quite believe you, like maybe you were just trying to get rid of him (you were). “How long you been together?”

“5 years,” you said easily, thinking of the day you and Steve had become official best friends. “High school sweethearts.”

“Oh yeah?” the man said, his little interest waning.

“Yeah,” you said. “Actually, he stole me from that guy up there.” You gestured up to where Eddie was going crazy on stage, and the man’s eyes widened. “We were together for a little while. But Steve? He’s the real rocker, if you know what I mean.”

The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable at this point. The sight of Steve coming back over from over your shoulder was enough of a push for him to get out of this interaction. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“The real rocker, huh?” Steve asked with a smirk, sliding up next to you and handing you a shot. He carried both your beers in his one hand. You tilted your head back and swallowed the shot with ease. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I think he was gonna hit on me. Asked if you were my boyfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Steve asked teasingly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“Nice story,” Steve said, and you blushed, realizing he had probably overheard more than you thought. “I’m the real rocker?” he repeated, like he had really gotten a kick out of that.

You shrugged. “It made him uncomfortable. I thought it was funny.” You took a second shot.

Steve looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes slowly trailed over your body, your outfit, taking in every inch of skin exposed by the tiny material. His heart thudded harder, harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret when Robin came up between you, grabbing your arm.

“You guys took forever,” she said. “Now I need a drink.”

It had been a few years since graduation when Richard Harrington decided he was done torturing his son and gave him a job at his insurance company.

Steve’s first real Big Boy Job. A job where he had to dress in business casual, get up early to style his hair and iron his shirts. He did well there, rising up the ladder faster than expected - you knew it was on Steve’s own merit because his dad wasn’t exactly the charitable type.

You were a junior in college, studying education. Dean’s list, soaring grades, on track to be class valedictorian. Things were going well.

“Do you want to come with me to the company Christmas party?” Steve asked one evening as you were lounging at your apartment. He was still in his work clothes, button up shirt undone with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’d come over right after he got off. Most days, all he wanted to do when he got off work was hang out with you.

“You want me to go?” you asked, sitting your mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s probably gonna be lame, but if you’re there-“

“I’ll go,” you said. “Do I need to dress up?”

“Uh…yeah. Probably,” Steve said.

“It’s fun to have an excuse to dress up sometimes,” you mused.

You couldn’t find anything in your closet you actually liked that fit the vibe of Steve’s fancy annual company Christmas party - so you dragged Robin and Lori out shopping with you. Lori was having fun, at least.

“How many dresses are you gonna try on?” Robin whined, running her hand absentmindedly through the rack of clothes. “I feel like you’ve tried on everything in the store.”

“I just haven’t found the right dress yet,” you mumbled as you examined a little black number on the rack. For some reason, this had to be perfect. You had to look perfect. It was important to you.

“You’ll find it,” Lori said. “It’s in here. I can feel it.”

It was an hour later, and Robin was dragging her feet. You were starting to feel bad - maybe you shouldn’t have brought her, but you missed her since you no longer worked together. You didn’t get to see each other as often.

“Oh my god,” Lori said, slowly pulling a hanger down. “This…”

You turned and saw your sister holding a glittering short red dress. It was stunning. It fit the Christmas/winter wonderland vibe perfectly. You took it from her, the material softer against your skin than you expected.

“Go try it on,” Lori encouraged.

You went into the changing room for what felt like the millionth time and shed your familiar clothes. You took the dress off the hanger, the fabric cascading across your skin like water. It was easy to put on, too.

You stepped out of the dressing room, and Lori gasped.

“Oh, finally,” Robin said.

Turning to look in the mirror against the wall, seeing yourself in the dress for the first time - it took your breath away. You had never felt particularly confident in yourself, but if anything was going to give you unbeatable confidence, it was this dress.

“You look so hot,” Lori said.

“Agreed,” Robin added. “This is the one. And I’m not just saying that because I wanted to get out of here 6 dresses ago.”

That night you dressed in your new gown. The hem went right to mid thigh, showing off your legs in a very sexy way. It showed off your cleavage just enough without it being too revealing for a company Christmas party.

You knew Steve was just your best friend, but you were about to knock him dead.

He picked you up right on time, the knock on the door coming at 6 on the dot. You opened your apartment door to the sight of Steve dressed in navy pants with a white and grey button up and matching suit jacket - a red tie around his neck that somehow matched your dress perfectly. He wore his glasses, which he hardly ever did.

He had been standing there in his normal bored kinda way, leaning against the door frame as he waited for you to answer like he had much more interesting things to do. But once you opened the door and he saw you, he practically choked, standing up straight and nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wow,” he finally managed to get out. “You- you look incredible.”

“Looking handsome yourself,” you smiled playfully, grabbing your black clutch from the hall table. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, ready,” he said, still distracted. Even with his mind reeling and actively trying not to look too hard at your body, he led you to the car with his hand on your back, opening the door for you and holding your hand as you sat down.

“Is this a date, Harrington?” you teased him as he got into the driver’s seat of his new car. “This feels kinda like a date.”

Steve laughed lightly. “Just trying to be a gentleman.” He thought for a second. “I guess you could be considered my date for the night. By some people.”

“Our first date,” you cooed playfully. “Cute.”

At the office building, Steve parked in his designated spot - close to the front. He helped you out and escorted you inside with you hanging onto his arm. You stepped on the elevator and Steve pressed the button for the 15th floor.

The doors closed, and you and Steve were left in the quiet, the only sound the rumbling of the ascending metal box.

Steve cleared his throat. He looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at you. It was starting to make you feel a little bad. “Do you not like my dress?” you asked softly, your earlier confidence being left behind in the ground floor lobby. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No!” Steve said quickly, almost a little too loud. “No, that’s not- I like it. I really like it. You look stunning. Actually…” he thought for a second. “Stunning,” he said again. “You’re gonna be the hottest chick there.”

You laughed, feeling a little better. You just couldn’t understand why Steve was being so weird.

On the top floor, it was much louder. Muffled Christmas music traveled down the bright white hall, and Steve led you down, opening the door for you.

A party had been set up inside, not huge, but pretty big. Lots of guys in suits dressed similarly to Steve, mingling with drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their sides. You were sure most of these women had rings on their fingers, however. Big, flashy rocks.

Steve was quickly wrapped up in a whirlwind of conversations with his colleagues. You were each handed a champagne flute that you sipped on while you listened to Steve talk about things you didn’t understand while smiling and laughing at the appropriate times.

But Steve kept his hands on you. If you weren’t holding onto his arm, his left arm was around your waist, or his hand on the small of your back. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome and grown he looked. Steve never wore his glasses, but all of a sudden you wished he would more often.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you whispered to Steve just as he got waved over by another man.

He looked down at you. “Do you want me to take you? They’re just over there, but-“

“No, I’m okay,” you smiled. “Keep mingling. I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched you leave, the sway of your hips in the fabric of that dress near hypnotizing. When you were out of sight, he turned and walked over to Tom, the guy who had been calling him over.

“Hey, man,” Tom greeted, clapping Steve on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, having a pretty good time,” Steve answered with a friendly smile.

“Was that your girl?” Tom asked, nodding in the direction you’d gone. And Steve wasn’t going to play the game tonight - he really wasn’t - but then Tom said, “Because I’ve been watching her all night, and she’s hot as hell. I was going to ask for her number if she’s just a friend. Or maybe you could set a guy up?” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve mischievously, and Steve felt like he could’ve punched the guy.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve said. He told Tom your name - and it had never felt quite so right rolling off his tongue.

“Lucky bastard,” Tom teased. “I hope you appreciate what you’ve got. Because that girl is-“

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, politely cutting him short. “I’m a lucky guy, believe me I know it.”

“How’d you two meet?”

“High school,” Steve answered easily. “She was, uh…she was my assigned math tutor.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the memory. “Brought me from a D to an A in that class. I’d never learned so much in my life.”

“If my math teacher looked like that…”

Steve smiled, as if he was lost down memory lane. “We became best friends after that. Literally inseparable since. I haven’t gone a day without her in 10 years.”

“That’s sweet man, really,” Tom said, more genuine this time. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a nice girl. Just don’t be an idiot - don’t let her go.”

Don’t let her go.

The words rang around in Steve’s ears for the rest of the night. Even when you returned, back by his side while he made the rounds - he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tom had said. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.

Steve hadn’t realized how he felt about you until it slapped him in the face in that exact moment - out of nowhere, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He looked down at you, smiling and laughing as you sipped on your champagne and talked with his boss’s wife - and it nearly took his breath away.

How had he been so stupid all these years?

Sure, there had been times he was unbearably attracted to you - but he was only a man, and you usually happened to be wearing something unreasonably sexy when it happened. Like now.

But there was more. It was the way his heart clenched when you laughed. The way you made him smile like no one else. They way you made him laugh, kept up with his sense of humor, never made him feel stupid or less than. You befriended everyone - there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body. Friend of everyone, yet you never let anything get in the way of your friendship with Steve. You were his best friend.

And he loved you.

He had to get out of there.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked you, mid conversation.

You looked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“I think I’m ready to go,” he said. “I just think…I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.”

You looked at him with your eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay. We can go.”

Grateful you didn’t put up a fight while Steve felt like he was losing his mind, he told everyone a quick goodbye and led you back to the elevator. The ride down was silent, and significantly more awkward. Steve couldn’t wait to be out.

The elevator dinged as it stopped at the lobby once more, and Steve speed walked off. You were running as fast as you could in your heels, trying to keep up. “Steve, wait up! Where are you going?”

He was outside now, the cold air whipping through his hair and making his nose burn. He knew you had to be freezing in that tiny little dress. He had made it to the large fountain in the courtyard when he turned abruptly, nearly making you knock onto his chest.

“Jesus,” you said, stopping. “What are you doing, Stevie? What happened in there? Are you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer any of your questions because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he took his suit jacket off and handed it to you. “Here. You’re probably cold.”

You looked at him strangely. But you were cold, so you took the jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. “Thanks.”

It was silent besides the running water sounds of the fountain. You and Steve just looked at each other, the only ones outside at this time of night. The party was still in full swing upstairs. You just stared each other down, both of you waiting on someone - the other or yourselves - to make the first move.

Steve finally took a step closer to you. He said your name, so gently it floated across to you on the breeze.

“What’s going on with you?” you asked. “I thought we were having a good time, and-“

“I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes went wide and you reeled back as if you’d been struck. “What?”

“You heard me.” Steve took another step. “I’m in love with you. I’m fucking in love with you. And I don’t think I can pretend I’m not anymore.”

You were in complete shock. The sounds of the rushing water filled your ears once again, and you gaped at Steve like a fish as you tried to come up with something to say. It felt like your brain had just completely short circuited.

Steve began to look defeated. His head dropped and he held intense eye contact with his loafers. “I…I just had to tell you. I’m sorry.”

More rushing water. Then - “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I think I just ruined the friendship,” he said. “I think I just ruined our fucking friendship.”

“No,” you said immediately. It was your turn to take a step closer. “You didn’t.”

Steve slowly looked up at you, taking his time meeting your eyes as if he were afraid. You’d never seen Steve afraid. “I didn’t?”

“No,” you said. “Because I…I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”

You just stared at each other. That damn fountain carrying the whole atmosphere. Steve took another step, and he was standing so close to you you could smell his cologne and aftershave. His head was tilted down, looking into your eyes like he was reading you from the inside out. “You love me?”

It took you a minute to get your bearings. Your heart was pounding now, and you felt like your body was filled with bubbles from the champagne. Light, bubbly, like you could float away or maybe just pop out of existence. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. I…I love you.”

Steve’s forehead came down to gently rest against your own. Then he slowly raised his arm - his hand finding its spot on the side of your neck, cradling your jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “And I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. Think I always have been.”

“Steve…”

He shook his head just barely. “Just let me…”

He leaned in those last couple of inches, and then Steve’s lips were pressed against yours.

When people talk about sparks flying during a kiss, you’d never believed them. It had certainly never happened to you, and you’d kissed plenty of people. But you had never kissed Steve.

He moved his lips against yours so softly and slowly. Like he wanted to feel and savor every second of the kiss, didn’t want to rush. He was hungry for it, but he could take his time. Your hands came to sit on his biceps as his free hand rested on your waist.

It felt so right. It didn’t feel like a first kiss - there was no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable, just pure passion and love and desire. Steve was a good kisser, too. His tongue traced your lip and you opened for him, his tongue just barely brushing against yours.

Steve let out the slightest breathy moan, like he had finally gotten something he’d been longing for for so long. Your knees wobbled and his grip tightened on your hip, pulling your body closer into his.

“Don’t go fallin’ for me too hard, now,” Steve smirked, his voice so low and deep it gave you chills even though he was being his normal cheesy self.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington,” you said, still breathless from the kiss. Steve only smiled bigger.

He kissed you again, shorter this time. A couple soft pecks against your lips, then a longer press, like he didn’t want to stop. “Be my girlfriend.”

“Are you serious?” you laughed. “How much champagne did you have?”

“Hardly any,” he said, “and I’m dead serious. Did you not just hear me tell you I love you?”

“You meant that?” you whispered.

“‘Course I did,” he whispered back, nudging your nose with his own. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. All those shitty dates…my failed love life…” Steve laughed lightly. “And you were right here in front of me the whole time.”

Your expression softened, looking up at Steve with eyes that were somehow glittering in the night. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat - you were quite literally breathtaking.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Steve’s smile grew. His only reaction was to pull you in again, wrapping his arms around your body as yours went around his neck and he kissed you nice and slow again with all the love in the world, beneath the December stars.

“Can you help me with the potato salad?” Lori asked, already three dishes in her arms and Annie clung to her leg.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, jumping into action. You grabbed the bowl of potato salad along with the ice bucket and followed Lori out into the backyard.

The sun was shining, a perfect Memorial Day. The cousins were splashing in the pool, the older relatives talking as they sat in the warm sun with smiles on their faces and beers or lemonades in their hands. You and Lori put the dishes down on the buffet table. Lori was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sheer coverup on top, while you were in your red bikini top with short jean shorts over the bottoms.

“Finally,” Lori said. “I didn’t think the food was ever gonna get done.” She turned to you, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. There had been a lot of running around, and she was five months pregnant. “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself with the aunts.” Family had come from all over the surrounding states for this Memorial Day reunion, and it was…a lot.

Lori let out a groan. “Thank god for you.”

You squealed as arms wrapped themselves around your body and lifted you into the air. Lori just watched on with a knowing yet amused smile.

“Steve!” you scolded once he’d set you down. You slapped at his arm lightly.

“What?” he said. “I missed you.”

“It’s been like 20 minutes!”

“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling your body into his and kissing you.

“Get a room,” Lori teased, although she was still smiling as she turned and walked away.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked Steve as he picked up a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. He chewed and swallowed. “Your family is nice.”

“You weren’t scared to meet the whole family after only 5 months of dating?” You smiled, your hand running over his bare chest.

“‘Course not,” Steve said. “I’ve already been part of the family for years. The extended family didn’t scare me.”

You loved that about Steve. He was so confident and sure of himself. One of endless things you loved about him.

You heard a voice calling your name. Your grandma was approaching, her paper plate piled high with potluck food. “Is this your boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asked with a sly smile as she reached the two of you.

You smiled, looking up at Steve. He beamed back down at you like he’d never been happier in his life, his hand gently rubbing your lower back. “Yeah,” you said. “He is.”

“Hi,” Steve offered her his hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“He’s a cute one,” she whispered to you, but Steve definitely heard. You were sure he didn’t need the ego boost. “Don’t let him go.”

You leaned your head against Steve’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hip.

Yeah. You didn’t plan on it.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 9 days ago

Note

Hiiii!! I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could do another best friends to lovers with Steve <3 maybe they’re in their 20s and reader has never kissed anyone which she’s embarrassed about and thus ensues a healthy dose of angst and mutual pining and happy ending? <3 tysm for considering 🥹

oh, anon, I had so much fun with this one! I'm definitely thinking of doing a part two with smut...

[fic masterlist]

accidentally, then all at once

wc: 3097 steve harrington x reader, first kiss, best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, happy ending

“—I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” Steve says, dragging out the vowel like it means something. “Cool. You’re just sitting there with your arms crossed like a pissed-off toddler because you’re not mad. Got it.”

You shoot him a look. “Can you focus on the road instead of diagnosing my body language?”

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes still on the empty stretch of highway. “Hard not to notice when you’ve been doing that twitchy mouth thing since we left.”

Your jaw clenches on instinct. He grins like he caught you in a lie. You turn your face toward the window and sigh, trying not to sulk. The warm hum of the car fills the silence, broken only by the soft thrum of The Smiths on the stereo—because of course he put on The Smiths. Like your night didn’t already feel like a bad punchline.

He glances at you again. “Look, I don’t get it. So you kissed that guy. The one from your creative writing class. The one you talked about for, like, weeks.”

You say nothing.

“It was truth or dare, not a wedding ceremony. And, sidenote, we’re too old for that ‘playing games as an excuse to kiss’ crap anyway.”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “It was my only one, Steve.”

The words just… drop. Like a record scratch in the middle of a song.

He blinks, eyes flicking toward you, quick. Then again, slower. “What?”

You should’ve let it hang. Should’ve laughed it off or pretended you said something else. But no—of course you had to go and drop a personal bomb in the middle of his dumb BMW like you were having some kind of main character monologue.

He lets out this awkward little laugh. “Wait—what? Like… ever?”

You grimace and turn back to the window. “Forget it.”

“No, no, hold on. I mean—really?”

And that’s it. The dam breaks.

“Jesus, yes, okay? I had braces until senior year. Like, industrial-grade. It was like kissing a fucking bear trap. And I wasn’t exactly in high demand. I was too busy writing angsty poetry and reading romance novels with characters who—surprise—also never got kissed. So no, it’s not some huge dramatic thing, it just… happened. I got dared, I went with it, and—whatever, okay? It’s not like it meant anything.”

You stare out the window, breath hitching slightly at the edges. You don’t even realize the car’s stopped until you see trees out the passenger side.

You blink. The lake glimmers under the soft pull of the moon, all glassy and silver. Lover’s Lake.

“Why the hell are we here?” Your sarcasm kicks back in, eyes narrowed, automatic armor. “What, you figured I got the first one out of the way so now I’m cleared for advanced coursework?”

He scoffs, soft and amused, like your sarcasm didn’t hit him straight in the gut. “Relax,” he mutters, hands still on the wheel. “I’ve seen enough of you and Robin’s weird anxiety rambles to know we were three minutes away from either screaming, crying, or—on very rare occasion—puking. And you had a couple beers, so I wasn’t risking that last one in the beemer. I like this car.”

You make a sound. Something between a groan and a huff, more grumble than anything, still curled against the window like it might let you disappear if you press hard enough.

You’re quiet again. That same tight silence you’ve had ever since the party, ever since you kissed that guy and didn’t say a damn word about it until now.

And now he knows why.

It’s not like you and him talked about that kind of thing, anyway. Not really. Not in any real detail. He’d hear names sometimes—people you didn’t like, people you really didn’t like—but never the kind of stories he and Robin traded in late-night 7-Eleven parking lots.

Then again, Robin’s gay. So it’s… less weird. Less tense.

With you it’s… different. Even if he doesn’t say why.

Your voice pulls him out of it. “I’m probably the only girl you’ve taken here who didn’t make out with you.”

He lets out a dry laugh, head tipping back lightly against the seat. “Okay, first of all, most of the heavy petting happened at Skull Rock. That was the hot spot.” He smirks when you snort softly. “Second, not true. I brought Robin here when she needed to scream about Tammy Thompson being straight.”

That earns him a breath of a laugh from you. Soft. Real.

It lands in his chest somewhere.

He should leave it there. Let the silence take over again. Let it fade into another weird, almost moment that both of you pretend didn’t happen.

But he doesn’t.

Because now that he’s thinking about it—really thinking about it—it is kind of a big deal. Not the kiss. Not the party. But the fact that you said it out loud. To him.

And you said it like it was something to be ashamed of.

He glances over at you again, the dim light from the lake catching the curve of your cheek. You’re still looking out the window like it’ll save you.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice lower now. “It’s not a big deal, okay? You’re not weird.”

You roll your eyes, sharp even in the dark. “Steve, we’re twenty-one. You’ve got a goddamn Rolodex of experience and I’ve got a drunken peck from a guy whose biggest personality trait is liking The Great Gatsby.”

“Okay, well, just so you know,” he says, a little smug, “I’m currently in what Robin is calling my ‘longest dry spell to date.’ So, I’m basically a virgin again. It's a reset.”

You snort, but your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to laugh. It’s barely there, but he sees it.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “That’s not how it works.”

“What’s not?” he asks, pretending confusion.

“You don’t just—lose all your progress because it’s been a while. You don’t respawn as a virgin just because you haven’t made out with anyone in a year. That’s not how any of this works.”

He gasps, dramatic, hand over his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Okay. First of all, rude. Second, it’s been fourteen months, not a year. Third—”

You lift your brows. “You counted?”

“I had to. It was starting to feel biblical.”

You laugh, soft and reluctant. “You’re so full of shit.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, eyes wide and insistent. “At this point, I probably wouldn’t even remember how to do it. Any of it. I’d be like a baby deer. All limbs. No coordination.”

You snort. “You’re an idiot.”

“Probably a bad kisser now, too. Like—tragic.”

You look over at him, skeptical. “Yeah. I bet you’re awful. All that varsity experience? Gone. Wiped clean.”

He nods solemnly. “Gone. Out the window. I’m a shell of the man I once was.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something warm curling in your chest. Something easy. Familiar. His hand nudges yours on the center console—not holding it, not quite, just a brush of his fingers against yours like punctuation. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And somehow, you’re closer than before. Not dramatically. Just enough that you can smell the faint sharpness of his cologne and the minty gum he always keeps in the glove box. Just enough that if either of you turned your heads at the wrong angle, your mouths might graze.

You feel it happen before you can name it—the shift. The quiet, off-balance moment where the space between you stops being a buffer and starts being a pressure point.

His gaze flicks to the back seat. Then back to you.

He raises his eyebrows. “Could always… test the theory. You know. Just for science.”

It’s a joke.

It has to be a joke.

But your heart doesn’t get the memo. It kicks like it’s trying to break through your ribs.

You glance—just for a second—at his mouth.

Just a second.

Then you lean back, fast, putting distance between you and the heat that’s suddenly too much. You don’t look at him. You just fold your arms, shift your body toward the window, and pretend that didn’t land like a slap.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first.

Mostly because he’s too busy internally screaming.

Nice. Real smooth. Excellent joke, Harrington. Really landed that one.

He stares out at the lake, but all he can feel is the space put between the two of you. Like a wall he didn’t even mean to build.

Because he didn’t mean to say it. It just… slipped out. The way things used to. When flirting felt like muscle memory. When moments like that didn’t have consequences.

But this wasn’t just some girl at a party. This was you.

You weren’t just anyone. You were—his friend. A good friend now. Someone he actually knew.

And yeah, okay, maybe he’s thought about kissing you before. He’s not blind. You’re—well. You. And he’s still a guy with eyes and a pulse and urges, thank you very much.

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t,” he mutters to himself, voice low. “Don’t go there.”

He rubs both hands down his face, grounding himself in the familiar feeling of palms against tired skin. Then he glances over at you again, and guilt punches him square in the chest.

“Hey,” he says finally. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Your voice cuts through the car like a blade. “I know.”

Flat. Sharp. The kind of tone that doesn’t need volume to hurt.

He winces. “Right. No, I mean—I really didn’t mean to. It just—came out. Like a reflex.”

You don’t look at him. You just breathe harder.

He leans forward, bracing his forearms on the steering wheel like he’s trying to physically hold onto the moment before it gets worse. “But it’s not like—I mean, I didn’t mean it like it’s gross. Or that you’re, like, some experiment or something.”

Still nothing.

He keeps going, because now his mouth won’t stop. “You’re—you’re pretty. And nice. Usually.”

That gets a look. A look.

He winces again. “Okay. Yeah. That’s fair. Real bold stuff. Revolutionary. Compliment of the century.”

He sighs and leans back in his seat, staring up at the car ceiling like it’s got a teleprompter he forgot to read. “I didn’t mean, like, surface-level stuff. I meant… the real stuff. Like how you remember dumb things people say in passing and then bring them up like three weeks later, and it freaks them out in a good way. Or how you’re the only person who actually listens when someone’s talking, not just waiting for your turn. Or like, the way you somehow always know when someone’s about to cry and do that casual thing where you pretend you didn’t notice so they can keep their dignity. I don’t know, you’re just—you.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then: “And you look really nice tonight. Like, really nice. That skirt thing you're wearing? The—uh. Whole situation? Yeah.”

You’re still not saying anything. So he laughs a little, under his breath.

“I guess… I kind of hoped if that stupid game led to you kissing anyone, it’d be me.”

Finally, finally, you look at him.

He swallows and offers a half-smile. Soft. Shrugging like it’s no big deal even though it’s the biggest thing he’s said all night.

“It’s a skort,” you mutter, finally looking at him again.

Steve’s head tips back as he laughs. “Ah, yes. The secret enemy of any guy trying to get to third base. I know it well.”

You smack his arm—harder than necessary, but it makes him laugh again. So you do too.

And then it’s quiet again. But not the same kind of quiet. This one feels… softer. Less like a wall, more like a blanket.

You mess with the fraying edge of your sleeve for a second. Then, too fast to stop it: “So what, you have a crush on me or something?”

It hangs there for a second. Too sharp. Too loud in the small space of the car.

Steve snorts, caught somewhere between defensive and flustered. “What are we, twelve?” But then he shrugs, eyes still on the lake. “I mean… yeah. Sometimes. It’s hard not to.”

That quiet stretches again. But it’s humming now.

He keeps going. “I mean, I spend most of my time with you, Robin, or a literal high schooler. And no offense to Dustin, but I don’t think I’m his type.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. It doesn’t work.

Your voice comes out smaller than before. “It wasn’t really a real first kiss.”

Steve glances over. “The thing tonight?”

You nod.

“No,” he agrees. “Definitely wasn’t.”

You shift toward him slightly, heart thudding louder in your ears. “So… what would you do different?”

You ask it like a throwaway. A maybe. Like you’re already bracing for a backpedal.

But when you finally look at him—really look—you catch it.

The way his eyes flick to your mouth. The way something stills in his whole body, like the world just narrowed to the space between you.

He looks at you like he’s seeing the question behind the question.

Steve doesn’t move at first.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

But because he does—badly—and that’s the problem.

He could tell you. He could say all the things running laps in his head. That he’s thought about this before. That he was hoping you’d ask. That maybe he’s been waiting for a moment like this and didn’t even know it.

Or he could show you.

But somehow, neither feels like enough on its own.

So he says, “Fuck it,” under his breath. And does both.

He turns slightly in his seat, eyes still on you, voice low but easy. “Okay… so let’s say we just got back from a date.”

You blink at him, confused—but not pulling away.

He continues, heart thudding loud in his chest. “Dinner was good. You made fun of me for ordering something boring. I made fun of you for putting hot sauce on literally everything.”

Your lip quirks, but you’re still watching him.

“We drove around a little afterward. Listened to that mixtape you won’t admit you made for me. Pulled up to the lake just to sit for a second. And now…”

He reaches up slowly, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, letting his fingers linger there just a beat longer than necessary.

“… for the record, I’d probably be walking you to your door. No Lover’s Lake on the first date. Usually. But seeing as we’re already here, in my car, I’ll have to improvise.”

His voice dips, softer now. More real. “I’d lean in. Not too fast.”

He does.

“I’d wait to see if you moved. If you got shy or said you were tired or—”

You don’t move. Not away from him, anyway.

“And then I’d ask…” He’s just a breath away now. His nose nearly brushing yours. “Is this okay?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. Your eyes flutter closed. And that’s when he knows.

He kisses you. Slow. Sweet. No pressure. No rush. Just the press of his lips against yours, careful and warm and way too full of everything he’s been trying not to feel for months.

When he pulls away, your eyes are wide. Searching his face.

He sees the doubt flicker across your face—just for a second. Like you’re trying to catalog every part of it, weigh it against the idea that maybe you’re not enough. That maybe you’ll mess it up.

He hates that.

Because you didn’t. You don’t.

He gives you the softest smile he can manage, one that only barely masks how wrecked he feels by the fact that you let him kiss you at all. “You’re not bad at it,” he says quietly. “Not even close.”

You blink. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He leans in again, closer now, until his breath fans warm across your cheek.

“Okay,” he murmurs, a low grin tugging at his mouth, “so this is what we in the biz call the… advanced coursework.”

You start to roll your eyes—classic, a callback—but then his mouth is back on yours before you can finish the motion.

This time, it’s not hesitant.

It’s intentional.

His hand slides up, fingers curling gently along your jaw as he kisses you again—just lips, for now. Soft, sure, grounding. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t crowd you. He kisses you like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

Then he pulls back just enough to speak against your mouth, voice barely a whisper. “Okay, now part your lips.”

You do.

“Good,” he breathes. “Now let me—” His nose brushes yours as he leans in again. “—show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

His lips find yours again, slower this time. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the angle. You feel the difference immediately—it’s heavier. Hungrier. Still soft, but anchored in something that makes your stomach flip.

Then his tongue nudges gently at your bottom lip. Not demanding—just asking.

You let him in.

He exhales softly against you when you do, and his tongue brushes yours—just once. Light and careful. Then again, with more intent. He coaxes rather than takes, matching your pace, letting you get used to the rhythm.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak again, breath hot against your skin. “Relax your jaw. Don’t overthink it. Just… follow me.”

And then he kisses you deeper. His tongue strokes against yours, slow and unhurried, as if he’s teaching your body what it’s supposed to remember. His hand at your jaw tilts your face gently toward him, guiding. His other hand steadies himself on the center console, but it brushes your thigh as he shifts—just barely, but it sends a shiver straight up your spine.

You breathe in like you’ve been underwater.

When he finally pulls away, it’s gradual. He lingers. Like he doesn’t want to stop, like he wants you to feel every second of the space that’s suddenly between you again.

You’re both a little breathless.

Both flushed, blinking like you forgot where you were.

And Steve?

He just smiles.

That same soft, slightly stunned smile that says finally.

GUYS I REALLY WANT TO DO A PART TWO TO THIS. would that be something you'd like...?

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 10 days ago

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bed chem ౨ৎ bff!anakin skywalker MDNI 18+ tags: mutual pining, best friends to lovers, female reader, mentions of sex, alcohol, fluff. lmk if i should make a pt 2 of this… ♡

anakin skywalker would be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about how you’d be in bed.

he feels so wrong- so creepy- for even wondering, but he can’t help it. sure, he’s seen you in your underwear, and slept in your bed, but it’s not enough.

he hasn’t seen you with your lips red and swollen, your mascara smeared and smudged, your bare body underneath his.

no. he feels like he’s betraying you by thinking about stuff like that. you’re his best friend, you’ve spent your whole lives together, and he’s sure you’ve never thought about this stuff with him…

“ani?… ani!”

your voice, sweet as ever, snaps him out of deep thought. you’re sitting next to him on somebody’s couch, at a house party padmé just needed to have you guys at. he smiles up at you, an almost dazed expression on his face. “hm?”

you giggle at him slightly, leaning closer to him so he could hear you over the painfully loud music being played. “gosh, what’d you drink? i swear, i’ve been trying to get your attention for, like, ever,”

“oh.” he smiles sheepishly, like a kid whose been caught sneaking candy. “nothi- i haven’t had anything. i’m driving you.” he reminds you.

“dunno, i figured you found someone else to.” you shrug dismissively, although you know he would never drink knowing he’s meant to drive you home. he shakes his head in response.

you smile up at him, and he sprawls his arm behind your shoulders and onto the couch, positioning himself closer to you. a content sigh escapes your lips as you take in your surroundings.

anakin watches the way your lips part, his eyes traveling down your body, taking in the tight dress you’re wearing tonight. gosh, did your tits spill out of it like this when you tried it on for him at the mall?

his mind almost drifts to what it would be like to take that dress of you, how it would feel to have those heels you’re wearing dig into his back. you don’t notice his stare, and how his pupils have grown so large you can’t see his irises.

he shakes those thoughts away as a few of his friends walk over. you don’t know them all well, but they’re always polite to you. you’re sure that anakin told them to be on their best behavior around you.

he greets them while you smile courteously, the shots you had with padmé and a few of your friends making you a bit more relaxed than usual.

“what, you and your girl sneak off to makeout?” one of the guys, who’s name you remember as james, says and nods towards his hand draped on the couch and over your shoulders.

you let out a small giggle, and you’re sure your face flushes, but you thank the dimmed lighting of the house party for hiding it.

truthfully, you often found yourself wishing you were ‘his girl.’ you know it’ll never happen, so you’ve gotten yourself used to just being his best friend.

still, you’ve never dated anyone, because they’re just not him. and when he’s asked as to why, you just smiled up at him playfully, replying with: “why would i need some guy, when i already make my best friend do everything for me?”

“yeah, we sure did.” anakin replies sarcastically. you know he’s only joking, but just the thoguht of it makes your spine straighten. you try to remain calm, laughing passively. you silently thank god for tequila.

james shrugs “i’m still surprised you’re not with her.” he says dismissively, ignoring anakins annoyed expression. “come on, you haven’t thought about it?” he says, laughing.

anakin doesn’t respond for a second, and you miss the slight smile on his face. “shut up, man.” he says, almost embarrassed. james holds his palms up in mock surrender, laughing.

“oh he definitely has.” laughs another friend, ethan, and you stifle a giggle. anakin shoots him a glare, and the rest of the guys just laugh.

the rest of the party goes on, and you and anakin get separated at some point, padmé dragging you along to go play beer pong or something.

you lose count of how much you’ve drank, and by the time anakin spots you in the crowd, you’re visibly wasted. he swears to himself, quickly bidding his friends a good night (ignoring their protests for him to stay) and hastily making his way over to you.

you’re leaned up against a counter, attempting to talk to one of your friends, while trying not to pass out or throw up right in the middle of the kitchen. anakin, like your knight in shining armor, quickly appears at your side.

“ani!” you slur, smiling up at him, quickly grabbing onto his bicep for balance. “hey sweetheart, i’m gonna take you home now, ok?” he says. you never drink, and on the rare occasion you do, it’s never more than a beer or a shot. he knows how wasted you are, and curses himself for letting you out of his sight.

“why?” you pout, wanting to stay longer. “you’re drunk baby.” he replies simply, as patient as always with you. you giggle at him. “yeah.”

he nods, smiling back. “yeah. you are.” he snakes one arm around your waist, steadying you, and you bid goodbye to your friend as he leads you out of the house. your heels click on the concrete driveway as he walks you down it, and he lifts you in the passenger seat of his truck, the throw blanket you always keep in your unofficial seat gets draped over you.

he starts his truck, soft rock music quietly fills the cab as you guys drive out of the neighborhood and down the street to yours. you reach up to grab his arm, his right hand coming off the wheel to intertwine with yours

after a while, the truck comes to a stop, and he gets out to open your door. you smile, unbuckling your seatbelt as he comes to your side of the car, helping you out and up the front porch stairs of your house.

as well as your moms being best friends, they also bought neighboring family houses, which has always called for lots of sleepovers between you and him. luckily, your parents are off on a trip, and mr. & mrs. skywalker know anakin is staying at yours, so there’s no need to have to sneak in.

he helps you up the stairs and into your bedroom, sitting you on your bed and kneeling down to take your shoes off. you giggle girlishly at the action, always finding the ways he takes care of you so sweet. anakin huffs out a laugh at your drunken glee, setting your shoes aside.

“hold on, ‘m gonna grab your water.” he says, walking over to your bedside table and filling a glass from your carafe and handing it to you. you gulp it down quickly, not realizing how parched you were, before saying a soft ‘thank you.’

he nods in response, handing you a nightgown to change into. normally, he’d be salivating at the sheer idea of you changing, but he’s so focused on making sure you’re comfortable and in bed, that he barley even notices. he turns around as you change, ever the gentleman, but he still catches notice of the way your nightgown puts your plush thighs on full display.

“wait. my makeup.” you say slowly, realizing you still have your makeup done. “hm?” he says, scanning your face with worry. “need to take my makeup off.” you explain, brows furrowed softly as you try to speak clearly. he realises what you mean and disappears into your bathroom, returning with makeup wipes, a damp washcloth, and moisturizer.

he’s seen you do this routine a million times, so he has no difficulty gently removing your makeup. he has one hand on the back of your head as he tilts it up to make sure he’s removed everything, before rinsing your skin with a warm cloth. you smile softly as he applies moisturizer, amused by how focused he looks doing it.

“good?” he asks, and you nod, crawling into bed and pulling the cool cotton sheet over your body. your eyes instinctively close and you feel the bed dip beside you as anakin lies down, now changed into just a pair of flannel pants. you lay on his bare chest, melting into the warmth.

he wraps his arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing small circles into your back. “i had fun.” you say, the tiredness overcoming the alcohol in your system. “yeah?” he replies, smiling down at you as you nod into his chest.

“mhm.” you mumble, and he leans down to plant a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m glad.” he says softly, trying to lull you to sleep. you crane your head up, your eyes shut as you whisper to him. “i’ve thought about it, too.” you admit, before laying back down.

his thumb freezes, no longer tracing patterns on your back, but it doesn’t matter as he already feels you sleeping. if it wasn’t for the fact that james’s words haven’t been playing on loop in his head all night, he’d be confused by what you said, but truthfully he can’t stop thinking about it. do others know how he feels about you? is it obvious? is it obvious to you?

he must have been imagining it. maybe you said something else. besides, you’re wasted and delirious. surely you couldn’t have been admitting your feelings to him.

right?

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader

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harringtonslvr · 23 days ago

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In the quiet aftermath of a storm, Steve and the reader navigate the raw beauty of love, doubt, and domestic devotion - with a missing dog, muddy footprints, and whispered dreams of something more. 14k words

(angst, mentions of parenthood/pregnancy, self-doubt, slightly suggestive)

Rain shot down like obsidian arrowheads, cutting through the heat and sinking into skin. Shirts clung, shoes sagged, and the world turned waterlogged beneath their steps.

Silence took on a new sound - the cannonade of rain filling the space between them, a wordless exchange still fluent in that strange, comic connection lovers know too well.

Told you it was going to rain, he thought as his chest inflated, heavy with humid pine and loamy air.

I told you to bring Pinto inside. The thought wasn’t cruel, just persistent. Your fingers worried at the frayed edge of your shirt, chasing some outlet for the ache spreading through your chest. Every step felt like wading through water with rocks in your shoes.

His thoughts turned over like tired wheels. You’re impossible, he sighed inwardly. First the peanut butter, now Pinto. Just one thing after another.

A sidelong glance was enough to clench your jaw. An open jar left on the counter. Who even knows where the lid is? Angry tears mixed with rain - an imperfect, raw blend. Pinto could get hurt. Hit by a car with lousy wipers, snatched by a coyote, or what if someone takes him in and wants to keep him? He’s our dog. He belongs with us.

Hands were shoved deep in his pockets, pruned fingertips rubbed together. He was a stray once. He knows how to take care of himself. That’s what they said at the pound. It was more a hopeful statement, wishful thinking meant to make Steve feel better.

I'm worried. One small hiccup bounced in your chest, lips pursed tightly so no other noise was made.

The slow burn of his annoyance eased the moment his eyes found you. He caught the difference in droplets on your cheeks - rain, light and fleeting, tracing soft paths; and tears, slow and briny, weighted with every ounce of your frustration.

The inward spiral broke, replaced by sudden clarity.

He reached over, hand caught your own in a tight, reassuring hold.

All that was left was to find Pinto. With thunder cracking in the distance, it was likely he was trying to outrun the storm, or more accurately, just hiding somewhere nearby.

After twenty-some-odd minutes, your hand kept trying to pull away. No longer spurred on by anger, it had switched to fear. Shoulders had dropped. Feet dragged. Your nose ran from both the wet weather and dejection.

He wouldn't let go.

Steve yelled, called out in a sing-song voice, and whistled for five more minutes up the street. Neighbors peered past curtains, out of peepholes, and one elderly couple opened their front door.

A loud clap of thunder set off heinous crying, completely unrestricted. The heels of your palms pressed into closed, tear-streaked eyes. Steps faltered. Breaths caught, trapped in your lungs. In a second, a zeptosecond, Steve rubbed your upper arms, an attempt to pacify the labored wheezing.

Wordless, yet all the while fluent, he cradled the back of your head and gently tugged your body to his. Kisses were peppered along your crown, soothing strokes down the nape of your neck.

Between sobs, you whispered, "I don’t-" A heave caught your breath. "He's my respons-" Another choke, as if tar had coated your larynx, thick and suffocating.

Aware of the marrow of your words, Steve drew back slightly. Ardent hands cupped your cheeks, foreheads pressed together. Tentative promises couldn’t liberate your pain. All he could do was be there for you, with you.

And that, he hoped, would be enough.

A panic far deeper than the fear of a lost dog swelled in his chest. From your reaction, he wondered if you felt it too. That awful thought: what if we’d be terrible parents?

Tears streamed down his flushed face. “It’s okay,” He whispered. He would make it okay - raise homes, carve out patches of thicket, for as long as it took. Hours, days, weeks - he’d give his time like the sunrise: inevitable and resolute.

Your head nodded, heavy with sniffles and a trembling chin. Steve slipped his hand beneath his shirt, lifting the fabric to your face, wiping away the runaway tears and snot. An irrefutable gentleman, no matter how humiliating the gesture.

"Oh, God," A low mumble. "That's gross."

He smiled, not repelled in the slightest. You’d done way “worse” for him before - cleaned his stomach-bug vomit off the bathroom vinyl without a single complaint. Even sat on the floor beside him with a damp towel, saltine crackers, and a couple bottles of water.

An urge to laugh swelled in his chest but couldn’t ricochet out. There was too much ache for humor to coexist.

Only three minutes passed as you trudged down the road when another bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a howl of thunder. The storm was practically overhead now - too dangerous to stay out in.

Hand clasped in Steve’s, eyes squinting through the downpour, he shouted, “We have to go home.” When defiance pinched your expression, he added, “No. Right now.” Water caught in his mouth, sputtering as he insisted.

A dour frown. Your body slackened. You let Steve haul you behind him without resistance. Hurried feet dashed through streets, cutting across strangers’ yards.

Within minutes, legs sore and hearts pounding, you made it home.

Halfway up the driveway, the loudest, most violent explosion of thunder tore through the sky. Pebbles tumbled down the concrete, wet leaves bounced, and eardrums partially burst. Bones rattled - a lingering vibration from such a tactile lash.

A blessing in disguise, however vicious: a string of spooked whines, barely discernible beneath the steel clunker of your car.

Kneeling down, suspicion mingled with a twinge of hope, hands pressed to the wet cement. Turning your head, your eyes traced the undercarriage - where a small miracle huddled, trembling.

In less than an instant, voice pitched, “Steve, Steve-”

Prompted by your muted but joyful expression, he crouched next to the driver’s side door. Pinto’s saucer-like, panicked eyes blinked back. Though the weather made it tricky, Steve reached in carefully until his fingers hooked the D-ring of Pinto’s collar. He pried gently as Pinto wrestled backward. A surge of relief echoed in his chest when the martingale didn’t slip. With more care, he used his other hand to guide Pinto’s back legs forward.

A proper mixture of giddy baby talk and hushed profanity spilled from Steve’s lips when Pinto was finally out in the open.

“Get the door.” Logged, twice as heavy as normal, Pinto was lifted into Steve’s arms. A little flushed and strained, he carried the flailing dog inside.

The second Pinto was free from Steve’s hold and the shackles of the storm, he bolted like a pull-back motor. Your hand grazed his crimped fur before he vanished, buried under the blankets on his homemade dog bed.

Before a step turned into two, Steve stopped you. “We should let him calm down a little.” His hand slid up the backside of your arm.

Your shoulders rolled, and your glance caught his bobbing Adam’s apple before drifting to the crooked parlor palm by the sidelight window. Its slanted leaves browned at the tips - fussy, always needing just the right mix of light and water. A child would require so much more care. How could I possibly be a good mother?

Attention shifted. Soggy clothes created pools on already warped laminate. The old, well-lived-in house bore its frays in chipped corners, missing shingles, unfinished projects; half a patio of pavers, half gravel. Ungrouted backsplash. Popcorn ceilings in only some rooms. A home full of potential, tried again and again.

You and Steve had plans, painted futures on these walls, patch by patch, but goals don’t fly straight like bullets. They loop and waver like dragonflies.

“We should change.” Your voice was mild, scarcely more than a whisper. Nails picked debris from his forearm. “Maybe clean up a bit too.”

He fought against a smile, worried the gesture might be misread. All he showed was softness, a lovesick expression in its place.

He pulled a tiny fragment of a crimson-colored maple leaf from your hair. “Yeah.”

At the door, shoes were toed off and left like husks. Socks, three of them at least, missed the coir mat, tumbling aimlessly across the floor.

Lights hummed on, flickering their way down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Outside, the wind had talons. Tree branches scraped and tapped at the glass, insistent and wild. Steve’s fingers swept the curtain closed. “The wind’s really picking up now,” He said, more to the night than to you, his brow lifted in quiet concern.

“There’s a few of those unused candles your grandma got you in the closet. I’ll get them, just in case.” Your shirt was peeled from your body, then your shorts and underwear. “Isn’t the flashlight in there too?”

His clothes met the tub with yours, forgotten.

You stood bare, body all skin and scaffolding, and behind it, your heart, a red cardinal beating its wings, steady and alive in its cage of ribs.

“No, I think I put it on the baker’s rack.” Bare against the hush, he was a silhouette of calm strength, vulnerable but unyielding.

With a nod, you disappeared into the bedroom. The dresser creaked open, he knew you were rummaging through that cluttered sock drawer, each pair mismatched. A dreamy, sanguine smile tugged at his lips as you passed by: one sock pink, the other striped.

The bulbs flickered, like the house blinking against the storm’s dark gaze. He pulled a Sonic Youth shirt over his head, the fabric slipping softly, and stood beside you. Two of five wicks already danced with a wispy flame.

As he struck a match, he said, “I got this. Grab the flashlight.”

Balsam fir wax climbed the braided cotton Then plumeria. Then seaside holiday.

“Does this count as a vacation?” He asked, voice teasing, as the faint scent of musk and sea salt drifted in - a strange, warm medley that tickled the inside of his nose.

The flashlight switched on, a dim beam illuminating a gallery of framed moments on the wall. Steve. You. Pinto. Families.

With care, each picture was lit up - tucked in sleeping bags, Steve on his first day as a carpenter, ugly Christmas sweaters, him bawling at your college graduation. Family photos with everyone grinning far too wide.

“No beach,” He said, flicking his head toward the garden doors, “But we’ll have plenty of mud to play in once this clears.”

You tilted your head, adoration creasing your features. “It’ll probably be dark by then.”

“And?”

You neared the island. Steve leaned in, the crest of his hip bone brushing the border like it dared him. Willful as ever, he seemed on the brink - if he just pushed, he’d pass right through.

He sought forgiveness, knowing that to ask when it would come was to betray the very humility it demanded.

“We’re still young, right? That counts for something.” He said as he brought a candle closer.

Your head dipped, hiding a playful eye-roll. “Still? Pretty sure we’re the ones who peak early.”

Your skin, once velvet, had weathered beneath the weight of time. Youth fell away like antlers, leaving behind a shape less tender, more bone than bloom. The mirror hadn’t changed - only the person inside it had.

Steve’s eyes answered first, a glint of warmth. “Well, now I like carrot cake. That’s a step up. Who knows, five years from now, maybe I’ll eat every vegetable.”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, right. I guess that’s why I like going to bed early now.”

“Pretty soon we’ll be trading in our bed for something with rails,” He teased.

Featherlight movements carried him to your side. Your giggles suddenly rang like wind chimes in a summer squall.

“Steve,” A breathless laugh. “Sto-” More laughter echoed, startling Pinto beneath the blanket.

Steve spotted the ripple of the afghan - a rogue wave in technicolor. Slowly, movements died. His hands stilled. Your laughter faded to breaths, just a few quiet gasps from emptied lungs.

You stood pressed together. Dilated pupils. Subtle gulps. That unbearable rise in heat.

His cheek had come to rest against the side of your head. What he’d always wanted was this - skin and soul tucked together in the dark, not reaching, not chasing. Just safe.

He had loved you the way water carved valleys, the way light moved - straight and sure. Natural. Uncomplicated. Peaceful.

“I love you.”

Your lashes fluttered against his jaw. You exhaled.

Once, silence would’ve sent him searching - for signs, for meaning, for a door swinging shut. But now, he knew better. He knew you. Knew that silence, in your world, was a kind of trust.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, reverent and still. His arms curled tighter, wordless reassurance wrapped in the shape of him.

A smile rose, unbidden and slow, blooming from some hidden corner of your chest - shaped by safety, by being known. The warmth of it trickled down your spine, filling the hollow places you used to brace against.

“I love you,” You whispered.

There was only one Steve Harrington. Only one heart like his - stubborn, tender, impossible to outrun. Love, spun fine as spider silk, held fast to every part of you - the bitter, the bright, the parts even you looked away from.

Hearts beat as one, a matched rhythm. For minutes, it stayed like that. Comfortable. Assured. Until the wind howled again and a splintered oak snapped. The power cut off, plunging the room into darkness beyond the candlelight’s fragile glow. Shadows deepened, flickering at the edges of the soft, golden light. Sight faded, but touch grew sharper - your fingers found the line of his jaw, his hand warmed yours, anchoring you both in the trembling lull.

Amidst the faint, shimmering light, you kissed his chest.

“I’m going to check on Pinto.” You stepped back. “And maybe...you could get Monopoly?”

He cupped your face, his expression half-hidden in the gloom, but a bright glint in his eyes pulled you in.“Boardwalk’s mine.”

“If we’re picking,” Plumeria in hand, “Then I’m getting all the railroads.” A smirk. You walked away, calling over your shoulder. “And the utilities!”

The storm had passed hours ago, leaving the world washed clean and quiet. The tension between you and Steve drifted away with the rain, like the last stubborn mist fading under a waking sun. The electricity still hadn’t come back on. Outside, the trees stood slick and shining, their leaves catching the faintest glimmers of moonlight, each droplet a tiny prism.

It was one in the morning. The weekend. No one was rushing anywhere. The house settled into a soft silence, broken only by the faint creaks and sighs of wood cooling from the day’s heat.

Steve lay sprawled on the couch, the dim glow of your flashlight casting flickering shadows behind you as you moved. He could only see the gentle outline of your back, the soft sway of your hair catching the weak beam like a halo. The light made you look like a quiet beacon in the dark, something steady and true he could hold onto.

In that dim light, his chest tightened, because you carried yourself like ivy along old stone: deliberate, unwavering, beautiful in the way you never asked permission to belong. He thought how you must be the roots of this place, holding it steady in the dark, and felt a flush rise behind his ears. The thought made his throat dry and his pulse quicken just a touch.

“You really lost at Monopoly.” He teased softly, voice rough with tired amusement.

You smiled without turning, your fingers tracing the edge of the game box as you put it away. “I let you win, obviously,” You said, voice low and playful.

“Obviously,” His smile was slow and knowing, like a river curling around rocks. “Sure.”

You walked toward the back of the room, flashlight glow gliding over the well-trodden rug, its surface like old love letters - edges blurred and faded, every thread telling a story that hadn’t worn out yet.

Pinto was still curled up in his bed, his fur coarse in places, soft in others, warmed by sleep. You crouched beside him, your hand gliding through the uneven coat. He let out a slow sigh, the kind that sank straight to your bones - deep, content, like he finally trusted the night to stay quiet.

Steve watched, his gaze tracing your gentle movements. You moved with the kind of care that came from habit and heart - unspoken, intentional, and real.

He remembered the way your hand felt just last night, how it slipped into his as if it had always belonged there. The memory bloomed warm and bright in his chest, like the first slow light of dawn spilling through fog. It made him ache to lean closer, to close the small space between you.

You stayed there a moment, resting your forehead against Pinto’s head, feeling the slow, steady pulse beneath the fur. For a breath, it made your chest swell with something warm and fierce: satisfaction, a kind of quiet pride in having him finally safe, in maybe being enough for him.

Sadly, beneath that glow, a shadow flickered - a whisper of doubt you couldn’t shake. Could you protect something smaller? You nearly lost him just hours ago, your protection faltered. The accusal settled heavy and cold, like a sudden chill under a summer sun. It pressed against your ribs, tightening just enough to remind you that some hopes carried a weight heavier than you wanted to admit.

Steve’s voice was a soft rumble, like distant thunder fading into memory. “You take really good care of him.”

You looked up then, catching the faint light in his eyes. What scratched up your throat was, “I don’t deserve him, or you.” What rushed out instead was, “Well, I’m lucky to have him, and you.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them made the dark room glow warmer than any flame ever could.

Steve felt like the lucky one between you two. Despite the struggles you carried, when you showed your cracks and still kept moving forward, your love never wavered. It was mighty and constant in its own messy, beautiful way. There was no greater gift, no brighter light, than being loved by you, than existing in the orbit of your heart, strong enough to hold him through anything.

He got up, shifted closer, the slow heat of his body pressing into yours. His fingers found your waist, gentle but sure, an anchor in the quiet night.

The house creaked again, like a slow breath from some ancient creature settling after the storm, and outside the wind whispered through the fields, soft as a lullaby.

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, the way you’ve done countless times before, and he sighed deeply - this time not the weight of the day, but something lighter, something held close.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “For earlier.”

His nose brushed yours, lips barely touched. “No, I’m sorry. I should’ve let him inside.”

The slight shake of your head drew Steve back. His eyes searched your downcast gaze - unreadable, but aching to be understood. If he could see clearly, he’d know the brimming tears came from shame. Guilt burned beneath your skin, and his touch, though gentle, only made it hotter.

“I was upset over peanut butter, Steve.” The ghost of a laugh - embarrassed, thin - hovered between your bodies. “It was stupid.”A crease tugged at your brow, lips flattening as he silently pleaded to hear and dispel the cruel words spinning in your head. “I get moody about everything. I hate it. I wish I’d just found the lid and left you alone. Next time, I will. I promise.”

His hands moved to cradle your face, as if holding the sorrow itself - wanting to see it, to soothe it, to damn it away with love. “What? No. Tell me when I mess up. I don’t want bugs to get in the house because I left food out. Yell at me when you’re mad, hug me when you’re sad, or - or use my shirt to blow your nose. I don’t care as long as you’re not silencing yourself for me.”

Your bottom lip trembled, voice catching on the swell of emotion. “That’s not fair.”

“Who cares? I love you.”

Your warmth slipped from his grasp as you stepped back, as if bracing against the kind of rebuttals that always disarmed you. “You don’t deserve my anger, especially not over something small. That’s mine to manage.”

He kept his hands at his sides, though every instinct screamed to pull you close - if only to soothe the wild thrum in his chest. “All I’m asking is for you to come to me, with anything. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Stillness settled between you, padded and heavy. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Instead, your hand crept forward, curling into the hem of his shirt.

“You’re not wrong for being upset,” He said softly, as if too much noise might startle you away. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve snapped at some guy at work for being a total idiot. I feel bad about it afterward. Well, sometimes. Sometimes they deserve it.” His head tilted, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth as he thought it through. “That new guy I told you about? Keeps skipping his goggles while sanding. I told him once, twice...three times. Ended up practically yelling at him in front of the whole crew. I just hate feeling like someone’s gonna lose an eye on my watch.”

A soft huff slipped past your parted lips, like wind through a cracked window. Too faint to shake anything loose, but still there, still felt. “That’s a good reason, though.” Your nails picked at the frayed stitching, a quiet fidget. A mental note tucked itself away: fix the seam before washing his shirt. “No one loses an eye over an uncapped jar…or a toilet seat left up.”

Steve caught your wrist, halting the nervous tug of your fingers as he knelt before you, desperate to meet your gaze. “Listen to me, baby. Please. Stop giving those mean voices in your pretty head any airtime.” His hands were warm. His voice was softer now, more deliberate. “I used to get pissed when my dad left every light on in the house. I get irritated when you flush while I’m showering, and I get weirdly bothered when Pinto puts his butt on my pillow every time I’m gone.” His eyes flicked to Pinto, laying belly up and lip caught on a snagged canine. “Why he won’t lay on your pillow is beyond me.” A dry shake of his head, and then his focus was back on you. “The point is, what you feel is natural. It’s okay. You’re not unkind. You’re not unfit to love, or to be loved.”

Each of Steve’s hands clasped your wrists, bringing the underside to his lips to kiss your pulse. like he was greeting the place closest to your heart that his mouth could reach, as if the beat there called to something in him. For a moment, the world beyond the walls slipped away, and there was only this: the two of you, wrapped in stillness, holding onto each other like roots gripping soil - firm, growing, and unbreakable.

“Come here,” Your voice wavered, a sudden surrender that caught you off guard.

Slowly, you moved together through the dim house, the faint glow of the flashlight tracing the outlines of familiar shadows. You reached the bedroom, the air cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth and candle wax. The sheets fluttered beneath you as you sank into the bed, your body folding into the familiar weight of soft cotton. The comforter, passed down from Steve’s grandmother, wore its floral patterns proudly, despite the itchy fabric and pills from years of use - a reminder that love is often wrapped in imperfections.

The bedroom held its own stories. The bed, made but softened in the places where Steve sat every morning to tie his shoes, the gentle crease a quiet mark of routine. The wooden dresser stood nearby, its drawers stubbornly misaligned, opening with a faint protest like an old book unwilling to yield its secrets. Beside the boombox, cassettes were stacked haphazardly.

Steve climbed in after you. He lay behind you, warm and quiet. He pressed in close, arm hooked around your waist, his palm settling low, fingers spread like he needed more surface just to be sure you were there. The pads rubbed against the band of your shorts.

His face nuzzled into the soft crook of your neck, and you felt his breath when he spoke, “We should dig out the gutter tomorrow.”

A pause, then a quiet, “Mhm?”

“The backyard overflowed again.I saw mulch floating all the way to the fence.”

You turned your face toward the window, catching only the haze of silver light. “We should cut the grass too.”

“Can’t cut wet grass,” He mumbled. “You know that. I’ll end up flinging clumps at the neighbors lawn.”

“Maybe they’ll enjoy the fertilizer.”

“Maybe they’ll finally wave at us after seeing that gift.”

You smiled, soft and unseen. His thumb brushed along your ribs absently, like he didn’t even realize it. It felt like the kind of gesture you’d see in animals, something instinctual - seeking reassurance in the dark.

Inside, Steve’s mind traced the shapes he loved most - the gentle arch of her neck, the sweep of her collarbone, the quiet strength in the curve of her silhouette. A subtle cadence moved through him, like the slow turning of a weathered wheel, drawn by the gravity of those familiar lines. His body responded before his mind caught up, heart fluttering like a bird startled into flight, skin warming in the dark.

The conversation drifted away, like morning fog thinning beneath a rising sun.

Steve stayed pressed to you, head buried now somewhere between your shoulder and the curve of your spine. His breath came slower, heavier, like the weight of his day had finally peeled itself off and left him here.

A quiet, telling sigh escaped him, like a secret slipping from his lungs before he could stop it. Turning over, your hand moved up to his scalp, finding the crown of his head and scratching gently, fingers parting his hair. His whole body softened against you, as if your touch unraveled every knot the day had tied inside him.

Still, he clung. Not out of desperation, but something older, serene. Like a vine curling toward the only thing that ever gave it sun.

Brief, unwelcome thoughts flickered through your mind. A feeling you couldn’t name, only carry. That every good thing you were given was something you’d have to pay for later. That happiness, when it came to you, came on borrowed time.

And that - that man with his arm curled around you like you were something precious - he was the best of them all.

You truly didn’t feel worthy of him. Not of the way he looked at you like you held the sun in your smile, or the way he never pulled away when your feelings got too big, too complicated. You’d give him everything - your time, your strength, every last shred of tenderness you had. You’d give him the whole world, and still, it wouldn’t feel like enough.

You wanted to give him more. A child. A piece of him, shaped by both of you. A small, perfect echo of your love made real. Yet, it felt like a gift meant for someone else to give - someone warmer, better, more sure of herself. Someone who didn’t lose the dog for an hour because she was stewing over peanut butter. The wanting didn’t stop, but it lived beside shame now, like glass trembling on the edge of a shelf.

Your fingers continued their slow rhythm in his hair. He gave no words, just a hum, almost a purr, as his hand tightened slightly at your hip.

Outside, somewhere far off, a branch scraped along the side of the house. The ceiling fan creaked above like an old bird still watching the nest.

Inside: two bodies folded together, saying nothing, meaning everything.

The sun had dried the yard in a patchwork, bright puddles of heat baked onto the bricks, steam lifting off the fence posts. The humidity lingered like something draped over the shoulders, clinging to skin and hair, the kind of thick warmth that made every breath taste like water.

You were crouched near the patio table, knuckles raw with effort, trying to fix the crooked umbrella arm that had blown out of alignment again. You swore it was held together by stubbornness and the one bolt Steve hadn’t gotten around to replacing.

Sweat gathered behind your knees as you wrestled the metal hinge, pressing your thumb into it until it gave the cruelest little click and then, maddeningly, popped loose again.

“You okay over there?” Steve called from the far side of the yard, voice half-lost under the grind of his shovel. “Need any help?”

“No, no,” You grunted, your hair sticking to your neck. “Just…trying not to fry.”

He dropped the shovel with a thunk and jogged over, boots squelching slightly in the damp grass. You didn’t look up, too embarrassed and too hot to offer anything but your stubborn squint.

“You’re gonna break your thumb,” he said, crouching beside you.

“I’m not.”

“Move,” His hand brushed yours gently, then took over. It took him maybe seven seconds, firm pressure, one palm holding the post steady while the other coaxed the joint into locking.

Click.

The umbrella blossomed above you, casting a dappled patch of shade that felt like relief itself. You exhaled through your teeth, nearly limp with gratitude.

“Hmph,” You muttered, standing upright. He looked smug, already turning to jog back toward the trench. “Thanks,”

You caught his collar, yanked him back a step, and pressed your lips against his cheek. A little sun-warm, a little sweat-salty. You held there for a second longer than usual.

“Always coming to the rescue,” You said softly.

“Oh, no,” He smirked. “I saved the umbrella from you breaking it.”

“Here I thought you cared about my bones not breaking,” You hummed.

His smile twitched, crooked and boyish. “You’re resilient.”

He made it three steps away before the words built too fast in your throat. That buzz again - low and full, under your ribs and in the soles of your feet, fluttering up into your hands. You sat down in the shaded patio chair and watched him pick the shovel back up.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, “Hey, Steve?”

He looked up.

“You’re…I just-” You scratched behind your ear, squinting past the umbrella spokes. “You’re really…good at this. At all of it. Everything.”

He blinked. “At shoveling wet dirt?”

“Yes, but, also, no.” You shifted, pulling your other leg up onto the chair and hugging it. “You’re good at fixing stuff. Not just this rusted patio set,” You gestured to the wrought iron and glass. “But anything that’s broken…you always know how to put things back together.”

He said nothing, so you kept going, because if you didn’t let it out, it would rot in your throat, “And Pinto sleeps better when you’re home, and the house just…it feels like a home because of you. Because what you’ve done, and your presence. I know you don’t think you’re doing anything special, but you are. You’re special.” You paused. “It’s not the shovel, or the umbrella, or the way you organize the junk drawer better than I ever could. It’s you.”

Steve stared at you like you’d just opened your chest and handed him a small, fluttering thing he wasn’t sure how to hold.

“Anyway,” You mumbled, “That’s all.”

He turned back to the trench too fast to hide the way his ears had gone red. His shoulders rounded forward a little, like he was trying to disappear into the job, but his next scoop of mud came up lighter. Smoother.

“Who knew you were such a sap?” He called over his shoulder.

“I can be,” You said, biting back a grin. “When I want to.”

He paused mid-dig, glanced back at you - his smile cracked wide and helpless, full of all the things he couldn’t lay out in the open. For a brief second, his eyes held admiration for your courage, for the words you’d dared to say when you usually kept them locked inside. Then he turned back to work, head bowed, digging in again with just a little more joy in the swing of his arms.

Left alone, you settled into the chair, the rust scratching at your thighs, a grounding contrast to the buzzing flutter in your chest that came every time you watched him. The sun filtered through the umbrella’s thin canopy, dappling your skin with light like the soft dappling of leaves on a forest floor.

Thirty minutes later, you rose and made your way inside to cool off. You lifted the hem of your shirt and fanned your chest with quick, practiced flicks before starting on a late lunch.

The house had stilled into something comfortable and slow. The air inside smelled like cooled metal and pine bark, remnants of the yard clinging to the open windows. You stood barefoot in the kitchen, the tile cold against your soles, slicing heirloom tomatoes with a blunt knife, hands moving more by muscle memory than thought.

The fridge wore a collage of colorful postcards, notes from Steve’s friends; Nancy, Robin, and even his parents - each carrying a little piece of their lives and well-wishes. Scribbled grocery lists and reminders curled at the edges, held in place by an assortment of mismatched magnets. Nearby, clean dishes sat stacked on the counter, their smooth surfaces dotted with faint water stains that caught the dim light like tiny fingerprints of the day. A glass vase cradled a small bouquet of roses Steve had brought you, their petals still fresh but tinged with the faintest blush of evening, filling the kitchen with a subtle, lingering sweetness.

Outside, Steve was still at it - arms deep in dirt and elbow grease. His shirt, a gray one that had once been thin and loose, now clung to him with sweat and summer’s humidity, darkened down the spine and chest. Through the window, you watched him lean over the fence, tapping mud from a spade, hair stuck to his forehead in golden-brown strands. It was the kind of sight that hit low and warm in your stomach - a modest, earned sort of attraction. Hard work. A shared home. Something sacred in the ordinary.

You plated two sandwiches, poured water over ice, and walked outside with the food balanced against your hip. The heat kissed your arms immediately. Steve looked up, blinking through sun and sweat.

“You didn’t have to-” He started.

“You say that like I didn’t want to,” You replied, setting the plates on the patio table. “C’mon,”

He chuckled, dropping the trowel and brushing dirt off his hands. His boots thudded on the porch steps as he sat beside you. A breeze caught the umbrella just enough to sway shadow patterns across his face.

The first bite tasted like salt and garden - ripe tomato, a smear of mayo, the tang of cracked pepper. Steve groaned softly, pleased and satiating his hunger.

“You should’ve said something.” You said, shifting your weight carefully to avoid the scorching metal burning your skin.

“I didn’t want to stop.”

You glanced at him, watched a bead of sweat slide down the column of his throat. “You look like you haven’t stopped.”

He caught your stare and grinned, boyish. “You’ve got something-” He gestured vaguely to your forehead. You wiped at it with your wrist. “No, not there. Let me,”

Before you could stop him, he leaned in and used his thumb to brush the strand of hair from your forehead. He let it linger for half a second too long, fingers trailing down your temple like he couldn’t help it.

“You’re staring,” You murmured, not moving away.

“So are you.”

You smiled and took another bite, letting the juice from the tomato dribble against your knuckle. Songbirds filled the air with a sweet, scattered melody - as if they trilled just for the two of you. Pinto’s distant, happy grunts came from the yard where he rolled enthusiastically in a muddy puddle, leaving little wet paw prints across the pavers.

Toeing a displaced brick back into place, you said, “I’ll come move these back where they’re supposed to be.”

Steve looked down through the glass tabletop. The patio showed the storm’s handiwork: half the bricks shifted from their positions, the gravel scattered like spilled sugar. The rain had left its mark everywhere, and now had muck clung to your foot.

“They’ll just move again the next time it rains.” His voice cracked slightly, dry from the thick summer heat and no water left to soothe it. “Don’t worry about it.”

His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips. Without hesitation, you swapped your half-full glass for his empty one. His eyes held gratitude, and something deeper, something thoughtful.

As you tore off the crust that a fly had landed on, the faint crackle of crumbs breaking under your fingers, you asked, “About done?” And nodded toward the shredded ground, where the mud lay thick and dark, slick like the raw guts of the earth.

He swallowed his bite slowly, exhaling a breath that stirred the warm, humid air. “For today, yeah. I’ll go to the store first thing tomorrow to buy a perforated pipe and finish the swale.” His eyes darted to the neighbor’s window. “I hope they don’t say anything about the mess.”

With a budding smile, eager to steal your boyfriend back to the cool indoors, you hummed, “I’ll help you clean.”

“I got it,” He said, mouth tugging sideways as his eyes flicked down, briefly, to where your shirt clung to your skin. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’ll be faster with another pair of hands.” You raised your brow, picking up your sandwich.

Both finished around the same time - the seeds of the tomato squashed onto the plate, the glasses of water all emptied. Steve leaned back in his chair, eyes roaming over you. From the curve of your tank top to the worn edges of your denim shorts, down to your bare feet dusted with dirt.

You stood and began gathering the plates and cups, and before you could step away, Steve knelt down beside you, gently brushing the dirt from your feet with his hand.

Before he turned away, he kissed your lips - not deep, not rushed, just rich with meaning, like punctuation to a sentence only the two of you understood. His voice was low, like it didn’t want to interrupt the moment. “You’re not even trying, and still…” He trailed off, smiling, eyes flicking down to where the sunlight touched your cheek. “It’s unreal.”

You watched him walk back to the tools, the way his shoulders flexed, how even covered in grime he still looked like something made from sunlight and soil. You followed him moments later, helping him rinse trowels and coil the garden hose. The silence between you wasn’t empty - it was full, brimming with shared rhythms.

By the time you made it back to the door, Steve was stripping off his shirt and kicking off his boots to remove his jeans.

“I’m not tracking this through the house,” He said.

You were about to praise his thoughtfulness when Pinto came barreling from the yard - mud-caked, joyful, and very fast.

“Pinto!” You both shouted.

It was too late. The dog raced through the open door Steve had left behind him, leaving pawprints like little muddy constellations across the floor.

Steve muttered a quiet curse under his breath, a trace of frustration passing through him before he pushed it aside, the warmth of seeing Pinto so full of life lingering beneath it

“I’ve got him,” You called, already grabbing a towel and chasing Pinto into the kitchen.

“I’ll get the floor.” He shouted back.

You rounded the corner and found him kneeling near the dining table. The curve of his back catching what was left of the afternoon light. He’d followed the muddy trail from the back door - a smear of paw prints, now beginning to dry into soft brown ghosts along the laminate. His hand moved in slow circles with a handful of damp paper towels, like he could coax the mess away with enough patience.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, the towel dangling from your fingers - sopping, foul-smelling, and warm in a way that made your stomach turn. You held it away from your body like it might stain you on contact.

“He stinks,” You finally said, flat with certainty.

Steve glanced up. His mouth tugged into something soft - a crooked, amused smile that flashed through the sweat on his face. “Yeah?”

“Like something that crawled out of a swamp and died in the sun,” You muttered, inching the towel farther from your chest. That made him laugh, a low sound that eased the tension from his shoulders. You loved when he laughed like that - unguarded, rough around the edges. It curled in your chest like warmth finding a place to settle. “We need to give him a bath,”

Steve leaned back on his heels. The light caught his collarbone, the damp shine along his ribs. “We?”

With narrowed eyes, your hand went to your hip. “He’s your son too.” Steve’s smile grew. You exhaled through your nose, stepped past him to the kitchen, and dropped the towel in the sink with a wet splat. “You’re on soaping duty.”

He rose, slow and deliberate, wiping his palms on his boxers. You caught the motion out of the corner of your eye, and he glanced up just in time to meet your gaze - his smile twitching like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Rinsing,” He said, the word hanging between you with a subtle challenge.

“And drying.”

Steve shot you a look, affectionate and resigned. He brushed past you on his way down the hall, and you followed - both of you already peeling away the parts of the afternoon that didn’t matter anymore.

Five minutes later, the bathroom was a small ecosystem of humidity, dog hair, and glossy patches on the tile. Pinto stood like a soggy statue, fur heavy and matted with suds, the oatmeal shampoo working its way slowly through his thick coat.

“He acts like we’re torturing him.” Steve said as he held the shower head, spraying the curved porcelain rim of the tub, sending a steady stream of lukewarm water swirling the dirt and suds down the drain. Every so often, the spray caught a stray droplet that landed on your arms, cool and welcome against the heat of the room. “It makes me feel bad.”

With a grunt, you said, “We’ll give him some yogurt or peanut butter to make it up to him. I’ll even let you give it to him, since you’re on rinsing and drying duty.”

Your shoulders bumped against his as you leaned over Pinto, reaching around to scrub a stubborn patch behind his ears. Each small contact sent a quiet pulse beneath your skin - an unspoken closeness threaded through the simple rhythm of the bath.

Pinto huffed through his nose, then leaned forward and licked your cheek - an appeasement, gentle and warm. You let out a soft sound, part laugh, part sigh, and pressed a kiss to the bridge of his snout, right between his soapy eyes. The shampoo clung to your fingers in thin ribbons, slipping through the fur like cream.

“Alright then,” You said, easing back on your heels, legs stiff from crouching. “He’s ready. He’s all yours.”

Steve shifted beside you, knees brushing yours as he straightened to reach better. You didn’t move. The contact, subtle and solid, sent a hush through your thoughts. Pinto’s tail gave a soft wag, barely there. Just enough.

You watched him closely. His posture still held tension - ears tipped back, eyes a little too wide, but even so, he leaned into Steve’s presence like it secured him.

Like love could soothe every nerve. That, and Steve’s baby-voice could undo any worry. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re a good little trooper.” The water ran from the showerhead in Steve’s hand, a low hiss echoing off porcelain. He rinsed with care, sweeping suds down the curve of Pinto’s legs, guiding the stream in practiced arcs. Each pass cleared a layer of murky gray, revealing soft curls beneath. “Momma said you could get a treat after this.”

Your eyes looked around, at the rim of the tub that was cluttered with cheap shared shampoos - labels peeling, one nearly empty and flipped upside down. The loofah that was hung slack from its hook, its edges frayed and dulled from months of use. To the clean towel lay folded in your lap for Pinto, its corners soft and curled from use, and you smoothed your palm over it without thinking, chasing creases with your pruned fingertips.

I would need to get new towels for a baby. You glanced at Steve. Our baby.

Not abstract, not someday, but vividly, like a memory imagined forward. A small body with flushed cheeks and a mess of dark-blonde curls plastered to their forehead. Toys floated around - tiny boats, squeaky ducks, a sponge shaped like a star. From the next room, a cassette would hum, something old and soft, something that made the light feel golden.

Steve’s hands, those same hands, would cradle your child gently, like he was made for it. Like every callus and scar had been softened by the sheer want to protect something smaller, something his.

The thought bloomed, full and sudden. It pooled low in your belly, warm and ache-sweet.

You didn’t say anything. Just watched him rinse the last of the lather from Pinto’s haunches as he cooed nonsense, and felt that tug again - not a throe exactly, but something illusive, more tender, more dangerous. Because maybe loving something before it exists is just another way to hurt yourself. Maybe this daydreaming, this soft imagining, was its own kind of cruelty.

Steve glanced over, hair sticking in every direction from the day’s heat and work, flattened in places and fluffed wild in others. He smiled, lopsided and easy, like he felt you thinking.

“I think he’s the cleanest he’ll get.”

You nodded once, gaze surveying Pinto, who was starting to shake. You dropped the towel over the dog, scratching and rubbing to draw out the moisture.

Steve watched you, head bowed in thought, light brushing over the edge of your cheekbone like a whisper. Your mouth was set, movements precise, the towel twisting between your hands as you pressed it down against Pinto’s back. He didn’t need words to know something had shifted - the air between you thrummed just slightly out of tune, like a guitar string pulled too tight.

He saw it in the line of your jaw, the way your shoulder lifted a breath too high. You didn’t look at him, not fully, just the faintest glance from the corner of your eye before you straightened, composure sliding into place like a sheet pulled too neatly over a bed.

He had expected something biting, a throwaway quip to shield the quiet unraveling. Instead, silence.

His hand found your thigh, slow, familiar, brushing the warmth there like he was thumbing over a page he knew by heart. The skin was damp and dappled with the warmth of the room, and he rested there a moment, grounding you both.

“What is it?” He asked, voice low with something like knowing, though he hadn’t yet named it.

Your fingers curled gently around Pinto’s muddy paws, lifting each one with care to pat dry the darkened pads. “Nothing,” The dog’s body shivered beneath your touch, small ripples of unease you swallowed down. Steve shifted closer, the heat of his thigh nudging yours, a silent offer of company. You glanced up just enough to murmur, “He’s cold. We should get him out.”

That simple admission drew from him a slow, lingering breath, like twilight folding over restless grass, carrying both surrender and a tender, unwavering hold. He rose with deliberate ease, his eyes lingering on you, a gaze full of patient understanding and gentle resolve. Not ready to press you, not yet, but not willing to let the silence grow too deep.

Steve bent low, cradling Pinto like a small, sodden treasure as he lifted him from the tub. The dog’s legs stiffened briefly before a shuddering shake erupted - droplets bursting outward in a sparkling arc, catching the light like scattered glass shards. They rained down, splattering the mirror’s surface with watery stars, drumming softly against the vitreous china of the toilet, and speckling your arms and Steve’s chest with chilly kisses. You raised the towel like a flimsy sail, twisting it between your fingers to shield yourself, a breathless laugh slipping free.

Steve’s head turned away just in time, his eyes crinkling with merriment. “He waited to do that. That was malicious.”

He stood slowly, the bathroom door yawning open, and Pinto, unfettered with freedom, bounded out like a river breaking its banks.

Knees popped softly as you pushed away from the tub’s edge, a quiet creak of tired bones settling into motion.

His voice broke the warm haze, light and teasing. “Sounds like those knees are calling for some oil.”A playful swat met his words, fingers brushing his chest as you tried to slip past him, but the doorway became his mild trap. He leaned in, effortless and sure. “Where’re you going smelling like that?”

An eye roll, half-smile curling at your lips. “I smell better than you.”

Your grin grew, and it took him to his knees. His hands moved with practiced ease, unbuttoning your shorts, tugging the fabric low enough to tease the skin beneath. A surge of kinetic charge vibrated low and wild beneath your calm exterior, restless and awake.

Steve’s breath hitched, not from lust, but from reverence. Like the kind felt in chapels or forests. You saw the look in his eyes - the awe, the disbelief.

In his mind: this is where life begins. This is where softness is made holy.

You smiled, fingertips ghosting through his damp hair. “Steve,” You whispered.

Hearing you say his name like that - dulcet, almost like a prayer - turned the world inside out. You spoke as though he were the divine, a presence too extraordinary to be standing right there before you.

Steve turned, reaching for the shower knobs, the metal clicking softly beneath his fingers. Steam began to bloom against the curtain, curling like breath on glass. He tested the water, wrist held under the stream, eyes narrowing in quiet concentration. You moved behind him, fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, gathering it in your hands. Before you could lift it…

“You’re taking the fun away from me,” He teased, half-turned toward you, a grin tugging at his mouth.

You paused, then let go, hands falling back to your sides. “How mean of me.”

The smile slipped into something gentler. He stepped forward, undoing the edge of your tank top with the same care he'd once reserved for old Polaroids and saved letters. The fabric skimmed your skin as it rose, catching at your shoulder blades before slipping free. Steve’s gaze followed every movement - where the cotton had rested, where the blue bra now hugged the slope of your chest, the soft crease of your waist as you shifted under his attention.

His breath deepened.

His eyes took in the rise and fall of you - measured, deliberate - like he could read each breath, like it was telling him something sacred. The room felt thick with something unnameable. Behind him, the water kept running, an unbroken hush that made every heartbeat feel louder. His hands hovered just shy of your skin, as if even the space between you might catch fire, or fold under its own gravity.

For a moment, he forgot the feel of dirt under his nails, the noise of the world outside the bathroom door. He knew only this: the heat your skin gave off, rich and steady like a midsummer dusk; the pale gleam catching along your collarbone like moonlight on polished stone; and the slow roll of moisture down your shoulder, as if your body was translating the air into something finer.

He swallowed hard, then reached again - slow, obedient - as if your body was a place to be blessed, not hurried.

Your breath caught, not quite from nerves, but something kin to it, fluttering under your ribs like a bird unsure of its own wings. You leaned in with a flicker of boldness, brushing your lips against his, quick and almost clumsy, landing just shy of center.

Steve’s mouth twitched, a breath of a laugh threatening, but he bit it back - he couldn't make light of it, not now, not when your heartbeat was tucked so close to the surface. Instead, he cupped your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your temples, and kissed you the way you deserved to be kissed.

It was full, anchored in everything unspoken. His lips were warm and certain against yours, the kiss unfolding like a deep exhale after holding your breath too long. It tasted of salt and steam and closeness - something humid and heady, like rain clinging to the petals of an overgrown garden. His fingers curled just slightly at your jaw, grounding you both there in that moment, where time had no edges and the only sound was the hush of water waiting.

He drew back a breath’s width, just enough for the space between you to pulse. His exhale traced your cheek like a tide pulling back from shore.

“You’re perfect,” He stated, the words tasting like conviction.

You gave a huff through your nose, more bark than breeze. The kind of sound meant to make things lighter, even as you braced beneath the weight of what he’d said. Your features twitched with disbelief, but he didn’t try to unravel that knot. Not with explanations, not with reason.

Instead, his fingers returned to your shoulders, drawing the bra straps down in a gradual descent. The fabric resisted faintly, then slipped free like dusk falling from the edge of a roof. His arms moved behind you, precise and familiar, and the clasp came undone with a subtle click, not sharp, not grand, just the sound of something long-held being released.

It dropped to the floor, a pool of worn fabric landing on tile.

You adjusted your footing, and one bare foot landed square atop the cotton. You lifted it again without thought, dragging it up your opposite calf, the motion instinctual and oddly childlike. The crease of your ankle brushed lightly against the bone below your knee, a momentary fidget as the world shifted shape between you.

Steve watched, his gaze caught not on grandeur, but on the living details of you. The way your skin carried the flush of summer, the way the light clung to the bend of your elbow, the arc of your neck. You weren’t posing. You weren’t trying, and still, it stole the air from his lungs.

Not divinity, not myth. Just you. And that, somehow, felt like the most angelic thing he’d ever seen.

Your gaze lifted, drawn by the weight of his stare. When your eyes met his, it was like recognizing a face you’d loved in a dream long before you'd ever touched it.

You studied him openly now, the same way he’d just looked at you - without flinching, without artifice.

The slope of his nose, once proud and boyish, now softened slightly at the bridge - recast by years of holding his breath through fights he hadn’t wanted, by learning patience the long, painful way. The smattering of freckles across his cheeks looked like they’d been pressed there by sun and time both, dusted on like cinnamon. His lips - still full, still shaped like they were made for smiling - wore the faint imprint of restraint. A tenderness he hadn’t spoken. The kind that only deepens with age.

You let your gaze wander lower - his jaw, shadowed and a little unshaven, carried a line that looked carved from intention more than pride. His hair disorderly, stuck out in tufts that curled and straightened in the same breath - flattened where the heat had pressed against him, wild where your hands had left their memory. That hair had once been vanity, you remembered. Now it just looked like him.

And his eyes…God, those eyes. Still honey-warm, still holding all the gold of August afternoons, but with something deeper now threaded through them. Something like ache, like home.

Love had weathered him gently, like water smoothing stone.

“You’ve changed,” You said, voice quiet but thick with wonder. He raised an eyebrow, a question forming behind his lashes. “Not worse,” You rushed, nervous with a sudden frantic energy. “Just…loved. It’s in your face. You wear it everywhere.”

Something flickered across his expression - an emotion you couldn’t name, something between humility and heartbreak.

Then, without a word, his hand reached for yours again, fingertips grazing your knuckles like he was still learning how to deserve them. “Trust me, I know it’s for the better.” He said, eyes tracing your face like it was the only map he’d ever learned. “I’m a better man with you around.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just leaned in and pressed your nose beneath the hinge of his jaw, breathing him in - soil and salt and familiar, like summer clinging to linen. Your lips brushed the skin there, and he dipped his head to kiss the slope of your shoulder, where the warmth gathered like honey left in sunlight.

His hands slid to the curve of your hips. Fingers curled just beneath the waistband of your underwear - cotton, damp from splashed bathwater and sweat, clinging in places like a secret held too long. The fabric caught slightly where your body curved most, and you felt the drag, the slow give as it eased past.

You helped, thumbs slipping into the sides to guide them down - his hands ghosting yours, not rushing, just…there. The elastic fell to your thighs, then your ankles, a hush of fabric gathering at your feet.

The air hit you like a second skin - cool and close, thick with steam. You felt the difference immediately: the shift from clothed to bare, from protected to seen. It wasn’t shame, it was magnitude. Like standing on the edge of something vast, water lapping at your toes, knowing you were about to step in.

And still, despite all the closeness, despite how much he’d already touched - his gaze didn’t devour. It honored. It made your skin feel like a landscape worth exploring, not just undressing.

You reached for him next, fingers brushing the curve of his hips where sweat still clung like sea salt on driftwood. The elastic waistband gave a little resistance. Your grip faltered for a heartbeat, just enough to make the gesture feel human, unsure. He felt the shake in your touch like a ripple through still water, and instinctively went still, breath drawn in like a held note.

You tried again. The fabric dragged slightly, clinging to the warmth of his thighs. It wouldn’t fall easily, so you leaned back on your heels and gave a firmer tug, a small grunt rising in your throat before you could stifle it. The movement broke the hush for a beat - something almost mundane, almost funny, like dropping a spoon in a church. He smiled, barely, and kicked the boxers away with a lazy sweep of his foot. They landed against the cabinet.

Now it was only skin. Only the hush of breath between you and the thin shimmer of condensation on his chest, where heat and effort had drawn patterns you’d never tire of tracing. Your eyes roamed upward, over the swell of his ribs, the mole near his shoulder blade, the hollow where his collarbone cast a shadow. Every inch of him held the story of a life weathered and softened by care. Not untouched. Tended.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

You looked at each other like people seeing dawn for the first time - no fireworks, just light cresting the horizon, slow and certain. It was the kind of nakedness that lived beyond the body.

In that breath between heartbeats, the moment gathered weight - not heavy, but hallowed. Like standing ankle-deep in a tide that knew your name.

You stepped into the tub first. The water beat down like something pure, immediate. Not like the rain that had come last night - cold and feral and full of warning. This was warmth drawn through copper, coaxed from deep within the walls, a comfort made domestic. It kissed your shoulders, curled behind your ears, sluiced down your back in ribbons.

Steve waited behind you, not crowding, letting you have the first touch. You felt his presence in the quiet, in the shift of air behind you, the way the curtain swayed from his breath.

“Ladies first,” He said, a faint smile in his voice. His hand brushed your hip, like a suggestion, and he reached as if to tug you into the spray with him.

But you angled sideways, blocking him with your shoulder, already reaching for the loofah hanging limp from its hook. It sagged like a well-loved rag, frayed and sweet with the scent of your shared soaps - lavender and citrus and something faintly herbal from a forgotten bottle long out of label.

“Uh-uh,” You said, squeezing a line of soap along its surface. “You were elbow-deep in the earth, Harrington. You’re up first.”

He laughed - a low sound, all breath and affection - as you turned toward him. His hair stuck to his forehead, his lashes clumped from steam, and his skin bore the faint shadow of the day.

You began at his shoulders, dragging the loofah over sun-warmed skin. The suds caught in the valleys of his muscles, tracing the map of work done well. His breath hitched just slightly as you reached the dip beneath his ribs.

“Keep still,” You said softly, not because he was moving, but because it felt good to say - to pretend he needed instruction. To mark the moment.

He did.

As the water laced down over both of you, as your hands moved with care and familiarity, you weren’t scrubbing away the day so much as honoring it - turning labor into intimacy, sweat into something sanctified.

Steve’s hand brushed yours, gentle and unassuming, as he took the loofah from your grasp.

“My turn,” He said, voice softer now, shaped more by feeling than words.

The sponge lathered quickly in his hand, and he moved with unhurried care, as if your skin were made of something rare and fleeting - cloud vapor, the silvered hush of a moth’s wing, the breathless shimmer of snowfall just before it touches ground.

He started at your shoulder, dragging the loofah down in a slow arc. The suds curled along your collarbone like mist spilling over stone. His eyes followed the path they made, watching as the bubbles caught light and clung, as though they too were reluctant to leave you.

When he reached your stomach, his hand stilled for a moment. The curve of you beneath his palm - familiar, but never less than extraordinary - held him suspended. The soap traced around your navel, sliding in rivulets down your side. His eyes dropped, unable to look away, even when the water washed the suds clean.

Still, he looked.

Something folded open in him then. It wasn’t hunger, but wasn’t devotion either. It was the fear of standing before something beautiful and fearing it won’t stay.

How could he deserve this? You. This moment. This body that trusted his hands, this heart that let him in without armor. He thought of all the years before you - the ones marked by carelessness, by recklessness, by the casual damage boys like him did without thinking. He remembered being cruel in ways he never apologized for, selfish in ways that never came back to bite him - until now, maybe. Until you.

Because now, with his hands on your stomach and the water running clean down your chest, he felt unworthy. Like he’d been given something holy without having ever gone searching for redemption.

What if it slipped through his fingers?

He swallowed, loofah forgotten in his hand, and let his palm rest flat over your stomach - bare and open, where life could begin if you both let it.

His thumb moved just slightly across your skin, like he was trying to remember something he hadn’t earned.

You glanced down at him, sensing the shift, but you didn’t speak. Not yet.

And he didn’t look up. Not yet.

Because he was still there, caught in the pause between devotion and doubt. Watching you. Watching the place where the future could take root, and wondering if a man like him was meant to hold it.

You placed your hand over his, fingers slipping between the spaces his left - warm on warm, skin on skin, something wordless passing there. Not comfort exactly, not permission, but a knowing. A promise made without breath.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t, for a moment.

Something fragile welled up beneath his ribs, caught in the soft hollow of his chest where old guilt still lingered. It was all there - the ache of what he’d been, and the ache of what he wanted to become. For you. With you.

His voice cracked low, barely shaped into sound. “You’d be such a great mother.” So soft, it didn’t reach you over the thrum of water.

Clueless to his admission, you’d reached behind him for the bottle of shampoo and cupped his jaw to tilt his head back. The droplets traced down the planes of his throat as you worked the lather in, fingers drawing small spirals into his scalp, coaxing loose whatever weight he still carried. His lashes fluttered, lips parting faintly - not from desire, but something heavier and older.

When he opened his eyes again, he leaned in, nose brushing yours in a kiss that didn’t need lips.

His hands found the crown of your head, palms full of adoration. Shampoo pooled between his fingers as he worked through your hair, careful not to tangle, not to tug. You both stood there, haze curling in delicate skeins, as if the room were trying to remember a dream.

Each of you washing the other. Each act an offering. A benediction.

A shared baptism for the life not yet made, but hoped for, already.

You both leaned back beneath the spray, the warmth slipping through your hair, down your spines. Fingers combed, coaxed, cleared the last traces of lather from scalp and skin. Just as the water sluiced over your brow, you caught him watching you - head tilted, eyes open in defiance of soap and common sense.

A blink too late.

“Shit, shit, shit,” He hissed, squeezing them shut, blinking furiously.

You laughed - a bright, sudden sound that bounced off the tile and blossomed into something whole. A sound that shook the steam loose from the corners, that cracked through whatever weight had gathered behind his ribs.

Steve groaned dramatically, rubbing his face like it might fix him. “That’s what I get for looking at an angel,” He muttered, half-teasing, half-meaning it.

He reached blindly for the curtain, hand finding the edge. A quick tug, and his arm extended for the two towels hanging like flags of peace on the rack. He shook one out and wrapped it around you with a gentleness that didn’t need ceremony, just presence. Then the other went around his hips, clinging to damp skin as he stepped over the edge of the tub.

The air outside the bathroom hit sharp - cool against flushed skin, goosebumps trailing your arms and legs as you padded into the bedroom. It felt like stepping out of something consecrated and into something lived-in, the silence of the hallway giving way to the creak of the floorboards, the whisper of towel against skin, the quiet promise that followed.

You crossed the room, still wrapped in warmth and dampness, fingers grazing the edge of the dresser as you pulled it open.

You paused, turned to look at Steve, blinking once - twice.

Your lashes fluttered like butterflies caught in a breath of wind as you watched him from across the room - the way his arms moved, muscles flexing beneath a faded college tee he’d never attended, but wore as if it belonged to a version of himself still waiting to be.

Your gaze dropped. The towel at his hips hung like a whisper, more memory than fabric, the last edge of modesty, a promise he wasn’t in any hurry to keep. Something in you burst, sudden and unrelenting, like a star remembering its fire.

Love.

Not the careful kind you speak about in daylight. This was nocturnal. Something winged and wordless. You felt it skitter through your chest like fireflies made of ink - staining you with the knowing. Something magical touched you then - just briefly, just enough - and you felt like if you reached for him, your fingertips might glow.

Because he was real, and he was yours. And loving him…loving him was the bravest thing you'd ever done.

You, who feared the unknown like it had teeth. You, who’d bowed to uncertainty like it ruled the sky. You, who’d surrendered to doubt more times than you could count.

But not now.

Now, you stepped forward.

The rug beneath your toes was thick, tangled - your feet sank into it like wading through moss or the fur of something primeval and breathing. The floor didn’t creak surprisingly, but the world seemed to tilt anyway as you crossed the space between you.

He didn’t see you at first. His back was turned, shirt falling into place, hands adjusting the roping of the hem.

He sensed you moving, quiet and deliberate, and his skin prickled as the space between you suddenly shortened. Before he could turn, your hands were already there, slipping beneath his shirt, palms sweeping the planes of his hips, sliding up over his stomach and chest in a single reverent motion. As if to say: this is mine, and I’ve remembered it from the beginning.

You leaned in. Your mouth pressed to the space between his shoulder blades, the place his heart lived behind. The kiss landed like a vow, unspoken but undeniable. You lingered there, lips brushing the fabric.

Steve stilled. Not with shock. Not with confusion, but with wonder. Because he could feel it in your touch this time: you weren’t just reaching for him. You were choosing him.

Your fingers found the knot of the towel, moving slow and gentle, an unsaid question hanging in the space between you both. Time stretched. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let the fabric fall, then hastily shed his shirt in one smooth motion, finally turning to meet your gaze.

He caught it then, the flicker in your eyes, the way they shimmered like spun sugar, fragile and fleeting, as if you might dissolve if he blinked too long.

Just like that, the fear he’d glimpsed in you threatened to rise.

His voice dropped, steady and soft, a balm for the trembling. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” His hand reached for the towel wrapped around you, fingers deft and slow as he began to undo it. “I meant it, baby. No matter what. You’re stuck with me.”

You looked at each other like you'd done this a hundred times, and somehow like it was the first.

You heard the kettle whistle itself out as you stirred beneath the comforter.

The bed was warm and tangled, a little wild where he'd just been. One pillow slumped, still holding the shape of his head. The comforter twisted, the sheet damp with the heat of bodies and quiet breaths. You sat up slowly, skin buzzing, muscles pleasantly heavy. His shirt lay crumpled on the floor - careless, like an afterthought. You reached for it, sliding it over your arms. The cotton stretched loose with wear, clinging softly to your shoulders. It smelled like him - salt and soap and something rich, like leather softened by time.

Bent to the hamper, you pulled out a pair of clean shorts you’d meant to fold days ago. The fabric was chilled from the AC, catching against the heat still clinging to your thighs. You tugged them on, the waistband settling low on your hips.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the warm spill of the ceiling light Steve has always called the 'boob light’ - soft yellow, humming faintly overhead. You moved toward the kitchen by sound alone: the gentle clink of ceramic, the kettle settling, and the soft ticking of a clock marking time.

At the stove, Steve wore only his joggers - black and hanging loose at the waist. He held a spoon out for Pinto, who sat with his back legs sliding out, tongue already working the peanut butter into the corners. His tail tapped the floor in slow, uneven rhythms.

You leaned against the doorway. Let your voice carry. “So that’s why the jar was left out.”

Steve didn’t look over, but you saw the smirk creep in. “Pinto’s got a way of convincing me.”

“Sneaky,” You said, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Yeah, he knows exactly how to work the system.” He said, handing over the last bit of peanut butter like it was a treaty.

Your mug was waiting on the counter - the one with the Christmas tree, its handle darkened by years of use. You reached for it. The steam rose in lazy threads.

“I already put honey in there,” Steve said, wiping his hands on a towel, facing the sink.

You smiled at his back, fingers curled around your mug. “Did you put sugar in yours?” You asked, nodding at the second mug left to the side when he faced you.

“Duh,” Steve said, wiping his hands on the dish towel, then tossing it like a basketball toward the counter. It missed. “I can’t drink it any other way.”

You took a sip, let it linger on your tongue. It tasted like the kind of tea your grandmother might’ve made - earthy and a little sharp, with the right amount of honey stirred in until it turned mellow. You could almost hear the spoon clinking in a cup from years ago.

“Wanna go sit on the couch?” You asked.

His eyes gleamed with something boyish, mischievous. “Let’s go sit on the swing.”

Your brow lifted. “It’s two in the morning.”

He shrugged, reaching for his mug. “Exactly.”

You squinted at him over the rim of your cup, but he was already walking toward the door, bare feet quiet against the laminate. The screen gave a soft squeak as he nudged it open with his elbow. You followed, half-laughing, half-sleepy, rubbing one eye as you stepped into the dim.

Outside, the night folded around you like an old quilt. The porch light had been left off, but the streetlamp at the corner caught the edge of the railing in silver. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard, tiny amber beacons drifting through the tall grass. A chorus of crickets sang somewhere in the dark, and beyond them, the hush of sleeping houses - just shapes behind curtains, lit faintly from without.

The sky was wide and starlit, smeared with a faint trail of clouds like someone had smudged their thumb across velvet. A warm breeze stirred the hem of your shorts. Pinto snuffled behind you, nosing the screen door before deciding to stay in.

You made your way to the porch swing, your tea in one hand, the other brushing the banister as you passed. The swing moved slightly as you sat, the wood familiar beneath your legs, the chain groaning just faintly in its moorings.

Steve plopped down beside you a second later. The swing jolted, creaked, then settled again with a low whine.

You side-eyed him. “This thing’s gonna snap one day.”

He froze for half a second, glancing up at the chain like it might give out right then and there.

You grinned into your mug. “Not tonight, probably.”

“Yeah, how comforting,” He deadpanned, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward as he leaned back, arm brushing yours. “I’ll fix it next weekend.”

For a long moment, you sat like that - shoulders close, tea cooling between your palms, air soft with summer sounds.

Then Steve tipped his chin upward. “Think she’s out tonight?”

You didn’t need to ask who. Your gaze drifted to the telephone pole near the end of the driveway, where the branches of an old pecan tree curved like ribs toward the sky. You both looked, waiting.

And there - perched just above the transformer box, where shadow met shadow - a faint shape blinked into being. Round, hunched, nearly still. One eye glinting gold, the other dark as pitch.

“There she is,” You said quietly. “Mrs. Voorhees.”

Steve laughed, just under his breath. “You still think that’s funny.”

“You named her,” You said, nudging his knee with yours.

“You insisted.”

“It fits her. Creepy, solitary, shows up when the moon’s full.”

He took a sip of his tea. “You forgot ‘spotted us going to Amoco at least twice a week.’”

“And when Pinto’s got indigestion,” You added, glancing through the screen where the dog had curled up, muzzle tucked to his side.

The owl didn’t move. Just watched from her throne of bark and cable wire, that one glinting eye catching the light like a penny at the bottom of a well.

You wondered how many nights she’d seen you like this - Steve in joggers, you in his shirt, sitting on a swing that moaned in protest every time he shifted. The two of you talking in half-whispers, like if you were too loud, the magic might snap.

Steve’s eyes drifted to the owl, her silhouette framed in streetlamp spill and moonlight.

She always appeared. Not every night, but most.

He wondered if she understood. If, in that little untamed heart, she sensed what it meant to sit like this - him in joggers, you in his shirt, both of you calm and content and holding thoughts not yet spoken aloud.

Maybe she was more than feathers and shadow. Maybe she was something older. Watching over you both, bearing witness. A keeper of good omens.

And maybe, if you both were lucky, she’d still be there, blinking slow and all-knowing, when there were little footsteps padding out to join you guys one day.

Steve’s arm stretched along the back of the porch swing, fingertips tracing the worn tear in the collar of his shirt. Well, the one of his that you wore like a second skin. His mug rested forgotten on the armrest, steam curling upward in soft spirals that disappeared into the night.

He caught your profile in the mild glow - the way your eyes drifted across the dark street, searching the spaces between the gloom.

His heart hammered beneath his chest, a twin-turbo’s rumble waiting to break loose, but his voice stayed tethered, caught in the hush between breaths.

You were like a fox beneath the silver moon - shy, searching - pausing at the fringe of the dark, wary yet unyielding. So he lingered in the silence, gentle as a hymn, hoping the stillness would wheedle your walls down.

With a voice as soft as the curl of smoke from a candle, he said, “I feel that way too sometimes.” As you parted your lips, he added, “Actually, most of the time.”

“What?” You asked, shifting slightly - crossing the leg closest to him like a subtle retreat.

Steve had always been too much with his hands; reaching, holding, hoping. Half the time, he felt like he overstepped without knowing it. Took too much, gave too little, left fingerprints where he didn’t mean to. “Like I’m no good to anyone.” The words hovered, half-swallowed, suspended in the hush. He let them hang there, weightless but heavy, buying time to catch his breath. “To friends. To family. To you...” His voice lowered, the timbre roughened. “That I’d be the kind of dad who forgets where he put the bottle, can’t find the pacifier when she’s screaming. Falls asleep when she needs me the most.”

Your stomach turned molten, soft and wrecked and hopeful. “You’d want a girl?” The question tasted too sweet to be safe.

Of all the things he said, that was the one you could hold without it burning.

A nervous breath slipped out too quick, catching on a crooked laugh. He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. Lukewarm and grassy - not his thing, but you loved it.“I’d be happy either way,” He said. “But a girl first…a little version of you. That’s how I picture it.” He paused. “Then a boy. Another boy. And maybe a few more girls running around.”

You didn’t say anything.

Just pressed your lips together, like you could trap the ache there - keep it from slipping out in a sound, a sob, a confession. Your throat closed itself on purpose, the way it does when you try not to cry during a song or a commercial or someone else’s joy.

Because what he said, what he wanted, was beautiful. Too beautiful.

A part of you wanted to throw your arms around his neck and promise him the world: the little girl, the boys, the second mug always waiting on the counter. Yet, another part, the one that curled into corners and remembered all the ways you’ve messed things up before, held you back.

What if you failed her, or him, or all of them?

You drew your knee in, the chain above your shoulder ticking softly with the motion, but Steve didn’t say anything. He just looked at you with that same patient, open thing in his eyes that made it so hard to lie.

“That sounds nice,” It wasn’t a full-on lie, it did sound nice. It sounded like something you only get to live in someone else’s story.

You watched him.

The way his lips pressed together like he was trying to seal his dreams behind his teeth. The way his gaze drifted downward, to the rim of his mug, to the porch steps, to anywhere but you - like he didn’t trust what he might see if he looked too long.

But you saw it. That trace of hope. A fragile thread stitched into the corners of his mouth, the soft lean of his shoulder into yours.

You set your mug down, barely hearing it clink against the wood.

Hands reached for him and cupped his jaw. Your thumb swept just beneath his cheekbone, like you could smooth the ache right out of him. He tried to look away, but you didn’t let him. Your palm followed, coaxing him back to you, until your eyes met again.

"Steve," You said, low but certain. "You’d be the best dad."

His brows pulled together, skeptical, braced for kindness like it might sting.

"You’d remember the bottle. You’d memorize her favorite toys. You’d sit on the floor with her until your back ached and build a wonky castle out of blocks just because she asked you to. You’d carry her through fevers and nightmares and the days she thinks no one understands her." You leaned in closer, forehead nearly brushing his. "You’d make her laugh when she feels like crying. You’d braid her hair with too many elastics. You’d call just to say you miss her voice when she’s out of town for a day.”

His throat worked around something too big to swallow.

"And you’d never, not once, make her feel like she wasn’t loved. Because that’s who you are, Steve. You love like it’s the most natural thing in the world."

You didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Because if you could carve those words into his bones, you would.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Just looked at you like you’d said something sacred. Like your words had cracked something in him, split him down the middle in the gentlest, most painful way. His breath caught. His eyes shimmered, and then…

He kissed you.

Quick and full, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from your mouth another moment. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing the skin just in front of your ears, as if he had to anchor himself to something before the swell inside him broke loose. When he pulled back, his face crumpled. Not all at once, but in stages. First the crease between his brows, then the tremble of his mouth, and then -

Then the tears came. Silent at first. Just a blink too full, then a blink that spilled over.

He dropped his forehead to yours, voice cracking in your shared breath. “It’s not fair,” He whispered, hoarse. “It’s not fair you get to love me like that and still talk about yourself like you’re not enough.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head, hands still cupping your jaw like you might float off if he let go. “No. No, don’t - don’t try to deny it. I see it in the way you flinch when someone compliments you. The way you hold your breath when I talk about the future like it’s not meant for us.” He swallowed, the next words dragged up like roots. “You’d be…God, you'd be the kind of mom that kid tells their friends about. The one who lets them cry over stupid things and never makes them feel stupid for it. Who always remembers their teacher’s name, and how they like their pancakes, and tucks little notes into their lunch even when she’s running late.”

His voice dropped, thick and shaking. “You’d teach them how to be soft and strong. How to feel everything. How to survive it.”

He looked at you like he was memorizing you, every flicker of your expression. “You’d teach them how to be kind.” Then, quieter, “You taught me.”

Your whole face gave you away before you could say a word.

The subtle quiver of your jaw betrayed the calm you tried to hold. But Steve’s hands, soft and sure, traced your skin like a whispered promise, tempting out the emotions you’d locked away long ago.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to say it. Because a part of you still believed that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t enough. But looking at him, feeling him, knowing the truth in his gaze, you understood this: he would never lie to you.

So you sat there, breath shallow, heart bare, wanting nothing more than to give him everything you were. To hand him the fragile pieces of your soul and finally let them be held with the tenderness they deserved.

Words faltered, but your eyes spoke with a language all their own - a vulnerable offering, a steadfast trust, an invitation.

Steve’s hands cradled your face, like holding something precious and rare. “You don’t have to believe me yet,” He said, voice low and certain, full of a fierce kind of promise. “But I’ll spend my life showing you how much you matter. How deeply you’re loved. How good you are.”

Tears slipped past his defenses again, carving warm trails down his cheeks. You pressed your lips to each one, slow and deliberate, a silent surrender that held a thousand words.

“Okay,” You breathed, the single word carrying all the trust you’d been holding back.

His chest, once heavy and closed off, eased open, a spark kindling behind his eyes - bright and alive, steady as a rising sun.

“Our kids,” He said, the curve of his smile folding into the night, “They’ll help me show you, day by day.”

The night wrapped around you both like a living thing, the porch swing creaking beneath the weight of new promises and delicate hopes.

(patterned banner source! cafekitsune)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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harringtonslvr · 26 days ago

Text

GUTS !

“god, love’s fucking embarrassing !„

steve harrington x fem!reader college au

masterlist

cw: 18+ ONLY!! not canon compliant, alcohol mentions, swearing, smut & allusions to smut (*** indicated), no use of y/n, check individual chapter warnings

wc: 12.2k and counting

1: “ all-american bitch ! „ ***

2: “ bad idea, right ? „ ***

3: “ lacy ! „

4: “ ballad of a homeschooled girl ! „

5: “ get him back ! „

6: “ love is embarrassing ! „

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 1 month ago

Text

“he’s so babygirl”

babe he just killed somebody.

#i can fix him no really i can

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harringtonslvr · 2 months ago

Note

MAE! I have a request… <3 reader finds out Steve keeps Polaroids of her around different spots, like tucked in his wallet or the sun visor of his car or in his bathroom mirror

Thanks for requesting!

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 728 words

“You look like you just came from the movies,” you say.

Steve turns his head to look at you over the top of his sunglasses. You grin. “I’ll have you know, these are Ray-Bans.”

“Are you sure? Because they’re just like the ones they gave out for Jaws 3D.”

Even with the dark lenses, you can sense your boyfriend rolling his eyes as he turns back to the road. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t bring any.”

Caught. “If you were a gentleman, you’d give me yours.”

“Sorry, baby. Driver needs to see the most.”

“Fine,” you sigh, putting a bit of theatrics into it. You reach for the sun visor. “Don’t think I won’t remember this the next time you want a blanket at my place.”

You flip the visor down, and a little plastic square flutters into your lap. You pick it up.

“Hey,” says Steve, “that’s totally different. If you ran your heat, neither of us would need blankets. But if you want me to start bringing my own—”

“Stevie.”

“Oh, it’s Stevie now,” he mutters.

You turn to him, holding up the picture. “When did you take this?”

Steve glances away from the road for a second. “Oh. Don’t you remember? That was at the lake last summer.”

You do remember, now. Steve’s no master photographer—the light refracts off the water, fuzzing the picture and obscuring parts of your face—but it’s clearly you. You’re standing waist-deep in the lake, clearly trying to splash Steve while cheesing into the camera. You remember the day, but not the moment.

Steve brings that polaroid camera everywhere. You know where it is now, stowed in the glove box right against your knees. He takes pictures with it sometimes, but always stows them away immediately so they can develop somewhere dark. You haven’t ever thought to ask about them. Haven't seen one until now.

“Why do you have this here?” you ask.

“I just like to keep them where I can find them,” Steve says. “Hey, put that back when you’re done, will you?”

You blink at him. “You mean there are more?”

“Yeah, of course.” He looks at you again, eyebrows flicking up at the open curiosity in your expression. “You wanna see some?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright. Put that one back.” He shifts in his seat, reaching into his back pocket. “I don’t need any getting lost.”

You feel your lips tilt bemusedly. “You keep them in random places, but you don’t want them to get lost?”

Steve digs out his wallet. “Nothing random about it. There’s a system, okay?” You reach for the wallet, but he holds it away. “Put it back.”

“Okay, okay.” You grin, stowing the polaroid back where you found it before grabbing for Steve’s wallet. The worn leather parts for you easily. “Oh.”

There are a few pictures in here. You holding flowers at the farmer’s market, you decorating cupcakes, you on your bed at home. Some have you looking into the camera, others not. In all of them you look happy. You think that’s probably how you look most of the time when Steve’s with you.

“Steve.” Affection aches in the back of your throat. “This is so sweet.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. When you look at your boyfriend, you can see the faint tinge of a blush beneath the frames of his sunglasses.

You gather the pictures carefully in one hand, using the other to link your fingers through his. “Why did you keep all of these?”

Steve makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “What, I’m not allowed to want to look at you? Why would I take them just to get rid of them?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice softens. “I just didn’t know you had all these. It’s cute.”

Steve grins. He glances over at you once, then again, leaning over for a quick kiss.

“Hey!” you laugh. “Eyes on the road.”

“You’re cute,” he says.

“Yeah, you must think so.”

“Don’t go getting a big head.” Steve uses your joined hands to tug on your arm teasingly. You let it draw you closer to him, smitten.

“Too late for that. You’re like my own personal paparazzi. You know I’m gonna have to start taking a bunch of pictures of you too, now, right?”

“I don’t think you have to.”

“Oh, I definitely have to.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 3 months ago

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.9K]

When you’d told Steve you had a bad day, a bad week, you’d hadn’t expected him to do anything about it. Maybe give you a hug, sure, a kiss or five, a soft assurance that good days would come.

He gave you all of that but you didn’t expect him to pull you into his lap and card his fingers through your hair, thumb pushed to the soft of your cheek and ask:

“How can I make it okay?”

You were so ready to shrug, to try and hide the tears gathering at your lash line because he was looking at you so sincerely it ached. Steve couldn’t make the bad days go away, but he could make the next one better.

So he picked you up the next morning, the early sun making the summer sky hazy, that pretty pink lilac shade that still hung amongst the blue and Steve Harrington waited for you on the sidewalk like an all American dream.

He stood by his car, hands in his pockets, leaning against the door, all summer and smiles, tanned skin and a new freckle or two because Steve was June and July and August, the beginning of a heatwave, the end of the longest, lightest night.

All your stress ebbed away as you walked down the driveway to him, sundress short and flowy, Steve’s favourite colour on you and you acted coy as he gave you a whistle, low and all flirt, eyes flitting over your bare legs.

He grinned, opened his arms for you to run the rest of the way into, catching you around the waist, kissing you soundly. It was sweet like the early hour, still sleep lined and soft, tasting like leftover mint toothpaste and coffee. Steve made a show of littering your face with kisses, even when you feigned annoyance, hiding your smile by ducking your chin but the boy pulled laughter from you like it was his job.

And Steve was very, very good at his job.

So he pressed spearmint kisses to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, over your lashes, your forehead, even an ear. He swallowed your laughter like medicine, gave you it back like a shot of serotonin and sunshine.

“You ready?” Steve grinned, leaning into your touch as you smooth over his hair, fingers curling into the messy strands at the nape of his neck.

“For what?” You’d replied, nose scrunched, eyes bright, ‘cause it was barely nine o’clock in the morning and it was already better than yesterday.

“Only, like, the best day of your life,” Steve shrugged, smile downturned to play off his enthusiasm, all faux nonchalance as he pushed off of the door, turning to open it for you with a flourish.

You laughed, bright and sharp, leaning over the top of the open car door, pushed to your toes so you could press your forehead to Steve’s. His eyes crinkled in the corners at your touch, your giddy smile, the smell of your perfume, your closeness.

“Oh yeah? That’s big talk, Harrington,” your voice was quiet and teasing, enough flirt there to make Steve’s cheek ache from smiling so much.

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Gonna rock your world, pretty thing. Buckle up.”

He drove you out of town with the windows down and the relief you felt as you passed the Hawkins sign was palpable. You left your worries behind, your stress, the nights with little sleep. The car smelled like Steve’s cologne, like takeaway coffee and leftover sunscreen and cologne from pool days last week.

The boy wouldn’t tell you where he was taking you, would grin and squeeze softly at your thigh when you asked, warm palm curling around the bare skin under your dress, high enough to be almost scandalous, to make you feel as hot as the sun was on the windscreen. He turned the radio up louder, beamed when you sang along, eyes closed, head tipped back, wind whipping at your hair.

It took about an hour and a half to drive into Indianapolis, the fields and farmland left behind to give way to a bigger landscape, taller buildings, wider roads and a lot less trees. You were leaning forward at each traffic light, looking at the signs, wondering what turn Steve was going to take next, where you’d end up.

You gasped when Steve turned the last corner, the road bending and leading into a large parking lot, not all that busy. The sign above the big building told you exactly where you were.

“The aquarium?” You asked, as if Steve was joking, as if he was going to drive away and your voice sounded small, soft and full of emotion.

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, pulling into a space and turning off the engine. He turned to look at you, brown eyes as warm as honey, just as sweet too. “You told me your grandfather used to take you here, right?”

You nodded, lips pressed together so you didn’t cry or do something stupid, like ask the boy to marry you.

“I figured it had maybe been a while since you’d come, but,” Steve tilted his head to look at you, pressed a thumb to your chin in a fond touch, “I thought it’d be a pretty chill day out.”

You hiccuped a laugh, eyes almost turning glassy and Steve would’ve been alarmed if he didn’t know you as well as he did. He leaned in, seatbelt still buckled and straining but he was smiling, that soft, warm smile you swore he only used for you.

“Good surprise?” He murmured, nose nudging at your cheek. You were warm and it made him feel a little proud, happy to elicit such a pretty reaction from you.

“Good surprise,” you confirmed, grinning as you let him kiss you, a soft peck of his lips against yours that soon gave way to more, as warm as the sun on the back of your neck.

Your lips parted for Steve, far too easily considering the public setting but you were leaning over the console to meet him halfway, head tilted, mouth slanting over the boy’s as he kissed you soft and deep. It made you sigh, a sound that Steve swallowed, a contented little noise that Steve swore was his favourite, one he loved to try and pull from you whenever he could. He ran his tongue over yours, pulled back just enough to make you chase him, smiling through the kiss as you tutted at him, at his smugness.

“If this makes you happy enough,” Steve murmured against your lips, grinning when you moved to kiss at his chin, his jaw, “I’m more than okay to do this all day.”

You snorted a little, a huff of laugh pressed against the line of his neck and you nipped the skin there to make him shudder. It worked and you pulled back, eyes a little darker than before, a shade that complimented Steve’s, both of your lips kiss bitten and rosy.

“That’s a really tempting offer,” you told him and you weren’t even kidding, not really, not that much. “But I wanna see the sharks.”

Steve laughed, lips pressed together as he looked at you with so much adoration that it hurt your chest. He reached down to unfasten your seatbelt before doing the same to his, smoothing down your skirt and tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb rubbed a soft line over the high of your cheekbone.

“Yeah? Sharks?”

“Sharks,” you confirmed.

So Steve slung an arm around your shoulders as you crossed the lot, two hands holding his as you stood by his side at the front desk, rolling your eyes when the boy refused to let you pay half. But giddy excitement took over as you walked out of the lobby and into the first room, dark except for the lights in the tanks, blue reflections on the floor, the walls, the sounds of trickling water and absolute peace.

Steve followed a little behind you, smiling fondly as your face lit up and lavender and fuchsia lights painted your face. It turned you cheeks a deeper colour than normal, lavender lips, barbie pink eyelids, eyelashes casting shadows.

You touched the glass gently with your fingertips, everything about you soft, Steve noted. You watched the jellyfish float up and down, dreamlike in their motions, their slow dance reflected in your eyes. Steve was looking at you again.

“I could stay here all day,” you told him quietly, a small smile on your face.

Steve believed you, had watched the tension soften and ease from your shoulders, the weight of the world crumbling away as you watched the light dance off of the water.

Steve leaned against the tank, a shoulder pressed to the glass so the lilac light scattered itself across his cheek, the slope of his jaw. His brown eyes looked black in the dark room and he was still watching you. You made his heart thump, a little harder than normal, just a little faster than it should.

“But what about the sharks?” He asked and he grinned when you smiled, body leaning into his to indulge him.

Steve’s fingertips caught yours, a soft touch, a beckon, a silent: ‘wanna come with me?’ You let him tangle your hand with his, fingers linked. He tilted his head and you followed, both of you walking past the few kids that were silently watching the stingrays float at the bottom of a shallow pool, noses almost touching the water.

“I think I needed this,” you told Steve, voice sticky with emotion. The week had been hard, sleep not coming all that easy. You leaned into his, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you walked through the dark corridors, posters of sea creatures and underwater plants lining the walls. “This is nice.”

Steve smiled, turning his face to press a kiss to your temple, hand squeezing yours a little tighter. You seemed less tired, eyes a little brighter than he’d seen them in a while.

“Yeah?” He murmured, pleased by your words. His cheeks were pink but you didn’t dare tease. “Good. I just want you to be happy, babe.”

It felt like your chest caved in at his words, so soft and so kind - so sincere - that your heart hurt. You stopped and tugged him back by the hand, a look of surprise in Steve’s eyes as he gazed at you.

“C’mere,” you asked quietly, uncaring that you were in front of a tank, a shoal of pink seahorses swimming across coral behind you both.

You anchored yourself to the boy, hands gripping his waist, fingers twisted into his cotton t-shirt. You pushed onto your toes, chin tilted up and you didn’t need to ask before Steve was leaning down for you, a smile already on his lips, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m here,” he whispered and you could hear his happiness in those two words, you could taste the joy.

“Need to kiss you,” you told him, matter of fact about it and before he could reply, you were pushing your lips to his, a soft sound of delight coming from his chest.

It was chaste, considering the few people that were milling around, too entranced by the animals to really take notice of two young lovers in the navy shadows. But you took your time with it, caught Steve’s bottom lip between yours, nudged at his cheek with your nose so he would indulge you a little more, leaning down further so you could trap his top lip too.

He was grinning when you pulled away, a smile that matched yours, pink in the cheeks and the ultraviolet lights in his eyes.

“What was that for?” Steve asked, before quickly adding, “not that I’m complaining, like, at all.”

You smiled, shy, shrugged and crinkled your nose as if the boy was asking a silly question. “You make me happy.”

You got another kiss in return, just as sweet as the first.

Steve followed you around the aquarium, almost losing you to the shadows before finding you in the light, your buttercup yellow sundress turned orange in the red spotlights, each one illuminating a tank of deep sea creatures, spindly and strange looked, your nose pressed to the glass and your eyes wide.

The boy was happy to linger, watching you light up, the quiet of the aquarium easing the crinkle that had lived between your brows for a week or two. You looked pretty, like you always did, but almost too pretty under the glow, the refractions from the water dancing across your bare legs. It was the most innocent kind of joy and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at you when you walked through the shark tunnels, hand in hand and naming each species.

“This is an almost odd fascination,” he said fondly as you told him all about the dwarf lantern shark, which was apparently as small as a goldfish. “And its belly lights up?” He repeated.

You nodded, eyes still scanning the roof of the tunnel, the glass glittering against the water and the light. A large nurse shark swam overhead and you grinned. “Yup. Like a glow stick.”

That’s how it went, Steve letting you tug at his hand, holding onto his arm as you pointed out this fish and that shark. You both watched as a small octopus, bright red in colour as it opened a jar, both of you enraptured and heads touching, staring through the glass.

The aquarium was close to closing as you sat on a bench at the last attraction, a huge domed room that was mostly glass, the only light trickling in from the inside the tank, warm and dim. It lit up the shoals of fish, slow swimming and brightly coloured, the coral on the sandy bed just as pretty.

Every now and then something big would swim past, casting shadows over the floor, you and Steve, a giant turtle, a stingray or two. It was peaceful, dark and quiet, both of you lit up in navy and green.

You were watching a fish, something long and flat looking, as it bobbed across the tank floor digging at the sand and rocks. Steve was watching you.

“Did you know, coral produces its own sunscreen?” you told Steve. You didn’t wait for a reply, eyes on the moving plants, a sunset scene of coloured under the water. “They make their own algae to protect them from sun rays.”

Steve didn’t answer so you tore your eyes away from the clownfish that was darting in and out of the bright pink anemone to look at the boy.

He was smiling, eyes soft and fond, already looking at you. There was small freckles of light on his cheeks, dancing the same way the water moved, disappearing when a fish swam in front of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

His words swallowed you whole, sticky like honey, warm and sweet and his voice was so full of affection for you that you almost didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was never shy with compliments and you were well used to them after being with him for so long, even before you were officially together.

But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made your heart thump, a solid beat beneath your ribs that you swore could be heard out loud.

You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard and completely enamoured by the boy beside you, with his wild hair and pretty eyes, all soft lips and sharp lines. He had new freckles, tiny dots you could see even in the shadows, ones you were sure he’d received from the day he spent with you out by his pool.

They made him look a little younger, boyish and achingly handsome.

So you hid from him, cheeks warm and bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you pushed your face to your shoulder, hands covering yourself as you made some strange noises of protest, as if you’d ever dare argue with Steve about it.

You heard rather than saw him laugh, and then, his fingers wrapped around your wrists, tugging gently. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he chided. “S’all mine.”

Steve pulled and you followed, onto your feet as he took your hands in his and towed you towards his lap. He settled you between his legs, tucked to his chest with his chin on your head, a kiss pressed there as you both watched the underwater world go by.

You were grinning, beaming, that cheek aching kinda smile that you knew would last until bedtime and when Steve wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you a little tighter, it only grew in size. He made you dizzy with happiness, turned you into a greedy, little thing that ached for his touch and attention, but oh my god, you’d never experienced joy like it.

Steve was summer and sunshine and pool days and trips to the aquarium. He was long drives, messy hair, stolen kisses in the shadows and absolutely everything you needed.

Everything you wanted.

“Thank you,” you whispered and you wondered if he’d heard, if he could tell just how much you meant it. You felt weightless leaning against him, relaxed for the first time in days.

But then he was curling down to you, lips on your cheek and you turned so he could catch the corner of your mouth, another kiss there for good measure.

“Nothin’ to thank me for, baby,” he shrugged but you could tell he was smiling, you could tell he was happy that you were happy. “Jus’ doing my job.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 3 months ago

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✶ ┄ FIX IT !

summary: you thought you were over it, the whole steve-and-nancy thing. spoiler alert: you aren't. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader word count: 3.5k warning: angst. gut wrenching angst. with a sort of happy ending. a/n: i'm such a sucker for angst it's gotta be unhealthy at this point. anyway, shout out to all my angsty fic enjoyers. let's read this and cry together <3

Having four roommates and only two bathrooms was worth it if it meant getting out of Hawkins. The apartment was a quaint little thing just outside of Indianapolis — up four flights of stairs with no elevator, cracks in the walls, and a stellar view of an alleyway.

But it was nice to have a place all your own. Sharing it with all your best friends was even better. That was the dream after all, wasn’t it? And being with Steve — that was just the cherry on top of it all.

So you weren’t going to let your mean, green, and envious heart ruin the new life you and your friends were trying to build in this tiny apartment.

You didn’t even think yourself the jealous type. Not until you realized that Steve was going to live under the same roof as his ex-girlfriend. It was dumb and it was irrational and you just couldn’t shake it.

It was probably a whole lot harder for Steve than it was for you, really. Besides, it had been years since they were together. Both of them had moved on, both of them had new and blossoming relationships.

Jonathan was good to Nancy. And to you, Steve was… well he was perfect. More importantly, he was yours.

So it really shouldn’t bother you.

And it didn’t. Not for a while.

Not until Nancy and Jonathan broke up out of nowhere and he’d announced to all of you on movie night that he was moving out.

He said that he missed California too much, that Argyle was getting lonely all the way out there, and that he had a spare room at his place. You couldn’t tell if that was the truth or just some bullshit excuse.

Maybe both.

What made it worse is that Nancy hadn’t seemed all that upset about it. Hell, you were more sad about him leaving than she was.

She told you as much during your weekly designated wine night (the one where you and her and Robin got drunk on cheap wine, while the rest of the boys fucked off and got drunker on cheaper beer).

“It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would,” she’d confessed with a shrug, only slightly tipsy and cheeks pink with it. “We… drifted apart, I guess. Just felt right to end it.”

You and Robin spent the rest of the night comforting her, anyway.

She loved Jonathan, everyone knew that. It sort of came with the whole shared trauma thing. She had to be at least a little bit sad that her person was gone, but she hid it away from the rest of you like it was her job.

But when the days got really bad, and she found herself missing Jonathan more than she liked, she sought refuge in Steve. Your Steve.

And it made sense. He knew her better than the rest of you.

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A sick feeling twists in your stomach when Steve accompanies the girl on a liquor store run without her having to ask. You watch with your heart in your throat when he leaves with her in the dead of night — a swirling bubble of jealousy in the pit of your chest with an ache so palpable you can taste it.

You spend the next several minutes trying not to look as sad as you feel while Eddie can’t stop debating on what the two of them might be talking about.

Nancy had been more reserved as of late, carrying a rain cloud over her as she wandered through the apartment like a ghost — he concludes they’re just going out to spill some hot goss. Robin makes him promise to never say those string of words ever again while you quietly dismiss yourself to your bedroom.

Nancy and Steve have been gone for an hour.

Lying in the dark and staring up at the textured, water-stained ceiling, you start to do the math. Fifteen minutes there, fifteen minutes back with traffic — but the streets are usually bare after nine o’clock. Either way, that leaves a half hour spent trying to choose what alcohol to splurge on.

You’ve seen Nancy try to pick out wine, she’s indecisive and a perfectionist to boot. She could spend hours dissecting each bottle to find the perfect one, if Robin wasn’t constantly over her shoulder rushing her.

Maybe that’s why Nancy had declined when the girl offered to tag along with them.

Or maybe she just wanted to be alone with Steve—

You have to physically shake that thought from your head. But even when you shut your eyes, it’s like the image of him and Nancy making out in the back of her Station Wagon is ingrained in the depths of your mind.

You curl into yourself and bathe in the depths of the dark abyss you’ve created in your bedroom, trying to see your way out of your handcrafted turmoil like a bad cold.

When Nancy and Steve return, they come cradling paper bags in their arms like babies.

Robin relieves the latter of the load in his hands and follows the darker-haired girl into the kitchen connected to the living room, no larger than a decent-sized closet.

Steve notices the lack of your presence as soon as he walks through the door. When he’d left, the three of you were pregaming — a feat that often led to Eddie breaking out his guitar and you and him singing terribly off-key to whatever was playing on the radio.

Now you’re nowhere to be found, and he feels it like a missed meal. He feels the ache of your absence like an empty stomach.

“Where’d she go?” Steve asks Eddie, who’s lounging on the couch and taking up the entire space — legs spread and arms thrown over the back.

The curly-haired boy takes a noisy sip of his nearly gone beer. Then exhales rather dramatically when he sits the can on his thigh. It leaves a damp ring on the denim. “Hey, buddy... Just blow in from stupid town?”

“…What?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, already annoyed and knowing more than he lets on. “She’s in her room, dingus.”

“She okay?” Steve wonders with furrowed brows, uncaring of the use of the stupid nickname because there’s bigger things to worry about apparently.

It wasn’t like you to miss a night of drinking. He gets momentarily fearful that you’d gotten sick while he was away, that he wasn’t around to help you if you had.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Eddie lilts with wide eyes, like it’s a bright idea that neither of them would’ve thought of otherwise.

His sarcasm makes Steve roll his eyes, but he heeds the boy’s words anyway.

Through the short hallway and the last door on the right, he finds you in the darkness of your shared bedroom, illuminated only by the orange streetlight that filters through the blinds. You're hid beneath the covers, a little lump on the mattress.

He idles in the doorway and waits for you to react to his presence.

You don’t.

“Hey, babe,” he greets cautiously after concluding you just hadn’t heard the door squeak open upon his arrival. “You feel okay?”

You mumble something he can’t quite make out. He takes the raised infliction as an affirmative and shifts his weight on his feet because it’s unlike you to be so one-note with him.

“Well, I, uh— I bought some of that wine you like... I couldn’t remember if you liked the blackberry or blueberry, so I ended up just getting both, you know, just in case.”

“Okay,” you respond after several agonizing seconds. Your voice sounds so fragile in the still darkness. Like he didn’t already know something was wrong.

He so desperately wants to pry but chooses to err on the side of caution for now, out of fear of turning the bad, worse.

“You wanna come down and try it with me? If you don’t like it we can always go back—”

“I’m okay,” you interrupt gently, with a tone so soft and coated with so much emotion that it makes his heart sink. You’re anything but and he knows it.

“Okay,” he nods anyway with the hope that he can pull you from this funk you’d managed to fall into. “Do you, uh… Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

He hears your deep sigh and sees the way the wad of blankets rises and falls again. A telltale sign of your annoyance. He knows then that he’s overstayed his welcome.

Your voice remains quiet but loses its kindness when you tell him: “You can do whatever you want, Steve.”

He’s hurt by the way you’re so suddenly short with him, then angered because he didn’t do anything to deserve it in the first place.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you? What did I do?”

You don’t answer. You just sigh again, the same really big, dramatic one that’s more to showcase your irritation with him than anything else.

You’re more than keen to end the conversation right there, but Steve isn’t. Not when something’s eating you away from the inside out and he can’t do anything to help you because you won’t let him.

“Babe, c’mon. I get it, alright? You’re mad at me. Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it,” you monotone, stifled beneath the covers.

“I can’t fix it?” he repeats with furrowed brows. “What do you mean, I can’t fix it?”

You use your silence as an answer, as a weapon. It’s almost worse than any silver-tongued reply you could've given him. The quiet forces him to think for himself and imagine all the things he could’ve done wrong that he can’t take back. It feels like quicksand.

Did he forgot to kiss you good morning? Of course, he didn’t — actually, he gets mad at you for forgetting — and you were golden before he left. Eddie probably said something stupid, that was likely. Or maybe Robin made a joke that upset you, that was even more likely.

He figures it’s something in between all those. Something silly that feels like the end of the world. He can make it better. He always makes it better.

Steve lifts the lump of covers you shield yourself with and crawls beneath them with the intention of pulling you out of the void you’ve sunken into.

It’s not so comfortable, lying in bed in socks and jeans and a collared shirt, but he doesn’t need to feel good right now — you do. He’ll be content if he can just hold you in his arms for a couple of hours, the rest of the night if that’s what you need.

But he can’t even do that.

He reaches for your arm, fingers just barely trailing across the warm skin there, and you jerk away from him like he’s shocked you.

It startles him, how quick you are to avoid him. It has him jerking back too, because you’ve never denied him the opportunity to touch you. He becomes the same sort of storm cloud that you are now, because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. Any of it.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks you, less soft than he’d been before.

You sniffle. “I told you I didn’t want you going out alone with Nancy anymore,” you mumble, face still shoved into your pillow. The words are slightly muffled but he can hear the tears that coat your voice.

“That’s what this is about?” he wonders, not as empathetic as you’d hoped he might be, but genuinely confused. With your back to him, you don’t see the smile pulling at his lips while he shakes his head, like it’s funny to him. “Babe, we were just getting drinks. It’s no different than you going out with Robin.”

“It’s totally different! Because I was never in love with Robin. She was never in love with me—”

“Well, I beg to differ,” he murmurs in a soft laugh.

“It’s not funny, Steve,” you retort wetly and then sniffle again. When you turn to face him, he sees for the first time what he’s done to you.

The orange of the streetlight lamp outside bathes you in a sunset shade of neon — your eyes are glassy with tears that gather at your lashes. Emotions glow at the tip of your nose and your cheeks. Your skin would be hot to the touch if he felt you now.

“Do you know how weird it is for me? To watch my boyfriend and his ex go fuck around with me?” you ask him with a scrunched nose and brows, like your trying to keep yourself from falling apart in front of him.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Steve scolds. “She just wanted to get alcohol for tonight and had some shit to get off her chest. I mean, she’s been having a really hard time lately—”

“It’s not your job to take care of her, Steve!” you shout before you even realize you’re shouting. You take in a shuddered breath and let it out in a trembling sigh, shining eyes flitted away from him and towards the ceiling as you calm yourself down.

When you start your lament again, you’re quieter.

“You can’t just be this, like, emotional crutch for her every single time something’s wrong. She’ll just get invested in you all over again and…”

Steve watches from beside you, propped up on his elbow, as you trail off. The frown between your eyebrows deepens, a great and inquisitive crevice, while your eyes widen and your mouth falls softly agape — like you’ve discovered something in the midst of your rant.

“Is— Is that what you want?” you ask him then. “Do you, like, need her attention to feed your ego or something?”

He’s too offended by your words to tell you all the ways they aren’t true. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, Steve.”

“What is?”

“Watching you and her together!” you admit through a tightening throat. You rise from where you’d been laying down and Steve follows you, settling in front of you as you wrap your arms around your knees. “When I have to sit here, by myself, while you guys spend time alone. When she always knows what you’re up to, and I don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“—It’s not fair. She’s not your girlfriend, Steve, I am. It’s your job to take care of me, not her.”

Steve deflates like a popped balloon. His chin falls to his chest and his eyes squeeze shut at the weight of your words.

It’s like you’re reminding him that he’s supposed to be in love with you and not someone he cared for a long time ago. Like you felt the need to remind him because you thought he’d forgotten somewhere down the line.

It hurts him too. It feels like you’ve got his heart in your hands and you're wringing it in your grip.

“You’re right,” Steve concedes with a nod. “I just... I guess, I never thought about it like that.”

He feels the same way, too, sometimes. When you and Eddie go all buddy-buddy mode and want to spend time together.

When you’re out all night with him at band practice. When you’re attached at the hip and having sleepovers in his room to talk about everything and nothing for hours until you fall asleep when the sun rises. When you both come down at one in the afternoon the next day for breakfast, giggling about the thing you said the night before.

It makes him feel like he’s missing out. Like you’re sharing parts of yourself with someone else and he isn’t allowed to see it.

And sometimes he gets irrational — keeps himself up all night as he imagines you and Eddie making out on his floor after going through all his new tapes or fucking in his unmade bed while he keeps a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

Steve concocts waking nightmares for himself whenever you’re not beside him.

But even then, it’s different. Because he used to do all that shit with Nancy. They fell in love, made out for hours because they didn’t want to stop feeling each other, had sex on a twin-sized bed and tried to keep from falling out of it while they did.

You’d never done that shit with Eddie — or with anyone you’re now sharing a home with. Besides Steve.

Because he’s yours now. And you’re his.

But you can’t stop thinking about how he used to be Nancy’s too.

“I don’t need you to tell me that I’m right,” you murmur with the childlike shake of your head, slow and lazy, as you wipe your wet cheek on your shoulder. “I need you to do something about it— I needed you to do something about it a long time ago.”

“I will, okay? I will. I promise. I’ll fix it,” Steve assures you quickly, with wide and hopeful eyes and a nodding head that makes his hair flop against his forehead.

He can see you losing hope in front of him, like a flame going slowly out. You’re slipping away. He keeps fighting to keep a hold of you.

“No.”

“…No?”

“You can’t,” you sniffle. “You can’t fix it.”

“Baby—”

“It’s not fair. To either of us,” you tell him, looking at him through clumped together lashes and heavy, sparkling eyes. “And it’s not your fault, okay? But I can’t keep feeling this like. It’s not healthy— this isn’t… this is what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. It shouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve blinks back stinging tears. He brings his hand to his face and rubs the back of it against his burning nose. He feels a bit like you do now, hopeless. You’re slipping away and he is too and you both just keep on slipping, just going going going.

“You’re not even—” he clears his throat when his voice breaks halfway through. “You’re not even gonna let me try?”

You shrug weakly. Tears burn as they gather at your waterline. You revel in the sting because it’s better than the hole ripping through your chest.

“I don’t know. I think… I think it’s too late.”

“Why would you say that?” Steve agonizes with the shake of his head, looking like a wounded puppy as he gaze at you with brown eyes full of hurt. “Don’t say that. Don’t.”

“Steve—”

“No,” he interjects firmly, stopping the spiral before it can start again.

He positions himself so he’s sitting further ahead of you and holds your arms in his numbing hands, ducking down to catch your gaze when you try to look away from him.

“I love you, okay? I’m an idiot and I’m sorry and I'm stupid, alright? I wasn’t thinking. But we can’t just… It’s not too late. I can fix this. I promise I can fix this.”

Your chest aches at his plea, at the way he still doesn’t understand.

It’s not his fault you feel this way, not entirely. It’s not anyone’s fault and that’s what’s so scary. There’s no one to blame the pain on, no root to cut out and put an end to it. You’re frightened that it��s always going to be there, constantly in the way, forbidding either of you from ever moving on.

“Steve...” you murmur through tears while the boy gathers you in his arms. You try to stop him but your voice gets caught in your throat halfway through. Because you don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

He nurses you into his velvet hold, wrapping a pair of strong arms around you to cage you against him. He presses his nose into your temple while he rocks you back and forth. “I promise. Everything’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

He repeats that like a mantra while you keep your head pressed against his chest — everything’s gonna be okay, I can fix it, I love you.

It’s a promise. One that he’d rather die than break.

You stay there, curled against his chest, while dark feelings ebb and flow in a constant and bitter cycle.

You hope he’s right. That these big feelings are just big stupid feelings that'll pass come the pink and blue sunrise. That everything really is going to be okay and that he really can fix it.

Because even now, all hopeless and full of doom and gloom, you feel soothed in his hold. You’ve never felt safer anywhere else. You’ve built a home in the peace of Steve’s arms and you want to keep on living in them.

“I’m gonna make it better,” he whispers against the crown of your head. If you’ll let me.

He feels you nod lazily against him. “Okay.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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harringtonslvr · 3 months ago

Text

i couldn’t be more in love - steve harrington

a/n: hi! here’s a lil angsty steve one shot for y’all (unedited) this is my first time writing steve so please be gentle with me. requests are currently open. thanks for reading and as always all support and criticism is extremely appreciated! hope you enjoy, lots of love - florie <3

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve’s fears of not being good enough for you cause him to end your four year relationship and leave you heartbroken. even though he tries his best to move on and let you go, his undeniable need to protect you results with you in his bed at the end of a night out.

word count: 7.8k

warning(s): cursing, crying, drinking, mention of weed, parental pressure, throwing up, angst, mentions of insecurity about self worth, smut, no use of y/n, steve and reader are 19/20.

“Ignore it.” Robin said, pushing an overflowing red solo cup into your hand, lukewarm beer sloshing over the rim to drip down your arm.

You shot her a glare and huffed, “I’m trying to.”

She stepped in front of you, blocking your line of vision to who you had been staring daggers at in the corner of the room.

Steve Harrington. Your ex-boyfriend. Your twin flame. Your soulmate. The love of your life.

And her. His new fling.

They had been going at it for the past 5 minutes, they hadn’t even stopped to catch their breath.

You could remember when you and Steve were like that, attached at the hip, disgustingly affectionate.

You weren’t even sure when you had stopped being like that. All you knew was that three weeks ago he had sat you down, taken your hands in his own, eyes glossy, and said the words you had hoped you would never have to hear from his mouth.

“I think it’s time we go our separate ways.”

The second he said it you felt something inside of you drop, trickle all the way down to the tips of your toes and onto the floor, it’s absence leaving your whole body cold. When you and Steve started dating, a comfort that you had never been familiar with before found a home in you and put you at ease for the first time in your life. When you were with him your head and heart were so full of love that any familial or personal pressures that typically plagued you were forced out, there was no more room for them. Your parents overbearing wishes and your perpetual fear of failure were overpowered by his sheer admiration of you, it had always been said that you were destined for greatness in all your endeavors, but Steve never really wanted greatness, he only wanted you. Until he didn’t.

Now you watched them and fought to ignore the pain stabbing into your heart. While his hands roamed over her body you thought back to a better time, a sweeter time.

- - -

Steve slung his arm around your shoulders as you walked past a group of football players who were passing around a poorly made bong on the front porch. They shouted various greetings to your socially esteemed boyfriend who returned their welcome with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

You tilted your head to speak into his ear as you passed through the front door.

“Whose house is this again?”

“You remember Jimmy? I introduced you two at my house last week.”

“Right.” you remembered, one of Steve’s teammates from basketball. “And you’re sure it’s okay that I came, you know without an invitation?”

Steve’s lips twisted up into a lazy smirk and he couldn’t help himself from pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“You’re my plus one, baby. Course it’s okay.”

As you made your way through the party you tried not to feel intimidated by the amount of people flocking to your boyfriend, guys pulling him into half assed hugs, and girls pressing into him, their glossed lips wrapping around sultry hellos.

Steve didn’t seem to pay it any mind, he kept his arm wrapped tightly around your waist ushering you through the crowd until you had reached the drink table in the center of the kitchen. He lifted you up so you sat in front of him atop the counter and shuffled his way between your thighs.

“Whaddya drinking?” he crooned, smooth as always.

“Dunno.” you mumbled, lost in the way his eyes burned into you.

“You want something sweet, honey?” he teased, his hands finding a home just above your knees.

You nodded dumbly as his fingertips traveled up and dipped just under the hem of your skirt.

“Me too.” he agreed and laughed softly, motioning to his lips with the point of his finger. “Lay it on me.”

You pecked him once leaving your cheeks warm and he hummed contently against you before pulling away.

“Alright, now that we’ve got that sorted. How bout a shirley temple?”

He started pouring soda and grenadine into a cup of ice, dumping in two shots of vodka to finish it off while you watched, your feet lazily swinging from where they hung above the ground.

“Cherry on top?” he asked, pulling a jar of maraschino cherries from the door of the fridge.

“Please.” you replied, sticky sweet.

“Well fuck.” he scoffed, twisting the lid off. “I’d cut my right arm off if you asked like that, honey.”

- - -

You were slowly nursing your second drink of the night and had no desire for a third. In all honesty what you really wanted to do was walk home and hide in your bed but you knew that wouldn’t be happening, Robin wouldn’t allow it.

She had practically dragged you from your tear soaked sheets and forced you into the little red skirt and matching cropped angora sweater you had bought impulsively as a post breakup gift for yourself.

“You really need to get out.” she said while you begrudgingly swiped mascara through your lashes, just a few hours earlier.

“I’m not ready yet, Robs.” you complained, turning in your vanity chair to face her. “What if he’s there? What if he’s with that girl?”

“That girl” being Donna, a stunning hair stylist who worked at the salon across from Family Video. Robin had been keeping you filled in on their budding romance since it began, how she had come in one Tuesday and slid a gum wrapper scribbled with her number across the counter with her perfectly polished nails while Steve was helping her checkout. He had taken her out that weekend and they had been seeing each other casually since.

Robin threw a fashion magazine she was flipping through on your bed to the floor, “Who cares? You know I love you and I wouldn’t want to say anything to upset you while you’re-” she paused to grimace at the pile of soggy tissues covering your nightstand. “...fragile. But, obviously he’s moved on and it’s killing me to see you still stuck on him when you’re so clearly out of his league.”

You stared at her blankly, “I’m out of his league?”

“Duh! This is Steve Harrington we’re talking about, I once watched him have a 20 minute “lightsaber duel” with Henderson using a mop.”

You scrunched your nose trying to hide the fact that you found that incredibly endearing and not at all dorky before you responded, “Yet he’s the one who dumped me.”

She sighed in full dramatics flinging her head off the end of your bed so she was staring at you upside down, “Exactly! What kind of a dingus would do that?”

You frowned at yourself in the mirror before powdering your nose for the third time, “Someone who’s moving on to better things.”

“I call bullshit.” she declared. “How does it get better than you? Once you get yourself all pretty and a couple of drinks in your system you’ll forget who Steve Harrington even is.”

“Doubtful.” you retorted.

Robin came behind you, her expression pitiful as it reflected in your mirror. “But, would it kill you to try?” she asked hopefully.

You shrugged and swiped a cherry scented gloss across your lips, “It might.” you said honestly. “But, I guess I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Robin beamed at you through the mirror and smacked a kiss to the top of your head before practically skipping to the other side of your bedroom.

“Well, then hurry.” she said, pulling her pin-covered denim jacket over her shoulders. “We leave in 10.”

Now that you were at the party, staring at the person you loved more than anything in the world with his tongue down another girl's throat, you realized you did have something to lose, the contents of your stomach.

You turned to Robin, who was beside you eyeing a girl who had come into Family Video last week in search of any Molly Ringwald movie she could get her hands on.

“I think I’m gonna yack.” you whispered.

“What?” she questioned. “You’ve hardly had anything to drink.”

“It’s not the alcohol making me queasy.” you replied, gesturing to Steve and Donna pressed against the wall opposite to you.

“I thought I told you to ignore him?” she said, still slightly distracted.

“Easier said than done.”

She took a moment to look at you, her best friend. It honestly hurt her to see you so down on yourself. All she wanted was for you to have a good time after weeks of sobbing in her arms and isolating yourself in your room. She looked around the room until her gaze fell upon a beefy blonde eyeing you from the beer pong table.

“You wanna play a game of pong?” she said, gesturing to the table.

“Not really.” you replied, your eyes unmoving from Steve’s back.

“Too bad.” she decided, tugging you behind her.

“Robinnn” you complained, following her.

When the two of you reached the table the blonde in question sauntered over to you, drinking you in with his stare.

“You girls up for a game?” he shouted over the music.

You shook your head timidly while Robin replied, “Absolutely.”

The boy pulled you into his side with an arm around your back and spoke into your ear, “You’re on my team, babe.”

You looked helplessly to Robin who only nodded and mouthed to you, “Go for it.”

“You got a partner?” he asked her. She looked around and shrugged.

You turned your focus to reorganizing the scattered cups on the table into a pyramid, your head shooting up when your new partner’s voice cut through the room.

“Harrington!” he called. “Come play, we need another person.”

Robin’s eyes widened as she tried to assess what the quickest escape for you would be.

But Steve was faster, approaching the table with Donna under his arm still unaware of your presence.

He saw Robin first, her face red and eyes locked on yours. Then he focused his attention on the man beside you who once again pulled you close and then spoke, “It’s you and her against me and this pretty thing.”

Then Steve saw you, your cheek mushed against the blonde douche’s shoulder, bottom lip wobbling as you suffocated in the unexpected eye contact.

Donna leaned in and whispered something in his ear that made his jaw clench and he shooed her back gently with the wave of his hand.

“Sorry, bud.” he said, eyes unmoving from yours. “Not interested.”

As quickly as he was there he was gone.

You were seconds away from crumpling to the ground when Robin pulled you from the man’s arms.

“Fuck,” she said, her hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry, I had no idea he was coming over here.”

You shook your head, dismissing her apologies. “It’s not your fault, I just-” your voice cracked and you looked at her wordlessly. “He didn’t even acknowledge me.”

She frowned and pulled you into a hug, “He’s a massive idiot.”

“Are we still playing?” The blonde asked, dumbfounded.

“Sorry, but fuck off.” Robin replied, before walking towards the kitchen, arms still wrapped around you. “We’re taking shots. Lots of them.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Robin pulled a bottle of vodka from the many assorted liquors lined up on the table in front of you.

“Y’know how they say the best way to get over someone is to get under them?” she asked, already pouring the shots.

You nodded weakly.

She shoved the tiny glass into your hand, “That’s a lie.” she declared. “The best way to get over someone is to get absolutely shit faced.”

You recalled Steve’s expression when he saw you, it was cold, not exactly unbothered but withdrawn. You recalled her hands on him, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, and her words affecting him.

You slung the glass back, the liquid bringing a welcome burn to the back of your throat. Then you took another. Then another. Then another.

Within the hour you were somewhat distracted from your heartache. You and Robin were squished together on a couch with Nancy and Jonathan, all giggling drunkenly in response to the story Jonathan was sharing of an encounter he had with an inebriated pizza delivery boy the week prior.

You had lost count of your drinks and your head was feeling increasingly heavy to hold up, making your neck ache. You didn’t really mind the pain, in fact you welcomed it, this pain was much easier to manage then the dull throbbing kind that had been tormenting your heart. Your head fell back against the cushion behind you and you felt as if the world was spinning off its axis beneath you. Your elbow dug into Robin’s side making her groan in annoyance. The lights in the room started to overwhelm you and a wave of nausea washed over you.

“Robin,” you mumbled, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” she hummed in response, her head lolling to the side.

“M’gonna be sick.”

“Now?”

You swallowed thickly and shakily rose to your feet. “Right now.” you confirmed. You started pushing past people in pursuit of the bathroom, you could hear Robin behind you faintly.

“Coming,” she said. “Slow down, I'm right behind you.”

You ran up the stairs, as fast as you could in your current state, hands clawing the railing for balance. You stumbled through the hallway, checking behind you when you had reached what you hoped to be the bathroom door only to realize you had lost Robin along the way.

Your clammy hands turned around the knob and your body fell limp against the door as it swung open, fluorescent light invading your eyes. You dropped to your knees and shoved the door shut behind you, too nauseous to attempt locking it. Your hands shook as they gripped the toilet pushing up the seat before heaving roughly into the bowl.

Your eyes squinted shut as your head pounded, the music playing from downstairs was slightly shaking the foundation of the house and you were suddenly longing to be carried away and tucked into your bed.

You thought of Steve, not whoever it was you encountered downstairs. But your Steve, the one who would give you piggyback rides from the bar to where his car was parked blocks away when your feet hurt. The one who sat criss-cross applesauce on Nancy Wheeler’s bathroom floor with you in his lap, peppering your shoulders with kisses when you got too drunk last New Year’s Eve.

You brought the back of your hand to your mouth wiping roughly, your cheeks were wet with tears. You must’ve been sitting there for at least fifteen minutes, thoughts lingering on the past. When had you even started crying? You tore at the toilet paper roll beside you and balled up a sizable portion, you wiped at your eyes furiously, disregarding the mascara that was surely staining your face.

What a mess.

You shuddered at the thought of Steve seeing you like this, messy and broken and crumpled on the floor. You wondered what he would think, if he would feel sorry or just sorry for you.

As if the universe were playing some sort of cruel joke on you, while the thought floated around your head you heard the door unlatch and when you reluctantly followed the sound you saw him standing above you like some sort of awful miracle.

He looked shocked first, not expecting anyone to be in the room, but then the guilt washed over his face and you knew he had realized what he really walked into.

“Fuck, hon-.” he stuttered, his hands reaching out instinctively.

The half murmured term of endearment felt like a punch in the gut and you physically winced as he approached you.

His eyes filled with hurt at the way you reacted to his entrance, he used to scoop you up in his arms and quiet any of your pain with nothing but his presence and whispered words of comfort.

“Go,” you pleaded, your voice scratchy and raw.

“I can’t just leave you lik-” he sighed, and looked at you helplessly, as if saying what do you expect me to do. As if leaving you heartbroken and soiled on the bathroom tiles would be physically impossible for him, like he wasn’t the reason behind it.

“Are you okay?”

You sniffled and stared at the floor, “Please go.”

Steve squatted beside you and hesitantly reached out. He swallowed hard when you flinched under his touch as he pushed the hair out of your eyes, ensuring it was only mascara marring your pretty face and you weren’t physically harmed.

You refused to meet his eyes and when he tried to pull you off the ground, tugging gently on your hands, you shook your head.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you protested.

“Taking you home, c’mon.”

“No,” you argued. “Why would I do that? No, I’m- I’m here with Robin, she’s-”

“She’s passed out downstairs,” he interrupted. “You need to go home.”

“You’re drunk. I’m not-”

“I’m stone cold sober.” he informed, bringing his finger to his nose and then extending out as if he were doing a field test.

You finally locked eyes with him, and the unshed tears that sat brimming on your waterline seemed to drown him.

“I can’t, Steve.” you cried. “I can’t be in a car with you and…her.”

His shoulders fell a little and his expression softened ten fold.

“She’s not- I wouldn’t put you through that.” he said, as if it were obvious. “That’s why I’m not drinking,” he explained. “I already took her home, she’s babysitting her little brother tomorrow morning. She couldn’t stay late.”

You scoffed wetly, “How responsible of her.”

“Be nice.” he warned and you wanted to punch his perfect face.

“I’m not nice.” you slurred, under your breath.

“Bullshit,” he replied. “If someone hit you with their car you’d be the one to apologize.”

“Not anymore.”

“Don’t buy it.” he dismissed “Can you walk?”

“M’fine.” you clipped, rising to your feet while trying to ignore the feeling of the ground swaying under your feet and the pit of nausea still living in your stomach. “Gonna walk home.” you decided, pushing past him to get out of the tiny restroom.

He caught your forearm in the hallway, steadying your wobbly walk. “Yeah right. I’m taking you home. C’mon, I’m parked out front.”

You tried to tear yourself out of his grip, blaming the fluttery feeling in your stomach on your overindulgence.

“I don’t want your help. Okay?” you barked.

He ran his free hand through his hair and sighed, discouraged. “Look, I know you must hate me right now and I understand…” he paused and his expression remorseful. For a second you caught a glimpse of the man you loved, the man you still love. “Three weeks doesn’t erase four years. Please, let me take you home.”

Your will to fight him dwindled fast and you had to actively restrain yourself from embracing him and burying your face in his chest.

“Robin-” you started. “I can’t just leave her here.”

“I know.” He smiled sadly, still in complete awe of the way you cared for those lucky enough to be loved by you. “Go wait by the door, I’ll make sure she has a way home.”

“Thank you.” you mumbled.

“Of course.” He said, the second half of the sentence dying on his tongue. Anything for you.

You slowly made your way to the door and leaned against the wall, forcing air into your nose and out of your mouth in heavy puffs. You could feel your nerves buzzing beneath your skin at the prospect of being in a confined space with the person who dizzied you most in the world.

When Steve returned your eyes had drifted shut and your hands rested on your temples.

“Nancy and Jonathan are gonna give her a ride, they’re leaving in about an hour.” he informed. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly in response, “Thanks again.”

He hummed and opened the door for you, his hand instinctively finding its way to rest on your lower back and guide you out of the house.

When you got to his car he opened the passenger door, helping you in and leaning across you before you had a chance to shut it to secure your seat belt into place. Your whole body tensed when his fingers brushed against your hip and he muttered an apology.

He joined you in the car and switched on the radio before pulling away from the party in the direction of your house. Neither of you spoke as you exited the neighborhood so you laid your head against the window and watched the trees under the dim street lights as you passed by.

He turned a corner and you pressed your fingers into the leather seat beneath you to fight the unrest in your stomach that arose from the car’s motion.

“So, why’d you come back?” you asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Y’know after you dropped her off.”

Steve’s fingers tightened around the wheel and his eyes flicked to the side to see you looking at him timidly.

“I said I’d help clean after.” he lied, swallowing the truth with a forced gulp.

He couldn’t tell you the real reason behind his return, that he had been in agony imagining you at the party saddled up with some former jock, no one there to supervise your open drinks, or to ensure you had a safe way to get home.

“And now you’re driving me home.”

He realized leaving again before the party was over contradicted his lie and cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You felt the sadness that had been lingering in you all night slowly turn to anger.

“Of course I’m not.” you clipped, facing out the window again.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was probably a stupid thing to say considering…” he trailed off, biting his lip so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to draw blood.

“Considering you dumped me and got a new girlfriend within a few weeks?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” His heart hurt at the idea that anyone but you could hold that title.

He turned into your neighborhood and you had never been more thankful to see your house in the distance, that is until you realized all the lights were still on. Your parents were still up. Fuck.

To anyone else this may not have been a big deal, you were legally an adult but that never seemed to matter to your parents who were as strict as nuns when it came to drinking.

Steve seemed to notice the lights as well because his car came to a stop a few meters before your driveway.

“Well shit.” he remarked

“I can’t go in.” you said. You knew you must’ve looked quite disheveled, most likely smelled of alcohol and while you felt much more sober since emptying your stomach you knew there would still be a sway in your walk and a slight slur to your voice.

“You can stay at mine tonight,” he offered.

You laughed in amusement and anger. “I don’t think so. I can go to Robin’s.”

“She’s staying at Nancy and Jonathan’s and they won’t even be there for another 45 minutes at least. You can sleep in the guest room.”

He put the car in drive again and started towards his place before you could argue anymore.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, nothing but the quiet hum of the radio and the drum of Steve’s fingers on the steering wheel. When he pulled into his garage you got out before he had the chance to do anything annoying and chivalrous like open your door or help you exit the vehicle.

You stepped inside the house that may as well have been haunted, every nook and cranny linked to some fond memory you shared with your ex boyfriend. The kitchen where he had miserably failed at cooking you an anniversary dinner, the shower where he carded his fingers through your sud soaked hair, the bed where you had lost your virginity and he held you in his arms till the morning came. Every part of this house was woven into your love story and you felt suffocated within its walls.

He threw his keys onto the kitchen table and kicked his shoes into the corner as you stood frozen in front of him taking in your surroundings as if for the last time.

“You can shower if you want,” he offered. “There’s some towels in the guest bathroom.”

“Okay.” you replied coolly.

“Just stay there a sec, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

Your eyes were glued to a slightly faded polaroid of the two of you stuck to the fridge with a Hawkins High Basketball magnet. The fridge was barren otherwise, Steve’s parents not the type to decorate with school pictures or family memorabilia. The photo had been taken the night Steve told you he loved you and the night you returned the sentiment. In the picture your cheeks were pressed together, spread taut with matching smiles. You had been so happy that night, quite opposite to how you were feeling now.

Steve startled you from your thoughts with a gentle hand on your shoulder, he followed your line of sight to the photo and spoke, “One of my favorites. You looked breathtak-”

“Steve,” you cut off coarsely. “Just stop it.”

“Sorry, I just…it doesn’t matter. Here,” he said, handing you a stack of folded clothes that you recognized as your own. “I didn’t think you’d wanna wear anything of mine and I remembered I had these in the back of my dresser.”

You accepted them with no word of thanks and tried to convince yourself that he was right, that you hadn’t wanted him to hand you a pair of boxers and one of his sweaters still lingering with his cologne.

Once you reached the bathroom you stripped yourself of your uncomfortable party attire and turned on the hot water. You stood under the sweltering stream and welcomed the burn, letting all the rage you felt for Steve bubble up and swarm your head for the entire duration of your shower.

When you finished you hastily pulled on your clothes, your skin was now scorched and your anger hot and irrational. You stormed towards his room and swung the door open with not so much as a knock. There he sat in the dark, only the moon providing any illumination. His body stretched across his bed on top of the covers, head tilted to the ceiling with nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants resting lowly on his hips.

“I hope you know,” you started, startling him with a finger pointed lethally in his direction. “I’m not going to go around thinking you’re some great guy just because you took pity and helped me tonight.”

Steve could only flick his eyes in your direction briefly, too emotionally exhausted from the night to even sit up. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Oh, of course not.” your voice dripped with sarcasm.”King Steve is just such a gentleman he couldn’t have it any other way. Don’t act like tonight was motivated by anything other than guilt.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“You brought that beautiful girl and you just carried on with her like I wasn’t even there. Then when it broke me you just had to come along and pick up the pieces.”

“I’m tired.” he muttered, your name following the statement almost inaudibly. He was tired of fighting with you, tired of seeing the way your eyes burnt into him no longer with lust but something even stronger, hurt.

“You don’t think I’m tired? You don’t think I wouldn’t give anything to close my eyes and not see her hands all over you?”

“Fine, I regret it. I should’ve thrown away her number the second she gave it to me. I should’ve never brought her to the party. Is that what you want to hear?

“No!” you cried. “It’s you who shouldn’t have come to the party and you shouldn’t have come back after you left. You could’ve just let me have this one night, I needed it.”

“I don’t regret that. I had to go to the party, you know that.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

His eyes softened, “It has everything to do with you.”

Suddenly you saw the events of the night under a completely different lens.

- - -

Then Steve saw you, your cheek mushed against the blonde douche’s shoulder, bottom lip wobbling as you suffocated in the unexpected eye contact.

Donna leaned in and whispered something in his ear that made his jaw clench and he shooed her back gently with the wave of his hand.

“Sorry, bud.” he said, eyes unmoving from yours. “Not interested.”

“Looks like she moved on after all.” Donna had purred in his ear.

He looked at you cozied up to someone new and saw nothing but red. He had to get out of there fast.

“Why would I do that? No, I’m- I’m here with Robin, she’s-”

“She’s passed out downstairs,” he interrupted. “You need to go home.”

He searched the party desperately, only able to catch his breath when he saw Robin laid across the couch, mouth hung open, Nancy and Jonathan not far by. He forced through the crowd till he reached her and felt his heart rate skyrocket when you were nowhere to be seen. He shook her shoulder till she roused enough to open her eyes a sliver.

“Where is she?” he asked, voice urgent. “Where, Robin? Is she okay?”

Robin grumbled and rolled over but not before muttering two words, “Sick. Upstairs.”

“So, why’d you come back?” you asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Y’know after you dropped her off.”

“I said I’d help clean after.” he lied, swallowing the truth with a forced gulp.

“And now you’re driving me home.”

He had never once stayed after a party to clean, not even for his closest friends, and certainly not for some former football player he had interacted with maybe 4 times in his life who still found spitballs to be the height of comedy at the ripe age of 21.

- - -

“You were looking for me.” you realized.

Steve met your eyes and exhaled heavily, “Aren’t I always?”

You held eye contact and despite the dimness of the room he could see your chest heaving up and down with troubled breaths. You turned to leave and Steve fell back against his pillows, scrubbing his hand roughly against his face.

Just as you were about to cross the threshold into the hallway you spun on your heel and faced him again.

“Steve, I-I’m sorry okay? I don’t know why I can’t be civil with you. I feel like my whole life has been flipped upside down over the past few weeks. And I know I can’t blame you for falling out of love with me… I just can’t- I’m not ready to see you fully over us-” your voice cracked painfully in the back of your throat.

“Baby…” he sighed sadly, sitting up in his bed.

You felt tears spring to your eyes, bringing your hands to your face and then dropping them shakily. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at you sorrowfully as your body finally gave out, succumbing to the tears. Before you could stop yourself your legs carried you towards his bed, falling forward on top of him and wrapping yourself around his body.

“Please- I just, I need to-”

You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence but Steve always had a knack for reading your mind and he knew exactly what you meant. You needed to feel him, to hold him again, breathe in his scent, run your fingertips over his skin. He knew because the feeling was all too familiar, he felt it before he shut his eyes every night, before the sun rose through his curtains in the morning, and every moment in between.

Wordlessly he closed his arms around you and your nose pressed into his bare collarbone. His hands traveled up, threading into your hair, cradling your head against him.

“Breathe,” he cooed. With his chin tucked into your neck you could feel the wet lick of his lips when he spoke.

“I’m not fully over us,” he admitted. “Not even close.” He laughed, humorlessly, nudging his nose under your ear, “You’re honestly doing my head in.”

You let your eyes fall shut, wanting to take in every bit of this moment, unsure if you would ever experience anything like it again.

“I really miss you.” you whispered into the diminutive space between you.

A pained noise slipped out from Steve at your confession. He wished you could see the bigger picture he had sketched up in his mind, how in a few years he would be a blip in your memory, a single dim star amongst the blinding constellation of your future accomplishments.

Steve may have been considered slightly ditzy around town but he had never been stupid, he knew you were too good for him, he always knew. From that very first kiss in his BMW four years ago when the two of you were only 16 he knew that the way you felt for him would be temporary. The admiration in your eyes would fade and the curtain would fall. He wasn’t King Steve like he had been in high school, he was just Steve, plain unpromising Steve.

You had always been gifted, you were going places, you had aspirations. The only aspirations Steve could ever remember having were in regards to you, taking care of you, loving you, putting a ring on your finger, making you his wife, and eventually building a family with you. A loving happy family, nothing like the kind he had grown up with.

He wanted the best for you, and as much as it fucking devastated him he wasn’t sure that meant him anymore.

But his resolve was growing thinner, wearing down with each exhale that passed your lips to tickle his skin.

“I miss you too, honey. So much.”

“But, Donna-”

“Isn’t looking for anything serious.” he finished for you. “She’s good company but she's not you. No one is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain it.”

“Why not?” you pleaded against him.

“It’s better this way. I promise, it will be.”

You nuzzled further into him, “How?” Your lips ghosted his clavicles and he trembled. “How could it be better than this?”

His leg slotted between your thighs, pressing you into him. You jumped at the feeling, a symphonic sigh exiting you against your will.

“Shit- sorry.”

You panted and shook your head. “No, don’t be. It’s good.”

He readjusted in an attempt to put some space between you, feeling himself getting sucked into your hazy arousal rapidly. You felt the familiar outline of his excitement against the side of your legs and he hissed.

“This would be real fuckin’ selfish of me.” he struggled to say while you chased his lips, yours already pouted in anticipation. He caught your face and held it in place in front of his own, searching for any lingering signs of intoxication, “You’ll never forgive me tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” you said honestly. The shower and time passed had sobered you up fine.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll hate me for leading you on.”

“Are you?”

Steve pondered your question and tried not to let his face show how unsure he was of the answer. Could he really stay away from you? Would either of you ever be able to fully move on from your paramount love?

You read him like a book and grazed his chest with the tips of your fingers, bringing him back to you.

“Even if you are, I couldn’t hate you.”

He swiped his thumb across your eyebrow and watched your eyelids flutter in response. “I hate myself for hurting you.”

You leaned forward until your noses bumped and spoke into his mouth, “Then make up for it.”

Finally, Steve closed the space between you with a hungry kiss. His lips were warm and chapped against yours, his teeth scraping against the suppleness of your bottom one to pull your mouth open and allow him to show you just how sorry he was.

For the first time in weeks you felt your lungs fill with no resistance and strain against your ribcage with a welcome sort of discomfort, like an overfilled balloon you were seconds away from popping and Steve knew it.

His hips rutted against yours and one of his hands slowly traveled down from the velvet of your cheek to palm roughly at your breast. The feeling made your breath catch in your throat, coaxing a high pitched squeak out of you and Steve smiled against your lips, his teeth knocking yours.

“Feels good?” he asked.

“Mhm.” you hummed as he turned his attention to your neck, nipping and kissing the dewy surface. “Always does. You always do.”

His responsive whimper is slightly muffled by your skin but you bathe in it.

“You too.” he reciprocated. “I won’t last long if you keep talking like that, you’ll knock my fucking lights out.”

“Sorry,” you said sweetly, leaving him bewildered at how you could be so sensual and so adorable at the same time.

You sat up, straddling him. Your hands traveled south to breach the barrier of his waistband and wrap your hand around him.

He sucked in a pained breath and tugged the shirt barring his view over your head. “M’hurtin, honey. Lemme feel you.” he pleaded.

You pulled the shorts you wore down your legs leaving you bare and Steve took in the sight as if for the first time.

His hands caressed your stomach, sliding downwards until they rested firmly on your hips which twitched in anticipation.

“Somehow I forgot how perfect you are.” he revealed, his words drenched in sincerity. “No one is this perfect,” he pinched your heated skin once and you whined. “You’re a fucking novelty.”

You stared down at him and wondered if he had ever really looked at himself in the mirror. You scraped your nails lightly down his chest, “You are.”

He coughed and denied it with the shake of his head, bringing one of your hands to his lips for a loving kiss. “I’m nothing compared to you, baby.”

Desperate to get on with it you raised yourself above him hovering whilst lining him up to you. Steve watched your face as you nudged his tip against your clit, your eyebrows pulled together and mouth falling into a gaping “O” shape.

You shimmied forward a little bit and slowly started to sink onto him, pausing as soon as the tip was in. You winced at the stretch and were reminded that it had been a while since you had taken him at all, let alone like this.

“You okay?” he asked, holding you firmly in place to be sure you didn’t slip any further before you were ready.

You nodded, but stayed still. “Hurts a lil s’all.”

Steve kicked himself when he realized he had done nothing to get you ready for him. “I’m sorry, honey. I should’ve prepped you a bit. Hop off a sec.”

“No,” you protested, letting yourself drop another inch or so. “I didn’t want you to. I jus’ want you inside.” you whined as you sunk all the way down, ignoring the burn in your stomach.

Steve cursed to the ceiling as you fluttered around him and he forced himself not to lift his hips and grind even further into you.

He clenched his teeth as he spoke, “Is it painful?”

“It’s perfect.” you answered in more of a sigh than anything else.

“Yeah?” he said, reaching forward to circle your clit with the gentle movement of his thumb.

When you moaned and rolled your hips forward he praised you in a rambled jumble of words.

“Fuck. Holy fuck, baby. You're so good, so so good for me. Shit. Warm and fucking tight. God, am I making you feel good? C’mon talk to me, lemme hear that pretty voice.”

You nodded, brain fading into a lust filled frenzy. “Feels unreal, Stevie.”

You tried to raise yourself with shaky legs but he stopped you with a firm grasp.

“Wha-”

“You think I’m gonna let you do any of the work tonight? It’s not happening, baby. I’m making it up to you, remember? Lemme make you feel good, hm?”

He lifted you with hardly any effort and then pulled you down again, the drag of him against your walls pulling a series of sweet moans from you.

Repeatedly, he bounced you against him, encouraging you with candied praises every time your face pinched in pleasure or you clenched around him, dizzying his head.

After a few blissful moments you felt a wave of pleasure rush to you like the tide to a shore and you panted out a warning.

“Stevie- I’m gonna,”

“You gonna cum for me, honey? C’mon give it to me. I’m right there with you, sweet girl.”

You shook and cried out as your release drowned you, sweeping Steve into the current right alongside you.

You collapsed forward in exhaustion and he held you against his sweat slick body, peppering gentle kisses across your forehead.

“You here w’me?” he whispered.

“Yes.” you replied, voice light. You pulled yourself off of him and tried not to think about the loss, tried not to think about what would happen now.

Rolling over next to him you shivered at the cold air on your bare skin and he wordlessly tucked you under his arm and rubbed his hands up and down on your arm, sparking a friction fueled warmth.

He watched you carefully unable to decipher the thoughts behind your head for what seemed like the first time ever.

“What’re you thinking about?”

You swallowed and tilted your head up to look at him. “What happens next.” you admitted.

He nodded in understanding. “What do you want to happen?”

“Steve.” you chided. “You know what I want.”

“Honey…”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do.” he said shocked.

“Then what’s exactly the issue with us being together?”

“It’s complicated. It’s not about me not loving you or not wanting to be with you.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, sitting up and pulling your previously discarded shirt over your head.

He ran his hands through his sweat damp hair in exasperation. “We don’t make sense anymore,” he admitted.

You bit your lip to hide your hurt and spoke timidly, “Why not?”

“Our lives are gonna go down really different paths and I don’t want to be the douchebag high school sweetheart that holds you back from everything you’re capable of. I’m gonna end up here, working some mundane job, having a few kids and accomplishing nothing special. And that’s fine, I’m content with that but that’s not you.

You frowned at him.

“You’re meant for something bigger. Everyone knows it. I won’t give you some simple life when you deserve a grand one.”

You felt white hot anger seeping through your skin and pushed yourself off the bed bitterly. Without saying a word in response you started searching the room for your shorts, feet stomping with every step.

“What are you doing?” he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

“I’m leaving.” you said.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I don’t care.” you hissed. “You really think you’re helping me by making decisions for me? Do I not get any say in what I want?”

“Of course you do, that’s what this is about. One day you’re gonna want more than I can offer you. I'm just trying to make it easier for you.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “You really have no idea what I want then.”

“So tell me.”

“Steve.” you said, shimmying your shorts back up your legs. “I want you. No ifs ands or buts. Have I not made that crystal clear the entire time we’ve been together?”

“You have but-”

“No, I’m not done. You’re right, I don’t want a simple life. I want to settle down here, in the town we fell in love. I want to marry you and have kids with you. I want to make dinner with you every night and after we eat I want to wash the dishes while you dry. I want to take your clothes out of the dryer and fold them while they’re still warm. I want to kiss you every night before I go to bed and roll over next to you every morning. I want us. A life where we end up together couldn’t be simple because it’s us together, and I love you so much more than any other possible outcome.”

He stared at you bewildered. “You do?”

“Yes! I’ve been in absolute hell these last few weeks over this?”

You approached him and took his hands in yours.

“Look,” you sighed. “I’m so sorry that people in your life have made you believe that you aren’t the talented, smart, capable and loving man that I know you are but none of them matter when it comes to our relationship. That’s just us, me and you. And I know,” you pressed a hand to your heart. “There’s no one in the world who could give me a better life, or love me better than you. I love you, Steve.”

He looked up at you, half sorrowfully half hopefully, “Does this mean we’re back together?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been miserable without you.” he replied.

“And who’s fault is that?” you laughed, the mood in the room beginning to mellow out into the typically comforting setting you were accustomed to when you were with Steve.

“I’m sorry I ended us and that I tried to make your choices for you.” he said. “I promise I won’t do it again. Oh, and I love you, like more than anything else in the world and I’m fucking devastated that I made you think I didn’t.”

“I love you too.” you echoed, melting into his arms once again not planning on letting go anytime soon.

He pressed his nose into your hair and smiled, lopsided. “I’ve got a lot of making up to do, y’know.”

“Good thing you have the rest of our lives.”

He tugged you onto the bed making you break into a fit of giggles as he pressed sloppy kisses over your entire face.

“I think I’ll start right now.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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harringtonslvr · 3 months ago

Text

ain’t it fun? | steve harrington x fem!reader | modern au.

summary: since high school you were always regarded as a top student with a brilliant future, but after college is over you find yourself doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do: moving back to hawkins. if being a total failure wasn’t humiliating enough, once you’re back you find out that your friends now hang out with no other than your high school bully.

former king!steve x former loser!reader | enemies to friends with benefits to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 29k

warnings: this one shot and my blog are +18, minors do NOT interact. this came out SO much more angsty than i intended at first but i promise it becomes more fluffy as it progresses. mentions of depression & bullying, smoking cigarettes, family issues, mentions of blood and injuries. smut, finger licking, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), spitting.

author’s note: hiii my loves, happy valentine’s day ♡ i’ve never been a huge fan of bully x loser tropes BUT i decided i’d give it a try, thinking i could make it work in a way where the bully wasn’t “magically forgiven by the power of sexual attraction” and playing with reader and steve’s complexity. enjoy x

masterlist | ko-fi | moodboard

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

AIN’T IT FUN?

My heart is broken.

That was the first thought that came to your mind every morning, and today was no different when you woke up by a knock on the door.

It had been months of it, really. But lately it seemed like it had gotten worse, much worse than back when you were still at college or the months after that, when you got the internship of your dreams.

But all that was over now.

The insisting knock on the door made you cuddle your pillows even more, refusing to let your dad in.

‘Sweetheart.’ You heard him say before the door opened. ‘I’m sorry, honey. I’ve got my fist meeting in twenty minutes.’

You growled, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hands before muttering a low okay.

He came into the room then, and you heard him turn on his computer as you sat up. For a second, you had almost hoped that he’d say something like Good Morning, kiss you on the forehead and tell you that there was coffee in the kitchen, because you could smell it from the couch. But instead, he stood next to his desk, checking his email on his phone, and muttering something unintelligible for himself.

‘What day is it today?’ You said stretching.

‘Friday.’ He simply said, distracted or maybe annoyed at something related to work.

You moved in silence, grabbing the pillow and blankets you had used and leaving his office. Back in the living room, you walked to the couch in front of the TV and arranged the pillows and blankets so you could try to go back to sleep, but the twins were watching some sort of irritating kids’ cartoon in YouTube that you assumed your mom had chosen for them.

‘Morning, morning.’ She said, and she said it loud, on purpose.

You muttered some words under your breath, but you already knew there was no way you were going back to sleep.

‘There’s coffee in the kitchen.’ She said to you from her place in the table, but you stayed in the couch with your eyes still closed and the wound on your chest still open.

My heart is broken.

‘Honey?’

‘Yes, mom.’ You said, sitting up. ‘I heard you.’

Walking the little distance from the couch to the living room, you couldn’t help but stroke the soft, thin hairs of your nephews, sitting in their highchairs next to the kitchen table where your mom sat.

‘Now open big for Grandma…’ You heard her say as you took a mug out of the cupboard. ‘That’s it!’

You took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet smell of coffee and feeling for a fleeting moment that maybe everything would be alright.

‘What time did you go to bed last night?’ She asked.

Or maybe not.

‘I don’t know.’ You said, reaching for the sugar on the counter.

‘How late.’ She insisted.

‘I don’t know, mom.’ You said, eyes focused on your coffee so you wouldn’t face her, before admitting under your breath, ‘Around four, I guess.’

‘Four!’ Her tone made you turn back to her. ‘What on Earth were you doing at that time?’

You shrugged. ‘Reading. Watching shit on my phone.’

‘Don’t swear in front of the kids.’ She said lifting a spoon full of baby food.

‘They’re one-year olds.’

‘They’re fourteen months old.’

‘Oh, Jesus.’ You said rolling your eyes.

‘Listen, honey,’ she said putting the spoon aside. With a face of disgust, you saw the puree falling from Aaron’s mouth into his apron. ‘I love having you here.’

‘Mom, it’s too early for sarcasm.’ You said opening the fridge to search for something to eat.

‘Hey. Listen to me.’ Her change of tone made you close the fridge’s door. You licked your lips as you leaned your back against it, looking back at her. ‘I love having you here. So does your dad. But you need to find something to do.’

‘I’ve been in Hawkins for a week, mom.’

‘And you haven’t even left the house.’ She said crossing her arms. ‘I’m worried about you. You need a job, and a place to live.’

‘I’m working on the job thing.’ You said with an irritated tone. ‘And I thought you loved having me here.’

Your mom took a deep breath, looking back at you with piercing eyes.

‘It’d just be nice to see you doing… more.’

‘More?’

‘Yes. Like going for morning runs!’ You fought the need to roll your eyes at her again. ‘Or… seeing your friends. Or helping with the bills.’

‘We’re rich.’

It was the most pathetic, spoiled and wrong thing to say, and you knew it as soon as you said it. This wasn’t you. Deep inside you knew this wasn’t you.

‘No, I am rich. And retired.’ She said, ‘You are sleeping in your dad’s office.’

You clenched your jaw then, fighting the scoff you wished you could release, feeling your cheeks getting hot. More. You had spent all your life doing more and look at where it had taken you.

‘Okay.’ You said taking the coffee mug.

‘Honey–’ she said it in a way that only mothers could say it, sugar on the wound making your blood boil.

‘Leave it, mom.’ You said under your breath as you walked out of the kitchen to go upstairs.

The bathroom was the only place where you could find some privacy these days. Whether it was to read, smoke or cry.

The buzz of your phone made you clean your face with your hands, looking down at the screen with your eyes still blurry. It was a text from Barb, replying to the message you had sent about a week ago after you arrived. At this point you thought maybe she was just ignoring you, but apparently not.

Hey! Omg I’m so glad to hear that !! Girl’s night tonight at mine ?

Who had you made an effort for? Your mom, sitting on the couch watching a reality show? Barb and her promise of a girl’s night? The girl with a God complex that looked back at you from the mirror when you finished crying?

You didn’t know. But you tried, and that was the important thing. A pretty mini skirt, a nice little top and a pair of low heels, and it was all fixed.

Until tomorrow maybe.

That was until the Uber left you outside Barb’s, and you realised this wasn’t a girl’s night. This was a party. A real one.

You hadn’t felt this much anxiety probably since you were in High School. The person you were back then would’ve turned back and ask the driver to take you home. But not this version of you. So, you took a deep breath, feeling your heart beating hard against your chest, and walking into the house.

It wasn’t as crowded as you thought it was going to be. There were music and laughter, and you noticed the curious eyes of some people on you, but all you did was walk towards Barbara.

‘You made it!’ She screamed, bringing all the attention to you as she hugged you in a familiar embrace.

‘Hey, yeah.’ You said with a smile, you opened your mouth to acknowledge the elephant in the room, the fact that she had lied to you, but she interrupted you before you could.

‘Let’s get you something to drink!’

Barb took you to the kitchen, and before you could even register their faces, screams of ‘No way’ and ‘Dude, shut up!’ from Nancy and Robin startled you, as they jumped on you to hug you.

‘What the fuck are you doing here!’ Said Robin, looking at you before hugging you again.

‘And look at you!’ Said Nancy taking a step back while holding your hands. ‘When did you turn so…?’

‘Hot!’ Said Robin. ‘Dude, you’re like… honestly, you look hot.’

‘Shut up.’ You said with a laugh. You looked back at Barb, who was getting a wine glass from the cupboard as she listened to your conversation. ‘Anyways–’

‘I can’t fucking believe this.’

You lifted your eyes to find Eddie resting against the kitchen’s frame, looking up and down at you with disbelief all over his eyes.

‘Ohmygod.’ You said, this time you were actually excited, running to his arms before he lifted you in the air. ‘I didn’t know you were here! I was literally going to message you.’

‘I'll choose not to believe that.’ He said. You felt the heat running to your cheeks at his words, as you refused to recognise how bad you had been at communicating with your friends in the last few months.

You avoided Eddie’s eyes then, looking back at Barb, who was offering you a glass of white wine.

‘Why did you lie to me?’ You said taking it on your hand.

You thought that maybe being straightforward with her would help you feel less guilty about the fact you had clearly abandoned your friendships since you graduated. But life had happened. And now you were back in Hawkins. In a party. If someone would’ve told you this six months ago you would’ve laughed on their face.

‘What do you mean?’ Said Nancy, looking from Barb to you.

‘Barb said it was going to be a “girl’s night.”’ You said mockingly, but Barbara only smiled subtly, stroking your arm in a kind of silent apology.

‘Listen,’ Her eyes hid something as the rest looked back at you. As if you were the elephant in the room. ‘I thought you’d say no.’

‘So you lied to me?’ You said in disbelief.

‘C’mon.’ She said giving you half a hug, ‘It’s just a party. Why are you being so silly about this?’

‘Because I got dressed for a girl’s night, Barb!’ You said taking step aside, and when she laughed, you couldn’t help but laugh too. You missed her. God, you had missed them all so much.

‘Look at me. I didn’t dress for a party.’ You could feel the eyes of a few guys on you, and as hot as you felt, that wasn’t exactly today’s plan. ‘If I knew, I would’ve worn– I don’t know, sweatpants and a hoodie.’

‘Oh, please!’ Said Nancy this time, rolling her eyes with affection. ‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘I’m not being dramatic, Wheeler.’ You heard Eddie’s laugh behind you, and you couldn’t help but give him a funny look before looking back at Nancy. ‘I thought we would do fun stuff, okay? Like watch romcoms, and eat ice cream and cheese and, fuck– I don’t know. Recite poetry using our dildos as microphones.’

‘Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t own any dildos.’ Said Barb taking a sip of her wine.

‘Well, we would’ve gone out to buy some!’

Eddie and the girls laughed loudly at your cheekiness, but the noise was suddenly eclipsed by someone else’s voice.

‘What’s going on?’

It was a repulsive and irritating sound. A voice you would’ve recognised anywhere. When you turned to where Eddie stood you saw him standing next to him, his eyebrows lifting at the sight of you, a little idiotic smile in his mouth as he recognised you.

‘Hey!’ Said Steve Harrington, he even walked in your direction to hug you, big arms wrapping around your body as you shrank under his touch. He took a step back to have a better look at you, voice soft as his brown eyes when he spoke again. ‘I haven’t seen you in years.’

‘Uh, hey, Harrington.’ You said taking your glass to your mouth, trying to play it cool. Trying not to feel like a total idiot whose neck and hands were getting sweaty. ‘Yeah, same.’

You leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking around your friends’ faces, but they were all fine, as if this was something they did every weekend. You licked your lips, crossing your arms over your chest.

‘Last time I saw you, you were giving your valedictorian speech.’ He said, looking at you with his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t expecting him to keep with the conversation, still trying to play it cool and act like a normal person. He was more muscular now, his hair wasn’t as voluminous anymore, but it still looked fluffy, soft, sexy. Was he taller, maybe? My god, was this the guy whose name you used to write hearts around in your diary?

‘Right.’ You said awkwardly. ‘That was… yeah, that was a lifetime ago.’

The uncomfortable silence made you look back at you friends, then at Steve, and then something shifted. Something weird, something that hurt deep inside your guts.

‘Since– uhm, since when are you guys friends?’ You asked at no one in particular and at everyone at the same time.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as soon as you noticed how unbearably awkward your question had made everyone feel. Nancy exchanged a look with Eddie from the other side of the kitchen, and an offended frown appeared on Steve’s face, looking back at you.

He let a kind of breathy scoff, a sound of disbelief at your words. ‘The fuck?’

‘I—’ You tried to find the words but you weren’t sure what to say. ‘Sorry,’ Were you actually sorry? Not really. ‘I just thought it was weird. Because… Well, last time I saw you, you were calling Eddie a Freak in front of his uncle.’

Steve’s eyes turned hard then, as they looked at the floor for a second while his jaw clenched at your words.

‘Right after the graduation ceremony.’ You pressed, still looking back at him with harsh eyes.

‘See, that’s really funny, doll.’ He said lifting his eyes to look back at you. ‘Because I don’t remember seeing you at Wayne’s funeral two months ago.’

‘Steve.’ You heard Eddie say behind him.

Your heart beat hard against your chest then, feeling your nose getting hot at the threatening tears about to form in your eyes. You wanted to say something, but the shock of the news didn’t let you.

‘What about when Nancy got her job in The Hawkin’s Post, huh? No, you weren’t here but I bet you know she wrote about the little article you published in the Times, don’t you?’

‘Steve, come on.’ Said Nancy taking a step towards him.

Now you were the one clenching your jaw, looking to your side so you didn’t have to face the truth that you already knew: That you were a bad friend. The shitty kind.

‘Or when Robin graduated community college, or when Barb got her first job as a nurse, or–’

‘OKAY, fuck!’ You interrupted him. ‘I fucking get it, Harrington. You don’t need to rub it on my face.’ You took a deep breath, trying to brush it off. But you couldn’t. You really couldn’t. ‘I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you that you were the ultimate asshole back at school.’

‘Wow.’ He said then, ‘You really are so fucking full of yourself. You leave for three years then come back here thinking you’re the shit.’

‘Guys–’ Robin tried to intervene, but your tears of self-pity were now forgotten as you remembered more and more of the guy in front of you and how he used to treat you.

‘I rather be full of myself than living with the fact that I was a fucking bully.’

‘Oh, please.’ He said rolling his eyes. There he was, King Steve in all his glory. ‘I didn’t bully you.’

The scoff you let out then echoed through the walls of the kitchen, as everyone else turned quiet. So full of hurt and pride you could feel your cheeks turning hot again.

‘I’m not sure you know how this works, but you don’t get to decide that, Harrington.’ You said taking a step towards him. ‘See, that’s actually the one thing me and everyone else know that you don’t get to decide.’

He lowered his eyes once again, swallowing hard at your harsh words. There, in Barbara’s kitchen, Steve remembered too. He remembered your know-it-all attitude, your annoying energetic charisma. God, it was like you were everywhere in the school, or maybe he just saw you everywhere.

But what you said could be true, that maybe back then, when he was driven by his arrogance, his need for approval, and his want for useless popularity, you had gotten caught up in the middle of it. And possibly that had been the one thing about you he didn’t notice in your school days.

‘Shit.’ He heard you said with a hoarse voice. When he lifted his eyes, you were putting your glass aside, quickly cleaning you nose with the back of your hand before taking your bag. ‘I’m so sorry I killed the mood like this, guys.’ You weren’t speaking to him, but the truth was you were too ashamed to even look at your friends in the eye. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’

You walked out of the kitchen trying to hide the feeling of humiliation you felt inside, knowing that in a way, you deserved this. It was as if every single decision you had taken the last few months was the wrong one and everything was slowly turning into a hurricane of chaos, swallowing you in.

‘What the fuck, Steve?’ Said Eddie, breaking the silence that your absence left behind.

‘What?’ He said facing him. Eddie gave him a serious stare, waiting for him to admit his mistake. But he didn’t. ‘You’ve been whining about her for at least a year, Eddie. She’s been ignoring you all for months.’

Eddie took a step forwards then, looking back at Steve with a harshness in his eyes that he could only remember from the times when they weren’t friends.

‘Sometimes, Harrington,’ he said, ‘you should really stick to your business.’

Eddie left the kitchen then to follow you, Steve assumed. The thought made him roll his eyes, but there was something else inside him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. In fact, since he was that arrogant boy you had reminded him of.

Guilt.

‘I mean it’s true, but…’ Robin started.

‘Robin.’ He put his hands in his hips, looking at her with serious eyes.

‘We understand, Steve.’ She said. ‘We know her, okay? Do you think we don’t know she’s probably having the breakdown of her life?’

‘God, she must be depressed as fuck.’ Said Nancy taking a sip of her wine.

He let out a deep breath at Nancy’s words, and now he really felt like shit.

‘Tell me about it.’ He heard Barbara agreeing. ‘She’s not used to not getting what she wants.’

‘So what do I do?’ He said then, hands on his sides, admitting defeat. ‘How do I fix this?’

‘Oh, boy.’ Said Robin taking a sip of her wine. ‘Good luck with that, King Steve. She’s not going to forgive you that easily.’

Steve took his hands to his eyes, rubbing them hard. This was not how he thought his night was going to be like. He would've imagined anything except this, except you.

‘Doll’s resentful as fuck, isn’t she?’ He said out loud, taking his hand to his mouth as he pondered about what to do.

Memories from High School came to him then. Gum in your pretty hair, laughing at one of Carol’s pranks, honking at you in the street one rainy day you were walking home.

And if you were as resentful as he remembered, God, was he fucked.

Eddie managed to catch your hand when he found you standing on the street in front of Barbara’s house, ordering an Uber. Your cheeks were already wet when you looked back at him, finding his eyes full of something you knew deep down that you didn’t deserve.

‘Jesus.’ You said, almost chocking on your own tears. ‘Uncle Wayne. I can’t believe it.’

‘Hey…’ He tried to hug you, but you took a step back.

‘Don’t even bother, Eddie.’ You said with a sad smile, shaking your head. ‘If there’s someone’s sympathy I don’t deserve, is yours.’

‘You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.’ He said, insisting hands finding each of your shoulders, leaning a little to be at the same height as you. ‘Hey. Look at me. It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine.’

‘It’s fine–’

‘It’s not fine, Eddie.’ You said cleaning your cheeks. ‘There’s no reason to–’

‘Listen, Little Drama Queen, I asked your parents not to tell you.’

You shut up then, looking back at him with disbelief all over your face.

‘What the fuck?’ Your voice came out much more high-pitched than you expected. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I–’ This time it was him who was avoiding your eyes, looking to his side before looking back at you.

‘Listen, it’s stupid. I just think– Wayne loved you, okay? He knew we were best friends, that you always defended me, and that… Well, life has always been on your side. We always knew you’d do great things… and you were out there, being all successful and important and I didn’t wanna ruin’ that with all the miserable shit going on here.’

‘Fuck that.’ You said getting rid of his grip, walking away for a few seconds to try to assimilate everything he had just said to you. But you were in urgent need of a tantrum, so you couldn’t help but shake your hands in the air and tap your heels on the pavement. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’

To your surprise, the scene made Eddie laugh, shaking his head at your childish reaction. It didn’t help that you crossed your arms over your chest as you looked back at him from where you stood.

‘I hate this fucking town.’ You said. ‘I swear to God this place must be doomed or something.’

‘Tell me about it.’

Then silence fell in between you two, and your eyes watered again. You realised how alone you really were. Back at college. At the internship. Here at home.

And then Eddie did the most stupid thing ever. He opened his arms for you to hug him. And you couldn’t help but walk the distance that separated you, feeling that maybe this was what you had needed all those months you had been away from Hawkins.

‘God, I’m so sorry.’ You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, thinking about how lonely he must’ve felt then, how weird a world without his uncle must’ve felt like now.

‘M fine.’ He said rubbing your back. ‘M fine now.’

You took a step back, cleaning your stupid teary face with your hands. Eddie was smiling at you, and to your surprise, you laughed.

Until Steve’s figure appeared, walking out of the house and finding your eyes as you broke the hug with Eddie. You immediately took your hand to the space between your eyebrows, fighting the awkwardness that filled your body. You had almost forgotten about him.

‘Hey.’ He said, joining you two in the sidewalk.

All you could do was cross your arms over your chest and look away.

‘Sorry about that, man.’ You heard him say. The fact he was apologizing to Eddie was unbelievable, you looked back at them then, aware of how pathetic you must’ve looked with all your make up smudged. ‘You’re right. I should’ve stuck to my own business.’

Then, looking down at your shoes, you realised that there were some things said between them that didn’t include you. And that was fair. You had been away, and by some unexplainable miracle, Steve had managed to make his way into this group of people. Your people. Or maybe they weren’t yours anymore.

‘S alright.’ Said Eddie in quite an uncomfortable tone. ‘Hey, man, just– Leave her alone, would you?’

Eddie’s words made you lift your eyes. Steve had taken a step towards you, one hand on his hip and the other scratching the back of his neck as his eyes stayed on you.

‘Just– Uh,’ He didn’t know what to say, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

His brown stare was focused on you, but the fact that this hadn’t been the first or the only time he had seen you cry made him fall into a state of sudden shock. He swallowed hard, hands in the air, trying to find the right words. But he couldn’t look at you. You reminded him too much of a part of him he had killed.

You took a deep breath then, looking back at him. A mess of mascara, tired eyes, and the misery that only a twenty-something year old girl could exude.

‘Save it, Harrington.’ You said looking back at the road, the Uber driver was waiting for you a few houses away.

You muttered goodnight to Eddie and walked towards the car.

Steve just followed your silhouette with his eyes as you got inside, feeling an unbearable emotion in his chest. The certainty that some things just couldn’t be fixed.

‘Shit.’ He said under his breath.

Eddie saw the way Steve’s eyes followed the car, getting lost in the distance with you inside. And he knew what was going to happen then, because in this doomed town, sometimes things were bound to repeat themselves.

My heart is broken.

That morning you had actually woken up before your dad. Partly because you felt like you needed to prove a point, and partly because you couldn’t sleep, thinking about Eddie. You had missed Robin’s graduation. Nancy had written about you. Barb was a nurse, when had she decided she wanted to be a nurse?

Your coffee laid on the table, far from the hands of your little nephews as you attempted to feed Amber while your mother took care of Aaron. Somehow hearing about Uncle Wayne had made you extremely emotional about them, sitting on their highchairs and looking back at you with their big curious eyes as you tried hard to pretend everything was fine.

The sound of the doorbell brought you back to reality, and you stood up from the table, absently walking to the door while checking your email on your phone.

We regret to inform you that your application for the role of…

‘Hey, doll.’ Steve Harrington was standing on the threshold with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You couldn’t hide your face of disgust at the sight of it. ‘I was in the neighbourhood.’

‘Of course you were.’ You said crossing your arms over your chest. ‘We’re neighbours.’

‘Right.’ He said, standing a bit straighter, and swallowing hard. ‘These are for you.’

He offered you the bouquet of red roses, about fifteen of them, you thought. They were the expensive kind; you could smell their lovely fresh scent from where you stood.

But when your eyes looked up at him, Steve was able to see things were definitely not going to be fixed like this. He observed you as you moved the door partly, thinking you were about to close it on his face, when you took your jacket from the coat rack behind it.

‘I’ll be back.’ You shouted behind your shoulder before closing the door.

He stayed silent as you licked your lips, awkwardly climbing down the step that separated you two.

‘Can you drive me to the cemetery?’

You left the roses on Wayne’s grave, biting your lip to hide the fact that you wanted to cry. It shouldn’t have bothered you; Steve had seen you cry thousands of times. Sometimes he had been the reason, even if he didn’t know it. But there was something about this aged sadness, this adult stubbornness that didn’t let you go back to that sensitive, dreamy and openly vulnerable teenager you once were.

‘Eddie told me.’ He said standing next to you. ‘That, uh, he didn’t want you to know about it.’

You looked back at him, feeling your emotions being shielded behind your stubbornness. A silent warning: don’t go there, Harrington. He hadn’t earned it, and he knew it.

‘I’m really sorry about that too. I completely misinterpreted it, and–’ He cleared his throat. ‘It was very indiscreet of me. He was planning to tell you in private and I fucked up.’

You nodded, thinking what the hell had you friends seen in a guy like Steve Harrington. Why would he ever make his way into a group of people like them. You were a shitty friend, but at least you had outgrown your loser phase.

Well. Had you?

He saw the way your eyes narrowed a little bit as you read him, and he took a step towards you instinctively. Just the proximity disgusted you, making you step aside to walk towards his car.

‘Why are you turning here?’ You asked, seeing that he was taking a different route to your street.

‘I thought you’d like to visit Nance at work.’ He said distracted, and then he looked to his side giving you a subtle, sincere smile.

Who was this guy? You didn’t know how to respond to his attempts to befriend you, so you shrank deeper in the passenger seat, looking through the window.

‘Right.’

The story from the article you wrote for the Times was actually about you. You were looking at it right now because it was framed at the entrance of the offices of The Hawkin’s Post. The story was basically about how you had made it into an elite school and managed to win a journalism contest that led you to be one of the youngest people to write for the famous newspaper.

They had included some pictures from when you worked in the school’s newspaper with Nancy and Jonathan, and a picture from the yearbook from High School. You stood in front of it, biting your lip at the sight of your younger self and thinking what an absolute waste of space you had become.

‘Hey!’ Nancy’s voice made you come back to earth, to what you smiled, though the unbearable knot in your throat made it quite difficult.

‘Just thought we’d come to say hi.’ Said Steve.

‘Great!’ She said. ‘I’m about to go on my lunch.’

You weren’t sure why she hadn’t acknowledged the fact that you and Steve were here together, but you two followed her to a little café where other employees were sitting down chatting and eating.

‘What d’you want?’ He said as you and Nancy sat down on a little table next to a crystal wall. It took you a few seconds to realise he was talking to you.

‘I’m fine.’ You said shrugging.

But you saw him let out a frustrating sigh, placing both hands on the table as he leaned in to look at you. Nancy observed him with a smile from where she sat, somehow finding this amusing.

‘C’mon, doll. Coffee’s on me, let me spoil you a little bit.’

‘Jesus, Steve.’ You said with an annoyed semblance. But this time it was the real thing, eyes avoiding his as you crossed your arms over the table, looking visibly uncomfortable. ‘I don’t want anything.’

He stood straight. You saw from the corner of your eye he was looking at you, nodding to himself before murmuring softly. ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’

You hated the fact it made you feel bad. So you just focused on the café’s decorations as he walked away and you were left with Nancy. It wasn’t even the end of January yet and they were already hanging red and pink hearts over the counter.

‘Hey.’ You felt Nancy’s hand taking yours, and you lifted your eyes to look at her. ‘Are you okay?’

You couldn’t hide from her, not really. So, you shrugged, shaking your head as your eyes got lost on the patterns of the table.

‘Every job I apply to rejects me. My parents don’t want me in their house. I am a shitty friend– Don’t look at me like that, I know I am a shitty friend and I recognise it, okay?’ You said rolling your eyes. ‘And now, Steve– Okay wait, I need you to update me on this, how the fuck did that happen? Now he’s Barb’s friend? Eddie’s?’

Nancy licked her lips with a smile, but she couldn’t say anything, as Steve was already back, placing two cups of coffee on the table. You reluctantly observed how he pushed one towards you while Nancy looked back at him.

‘Where are you going after this?’ She asked him, changing the subject.

‘Hmm.’ He tapped his fingers on the table. ‘Well, I need to go to Robin’s because she forgot to take her lunch today, so I’ll bring her some stuff I had at home. And then, I don’t know, we’ll do whatever doll says.’

You lowered your eyes, wrapping your hands around the paper cup to warm them up.

‘God, I hate working Saturdays.’ Nancy complained, taking a bite of the salad in front of her. ‘Today was supposed to be a day just for editing, and I’ve already been called to cover some stupid story about the water drains on the other side of the town.’

You laughed softly, smiling back at her.

‘I saw the story you wrote about me.’ You said. Her smile turned wider than yours after you mentioned it. ‘That was really nice.’

‘Did you like it?’ She said taking her bottle of water to her lips and taking a sip. ‘I made them frame it. Because of you, I mean. You know nothing interesting ever happens in Hawkins, so you were the talk of the town for a few weeks.’

You let out a snorty laugh. But Steve noticed the way it really didn’t reach your eyes, making you look almost sleepy as you placed your chin on your hand. A strand of hair was falling over your cheek, and he observed how whenever you put it behind your ear, it seemed to fall right back on the same place again.

You looked up at him then, your piercing stare making his cheeks flushed when you caught him staring.

‘Should we go?’ You said.

Steve nodded, suddenly noticing how close to you he had instinctively moved. He sat straight then, looking to his side to find Nancy waving at you two from a distance.

You stood up from the table, and he imitated you, checking the time on his phone.

‘Do you, uh, do you want a picture next to that framed article?’ He said.

His face was enthusiastic when he put his phone back inside his pocket, lifting his eyebrows at you. When had he become this soft? The thought made you feel the opposite, as if you were the thorns and he were the petals.

‘Not really.’ You said starting walking towards the exit.

‘I thought you said it was nice.’ You heard him say behind you, it took him a little effort to catch your pace so you could walk together.

‘It is nice.’ You said, looking in front of you. ‘Because Nancy wrote it, not because it’s about me.’

‘Wait, wait, wait.’ He said standing in front of you with his hands in the hair. ‘I remember back at school you were crazy about this shit, like you walked around with a copy of the newspaper all the time. And you were writing all the time too, in your notebooks and your laptop and– Yeah.’ He brushed his hair with his fingers, realising he was rambling. ‘You still write, right?’

That was probably the most insulting, gut-wrenching question anyone could’ve asked you in times like these.

‘Of course.’ You said, but you saw him frown at the hint of sarcasm in your tone when you walked past him.

Of course. All the damn time.

‘Oh, shit.’ You whispered as Steve parked in front of his house. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

He was confused by the way you shrank in the passenger seat until you peeked at your house from the window. His eyes followed your stare to find a car parked on the porch, a young woman and a man walking towards the entrance of your parents’ house.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, looking at the way you sank even deeper into the seat when the woman looked behind her shoulder.

‘My sister.’ You whispered. You didn’t know why you were whispering, acting like an absolute weirdo in front of the one guy who had had so many reasons to call you a weirdo throughout his life. ‘My sister’s back.’

You moved to seat on the footwell, resting your head against the door.

‘Just tell me when she gets inside.’

‘I thought you guys got along.’ He said, letting out a soft laugh at how funny you looked sitting there. ‘Okay, I need to take a picture of this to send it to the group chat.’

You saw him search for his phone and all you could do was hide your face behind your hands. They had a goddamn group chat.

‘They’re gone now.’ He said after a few seconds.

You uncovered your face, but all you could do was sit there, biting your lip as you realised what an absolute miserable mess your life was right now. You were jobless, sleeping on a sofa, sitting on the footwell of your High School bully’s car.

‘I need a cigarette.’ You said to yourself.

‘Of course.’ He said opening the door on his side. ‘Get out, doll. I’ll get that for you in no time.’

‘Are your parents not home?’ You asked as you walked around the living room of the Harrington house, stroking the soft leather of their couch.

You heard him laugh sarcastically from the kitchen, the sound made you lift your eyes, and when he came back with two glasses in his hands, he was surprised to find you smiling. Because the Harringtons were never home, that was the only thing Steve’s parents had ever been committed to.

You sat down on his couch with your legs crossed, looking around the room while Steve filled the two glasses with what your nose recognised as whiskey. What time was it? Just a little bit after lunch, maybe. The label on the bottle suggested the liquor was the expensive kind, probably from Mr Harrington’s reserve.

You almost said something, remembering the stories that Nancy said about Steve always stealing alcohol and cigarettes from his dad. Remembering how hot and dreamy you thought that was. When he sat down next to you, you absently took the glass to your lips, thinking about the teenage version of yourself that begged to hear Nancy’s stories about Steve Harrington every Monday after class as the hot liquid ran down your throat.

‘What’s with all that weird attitude about your sister?’ His voice made you look back at him, a cigarette already in his mouth. He looked so unbearably hot like that, unaware of his own arrogant frown adorning his face.

Steve placed the ashtray on the table before looking at you, getting a cigarette from the box and holding it in the space between your bodies.

‘None of your business.’ You said, but when you attempted to grab it, Steve moved his hand away, making you narrow your eyes with annoyance.

‘C’mon, doll. Help me out here,’ he said with a cocky smile, the unlit thing still between his lips. ‘I’m tryin’ to talk to you.’

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, letting out a frustrating sigh that made him laugh.

‘Listen, you’re in my house, smoking my stuff.’ He said, taking a lighter out of his pocket. ‘Least you can do is be nice to me.’

You sat back on the couch, sighing once again as you observed the way he lit up the cigarette, how his big, veiny hands hovered around his mouth, his arms flexing with the movement. All you could do was wonder why time hadn’t turned him into the ugly piece of shit you knew he deserved to be.

‘Suki gets a bit crazy when I’m around the twins.’ You said, resting your cheek against the headrest. ‘She never lets me hold them or touch them. I think she just gets nervous. She also has this grownup complex now and ‘m sure she’s ready to lecture me about my bad life decisions.’

He softly scoffed, still smoking while he played with the lighter in his hand, eyes focused on the fleeting flame. ‘I didn’t know she had kids. I remember you two were pretty close.’

This time you laughed, a bitter sound that made him lift his eyes at you. ‘Who would’ve thought motherhood would ruin something like that.’

His eyes studied you for a few seconds, seriousness overflowing in them before he exhaled the smoke and reached for the cigarette he had promised you.

Your hands barely touched when he placed it on your hand with the lighter, but you didn’t really think much about it. Five years ago, this would’ve made the blood rush to your cheeks, putting a strand of hair behind your ears to hide your shyness. But there was none of that now. There was nothing.

Steve observed you in silence, and you let him, too tired to protest or act defensive as you put the cigarette between your pretty lips. He studied your profile, the line that went from your forehead to your chin, the way you frowned your eyebrows just slightly as you brought the flame closer to the tip before it lit up. The deep sigh that made the muscles of your chest raise, then descend as you let the smoke out. Your wet lashes, several blinks and then, nothing.

‘Can I ask you something?’ You said, holding the cigarette between your fingers. You looked back at him with a harsh look, one that could’ve given him goosebumps if it wasn’t for the fact your presence also made him feel warm. So warm.

There was something about you with your hair so carelessly wild and that cigarette in your mouth, that made you look so different, like the great writer he’d always known you’d become. But at the same time it made him feel kind of sad, discouraged even, thinking about how this harsh version of you was so different from the pretty girl he used to observe from his desk back in the classroom, shy eyes hiding and arms holding your books against your chest.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, ‘How come you’re hanging out with everyone now? Like, you’re Nancy’s ex. Barb, Eddie and Robin used to hate you. So did Jonathan.’

You shook your head in disbelief for a second, before inhaling from the cigarette once again, eyes lost in the patterns of his rug.

‘Well,’ You heard him sigh next to you, ‘after graduation, dad wanted to teach me a lesson for, well, being an idiot, I guess. So, I started to work at this ice cream shop in the mall, and that’s where I met Robin.’

You lifted your eyes at his long pause, frowning at his hesitation before exhaling the smoke.

‘So?’ You said.

‘We bonded.’

You scoffed. ‘Over what? Robin’s like, three times cooler and smarter than you.’

You saw him smile to himself as he inhaled from his own cigarette, a soft thing that didn’t really reach his eyes before that arrogant frown came back to his pretty face. You observed something weird take over it as he exhaled the smoke, maybe shyness, or embarrassment.

He swallowed hard, avoiding your eyes as he said it. ‘You.’

You sat straighter on the couch then. Steve had to fight hard not to move as you crossed your arms while an offended scowl took over your face.

‘Cut the crap, Harrington.’

He shrugged as he inhaled once again before looking back at you, that relaxed posture of him with his arm over the headrest making you insane.

‘You were her friend and the girl I liked. It wasn’t that hard.’

But the scoff that left your mouth made him lower his gaze once again.

‘You tormented me.’ You pronounced the word as if it was a blade, almost making him flinch as he looked away. You tilted your head to stare at him and accuse him with everything you had. ‘You laughed at Carol’s jokes about my body hair, you let Tommy put gum on my hair, and gave me a Valentine’s Day card the same day you fucked Nancy.’

‘Doll–’

‘Fuck you, Steve.’

You shook your head, eyes getting lost in the distance as a cynical laugh left your mouth then, a chesty noise of defeat and disappointment, even. He didn’t know what to do as you shook your head with a disturbing, bitter smile on your lips, taking the cigarette to your mouth again.

Steve sighed loudly next to you, and you saw him leave the cigarette on the ashtray from the corner of your eye. He moved closer to you then, his knee almost touching yours, feeling the warmth his body emanated next to you, the tense silence making you hold your breath.

‘I’m s–.’

‘Steve.’

‘I am sorry.’

You looked back at him; he was staring at you through the brown strands of hairs that fell on his forehead, resting his arms on his legs, body turned towards you trying to find your eyes. ‘You don’t know how sorry I am, I know I was an asshole. Of course I know. But I’ve changed, doll. And I wanna be your friend.’

Your friend.

He saw you shut your eyes, pupils trembling behind your eyelids as you scratched the space in between your brows. His eyes turned soft when you placed your chin on your hand, and you opened your wet eyes, sniffing before inhaling the last bit of the cigarette. He longed to touch you, and a part of him hated it, knowing that after all this time, he still didn’t know how to handle what he felt for you.

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, Harrington, but I’m not exactly doing great at the friends’ department.’

Or any department whatsoever.

He sat back, looking back at you with those brown eyes that once made your teenage heart jump with an innocence that only managed to twist your guts now.

His shoulder brushed yours, and his hand almost flinched as he thought about lifting it to stroke your wet cheek, but he decided against it.

‘I can do with a shitty friend.’ He said.

Your mouth was a line, and your eyes were still full of sadness, but he managed to hear the ghost of a laugh leaving your lips.

You looked up at him, observing the way his chest moved with every breath. Thinking about his lame excuse about liking you. You. That sweet teenager that spent her days trying. Trying, trying, trying. And you had failed.

So, you thought about it as you felt his cinnamon scent mixing with the smell of tobacco. Of course you thought about it, looking at his lips and wondering how soft those brown strands of hair were. If he’d let you leave half-moons all over his back as a punishment for being such an idiot. Maybe this could be a good way of ending this awful, miserable day.

Having sex with your High School bully? There was no way it could get lower than that. Maybe you were craving that self-humiliation, maybe you wanted to turn it into something material, just another thing you could use against yourself to dig yourself deeper into the hole. You’d fuck Harrington and turn him into your own personal punchbag to see if that way you could finally go back to being in control of the chaos your life had become.

But when Steve saw you lean in slightly, he lowered his eyes. You didn’t let him see the wound of rejection in yours, instead you took the last bit of the cigarette into your mouth, keeping your stare on him. Waiting to see if he had the balls to reject you clearly and directly. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

So you just killed the cigarette in the ashtray, knowing he was too much of a coward to move or do anything.

‘Thanks for the cigarette, Harrington.’ You said standing up.

And he just followed you with his eyes as you walked the short distance to the entrance, not looking back at him as you closed the door behind you.

My heart is broken.

At least you weren’t sleeping on a couch anymore. You had been in Hawkins for a month when the curtains from your parents' guest room were opened by a familiar silhouette, the sun illuminating a curly haired head next to the window before you covered your face with the bedsheets. You heard the metallic sound of his chains before you felt Eddie poking you on your side.

‘Up, up, big girl.’ He said.

‘What times is it?’ You growled, still under the bedsheets.

‘Twelve.’

‘Hmm.’ You said rolling in the mattress. ‘Come back in two hours.’

‘No.’

It was someone else’s voice this time. But you didn’t have enough time to register that it belonged to Steve, startled by the sudden movement of your bedsheets leaving your body.

You sat up on your elbows, looking back at him with your tank top and your shorts, a grumpy frown on your face as disbelief took over it. He was standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he looked up and down at your body before finding your eyes.

‘Get up.’ He said with a plain face. ‘You’ve got an interview in forty-five minutes.’

He walked out of the room then, making you look back at Eddie with a confusion.

‘What?’

Eddie looked at you with a sided smile before shrugging.

‘Harrington got you an interview at the public library.’

You blinked a couple of times as he kneeled next to one of your open suitcases, taking clothes out as you tried to understand what was going on.

‘I think this is good enough.’ Eddie said holding a skirt and a top on his fists, the colours were completely mismatched, but you didn’t pay attention to him.

‘How does Steve know I’m unemployed?’

Eddie lifted his eyebrows while looking at you, and you bit your tongue in response.

‘Right. Don’t answer that.’

You stood up then, feeling the wound on your chest heavier than ever as you made your way to the bathroom. Steve had said forty-five minutes, but all you could do was sit down on the floor to cry, not feeling strong enough to turn the shower on. Or brush your teeth or get into that awful outfit Eddie had picked for you.

The door opened without a knock. It wasn’t until you lifted your eyes that you realised you were sobbing, and probably not quietly. Steve shook his head lightly at the sight of you on the floor. Your eyes fell on the shopping bag in his hand before looking back at him.

‘Barb gave me some clothes for you.’ He said leaving it on top of the toilet’s lid.

You didn’t reply, blinking slowly as the tears fell down your cheeks, looking like a confused animal as he closed the door. He didn’t even know if you had understood what he’d said, taking a few steps and doing what your body was too tired to do, turning the shower on.

The bathroom filled with steam as you blinked slowly, watching Steve kneel in front of you, big hands finding the space over your ribs to help you stand up, letting him guide your tired limbs.

‘Atta girl.’ He said once you were in front of him.

You took a deep breath that quickly turned into a sob as you felt your eyelids turn heavy under his stare.

‘C’mon.’ He whispered, brown eyes harsh and cold, because he didn’t know how else to beg you.

‘I can’t.’ You whispered back. You could feel the exhaustion in your bones as you shook your head slightly.

He took a deep breath in front of you, that harshness in his stare melting before he closed his eyes.

‘Guide me.’ He said then. ‘I’ll help.’

It took you a second to understand what he meant, when his hands lifted in the air and he blindly searched for you, finally resting them over the bottom hem of your top.

‘I won’t look.’ He whispered tentatively as his fingers sneaked underneath the fabric, barely brushing your stomach. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay.’ You said, nodding even if he couldn’t look at you.

You lifted your arms as he started removing your top while only the sound of the shower filled the silence. You let him guide you, his fingers pulling down the fabric of the shorts, placing one hand on his shoulder for support as you stepped out of them. Always focused on his eyes, wondering if he’d open them. Wondering if you wanted him to.

His fingers stroked the skin of your stomach before brushing over the hem of your panties. You saw him swallow hard in front of you, the soft movement of his Adam's apple, pretty long lashes closed, and cheeks tinted by a shade of pink. The sight softened you, and you took advantage of the fact he had his eyes shut to smile at his nerves.

‘I can do it.’ You murmured. ‘Thank you.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat then, turning towards the door so his back would face you. ‘You’re welcome. I’ll wait for you in the car.’

In the shower, your hands traced over the path his fingers had drew on you.

The interview had gone surprisingly well. Maybe it was the fact you felt overqualified for the job, maybe that you had spent so much time in this place as a kid that the familiarity made you feel confident out of sudden.

When Mrs. Hobbs shook your hand back in the library’s lobby, she leaned in a little bit, as if she was going to tell you a secret.

‘Maybe you should check the champion readers’ portraits in the kid’s section.’

Your cheeks hurt of how much effort you were making by smiling, nodding twice before walking in that direction just to please her. She was your new boss anyways, the least you could do was pretend to be polite.

Steve observed you from where he was, sitting in one of the tables while Eddie read a book next to him. You were walking in front of a wooden wall looking at the framed pictures. He hesitated on his seat, sitting back on the chair before finally getting up to ask you how the interview was.

He found you standing up in front of your portrait, of course. You were about sixteen in the picture, and he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the sight of your shy smile, your side braid that you used to wear all the time, your perfect teeth, it must’ve been a few months after you got your braces off.

You looked up at him when you heard him laugh softly. It was impossible not to, the library was so quiet.

‘It’s your Katniss Everdeen braid.’ He murmured.

You looked back at the portrait, softly laughing too at the stupid reference, missing those days of unsatiable curiosity. The sign under your name said you had read fifty books in the course of a year, now you struggled to read three pages in one day.

‘It was so extra.’ You murmured to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest.

‘I liked it.’

He said out loud, at first to you but then to himself, bringing a bright memory back to him. One day in class, as he sat on the desk behind you. He said it openly and loudly, so you’d hear it: I like it. You turned your face to him with a defensive stare in your eyes. He had always hoped you had a little crush, by the way you always seemed a little nervous around him, but this time your eyes were overflowing with dislike, turning back to the white board.

So, when Tommy took the chewing gum out of his mouth from his seat next to him, and silently leaned in to stick it to the end of your braid, he sat there paralysed.

‘Bet you like it better like this, Harrington.’ Tommy said with a laugh, before showing Steve his middle finger, sitting back on the chair.

He swallowed hard, trying to think about what he had let Tommy do, when he saw you stroke your hair absently, before your fingers found the sticky gum at the end of it.

‘Shit.’ He remembered hearing you say before you looked back at him. And he remembered the look on your face when Tommy started laughing, the way your lashes turned wet as you clenched your jaw, standing up with your jacket and leaving the classroom, trying to undo your braid on your way out. Your pretty side braid that you made sure not to wear again the rest of the school year.

‘I uh, I can drive you back home.’ He said, scratching the back of his neck. You frowned at his awkward posture, and the way he was avoiding your eyes. ‘I just… need to wait for the kids to finish school, then pick up Robin from work. But you can join.’

You looked down at your shoes, biting the inside of your cheek as you pondered. Steve looked back at you then, seeing you hesitate before you shook your head.

‘Suki wants to see me today. She wants to catch up and stuff.’

‘Right.’ He nodded taking a few steps backwards while still looking at you. ‘Well, I’ll see you around.’

You nodded; arms still crossed over your chest. ‘I guess. Thanks for… this.’

He played with his keys in his hands, shrugging as if what he had done for you today was nothing. But it wasn’t, you knew it wasn’t.

‘Anytime, doll.’

My heart is broken.

Why the fuck did you accept that job? You were a writer, a journalist, a poet, for fuck’s sake.

That was all you thought about when Suki picked you up to go for coffee, remembering all those dream boards you had made throughout the years, illustrating the future life that was waiting for you in a big city like New York, or LA, or London. And now you were back here.

Wasn’t this settling? Wasn’t this mediocrity at its best? Living with your parents, crying in the shower, living off a suitcase, asking your sister to pay for your coffee because you couldn’t afford it.

When Suki dropped you off it was as if the day had restarted, and you were back at feeling as exhausted as you did that morning when Eddie opened your curtains. All you could do was get rid of your clothes, put a fresh set of pyjamas on and go back to bed.

You weren’t sleepy or in need of a nap, you just didn’t feel strong enough to face life outside the bedsheets that covered your body, hearing your phone buzz in the distance while a pillow on your head shielded you from the light outside.

About two hours later you heard the door open. You took a deep breath and tried to pretend you were asleep, feeling your muscles tense, waiting for the stabbing complain of your mom or dad, not sure if you were able to recognise who was moving in the room.

But there was none of that. Instead, the covers were carefully removed before you felt someone’s body next to yours, and a flowery perfume that took you back to your childhood.

‘Hey.’ Barbara’s voice was soft next to you, and you hated it. You knew how to react to bitterness, but sympathy was not something you knew how to receive, specially not from someone like her.

You didn’t say anything, but she did hear the deep breath you took, trying to win the battle against yourself as her hand wrapped around your wrist.

‘We’re having drinks at Steve’s tonight.’ She said. ‘Eddie told me you got the job, we were…’

She was not really sure if you were listening, but she was careful with her tone, hoping that this could make you feel like she was here for you.

‘We were hoping we could celebrate with you.’

You released another deep breath, finally getting out of your hiding place to look at her. There were no tears, just the emptiness of dissatisfaction taking over your body as you found a more comfortable position with your head over the pillow while the sun set behind the window.

‘I don’t mean to be rude.’ You murmured, ‘I really don’t. But I genuinely don’t think there’s anything to celebrate.’

From the corner of your eye, you saw Barb take her hand to the space between her eyebrows in frustration. She released a deep breath that reminded you so much of your mother you almost covered yourself with the bedsheets again. Her eyes were full of worry, looking at you behind her glasses.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Her voice was not harsh or mean, but you could feel a tint of anger behind it.

You licked your lips, shrugging quietly as you moved your face to stare at the ceiling.

‘I guess I’m just mourning my dreams.’ You admitted.

She released a soft scoff that made you clench your jaw next to her, but it was true. And you knew no one would understand, you didn’t expect them to. The only person you had truly disappointed was yourself, and you were well aware nothing was going to fix that.

Barbara sat up on the bed, looking down at you getting lost in your thoughts.

‘Well, call me insane, but I think it’d help if you mourned your dreams with us instead of rotting in this room all by yourself.’

‘Right.’ You laughed sarcastically.

She frowned at your reaction, sitting straighter so you’d finally look back at her.

‘Barb–’

‘I honestly don’t get you.’ Her tone was harsh, real harsh now; making you look to your side, knowing what was about to come. ‘You come back after ignoring us for months, and we are the ones trying to reach out for you.’

‘It’s not like that.’ You muttered under your breath, sitting down. You felt like a child, wrapping your arms over your knees as you avoided her eyes. ‘I just– I feel like I’ll make it all awkward, and I– Honestly, I get so uncomfortable around Steve and knowing he’s now part of the group makes me feel so… estranged. And I know that’s my fault but–’

You had to look to your side when you voice broke, it was too much to keep going. Barb let out a sigh at the silence that followed your immature confession. But you felt betrayed, by yourself and by them. And by the life you had failed at building.

‘Listen, before you left, you were always a good friend.’ She said then, looking for your eyes. Her face was blurry when you looked back at her. ‘You were. But you were also too caught up into your own life that sometimes it hurt other people too.’

You let out a breath, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked up at her. ‘Like who?’

‘Like us.’ She said. ‘We knew you were always the one that would make it far not only because you were the smartest but also because of all the pressure your parents were putting on you. We would’ve never thought about even competing with you. But you did.’

‘I didn’t–’

‘You did. You were always trying to compare grades, bossing us around, and if one of us tried some new extracurricular activity you had to be there too trying to prove that you could be the best at it and that hurt.’

She stood from the bed then, licking her lips as she tried to find a balance between letting it all out and not hurting you in the process.

‘You say a lot of stuff about Steve, but when I told you that something was noticeably wrong with me and I needed a diagnosis for whatever I was struggling with at school, you still kept trying to compare our grades. Even when you knew.’

You lowered your eyes at her tone and the way she was desperately moving her hands in the air, knowing that it was all true. God, it was true.

‘It took me years to realise I wasn’t a bad student; I was just different. And you were just trying to be enough, but in all that chaos you didn’t even notice when Robin’s dad found out about her relationship with Vicky or, as obsessed as you were with Steve you were so oblivious about Nancy cheating on him with Jonathan.’

‘And then you left for your new life, and I know it’s crazy to think so— but God. Sometimes it was a relief! Because I thought finally, all of her suffering it’s gonna be worth something. I hoped that you’d go out there and get everything you wanted so you could finally breathe and let yourself have an ordinary life, so I could have my friend back again.’

You hugged yourself tightly at Barbara’s words, feeling attacked, but also realising that you were an idiot, not so sure about what was exactly what you were pursuing anymore. Not sure of what you were doing, who you had become.

‘And I’m sorry things haven’t turned out the way you wanted, I really am. But Nancy and Jonathan always aimed for more than The Hawkins Post, and Eddie losing Wayne meant no college for him, and Robin and Steve have had millions of useless costumer service jobs, and I have shifts from ten to six in the morning sometimes, and it sucks. It does suck. You will never know what to do about it because no one really does. So can you like, change your pyjamas, and come have a drink with your friends?’

You let out a deep sigh, shutting your eyes before nodding. And you finally climbed down the bed to turn the shower on yourself this time.

It would never be weird for you to see the familiarity Steve treated everyone with. Joking with Jonathan and Eddie, putting his arm around Robin, giving Barb advice for a date, talking about movies with Nancy.

You saw the way he brushed his hair with his hand as he spoke to her, observing their body language from your place in the chair, taking small sips of wine so it wouldn’t be too obvious that you were trying to see if the touches that used to make you feel jealous years ago were still there, but they weren’t. Even Jonathan ignored the fact they were talking, as if nothing had ever happened between them, as if time had rewritten things in your absence, and you were the only one who remembered it all.

But Barb’s words were still echoing through your head, and you couldn’t help but revisit the past once again in silence. When Nancy told you that The King Steve Harrington passed her a note in class. When she told you about the first time they made out in the toilets, how she brushed it off as if it was nothing. And you had never admitted it out loud, but wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t it obvious that you turned shy whenever he sat down in the table you shared in the cafeteria, or how you looked at him during class? Wasn’t it obvious, how you started to say no whenever Nancy invited you to hang out with them? The distance that grew between you two during that time?

You stood up at the thought of it, glad that everyone was too busy in their own conversations to notice your absence. But you didn’t see the pair of brown eyes that followed your silhouette as you sneaked out into the garden to sit by yourself.

It was cold outside, but the change of temperature was good, fresh air cleaning your lungs as you sat down in front of the pool with your back resting on the fence. You checked your phone by reflex, not really searching for anything, just trying to calm your nerves until you found the strength to go back inside. Not even two glasses of wine had helped with your awkwardness.

Steve went back inside the kitchen with the excuse of getting another drink, but really, he just stood in front of the sink, looking at you through the window. At first, he just wanted to check if you were okay, but when he saw the way the blue lights of the pool reflected on your face, he remembered.

He didn’t know why he had done it, maybe because he made out with Carol on that party the previous Friday, and he realised he only saw her as a friend, almost like a sister. They had been close since they were little, their moms had gone to school together. So, when he rested his bare back against the wall in front of the school pool, and she greeted him with a nod, he didn’t even check her out in her swimsuit.

‘What’s up?’ He said distractedly. And as usual, Carol took that question as a sign to talk about every single thing that had happened since the last time they saw each other.

He looked around the pool area, finding you sitting on the edge of it with your legs inside, playing with your hair that you hadn’t tied up yet. You were one of the few girls that preferred to wear shorts and a shirt over your swimsuit until you got inside the water, always slouching a little bit to try to cover up the exposed skin, looking around to make sure that you remained invisible. But once you were in the water, it was a different story. You were fast, competitive, perfectionistic, and comfortable under the spotlight. He knew he couldn’t stand that about you, having been in the swimming team for years now, but he also knew he couldn’t hate you for it.

‘Steve.’ Carol’s voice made him look back at her and come back to reality. Her eyes landed on you for a second before looking back at him with a flirty smile. ‘Are you noticing anything new?’

‘I…’ He distractedly studied Carol’s face, suddenly feeling a bit annoyed at her. ‘I don’t know, Carol. Did you forget to shave today or…?’

Her face dropped at his comment, and she hit his arm with her fist, making him laugh loudly before the coach blowed her whistle. You started taking your shorts and shirt off as everyone walked around the pool to get inside.

You had just thrown your shirt on the ground when Carol Perkins walked past you, looking up and down your body before laughing softly. ‘Seems like someone forgot to shave today.’

Steve saw the way your face changed drastically at Carol’s comment, echoing his just a few minutes ago. He laughed nervously, realising how bad she must had interpreted it. But Carol was like that, always biting back in the most hurtful way when you least expected her to, and he realised now he had clearly offended her. And you had been caught up in the middle of it.

She stole a satisfied glance at him before looking back at you once again. ‘Maybe you should put those back on.’

How could he had been so incredibly oblivious at the fact they only picked on you because he liked you? He was an idiot; worse than an idiot because he never did anything to stop them. No wonder you hated him so much.

When he opened the sliding door you quickly lifted your eyes before locking your phone and putting it back inside your pocket. He saw you silently release a deep breath as he approached you, holding a bottle of wine in his hand.

‘Hey.’ He said, trying to read your face in the darkness.

‘Hi.’

You looked up at him and he offered you the wine bottle, which you took with a polite smile that didn’t reach your eyes as he sat down next to you.

Steve stayed silent as you took the bottle to your mouth, taking a sip of wine while he thought about where to start. It seemed like every time you saw each other he had something new to apologize for.

You offered the bottle back and he took it, but he didn’t bring it to his mouth to swallow the alcohol, instead he just kept his eyes on its label as he spoke.

‘I, uh, I’ve been thinking lately.’ He said softly.

‘Oh. Congratulations, Harrington.’

It was smooth and so unexpected that he couldn’t help but laugh. But when his seriousness came back, making the silence between you heavy, you had to lift your eyes to listen to what he had to say.

‘I meant, thinking about what you said. About school, and me bullying you.’

He saw the change in your face as you grabbed the bottle once again, taking it to your mouth to prepare yourself for what he had to say.

‘And you were right. I did some pretty fucked up shit that hurt you. And I’ll probably regret that forever. Specially–’ He took a deep breath before proceeding. ‘Specially after seeing that picture of you back in the library. You were so young, and I was… crushing you.’

You released a deep breath, taking a few seconds to process his words, fondly remembering a time where you went to bed thinking about him saying these exact words to you, adolescent fantasies in which he’d tell you that all this time he had been in love with you. King Steve climbing your room’s window with flowers and a sweet apology that ended in a kiss or sex. Back when you didn’t understand what love was, but hoping someday you would, and the funny thing now was you still didn’t.

‘Well, I’m not going to comfort you, Harrington.’ You said taking another sip from the bottle, feeling the alcohol turn your body warmer, your limbs lighter and your tongue more honest. ‘But I’ve realised that I was pretty much a bit of an asshole too.’

You saw him nod from the corner of your eye, stare lost on the lights of the pool. Maybe he was expecting you to forgive him for real this time, you thought, but you weren’t sure if that was important anymore.

‘Drink.’ You said instead, giving him the bottle. ‘I’m not getting drunk by myself.’

He reluctantly did as you said, taking a long sip before placing the bottle back in the space in between your bodies.

‘Are we ever gonna be friends?’ He asked then.

Steve saw the glimpse of a smile lifting your lips. Not a kind one, but something else, that cheeky bitterness he couldn’t help but feel drawn to.

‘Think I like you better when you’re not my friend, Harrington.’ You admitted before facing him. He was already looking at you with his head resting against the fence. You shrugged as you rested yours against it too. ‘It makes it easier.’

He smiled softly, still unable to understand your odd warmth and realising that maybe he’d never get to.

‘So, no.’ You said, this time your eyes were shy, looking down as your finger stroked the round top of the bottle. ‘We’re never going to be friends.’

He nodded then, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad, having to resign himself to this. This weird familiarity that felt so superficial but at the same time vulnerable in its own way. And then his mind took him earlier that day when his fingertips stroked your skin briefly. And he knew it then, that this was better than being friends.

Maybe there were some things that couldn’t be fixed.

It was him this time who took the bottle to his lips, and you tried not to frown at his sudden change of mood, hearing the crickets wake up in the garden.

‘Fair enough.’ He said, offering you the bottle once again. ‘Didn’t wanna be your friend anyways.’

You laughed softly, shaking your head before taking the bottle.

‘Seems to me you were dying to, but okay.’ You took a sip. ‘If that makes you feel better about yourself.’

‘It actually does.’

‘Great.’ You said lifting the bottle once again, ‘Didn’t wanna be associated with King Steve anyways.’

‘You shouldn’t.’ He agreed, taking the bottle from you before you could take it to your lips. ‘Heard he can’t even win a fight.’

This time you laughed louder, remembering all the fights he lost to Billy Hargrove back then. How his bruises lasted for weeks, and just before they were about to heal, Billy always found a way to hit him again. The thought made you frown, suddenly feeling sad for him. Another thing you had failed to see, blinded by your absurd competitivity.

‘You’re lucky your mom’s a doctor, I guess.’ You said distractedly.

He bumped your arm with his softly, making you lift your eyes to find him offering you the almost finished bottle.

‘Oh, my mom never helped with the wounds.’ He said as you took it. ‘It was always just me here. ‘S probably why I kept getting in fights, I guess.’

He saw the pause you took to drink, lifting your eyebrows at the gravity of his confession. You leaned your head back as you swallowed the last drops of wine before putting the glass bottle aside and cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand.

‘That’s shitty.’ He heard you said, because you weren’t going to say I’m sorry, you weren’t. ‘My parents were never home either.’

And then you scoffed softly, looking back at him. ‘S probably why I tried so hard to be the best at everything.’

His eyes studied you, and for once you let him. Because even if Barb’s intervention had opened your eyes, you still carried this poisonous thorn inside you. And what if you wanted to remove it here and now? Wasn’t Harrington skilled with wounds anyways?

‘See, that’s the thing.’ You started. ‘Back when I was at school they were never there. It wasn’t until the pandemic that Dad started working from home. And then mom retired, I left for college, Suki became a mom… Things are different now.’

You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself as your eyes got lost in the lights of the pool, feeling Steve’s attentive eyes on you.

‘But back then I spent more time at school than at home because there was no one there. Suki was away at college, so I just drowned in extra curriculars. And that was because they were making money with the excuse of paying for our education and the house and... everything, basically. Because we never really “lacked” anything. So, the excuse for the absence was us, so they could give us a good life and leave us something, right? But as soon as I come back here it’s her money and I’m some loser that’s sleeping in her house. Which Hey— it’s true.’ You scoffed. ‘But no one wants to hear that from their mom, of all people.’

Your eyes watered slightly, looking down at your hands, the frown that adorned your face kept you from releasing your angry tears. He wanted to touch you so badly, you didn’t notice the way his hands squeezed his own knees when you lifted yours to clean the tear that finally feel from your eye.

‘I…’ You had to clear your throat before proceeding. ‘I’m just realising now that everything I did was for them. ‘Was just trying to pay this perpetual debt I felt like I owed and— Fuck. The other day she said, “It’d be nice to see you doing more.” You shook your head, taking a deep breath. ‘More is everything I’ve ever done.’

You shut your eyes, swallowing hard to try to hold in that anger that didn’t seem to go away. You were not that girl that was willing to do everything for approval anymore, and maybe that was the reason why you had to come back. To realise that none of what you had achieved was really worth it.

But that thought didn’t freed you, it just made you feel empty.

When you lifted your eyes, Steve Harrington was looking at you with something you didn’t know how to name. It was odd, you agreed silently, to be discovering this new part of you right in front of him.

Your heart was broken. And you had broken it yourself, but just for once you wanted someone to tell you what to do.

‘I need to move out, don’t I’?’ You said with glossy eyes.

Steve’s eyes were soft as he studied your face, knowing you were trying hard to keep the tears in. He nodded softly.

You crossed your arms over your knees, resting your cheek over your forearm as you looked back at him, feeling the pressure on your chest decreasing, the thorn fighting hard to loosen from you. But maybe it was part of your tissue at this point. Maybe this was something you had to learn to live with.

Steve blinked a couple of times before leaning in with confidence, softly pecking your mouth in an indifferent way. It wasn’t romantic or sweet, but it wasn’t mean either, just his warmth mouth giving you something to make you feel like he was here. That this odd bond that went beyond resentment or attraction hadn’t disappeared. You had always been part of each other lives, that wasn’t going to change now.

‘Take care of yourself, doll.’ He said before standing up to walk back into the house.

It had been a week since you started working at the library, and you were placing Valentine’s decorations around the reception that afternoon. A garland of pink and red hearts on the wall behind the desk, heart-shaped candy in a bowl, and stickers of be mine, love you, xoxo and more meaningless phrases all around the place.

Steve would’ve sworn you were enjoying it from his place next to the reception, looking at you carefully climbing up the ladder whenever you changed your mind about the decorations and rearranging their distribution. He had worked the morning shift and had promised Dustin that he’d pick him up from school, but since it was too cold to stay inside the car, he crossed the road to find shelter in the quiet library.

You were walking around with a flower vase in your arms now, admiring the results of your work, when your eyes landed on him, sitting carelessly on one of the chairs and scrolling on his phone.

‘Do you think you could go to the flower shop for me?’

Your voice made him lift his eyes. There was no hello, no shyness. But there wasn’t dislike in your tone either. Steve studied you for a few seconds, thinking that maybe you had been so focused on your task that could’ve been the reason behind your abruptness.

But in reality, you had spent the whole shift thinking about an email you had received that morning. Apparently, someone had sent your CV to a small editorial in California, and they seemed interested in you, hoping to schedule a videocall interview sometime soon. In your break you had locked yourself in the staff’s toilet and drafted a quick reply, but something kept you from sending it.

‘Sure.’ He said standing up. ‘What kind would you like?’

‘Red roses.’ You said with confidence, turning back to look at the adorned reception once again. ‘Maybe some bright pink ones, if you find any. I don’t know. What do you think?’

His lack of response made you look back at him, and he blinked repeatedly when he realised his astonishment by you asking for his opinion had made him quiet.

‘I’ll get you both.’ He said looking down at you before shrugging and taking his car keys out of his pocket. ‘And then you can choose whichever you think looks best.’

You scoffed. ‘What am I supposed to do with the rest?’

He played with his keys in his hand, walking backwards towards the exit and shrugging once again. Your eyes turned serious at the smile that was fighting to lift his lips.

‘Dunno.’ He said, finally letting the cheeky smile light up his face. ‘See you later, doll.’

‘Shit.’ Dustin said as soon as he slid into the backseat of Steve’s car. ‘What’s going on in here?’

You rolled your eyes as you rested your head against the window, hearing the plastic sounds of the paper wrapped around the flowers when Dustin pushed them to one side. It was just three extra bouquets that couldn’t fit in the reception.

‘We just bought some flowers.’ Said Steve shrugging before turning the engine on once again. ‘Seatbelt.’

You heard the sound of plastic again as Dustin moved behind, before hearing the click of his seatbelt.

‘Would you like to take some for your girlfriend?’ You said looking behind your shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of the curly haired boy pushed against the door since the flowers took most of the space in the seats.

‘Uh, I’m not sure if this is Suzie’s thing.’ He said.

You opened you mouth to speak, but Steve interrupted you from the driver’s seat, too focused on the road to realise you were about to say something.

‘That’s bullshit, Henderson.’ You sat back on your seat just in time to see him roll his eyes. ‘All girls like flowers. Even those who say they don’t. Be nice and take one.’

This time it was you who rolled her eyes, shaking your head softly as he parked outside Dustin’s house.

‘Take the flowers!’ He insisted when the boy opened the door.

‘I heard you; I heard you.’ Said Dustin taking one of the bouquets before closing the car’s door and walking towards the house.

‘Little shit doesn’t even say thank you.’ He complained under his breath, checking that Dustin had walked safely inside the house before driving away.

You stayed in a comfortable silence for once, listening to the pop song playing on the radio, until you saw him take a new direction. By this time, you were used to the fact he was the designated driver of the group, so you just assumed he was going to pick up Robin at work when he parked in front of the record shop.

But when he stretched his arm to get one of the bouquets, an amusing frown took over your face.

‘You comin’?’ He asked opening the door.

‘What are you doing?’ You said.

‘M bringing flowers to my best friend.’ He said climbing down the car.

You licked your lips, trying to supress the smile that was forming in your face. All Steve did was close the door behind him and walk towards the store’s entrance.

You followed him, of course, walking right behind him. The sound of the bell over the door made Robin jump behind the counter, turning back to find you two.

‘Hey!’ Her eyes lit up with a smile that turned into a semblance of surprise when Steve offered her the bouquet of roses. ‘For me?’

‘Yep.’ He said. You rested your elbows over the counter as she walked around it to give Steve a hug.

The sight didn’t make you feel jealous as it would have in the past, there was something that Steve shared with Robin that he didn’t seem to share with anyone else in the group, something that was nice to see, something that was good for both of them.

‘These are so pretty!’ She said admiring them before looking back at you. ‘How’s work been?’

‘It’s okay.’ You shrugged. ‘Quiet. But I spend a lot of time reading, so that’s fun.’

‘Sounds great.’ She said checking her watch. ‘How’s the apartment hunt going?’

You bit your lip. ‘Not great. Everything’s so fucking expensive right now.’

She gave you a sad smile.

‘Vicky and I have a very comfy couch if you ever need one.’

You smiled, shaking your head softly. ‘Thank you, I’m sure it is. But I think I’ll pass.’

You didn’t know why you thought that Steve was going to give you the last bouquet. Earlier at the library, you had thought maybe that’s what he had implied, but he was now driving somewhere else, and by the way he had turned so serious in the driver seat, you weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask.

He took a deep breath when he stopped the car in front of a trailer park. Your eyes followed his movements once again, but this time he didn’t ask you if you wanted to come. In fact, it seemed like he was praying for you not to ask any questions. So, you didn’t.

He climbed down the car and walked towards one of the trailers, knocking on the door once before a young girl of ginger hair opened it. You observed the way she immediately looked behind her shoulder at the sight of the flowers, closing the door behind her.

She seemed stressed, shaking her head while Steve moved his lips talking. You didn’t know what he was doing, and your heart beat hard against your chest at the way things seemed wrong to you in this strange exchange of words.

So when he dropped the flowers on the ground with frustration you jumped out of the car, hearing your own pulse in your ears.

‘Steve. Don’t–’ She said at the same you spoke.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

But Steve was already walking to the door of the trailer, knuckles hitting the it as you got to where the girl stood.

‘Open the fucking door, asshole.’ He screamed.

You opened your mouth to say something, but you were speechless, paralyzed at the sight of the bloody dressing above the girl's eyebrow and understanding where Steve reaction was coming from. You were about to ask her if she was okay when Billy Hargrove appeared on the other side of the trailer’s door.

‘Shit.’ You whispered.

‘You’ve got some balls to come in here again.’ Said Billy.

You looked back at the girl when Billy pushed Steve, making him fall on the ground with a thud, feeling the adrenaline running through your veins.

‘Get in the house, Max.’ Said Billy then, walking down the small step.

‘Get in the car.’ You told her.

‘Don’t–’ He looked at you then, and it took him a second to recognise you. ‘The fuck are you doing here?’

You opened your mouth, but Steve had already stood up, interrupting you.

‘You’re a piece of shit.’ He said, and it was then that you noticed the cut on his mouth, drops of blood falling from the corner of it. ‘You don’t fucking deserve that kid. ‘M calling the fucking police, asshole.’

You saw the way Billy took a step forward to hit Steve again and your reflex was moving to shield him. You didn’t know why you did it, maybe it had been an instinctive response, something that your younger self wished she could’ve done back at school.

‘Okayokayokay.’ You said standing in between them. ‘No one’s calling the police.’

Billy looked from you to Steve, and you felt a hand behind you wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back. But you didn’t look back at him.

‘Max!’ Billy screamed her name, trying to find her in the darkness.

‘Listen,’ Your firm tone made him look back at you. ‘Listen, we’re going for a quick drive with your–’

‘Stepsister.’ He said frustrated.

‘Right.’ You nodded once. ‘We’re going to go for a drive with her. It’s gonna be quick, Billy. She’s scared.’

You saw him clench his jaw before nodding, but he still looked at Steve behind your shoulder, pointing at him with an accusing finger. ‘You come here again, and I’ll beat she shit out of you. Again, and as many times as I need to.’

Billy shut the door behind him, and the noise echoed all around the trailer park. You swallowed hard as you shut your eyes, body still tense before sighing deeply.

‘What the fuck, Steve?’ You said looking back at him.

He took a deep breath, the bruise on the side of his face staring to turn red and the blood still fresh on his lip.

‘Steve. Look at me.’ You said in a serious tone. ‘What the fuck are you doing bringing flowers to this kid? I want you to look at me and tell me this is not what I think it is. Don’t make me take Hargrove’s side.’

He studied you carefully for a few seconds, frowning slowly at your words before speaking.

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘You’re so full of shit.’ He said then. ‘You think I’m grooming her or something?’

‘I don’t–’

‘You’re so full of shit.’ He repeated, walking away towards the car. You followed him then, trying to keep up with his angry pace.

‘Steve, I’m worr–’

‘Listen to me.’ He said turning back at you before you finished your sentence. ‘There are certain things that happened while you were away. Things that are none of your business, by the way. The fact you walk around thinking you’re important enough that everyone’s dying to make your life miserable is your problem. But here, we take care of each other. I’d do this kind of shit any day for Max, for Dustin, Robin, or any of my friends. It’s not my problem you can’t relate to that. Now get in the car.’

You clenched your jaw at his words, taking a deep breath and trying to hide your teary eyes before walking towards the car.

‘I didn’t know Hopper had a daughter.’ You said softly when you walked inside his house.

You hadn’t exchanged any words since your fight outside the trailers. Steve had dropped Max at Hopper’s house, where a young brunette girl about the same age had welcomed her at the door.

‘Yeah.’ He said in the same tone turning the lights on. ‘She’s the same age as Max and the rest of the kids.’

He didn’t say anything else as you walked behind him inside the kitchen, feeling awkward and guilty about what you had implied earlier, but not sure of how to bring up the subject. He could feel your eyes following him as he took the first-aid kit from the cupboard, fingers shaking as he placed it on the table. You had never seen Steve like this, but again, did you know him well enough to say that?

‘Are you okay?’ You asked softly. And he hated how sincere it sounded, letting out a frustrated sigh at your sudden worry.

He shook his head. ‘This shit just made me remember some stuff, that’s all.’

Your movements were careful when you stood closer to open the kit, bringing out some cotton pads and a little bottle of alcohol. Steve sat down on the chair without you even asking him. He took a deep breath, realising then how exhausted he really was, letting himself savour the scent of your perfume before the alcohol’s smell eclipsed it.

How many times had your teenage self thought about this? You asked yourself as you pressed the wet cotton against the side of his nose, cleaning there first because in your own sick way, you wanted to save his lips for last.

You could feel his resentful eyes on you, knowing that what you had said earlier had crossed a line, but aware that you were angry too. You were so very angry at him for doing this to himself. It didn’t make you feel like it did when you were a silly teenager obsessed with romcoms, instead it made you feel sad and helpless. Like a child.

He flinched a little bit when you put the wet cotton on his top lip, and that was it. That was what made your eyes water.

‘M sorry.’ You whispered, trying to hide your eyes from him. ‘What I said was wrong. I’d never think that way about you. I was just… scared.’

Your touch turned more tender then, barely brushing his lips with the cotton as you followed the trace of his bottom one with the material, still feeling his eyes on you. And then his hands found your hips, and you tried to keep in the sigh, but it fell so easily from your mouth at his tender touch.

‘M sorry you were scared.’ He said in the same soft tone, searching your eyes with his, relief filling him once you looked back at him. ‘And I’m sorry about what I said. You’re one of us. You’ve always been.��

You bit your lip as you picked a new piece of cotton to keep cleaning his wound, trying to hide the fact that his words had been like putting salt in the wound. You weren’t. You knew you weren’t. Not anymore.

He took that as an opportunity to speak before you moved to clean his bloody lips again.

‘Max went through some stuff a couple of years ago.’ He explained as you dipped the cotton in the alcohol, his thumbs now stroking the skin over your jeans that he had discovered a few weeks ago the day of your interview. ‘It was so bad.’

The way he whispered the last sentence made you lift your eyes. He was looking away now, ashamed that you’d notice how his eyes had watered at the memory.

‘She wrote us letters.’ He explained. ‘All of us.’

Your eyebrows arched subtly, thinking about how young the girl you had met today was. Too young to carry that much sadness within. But you remembered the dressing over her eyebrow, the fear in her eyes.

‘She wrote me some stuff that…’ He took a deep breath. ‘She said she wished I was her brother instead of Billy.’

You took a step towards him, resuming what you were doing before, disinfecting the little wounds, one on the top lip, one on the bottom. They were very superficial; he’d have a crust by tomorrow.

‘I just try to make her feel like I’m here whenever I can, you know?’ He said under your touch. ‘She can’t move out until she’s eighteen.’

‘That’s heartbreaking.’ You said softly. ‘M sorry about misinterpreting it.’

Silence fell between you for a few seconds. You pretended the wounds weren’t already cleaned, and he pretended he didn’t know they were.

‘Seems like you’re looking for an excuse to hit the shit out of me these days, doll.’ He joked then.

You removed your hand to look back at him with narrowed eyes and a soft smile, and he imitated you, narrowing those brown eyes that made you crazy, tilting his head a little bit to the side as he smiled.

‘You’re good now.’ You said, throwing the dirty cotton on the table.

His fingers still stroked the skin of your hips before they moved down to pull you in from the belt-hooks of your jeans, the movement making your hands instinctively land on his chest.

‘Thanks, doll.’ He said looking up at you. You observed his face for a second before looking down to your hands.

‘You’re welcome.’ You whispered shyly. And he loved it, it reminded him so much of the soft girl he had liked back at school.

His hand lifted to cup your face then, he couldn’t resist it. None of you had realised there was still a bit of his own blood on his hand until he brushed your lower lip with his thumb. And when you lifted your eyes at him with the realisation, there was no sign of that shyness anymore.

It was soft, and wet, and sweet. It was so very sweet, how you moved your head subtly to clean the blood of his thumb with your mouth. A half kiss, half lick thing that made him swallow hard in response.

‘Don’t.’ He begged softly. But he was back at stroking your lip with his thumb, and now both of your lips were glossy, the thin thread of saliva that connected his finger with your mouth messing with his head.

You scoffed softly as the ghost of a smile hid behind your serious expression.

‘Okay.’ You whispered, ‘I won’t.’

You were about to take a step back, but then his hands pulled you back in towards his body, this time his face so close from yours that your noses were brushing.

‘Wait.’ He whispered. ‘Wait. We’ll never be friends, right?’

You studied his face, feeling every inch of your skin turn warmer under his touch. And you shook your head softly. ‘Never.’

His eyes moved from yours to your lips as his other hand tentatively sneaked underneath your top, wrapping it around the skin under your rib, and squeezing softly.

A lot had changed since the last time you thought about having sex with Steve Harrington. Was this still a punishment? Probably not. Definitely not. But what an ego boost it would be to do this. This thing that was so wrong, knowing everything he had done to you and the fact that this could fuck up your attempts to get your friends back. But did you really deserve them back at the end of the day? Hadn’t you been delaying moving out just in case you got a better job offer? And what about that email sitting on your drafts? What about California?

You moved just a bit closer then, noses still brushing and mouth hovering over his, knowing that what you were about to do would ruin you.

‘Where do you wanna fuck me?’ You whispered.

Your back fell into his bed, because that’s where Steve had first touched himself thinking about you, years ago. And that’s where he wanted you. He wouldn’t tell you this though, taking his shirt off and looking down at you to watch you slowly unbutton your top. Then you did the same with your jeans, taking your own time until he helped with the last bit, removing them off your ankles.

He stood on the end of his bed after getting rid of his jeans, looking at your body on top of his sheets, hair a bit messy, mouth partly open and skin silky. And he realised that after all these years he had never had the chance to properly kiss you. Not like that soft peck he had given you in the garden, but the kind of kiss that would make him want more of you.

So, when he unexpectedly drew a line from your forearm to your open palm, it shocked you a little bit, eyes looking down to see his fingers entwine with yours. His breath brushed your cheek as he hovered over you, nose stroking your temple, cheekbone, and the side of your nose as he delayed it all on purpose.

His mouth finally landed on your jaw, making you release a soft sigh as it kissed down your neck, his free hand moving the strip of your bra to softly kiss your shoulder. And he kept delaying it, because he realised right then that you were going to break his heart. But maybe this is what you two owed each other after all these years, and he had decided he was going to let it happen.

Steve didn’t have time to say no, or to stop, or to do anything, really. Because your hand had found the back of his neck and you were pulling him in, trying to find a cure for all this pain that had tired your bones in the last few months.

And then his mouth was on yours and it hurt a little, but it didn’t matter if the wounds of his lips opened again because all he wanted to do now was taste your lips and love on your tongue. All he wanted now was to get his heart broken by you.

You tried not to be desperate, but who were you kidding? You were. You were. Moaning softly under his lips, pulling down the other strip of your bra, begging him to suck on you, squeeze you, use you. All that mediocre sex from college didn’t matter now, you wanted him in ways only virgin girls could think of. With hope, and thirst, and trust. You just wanted him to remind you what innocence was like.

Just as if he had read your mind, his hands found the wet patch of your underwear, fingers rubbing your clit over the soaked fabric. He held his breath as he observed your reaction, a needy sensitive mess ready for him.

‘M so wet for you.’ You whined what he was thinking of.

Steve growled at your words, mouth leaving wet kisses on your neck as he tried to tease you a little bit more, but you arched your back to unclasp your bra, not giving him the chance to get lost on the sight of your chest before you guided his hand inside your underwear.

A soft gasp left your mouth when his hand came in contact with your bare wetness, doing as you wanted and drawing circles on it, brown eyes under heavy eyelids looking down at you. Did he have to look like that? So absurdly dreamy with his swollen broken lips and his dark brown eyes, and was this really happening to you of all people?

He sighed at the sight of your body, admiring your breasts as you arched your back when his fingers fucked you deeper, lost in the way your eyebrows arched in pleasure.

It took him a few seconds of wet noises to realise you had left him speechless. And the nerves made him almost lose the rhythm until you nodded softly in encouragement, a sweet needy moan leaving your mouth at his touch. You didn’t see the way he smiled tenderly at the angelic semblance of your eyes closed, your mouth partly open, the goosebumps all over your chest and stomach.

He wanted to say something. He had always been so vocal during sex, but what was he supposed to say now? That he had thought about this many times before? That your body was as beautiful as he had imagined?

‘Steve.’ You whispered in a moan, looking up at him. ‘M not gonna last long if you keep doing that.’

He laughed softly, removing his fingers from under your panties.

‘M sorry, babe.’ He said softly, ‘Was just enjoyin’ myself.’

Everything was so much quieter and slower than you imagined it would be, and the funny thing was, this was exactly how you pictured yourself losing your virginity once upon a time. King Steve removing your underwear slowly, a thread of wetness connecting your pussy with the soaked fabric, his dark stare focused on you as he dropped it aside, slowly but decisively opening your legs with his hands so he could admire what a mess he had made of you.

His hands drew a line from your knees to your thighs, before squeezing softly. Steve licked his lips, looking back at you, and it was the sudden heavy silence between you what made your breath stop.

‘D’you still want me?’ It came out much sadder than you intended, you felt so small out of sudden, lowering your eyes at the possibility of him having changed his mind.

He let out a breathy sound as he leaned in to kiss your navel, mouth climbing up to your hipbone, kissing the skin next to your belly button, your breastbone.

‘Course I want you.’ He whispered against your skin. ‘God, ‘m craving you, babe.’

His nose brushed against yours and your gasped when his hand squeezed your hip, maybe a bit too rough for what you were expecting as you felt his dick tease the lips of your pussy.

‘Just not sure if this’ll be the only time I get to do this.’ He whispered against your lips. He teased you once again, putting the tip in before taking it out, and you rolled your eyes at the sudden stretch that lasted so little. ‘Wanna make sure you come back to me.’

‘Well,’ you said against his mouth, soft words that sounded more like a sigh. ‘You need to fuck me first so I can decide that.’

‘R you sure, babe?’ He said before his tongue licked your lower lip. Steve was now rubbing the tip of his dick against your clit, the sticky pre-cum making you even wetter, pussy stretching around nothing and hips searching for it. ‘Don’t know, doll. You’re a very proud thing, we have to work on that first.’

You let out another needy sigh, feeling him so close from you but at the same time not close enough. Your mouth followed his, trying to convince him with a needy wet kiss, but he only pecked your mouth in that same indifferent way he had done in the garden.

‘D’you want me to beg?’ You asked, looking up at him with darkness in your eyes. ‘S that what you want?’

He tsked, shaking his head as he felt himself melting at the way you were stroking his chest with your fingertips.

‘Just want you to promise I’ll get to fuck you again after this.’

You observed him from below, not sure of what kind of game Steve Harrington was playing, but certain that it was dangerous one. But you wanted him, like hell you did.

‘Okay.’ You said with a soft node. ‘I’m coming back.’

Your felt his tip right between the lips of your pussy again as he spoke. ‘Coming back to what?’

Steve slowly started to push himself inside you then, lost in the way your eyes turned more and more absent with every inch of him you took.

‘T-to be fucked.’ You whispered. ‘I’m coming back to you.’

The last inches took you by surprise, his cock stretching you out when he unexpectedly gave you all of it. A high-pitched moan of surprise leaving your mouth before he started moving slowly.

Steve caged you with his arms releasing a soft growl, feeling your soaked velvet walls squeeze him as he moved his hips sensually against yours.

‘You comin’ back, baby?’ He asked against your mouth once again.

‘Y-Yeah.’ You moaned. ‘M coming back so you can fuck me again.’

‘Good.’ He said against your mouth, relief taking over his chest as he fucked you deeper and faster, loving the sweet desperate sounds that came from your mouth.

And then he kissed you properly, like he had always wanted. An anxious mess of tongues, resentment, and desire.

My heart is broken.

You let out a loud sigh out as you tried to calm Aaron down, softly swinging him as he hid his face inside your hair, crying. Your mom said she’d be back in ten minutes half an hour ago, and now you were walking around the house with a kid in your arms and the phone against your ear waiting for her to pick up, but after a minute the call went straight to voicemail.

There was no force in the world that would make you call Suki. It would alarm her; you knew it would. A part of you wanted to prove yourself that you could do this. You were their aunt, and you wanted to earn their love. But when Amber started crying from her place on the couch and your eyes filled with tears, you started to think that maybe what you really wanted was your family to trust you.

So, when the doorbell ringed, you felt your breath pattern turn faster, anxiety ringing in your ears and tears shamelessly rolling down your cheeks. Overwhelmed by all the chaos, you walked towards the door, finding no other than the person you had been avoiding all week.

‘Hey.’ Said Steve, he was standing with his hands in his pockets, eyes turning soft at the sight of your teary face.

The low Hi you said came out more as a sob eclipsed by Aaron’s cries. His eyes looked at something behind your shoulder, Amber’s cries echoing through the house. He looked back at you with his eyebrows arched and you shrugged, trying to find a way to speak.

‘I just– I don’t know what to do.’

He walked in then, closing the door behind him. ‘I can help.’

And then in a swift move, he was holding Aaron in his arms.

‘Hey, little man.’ He said softly.

Aaron stopped crying for a second, looking back at Steve with curiosity before the tears came back, but at least you were now able to walk to the living room to give Amber the attention you had neglected her.

‘Shhh.’ You tried to comfort her, cleaning your cheek with your free hand before turning back to him. ‘They don’t need a change of diapers, they don’t want food, my mom’s not picking the phone… I–’

‘Have you called your sister?’ He said swinging the baby boy in his arms.

‘No.’ You said looking down at Amber, whose fist had grabbed some of your hair. ‘I don’t want to call Suki.’

You heard him release a sigh of frustration. Somehow it made you feel even more useless, making you clench your jaw. You were about to tell him to leave you the fuck alone when he walked to the downstairs bathroom with Aaron still in his arms. You kept swinging Amber in yours, trying to release your hair from her grip as you heard the bath running.

When you walked inside, Steve was holding Aaron while kneeling next to the bathtub, checking the water’s temperature with his hand. It wasn’t a bad idea, so you walked out to get some of the babies’ toys, praying that this would work.

A few minutes later, the twins were sitting on the half-filled bathtub, playing and enjoying the warm water. Your back rested against the bathroom’s wall while Steve sat next to you, looking at you profile as you released a sobby sigh of relief.

‘How did you even think about this?’ You asked softly before looking back at him. His bruises had started to fade and the wounds on his lips looked more like tiny scratches. You could feel your eyes puffy, and your nose blocked by the tears.

He shrugged.

‘I guessed amniotic fluid must be very similar to water?’ He said it more as a question rather than a fact, but it impressed you that he had made the connection so quickly in the middle of all the chaos. ‘They’re also twins, I’m guessing if she woke up and didn’t see him that was enough for her to panic.’

You nodded softly. ‘I guess that makes sense.’

You heard steps in the house then. Before you could even move, your sister was opening the bathroom's door with her coat still on and her keys in her hand.

‘Hey. What are you doing on the floor?’ She asked as soon as her eyes landed on you, then she realised the kids were in the bathtub playing and her eyes lit up.

‘Hello, my loves!’ She said at them before looking back at you and Steve. ‘Mom got a flat tire so now she’s waiting for dad at the supermarket’s parking lot.’

‘Right.’ You stood up, Steve imitating you right after. ‘I– They were crying and then Steve came in and– I just didn’t know how to help or what to do. So… bathtime seemed to fix it.’

She laughed softly as she walked towards the bathtub, getting rid of her coat and placing it on the toilet’s lid.

‘If they could live in the bathtub they would.’ She said grabbing a towel and distractedly wrapping Amber in it. ‘Didn’t you have a thing tonight?’

‘Y-Yeah.’ You said, looking back at Steve. ‘Can you just wait for me in the living room? I’ll help Suki with the kids and then we can leave.’

‘Sure.’ He said. His hand instinctively found yours, squeezing for a second before leaving the bathroom.

You decided to ignore the gesture, taking a towel from the cupboard and kneeling next to Suki in silence to wrap Aaron around with it.

‘Are you fucking him?’ She asked casually.

You shrugged as you carefully dried your nephew’s curls, avoiding your sister’s eyes.

‘Is it that obvious?’

She left a soft laugh as she dried up Amber’s armpits. The baby’s laugh at the tickling feeling echoed through the walls, and you couldn’t help but smile.

‘Any guy would’ve left as soon as you opened that door.’ You laughed at her honesty, thinking how pathetic it all must’ve looked in Steve’s eyes. ‘I’m happy for you.’

Your mouth turned into a line then, and something in your chest hurt. Something wrong, something that you wanted to repress but somehow it inevitably burst inside you, spilling over all the promises you had made yourself before you came back to Hawkins. Your mind took you to that email that still sat on your drafts, thinking about the deadline.

‘It’s not like that.’ You said under your breath, lifting Aaron in your arms.

‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not.’ She said sarcastically.

‘Happy birthday, Robs.’ You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing lightly before taking a step back. ‘Sorry we’re so early.’

‘Thank you!’ She said before you moved so Steve could hug her too. You offered her the two giftbags that hung from your wrist then. ‘Oh my god, I’m feeling so spoiled now.’

‘Who’s coming tonight?’ You asked, placing your elbows on the counter of the little kitchen that Vicky and her shared.

Steve stood next to you, trying his best not to stand too close to your body. You had redone your make up after Suki left with the twins, but he could still see the subtle puffiness of your eyelids, the tiredness behind your pupils. You were trying. He saw it in the way you looked back at Robin, trying to stay in the present. He was so lost in you, in the way he missed your body, wondering when he’d get the chance to fuck you again, that he completely missed the direction your conversation with Robin was going.

‘Just my family and you guys.’ She said shrugging her shoulders while taking three wine glasses out of the cupboard and placing them on the counter in front of you. ‘You know, my mom, my cousin… Oh, the kids are coming too, I think.’

You frowned your eyebrows softly, ‘What about your dad?’

It came out quickly, you didn’t even think about it until her face dropped. You blinked a couple of times, smile fading as you realised you had fucked up.

‘Rob–’

Steve was there in a second, comforting her as you awkwardly observed from your place next to the counter. Your eyes got lost in the way his thumb rubbed her shoulder over the sleeve of her shirt, head titled slightly looking down at her as Robin rubbed her fingers against her eyes taking a deep, long breath.

‘Robin, I’m so sorry.’ You said, trying hard not to cry for the second time today, feeling the anxiety rising on your chest again. ‘I’ve no idea what happened but I didn’t know and I’m sorry and I’m going to–’

‘You do know!’ She screamed at you, it took you so out of guard all you could do was stand still. ‘God, I wrote you a long text explaining everything two weeks after you left. You just didn’t reply.’

You took a deep breath, walking around the counter, feeling Steve’s eyes on you. When you finally looked up at him, he held your serious stare for a few seconds, but you both were back at a territory that was uncertain. You knew you hadn’t still earned your friends’ trust, but it wasn’t like that was his problem.

He got the message, letting his hand fall from Robin’s shoulder, walking out of the kitchen in slow steps. You were looking back at Robin then, clenching her jaw and with her cheeks red by the anger.

‘I’m so sorry about mentioning your dad.’ You said. ‘I should’ve–’

‘Oh my god.’ She was so frustrated, looking back at you and moving her hands in the air. ‘Do you think I’m mad about my stupid dad? I’m mad about the fact you don’t even remember that he left! It’s like– Shit. What the fuck’s wrong with you?’

And that’s when the tears pooled in your eyes. You took a deep sobby breath, looking to your side and crossing your arms over your body, feeling ashamed and sad, and so, so tired.

It didn’t last long though, Robin couldn’t help but wrap her arms around you right after she said it, and you felt like shit knowing that you had offended her and now she was the one who had to comfort you.

‘I’m such an idiot.’ You said in between tears. ‘I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been a shitty friend and now I’m ruining your birthday and–’

‘Shut up.’ She said facing you, now her eyes were teary too and she was rolling them with a smile on her face. ‘You’re my best friend and I hate you so much, but I also missed you like crazy.’

You smiled softly then, cleaning your idiotic tears with your hand as you looked back at her.

‘Besides, when Steve found me crying in the staff room that day, I had no other option than rant about you and that’s how we became friends.’ She said squeezing the skin under your shoulders.

You rolled your eyes this time, letting out a soft laugh. ‘That doesn’t make me feel any better.’

And it was true, it didn’t. The rest of the evening your spent it mostly in silence, quietly laughing at everyone’s jokes and taking small sips of your wine as you made sure Robin was having a good time.

When you had the chance to excuse yourself, you sat down on the floor of the guests’ toilet and unlocked your phone. It took you ten minutes to re-read the email you had drafted that morning about a week ago in the library. You changed a few phrases, double checked your grammar, and pressed send.

Robin said you were her best friend, but you knew as soon as those words left her mouth that was something she was just saying to make you feel better. She replaced you, and you couldn’t blame her for it.

Back in the living room, from your place standing against the door’s frame, you could see it. In the way he looked at her when they said the same word or finished each other’s sentences, how they reacted almost simultaneously at something in the middle of a conversation. Same facial expressions, same gestures. You had observed your own nephews enough to know when a bond went beyond friendship, this was different.

And you didn’t think about it with bitterness as Robin’s mom brought the birthday cake in and placed it in front of her on the living room’s table. While Steve lighted the candles and Vicky left a soft kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek, a peaceful resignation took over your body. It was obvious that there wasn’t space for you here. Not anymore.

Steve had dropped all the kids while you sat silently in the passenger seat. Every now and then you could feel him looking for your eyes, but you kept your stare on the window next to you, too tired to be polite or even playfully mean.

You didn’t see the way he hesitated when his hand found the gearshift, thinking about maybe stretching it a little bit and squeezing your knee fondly to ask you if everything was okay. He somehow longed to keep his hand on your thigh, to enwtine his fingers with yours, knowing he probably craved for your touch more than you did.

He finally parked in front of his house at the end of the night, dark windows showing the lack of life inside. You knew by the absence of cars outside your parents’ house that they weren’t in either, and the quiet scene of the deserted street made you wonder how many times in the past it had been just you and him, apart from each other and drowning in solitude inside your own homes.

‘Hey.’ His voice made you look back at him, it was soft. You saw him sit more comfortably in his seat, part of his back resting against the door as he looked back at you. ‘You okay?’

You nodded softly, blinking slowly. ‘Just tired. ‘t was a long day.’

‘Hmm.’ His eyes followed an invisible trace from your eyes to the rest of your body before meeting your stare once again. ‘C’mere’

You told yourself you were doing as he said just because you were exhausted and not in a mood to fight, but when you finally sat down on his lap and his big hands started stroking your thighs softly, you felt your breathing pattern change. Your breaths turned slower; your muscles relaxed. You could’ve taken a nap right there.

‘You know,’ He started once you faced him, his fingers were now drawing subtle lines on the inner sides of your thighs, fingers hiding under the fabric of your dress. You could feel your body temperature rising. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.’

You let out a soft scoff, looking back with an amused frown on your face.

‘Maybe you should mind your own business.’

He threw his head back laughing at your reply, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

‘I mean it.’ He said looking back at you, his eyelids looked slightly heavy now and you took that as a sign that maybe this closeness was having the same effect on him. ‘You did great with the twins. And listen, Robin can be a little bit dramatic on her birthday sometimes.’

You looked down to his shirt, biting your lip and frowning your eyebrows while you thought. When you lifted your eyes again, he was looking at you with curiosity, dying to know what you were thinking.

‘Why are you doing this?’ You asked.

‘Doing what?’

‘Lying.’ You said, any trace of playfulness gone from your pretty eyes. ‘I didn’t do anything for the twins and Robin has every right to be mad at me.’

It was him who lowered his eyes this time, eyes fixed on the pretty small bow sitting in the middle of your chest, holding the top of your dress securely closed. His fingers left your thighs to slowly undo it as he spoke.

‘I notice what you love.’ He said, revealing the red lace of your bra underneath, a soft sigh leaving his lips at the sight of your breasts. When his eyes met yours again, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rush to your cheeks. ‘And you don’t seem like a bad aunt or a bad friend to me.’

You wanted to believe him; you really did, but it had all become too intimate. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, he wasn’t supposed to care about these things, he wasn’t supposed to be sweet. You couldn’t help but get closer to him, noses brushing against each other as your hands held onto the collar of his shirt.

‘But it’s not like I’ll ever know anyways.’ He whispered. Your mouth hovered over his smile as his fingers traced your collarbones. ‘Cause we’ll never be friends, right?’

You shook your head softly as his daring finger drew a line over the fabric of your bra and dress, from your breastbone to your stomach, all the way to the skin hidden underneath the fabric.

Steve’s fingers stroked your soaked underwear tentatively, softly palming your pussy with his big hand, holding your femineity with longing confidence. The gesture made you release a soft gasp, feeling exposed somehow, and he let out a breathy laugh at your reaction.

His hands climbed a bit further up, holding your thighs with both hands and pushing you softly against his crotch, making your feel the hard bulge underneath his jeans. You didn’t know when he had started guiding you, hands gripping at your hips, making you move them in a sensual rhythm that turned you needier every second that he wasn’t fucking you.

‘That’s it, baby.’ His voice had turned deeper, looking at your soft stare and wondering how it was possible that pleasure and innocence could coexist so prettily in your face. ‘Rub yourself ‘gainst it.’

You increased the pressure against him then, and Steve couldn’t help but cup your butt cheek tightly in response, sighs and needy sounds turning you both crazy inside the car.

It was your own desperation what broke the tension, leaning in to leave a soft, wet kiss on his mouth as your fingers found the button of his jeans. The rest was just instinct and need, him pulling down his boxers and you putting your underwear aside before sitting on his dick.

You moaned loudly at the feeling of finding yourself so full out of sudden. And God, did he love it, hiding his head on your neck and filling your skin with kisses as you slowly started moving on top of him.

‘Say you’re coming back.’ He whispered as his hands held your waist, lazily pushing you down before lifting you again. You looked down at him with your hands in his shoulders, hair messy and eyes shiny as you let him guide you, consume you. ‘Say it.’

‘M coming back.’ You whispered carefully, tilting your head slightly to place your forehead against his, eyes shut as the pleasure took over you.

Maybe it was the way you said it, with so much certainty behind it. Maybe it was the soft moan that left your lips right after he started to fuck you slightly harder. He didn’t know why he thought that maybe you wouldn’t break his heart. Maybe you’d be kind enough not to.

Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to believe, by the way you were cupping one of his cheeks as you started to set the rhythm yourself, mercilessly moving your hips and filling the car with obscene noises as you got as lost in him as he was in you.

Maybe it was the way you repeated I’m coming back, I’m coming back, as if it was a secret mantra only the two of you shared, kissing along his jaw and his earlobe, pulling his hair, biting his skin. And he selflessly welcomed it all, dying to see what was on the other side of your frustrations.

‘C’mon, doll.’ He whispered, your fingernails leaving marks on his arm as he rested his head against the seat to have a better look at you. ‘Let go.’

You whined once again, feeling yourself giving in under all the sweat and the lust. Out there you were powerless, but when you and Steve were together, it was just different. It was.

Something resembling a sob left your mouth as you leaned in to kiss him once again, and suddenly there was no movement, no thrusts, nothing. Just his hands holding your jaw, sitting straight to taste every inch of your tongue, thumbs stroking your cheeks, the salty taste of your tears in between you two.

He exhaled deeply under your mouth, hands sneaking under your dress once again to stroke your clit softly, all your wetness had made his thighs sticky, but it didn’t matter.

Everything was like in his bed again: gentle and slow as he felt you sink against his body. And in the stillness and the calmness, as one hand played with your clit and his hips resumed their patient and deep movements, you felt it all leave your body. The walls of your pussy stretched a couple of times, and before you realised, you were whining softly against his mouth as a peaceful orgasm took over your bodies.

It took him a bit by surprise when you hid your face on his neck, hands holding onto the collar of his shirt as you both tried to catch your breath while he was still inside you. When was the last time a hug had made you feel healed? The question terrified you, but you stayed still while his fingers drew lines along the length of your spine, as Steve’s lips brushed against your scalp, leaving soft kisses on your head.

‘I'm here.’ He whispered as you felt your eyes water under your closed eyelids, holding onto his shirt, feeling his warm breath brushing your crown as he cooed you. ‘Shhhh. I'm here.’

My heart is broken.

You elbows rested on top of the reception desk as you looked around the library. Teenagers walked around with cards and flowers, the air smelled like chocolate, and you were a hundred percent sure there were students making out between the shelves, but why would you interfere? It was Valentine’s Day.

Not like it mattered anyways. You had spent the whole morning putting stickers on books and scanning barcodes, checking the time every five minutes, because for once since you moved to Hawkins, you had plans in the afternoon.

So when Steve walked in, you barely noticed he was there until you felt his cinnamon scent, and his familiar frame appeared in the corner of your eye.

‘Can I help you?’ You said without lifting your eyes from the books, placing a new 7 DAY LOAN sticker on top of a psychology tome.

‘Happy Valentine’s.’ He simply said, stretching his hand over your desk. When you lifted your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile at the pack of cigarettes laying on top of the mahogany wood.

‘I’ve actually quitted.’ You said, biting your lip and purposely avoiding his eyes as you took another sheet of stickers from the desk’s drawer.

‘Well, if you change your mind this afternoon, just let me know.’ He said with a cheeky smile.

You finally looked back at him, a soft smile adorning your lips as you felt warmer out of sudden under his stare.

‘Thank you, but I’ve got an important call later.’

He lowered his eyes then, studying the desk’s wood as his fingers tapped the surface. ‘Are you doing anything tonight?’

You stayed silent for a second, staring at him wondering if he was being serious. His pretty brown eyes had turned softer when they lifted to look at you, waiting for you to answer his question. You opened your mouth to say something, but a voice behind him interrupted you.

‘Steve!’ It was Max, hugging him from his side before she realised she was screaming inside the library.

‘Oh, sorry.’ She whispered. You shrugged in response, not really caring about it before going back to what you were doing. Max lifted her eyes, looking back at Steve with a smile. ‘Can you drive me to Lucas’?’

He sighed, nodding softly before looking back at you. ‘See you later, doll.’

‘Bye.’ You said shyly, stretching your hand to grab your Valentine’s Day present.

‘So, tell me a little bit about yourself.’ Said Cassie. You were sitting in front of your laptop, placed on the edge of the mattress as you sat on the floor, trying to act as if you were in an office rather than in your parents’ guest room.

You spoke about the extra curriculars you did at high school and how that lead you to get into the renowned school you went to. Sororities, prizes, and the article you wrote for The Times. And of course, you talked about the internship.

‘So, you’re back at home now?’ She finally said.

‘Yeah.’ You said, nodding shyly. ‘Just temporarily, though. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.’

‘Sounds exactly right.’ She agreed with a smile. You nodded. This was good, it was going so well. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I mean what are you doing now, while you figure it out.’

You let out a soft nervous laugh, trying to come up with something smart and eloquent to say, but your mind was blank.

‘I take care of my nephews sometimes. And I’m working at the public library.’

She nodded quietly, writing something down as you waited for her next question.

‘Anything else? Any volunteering or charity work you’re currently doing?’

You cleaned your throat then. ‘Uhm. Well, I– Not exactly. I wasn’t planning to stay here this long.’

There was an uncomfortable silence in between you two. You knew what she was thinking, this is your hometown. Or maybe that was the voice inside your head judging you for not getting more involved. For not doing more.

‘Wonderful.’ Her sudden change of mood made you almost jump. ‘We’ll keep in contact, then. It was so nice to meet you.’

‘Thank you.’ You said softly. ‘It was nice to meet you too, Cassie.’

You had to swallow hard to keep the hot tears in when she hung up. Taking a deep breath, you stretched your hand from your place on the floor to grab the cigarette box on the bedside table. But once you put the thing between your lips, you realised your Valentine’s Day present didn’t include a lighter.

‘Fuck.’ You said before standing up and walking out of the room.

You had been in front of Steve’s door for about two minutes, wondering if you should drop him a text or just ring the doorbell. And you were about to do the latter when the door opened.

‘Oh, hi.’ He said. Your eyes dropped instantly to the bouquet of roses he was holding in his left hand.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, you’re on your way out.’ You said taking a step back.

‘No. I–’ He laughed softly. ‘I was about to go see you, actually.’

‘Oh.’

You looked down at your shoes, the nerves making you put a strand of hair beind your ear. Not realising he was avoiding your eyes too, like two nervous teenagers. The question you wanted to ask trapped in your throat: Are those for me?

‘Do you wanna come in?’ He asked after a few seconds.

You nodded, anxiously hiding your hands inside your back pockets, and walking inside the house.

You took your shoes off as he looked for his lighter and ashtray inside the desk. It had been a couple of weeks since the last time you’d been in his room, and to your surprise you felt cozy and secure in it, rubbing your arms as you looked at his old High School trophies sitting on the shelves, the bouquet of roses forgotten on top of his armchair and the question in your mind still unanswered.

‘Are you cold?’ He asked softly.

You looked behind your shoulder, finding him leaning against his desk, holding one of the cigarettes in his mouth. You stayed silent when you turned fully, observing the way he lit it. A little frown of concentration in his face, veiny hands holding the lighter, and your heart beating fast, fast, as he brought the flame close to it.

‘Nope.’ You said walking around the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress in front of him.

His eyes studied you for a few seconds before he exhaled the smoke.

Steve took a careful step forwards, brown pupils staring at you when his hands cupped your face softly once he stood in front of the bed. His thumb brushed your lower lip like he had done in the kitchen, parting your lips slightly before taking the cigarette out of his mouth with his other hand and confidently placing it on yours.

You could feel your pulse in your ears as his brown dreamy eyes stayed on yours and you inhaled slowly, feeling the hand that cupped your cheek fall and slowly wrap around the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your soft skin as your breathing pattern changed, your shoulders relaxed and your loud thoughts turned silent.

‘Better?’ He asked softly as he took it back into his mouth, a sided smile on his face behind the smoke you exhaled.

You nodded softly, leaning in to place your chin over his abdomen, needy eyes looking up at him as your hands found the belt hooks of his jeans. Steve looked down at you as he inhaled from the cigarette once again, and your daring eyes turned darker under his stare.

‘Doll.’ It was almost a longing sigh as you unbuttoned his jeans. You weren’t going to start rough and quick; you knew by now that was not how Steve fucked. You had gotten used to his patient, slow sex; and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about it often, much more often than you should have.

So instead, you just traced a line from his hips to his boxers with your fingers, rubbing the growing bulge and lifting his shirt to leave a soft kiss over the hem of his underwear. You weren’t sure where all this adoration was coming from, suddenly feeling that you wanted to return all the attention he had given you since the first time you had slept together, giving in to the overwhelming feeling inside your chest that didn’t let you breathe properly maybe since the first time you laid your shy eyes on the most popular boy in school.

When you lifted your eyes, he was smiling at you, soft eyes looking down as he exhaled the smoke before his hand lifted to put it back into your mouth. You inhaled it, of course, holding the last half of the burning thing as he kneeled in front of you, big hands rubbing your knees softly, unbuttoning your shirt with slow movements while you exhaled the smoke.

‘Lay back.’ He said as his hands got lost under your skirt.

You did as he said, letting him get rid of your clothes to leave you in the pink underwear you had chosen today. Steve kissed the skin of your stomach as you took the cigarette to your mouth once again, inhaling deeply, hands shaking by the excitement. You would never get used to this, to him.

‘Still haven’t tasted you.’ His mouth brushed against the hem of your underwear before he licked softly over the already damp fabric in between your legs, making you arch your back in response. ‘It’s makin’ me crazy. I’ve been thinkin’ about it too much.’

You smiled softly at his words as you looked down at him, holding the cigarette next to your mouth while getting lost in the brown soft eyes that looked back at you. He left more kisses on top of your covered pussy, enjoying the way your eyes went from cheeky to needy in an instant.

‘Yeah?’ You asked in a moany sigh.

‘Yeah, babe.’ He said as his hands started to pull down the soaked panties, throwing them on the floor before kneeling in front of you. ‘I think ‘bout you all the time.’

His words made the blood rush to your cheeks, before releasing a shy moan at the feeling of his lips leaving a soft, wet kiss on your pussy. Your eyebrows were already arched, pupils almost absent when he swiftly grabbed the cigarette from your hand, killing it on the ashtray on the bedside table before focusing on you once again. You were already a mess, and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

‘Fuck.’ You whispered as his tongue started to draw wet circles on your cunt, curling your toes at the way he ate you, so greedily and shamelessly. Steve couldn't resist to growl against your pussy in response.

‘Always so damn wet for me.’ He said in between licks, the noises of his mouth on your wetness making you hornier, needier for him. ‘And you taste s’good, too. Want to– Hmm.’

It took you by surprise, the way his tongue slid inside your cunt for his own pleasure, turning the walls of your pussy even wetter with his sloppy tongue before coming back to your clit. You rolled your hips slowly as you closed your eyes, his fingers pressed on your thighs as you nodded in encouragement, keeping the sensual rhythm, playing with your boobs as he ate you, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

‘Fuck. Look at me, doll.’ He said with his mouth full of you, making you give in to his sweet request, lips shiny and brown pupils overflowing with lust when you opened your eyes. ‘You turn me into a complete loser. It kills me.’

‘Maybe you deserve it.’ You sighed sensually, letting the nice feeling between your legs take over your body.

‘You’re right.’ He said taking one of the hands that played with your boobs and bringing it closer to the brown locks of his hair. ‘Maybe you should use me.’

You bit your lips in response to his willingness to give you whatever you wanted, arching your back as you moaned.

‘Oh, you like that?’ A devilish laugh left his mouth, warm breath against your oversensitive clit, the hand over yours in his hair pressing hard, an invitation to pull it if you were into it. ‘Go on, then.’

So you pulled his hair slightly, grip tightening when you heard him moan against your pussy, bewildered at the fact he enjoyed it too.

‘What else d’you like, baby?’ He said in between your legs. ‘Tell me and I’ll give it t’you.’

‘I—’ You moaned, overwhelmed by his devotion, getting closer with every wet lick he gave to your core. ‘I, uhm—’

He laughed at your loss of words, squeezing your thighs hard as he kissed you once again, before feeling two of his thick fingers inside you as he looked back at you and the mess you were. The way your hair fell on the mattress and your free hand gripped at the bedsheets in a fist. It made his dick twitch, the lust almost made him forget how easily you could break him if you wanted to.

‘Tell me, baby.’

‘Like it when you spit on me.’ You admitted in a shy moan. ‘S very nice.’

‘Very nice, huh?’ Steve repeated as he leaned back just a bit before hearing a wet noise coming from his mouth, something warm over your clit that made you roll your eyes in pleasure. ‘Why’s that?’

You were a mess of moans now, twisting on his bedsheets letting needy throaty sounds out before swallowing hard, trying to get the courage to look down at him. His pretty wet lips and nose, his messy hair.

‘t makes me feel yours.’ You admitted, feeling your cheeks turn hotter by how pathetic it sounded. By how desperate you seemed, but you were. You were.

‘Oh, honey.’ He sighed the pet name, leaning it before licking your overstimulated bud once again. ‘Should’ve told me before.’

You couldn’t just not look at him as he did it once again, this time keeping his adoring eyes on yours as a thin thread of saliva fell in between your legs, slow and sloppy and sweet.

‘Steve.’ You moaned his name in that needy way of yours, arching your back as his tongue stroked your overly wet clit and his fingers fucked you, falling into the tender ecstasy of your orgasm.

His mouth climbed up as you still breathed heavily, feeling his fingers unclasping your bra as your legs kept shaking under his body. Your hands held his head as he caressed your nipples with his wet tongue, never tired of giving every inch of your skin the attention it deserved.

‘You’re such a pretty girl.’ He said then. Your eyes opened to look down into his, and it was as if you were a teenager again, heart beating hard against your chest and cheeks getting hot by the compliment. He shook his head softly, studying your angelic face as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

‘Such a pretty girl.’ He repeated in a whisper.

His lips climbed to yours, and this time his tongue ventured inside your mouth, softly kissing you as if he had all the time in the world for it, because that’s exactly how it felt. He leaned back just a little bit, stroking your face with the back of his knuckles, and you got lost in him. Pretty brown eyes, a few freckles over his nose and cheek, two visible white thin scars on his lips, one on the top, one on the bottom.

Steve kissed along the skin of your neck, the delicious tickling feeling making you shrink a little bit as whispery giggles left your mouth. You heard him laugh in response, enjoying the closeness, the tender intimacy you both shared in this little break from the lust.

Then his hands crawled on the bed to find yours, entwining them as you felt him sigh deeply at the feeling of the tip of his dick on your entrance. Steve leaned back a little, looking from your eyes to your lips, leaving a soft peck on your mouth before pushing himself inside you.

His thrusts were tentative at first, until he heard you sigh deeply, giving in to the pleasure of his soft kisses on your cheek, the subtle growls, the way he squeezed your hand as his other one grabbed your hip firmly, his nose pressed against the crook of your neck.

‘Say you’ll come back t’me, baby.’ He whispered as he kissed your temple. ‘Need you to come back to me.’

You let out a soft laugh with your eyes closed, feeling every hair of your body turn into a goosebump by the way he was kissing your earlobe.

‘I’ll come back.’ You whispered. Because right there, under the safety of his warm body, being fucked in the tenderest of ways, you felt happy.

‘Doll.’

‘Hmm?’

His hand found your chin, making you look back at him as your cheek laid on his shoulder, both of your naked bodies covered by the sheets, the smell of sex and tobacco flowing in the air.

‘You need to move out, babe.’ He said as his hand cupped your cheek. You rolled your eyes in exhaustion, taking another deep breath before instinctively leaning against his hand. ‘Come on, doll. You need your own space where you can relax and be alone, and you need to write.’

You let him stroke your cheek as your sad eyes got lost in the way you played with the hairs of his chest. You took another deep breath, looking back at him with teary eyes.

‘Hey.’ He said softly, leaning in subtly to have a better look at you. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, okay?’

His lips brushed against the skin of your forehead then, leaving a soft kiss there, and you couldn’t help but melt into his touch, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his sweet cinnamon scent that you adored so much.

‘Why don’t you stay here this afternoon, huh?’ He said stroking your back in the same soothing way he had done back in the car. ‘Take a nap, the guys are coming later to have pizza.’

‘Okay.’ You said against the skin of his neck, knowing that you shouldn’t have stayed. Knowing that today’s sex had meant something else, but still dozing off as his fingers brushed against your skin.

About an hour later you woke up in a dark, empty room. The mattress next to you was cold, so you assumed Steve had left the room after you fell asleep. You could hear voices downstairs, staying quiet for a second to recognise each one. Nancy, Eddie, Barb. After taking a deep breath and stretching in the bed, you got dressed and walked out of the room.

‘Hey!’ Said Robin from the couch as you walked down the stairs.

‘There she is!’ Echoed Nancy.

‘Hi, guys.’ You smiled at them shyly. Jonathan and Eddie were sitting down next to them, talking to Barb while you tried to avoid the funny looks they were all giving you.

You sat down on one of the empty armchairs, about to ask if they had ordered the pizzas, when you felt a hand on your neck.

‘Hey.’ Steve placed a glass of water in front of you before his hand moved from your neck to your shoulder. ‘Did you sleep well?’

You nodded softly, raising the glass of water and taking it to your mouth, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks and the awkwardness taking over your body at how things looked, at how public it all felt.

His hand felt heavier every second that it stayed on your shoulder, and when you couldn’t take it anymore, you excused yourself to go to the toilet.

Steve’s hand lingered in the air after you stood up, frowning a little bit at your sudden change of mood before sitting down on the armchair. When he looked back at everyone, no one seemed to have noticed what happened, except Nancy’s narrowed eyes that stayed on your silhouette as you closed the door behind you.

When you came back, having checked you phone to confirm there were no emails from Cassie, the pizzas were on the table. You lowered your eyes shyly as you took the empty seat next to Barb. Steve stole glances at you throughout the movie, not being able to concentrate and trying to ignore that maybe things had turned too personal earlier between you two. You smiled softly at the movie’s jokes, but your eyes seemed to get lost every now and then, focused on your thoughts, maybe worrying about something else.

‘Hey.’ Barb’s voice made you snap, looking back at her as you blinked repeatedly. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I think I might just go home.’ You said. ‘M pretty tired. I had an interview today.’

You felt everyone’s eyes on your out of sudden, and all you could do was look down to your hands, feeling the heavy stare of a pair of brown eyes on you.

‘How did it go?’ Asked Robin excitedly.

You shook your head, a smile of pity on your lips as you looked around.

‘I thought you liked working at the library.’ Said Nancy then. There was an awkward silence as you looked back at her, the way her eyes were trying to read yours, but all you could do was shrug in response.

‘I don’t dislike it. It’s just– It’s not what I wanna do.’ You explained before taking a deep breath. ‘Anyways, it doesn’t matter because I’m sure I didn’t get it.’

You stood up then, starting to take the empty boxes of the pizzas so you could feel like you helped cleaning a little bit before leaving. The whole time you could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but you didn’t want to deal with him, you just wanted to go home to sit down with your feelings, and your thoughts, and your loneliness.

‘Hey.’ Said Nancy as soon as you were both alone in the kitchen. She had taken the empty bottles of beer that Eddie and Jonathan had accumulated in the living room. ‘I’m sure you’ll get the job. Just give it a few days.’

You smiled softly, really wishing to believe her but feeling completely unable to. ‘Maybe.’

A few seconds of silence passed between you two as you put everything in the trash. It wasn’t until it became unbearably quiet that you realised she wanted to say something else.

‘What’s wrong?’ You asked then, looking back at her.

‘I’m sorry, I– I don’t know how to address this,’ Nancy said putting her hands inside the back pockets of her jeans. ‘But I’m like– I’m happy for you and Steve.’

‘Wha– Why?’ You suddenly turned nervous, feeling the back of your neck sweaty. ‘What did he tell you?’

Nancy blinked a couple of times, eyebrows frowning as she looked back at you with confusion.

‘I mean it’s obvious–’

‘Steve and I are not together.’ Your tone was serious as you said it, heart beating hard against your chest, feeling your flight or fight response taking over you. ‘Please, just– pretend whatever is going on it’s not going on.’

Nancy took a step behind, taking a better look at you as her face was overtaken by something hostile, something you didn’t know if you had the patience to deal with.

It broke your heart, seeing how realisation fell on her face before a scoff left her mouth. ‘Jesus, you’re not staying in Hawkins, are you?’

‘I don’t know–’

‘Oh my god.’

‘I don’t know!’ You said, as your heart beat hard against your chest and your hands turned shaky. When you spoke again, what left your mouth was just a desperate whisper. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do.’

She scoffed in disbelief once again, ‘You’re being a total asshole right now, you know that?’

‘Nancy.’

‘You know I–’ Her face was turning red by the anger, trying to control her voice so no one in the living room would find out what was going on. ‘I love you, but you’re like– insanely unaware of how things are here.’

‘Nancy what do you mea—’

‘Let me enlighten you. I lost my virginity to a guy who was in love with my best friend.’ She said then, blue eyes looking at you with resentment and relief. ‘And yes, I guess I cheated on him because I hated him for it, and yes, I suppose I became friends with him years after that but then you come here– you come back. And it’s like things start feeling like– like they make sense again. And all this time you’ve been thinking about leaving?’

‘Nance–’

‘I can’t even look at you right now.’

You took a deep breath then, trying to take in everything she said, all the stuff she had suddenly thrown at you and blamed you for. It felt unfair that everyone expected something from you, and you were tired, exhausted. You couldn’t keep up with it.

‘Okay.’ You said walking out of the kitchen, feeling your eyes water as you realised what had happened. You were done, finally done with all of this.

You ignored the looks of your friends as you walked towards the door. Steve stood up immediately, calling your name and following you outside, but after everything Nancy had said, you didn’t know if you could face him. This has changed everything. Everything you thought of him, everything you thought you knew.

‘Heyheyheyhey.’ He managed to grab your hand outside the house, making you turn back to face him. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘When you–’ You couldn’t even catch your breath, the anxiety taking over your body, making you feel disgusting. ‘When you gave me that Valentine’s card, that was– that was a joke, right?’ His eyes turned soft at your question, realising what this was all about. ‘Right?’

But he couldn’t answer.

‘You were with Nancy.’

‘Doll–’

‘Don’t fucking call me that.’ You said, feeling the tears in the back of your throat. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have done this. Any of this.’

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart breaking at the anger in your words, at the hurt in your eyes. Feeling the familiar emotion of finding himself fucking up yet another thing he loved.

‘I’m not proud of it.’ He said. ‘And I’ve had this conversation with Nancy a million of times, believe me I– I know that I was an asshole.’ He took a deep breath, brushing his hair with his fingers in nervousness. ‘But you were you. You were going to an amazing college, doll. You were the smartest girl at school, the smartest girl in Hawkins. There was no fucking way you were going to date me, and if you did, I was just going to keep you from actually doing the things you wanted to do.’

You crossed your arms over your chest, kicking the pavement with your shoe as you did that first night in front of Eddie. The anger was too much to deal, the feeling that things could’ve been different, and this, whatever this was, could’ve been prevented.

‘You should’ve told me.’ You heard yourself say, voice creaking with every word, feeling the tears pooling in your eyes. ‘Because now I–’

‘Things are not different.’ He said, making you lift your eyes. He looked so sad with his hands inside his pockets, his messy hair, his avoidant eyes looking at the ground. ‘D’you think I don’t know you’ve been dying to leave this place since you came back?’

You looked down to the ground, feeling the first tear fall down your cheek as you bit your trembling lip.

‘I don’t think you should come back.’ He confessed, and the truth hurt, making you frown your eyebrows in pain. His voice was shaky as he spoke again, but you couldn’t look back at him anymore. ‘I want you to. God, I wish you would. But I don’t think you should. And I’m willing to step aside and let you go again. You’re too good for this place.’

You took a deep breath, shaking your head as you kicked the ground again, wondering when you had turned into this monster that no one wished to have around. Now, more than ever, you had no idea of what you were doing.

‘I’m sorry.’

You nodded softly before taking a deep breath, cleaning your face as you hesitated.

‘Good night, Steve.’ You said before walking back to your parents’ house.

The lights were off when you walked inside, you parents were still not home. You felt the wound inside your chest reopen, your cheeks were hot. Maybe out of anger or embarrassment, you didn’t know what to think or what to do.

My heart is broken. My heart is broken. My heart is broken.

You took a deep breath when you made it to the guest room, your back against the door as you looked at a few of your boxes you kept next to one of your open suitcases on the other side of the room. You bit your lip, thinking of Steve. Not the Steve that had asked you to come back to him, noT the one that had asked you to leave. But another version of him, one you refused to think of.

A deep sigh left your mouth as you teared the tape off one of the boxes, finding exactly what you were looking for. Your phone buzzed next to you on the floor when you took out the heart-shaped tin box. The metal was cold in your hand as you tapped your screen once to find a text from Nancy.

Can we meet tomorrow to talk about this?

You locked the screen before sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, deciding to wait until making a decision. You needed to fix that too, but now there was something else inside your mind. Something that made your guts twist, your breath stop, your heart beat fast.

The box made a metallic noise when you opened it, finding random crap you kept throughout the years. Notes you and Barb passed each other in class. A drawing made by Jonathan. A couple of Eddie’s guitar picks. The friendship bracelet Robin gave you in seventh grade. And a Valentine’s Day card signed by Steve Harrington.

You remembered how distracted you were when you made it to your locker, thinking about all the things you had to do that day. What was it again? Debate group, swimming team, some tutoring for new students your math’s teacher needed your help with.

‘Hey.’

Your heart stopped as soon as you saw a tall frame next to you. But you would’ve recognised that voice anywhere. It was repulsive, irritating. Then it was also irresistible, soft.

Steve Harrington was looking down at you, brown eyes focused on your face as you tried to hide your nervousness by looking down at your shoes or at anyone in the hallway, fixing the strip of your bag over your shoulder.

‘Hi.’ You said reluctantly, closing the door of your locker and hugging your books to your chest.

There were a few seconds of silence between the two of you, and that somehow made you laugh. Steve couldn’t help but laugh too, it was contagious, that smile of yours. Strangely, the shared awkwardness gave you the courage to look back at him. He was Nancy’s boyfriend; you would have to get along with him eventually. The thought made your eyes drop as you patiently waited for him to speak. But he didn’t, instead he took a step towards you, engulfing you in a sweet cinnamon smell that made you dizzy in the most pathetic of ways.

‘What’s up?’ You finally said.

‘I, uh—’ He still didn’t dare to look at you, and it was then, when you looked down to his hands, that you realised he was playing with a pink envelope. He offered it to you without saying any words. A half smile of embarrassment – or maybe pity, on his face.

‘What’s that?’ You said holding your books even tighter against you.

Steve’s eyebrows lifted slightly at your careful reaction. He licked his lips as he realised what a fool he was making of himself. You didn’t even trust him, how could he even think you liked him?

‘It’s for you.’ He simply said, holding it in the air once again.

He felt a sort of relief when you took the envelope, though the shame was still there, sitting inside his chest. Making it hard for him to breathe, as you narrowed your eyes subtly. You didn’t open it right then, and he was secretly grateful you didn’t, putting his hands inside his pockets as he gave you another one of his uncomfortable smiles.

‘Just, uh—’ he said scratching the back of his neck as he walked backwards. ‘Don’t tell Nancy.’

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at the seriousness of his confession. His pretty eyebrows frowned, semblance tense as he said the one sentence that could make your heart burst and turn into dust right there in the school’s hallway. The one sentence that could give you hope.

‘I’ll call you tonight, doll.’

Doll? The bell rang then, and you didn’t have time to ask him what any of that meant as everyone walked to class. Curiosity got the best of you, so you opened the envelop to finding a simple pink card with a red heart in the middle, and once you opened it, there it was.

Happy Valentine’s Day, doll eyes.

yours,

Steve.

But he didn’t call, you remembered biting your lip, resting your head against the wall as you observed the card. It was no longer pink, the colour had faded to a kind of yellowish white, the red heart was a few shades lighter too. It felt lighter on your hand as if the paper was thinner, its edges a little bent. A bit rough, a bit forgotten, a bit broken by time.

You remembered Nancy’s call though, the excitement on her voice as she told you everything that had happened in her romantic Valentine’s date with her boyfriend, your Steve. The realisation, the tears, the pain, none of that mattered anymore. He was yours. He had always been yours.

A lot can change in a week. Steve had heard from Barbara that you had gotten the job, and now he could see a van parked outside your house from his window, assuming that your things were inside, ready to drive you to California or any other place where you could chase your dreams. Where you could be happy.

He knew that he was being a complete idiot, crossing the street with another bouquet of roses, hoping this time he could have the courage to give it to you, tired of seeing all those flowers wilting in the trash basket of his room. You probably hated him; he was sure of it. But if you were leaving, he was hoping it didn’t matter. Once upon a time, you had been the shy, smart girl, and he had been King Steve. Well, maybe tonight it could be like that again. Except this time, he’d do things right.

You were reading in bed when you heard a soft noise on your window. At first you didn’t pay attention to it, until you heard the scratchy noise again, and again. And you just couldn’t ignore it anymore.

You took a deep breath as you opened it, finding no other than Steve Harrington with a bouquet of roses on the other side, knuckles white by the way he was holding onto the window’s frame.

‘You could’ve texted.’ You said stepping aside to lean against the bedside table, so he could push himself up, climbing inside the room through the window.

It was so clumsy you had to bite your lip, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing he made you laugh as he staggered inside, a few petals falling on the floor by the violent movement.

‘This is uh– more fun.’ he said standing up in front of you, feeling the heat suddenly rush to his cheeks.

Maybe he should’ve done this in the mature way, but it was too late for that now. He offered you the flowers then, red roses, fifteen of them. He had counted them a thousand times before coming, hoping you liked them. Telling himself that every girl liked to get flowers, even the ones that didn’t like them, but you had rejected his bouquets so many times that he wasn’t sure anymore.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said as you took them slowly, eyes lingering on the bright petals with a smile that could’ve been of pity or shyness. They were the expensive kind; deep red petals with a lovely fresh scent. ‘About everything. This was… it was messy. But I’m– I’m so glad it happened, doll.’

You didn’t lift your eyes as you blinked the tears away, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks, your heart beating so hard you could’ve puked right there.

‘Nancy told me you made up.’ He proceeded. ‘And that you got the job, and I’m–’

His pause made you lift your eyes at him, he swallowed hard then, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat as he looked back at you. At your gorgeous doll eyes and your cheekbones, at the way the harshness of your twenties and the remains of your teenage innocence beautifully coexisted in your pretty face.

‘I’m so proud of you.’ He finally said, heart beating hard as your eyebrows lifted at his words. ‘I know you’ll do great in California.’

‘I’m–’ You whispered, looking back at him as you stood straight, placing the roses on the bedside table. You let out a soft, nervous laugh as you looked back at him. ‘I’m not going to California, Steve.’

‘What?’ His tone took you by surprise, something between anger and hurt. ‘Barb said–’

‘I’ve got an offer to work from home. From here.’ You explained, laughing softly as you looked back at him.

‘You’re–’ He had to take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as he saw the amusing cheekiness take over your face. ‘You’re staying?’

You nodded softly, walking towards him with your hands inside your back pockets, trying to bite the shy smile that was forming on your lips as his eyes had turned softer by the news.

‘I am. I found an apartment not so far from here.’ You said as you stood up in front of him. ‘You were right. I need my own place. And I need to write.’

He couldn’t speak as you lifted your hands to confidently place them on his chest as he looked back at you, cheeks rosy by the nerves, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth. You were looking at him as if you were the most popular girl at school, and he was the idiot loser who’d never have a chance with you.

‘M very sorry too.’ You whispered sincerely. His hands cupped your face then, soft brown eyes looking back at you with adoration as you held his left hand with yours before leaving a soft kiss on it. ‘But I was hoping you’d forgive me if I asked you out on a date.’

He rolled his eyes, leaning back just slightly, licking his lips while trying to hide his smile.

‘I can’t believe you.’ He said looking down, cheeks getting redder under your cheeky stare before he got the courage to look back at you again. ‘I was supposed to ask you.’

You bit your lip in that irrisistable way of yours, arching your eyebrows as you looked back at him with hopeful eyes.

‘Is that a yes?’

He licked his lips once again, shaking his head in disbelief as he leaned in.

‘Fuck. It is.’ He whispered against your lips before kissing your smile. ‘It is a yes, babe.’

And as his lips stroked yours softly again, and his hand squeezed the skin under your ribs with affection, you realised: your heart had healed. It shouldn’t have caught you by surprise though, after all, wasn’t Steve Harrington skilled with wounds anyways?

🏷️: @thytorturedpoet

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington

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harringtonslvr · 3 months ago

Text

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

#steve harrington x reader

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harringtonslvr · 7 months ago

Text

what's the name of the game? | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade.

enemies-ish to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 25.6k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. inexperienced!reader, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving). reader is a bit rough with poor steve lol but there’s a good reason for it. eating disorders are mentioned discreetly but reader does NOT have one.

author’s note: omg hi angels !!! i was sooo impressed at how popular christmas affairs ended up being like !?!?! thank you so much for your comments, reblogs & asks, i’ve been working a LOT this christmas and you have literally made my whole month with your comments !!! thank you for reading and enjoy this one 🤍

[banners: @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune ]

It all had started when the new family moved into the big house next door. Before that, every winter, the pond was yours.

It had been probably on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, a couple of hours after lunch. You had quickly taken the ice skates and ran to the frozen pond next to your house to start skating. Your parents were never too happy about this being your other hobby besides dancing, always complaining about how you could never stay still and why can’t she like something simple like building puzzles or painting with watercolours?

But at eight years of age, all you needed was a scarf, your mother’s leg warmers and the skates and you could stay there until the sun set.

Your dad was looking at you from the kitchen’s window, a humming cup of coffee in his hand while your mother was doing her weekly crossword and watched the news in the living room. He didn’t think that the distant image of a father and his son playing hockey would be a problem for you, and he would’ve never imagined that you would be a problem for them.

That’s why he didn’t put the cup down when he saw the little boy skating towards you. He was a bit taller than you, but he must’ve been around your age. Your father thought he was just going to say hi, the boy’s dad was watching from the other side of the pond too. Everything was okay. You were a spoiled only child, overprotected by everyone in your family after being the first granddaughter and niece. He needed to let you be independent sometimes, he told himself, to socialise without needing your parents there, and more than anything you needed to learn to stand up for yourself.

Those were all very logical and healthy ways of thinking about parenthood, he thought satisfied, as he kept observing the interaction between you and the boy. He felt relaxed and confident, even proud of himself. Until he saw the way you pushed the little boy to the ground.

‘Oh, shit.’ He put the cup aside before running to the door, the distant sound of your mother’s voice behind him as he took his scarf and coat to walk outside.

When he got there, you were standing in front of the boy and his father with a frown on your face, and your arms crossed under your big scarf. The dad was helping the boy stand up while you stood silently angry, the embarrassment taking over your father as he lifted a friendly hand in the air.

‘Hello.’ He said. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘She pushed me!’ The little boy screamed at you with an accusing finger once his dad managed to help him stand up. ‘You saw it, daddy! You saw it! She pushed me!’

Your dad looked down at you as you rolled your eyes and looked to your side.

‘She did push him.’ Said the boy’s dad gravely. The tension between the two parents started to arise the more you refused to acknowledge what you had done or apologise quickly.

‘I saw.’ You dad finally said, kneeling down next to you and cursing the day he told your mother he wished you were like him. You were just as proud. ‘Snowflake, would you please explain to me why did you push…?’

‘Steve.’ The other man said, wrapping his arm around his boy before he started brushing the snow off him. Steve’s bravado had disappeared, and he couldn’t help but lean into his father’s touch, processing what had just happened.

‘Why did you push Steve, snowflake?’ Your dad said as he looked for your eyes.

You looked back at your father, very careful not to look back at Steve’s dad to avoid feeling intimidated. He wasn’t happy, and though most times he was patient and indulging with you, you had a feeling this time none of those things would help you.

‘He called me the B word.’

Both men frowned at your accusation, the atmosphere suddenly changing before they looked back at Steve, whose cheeks had recovered colour and were turning even redder now.

‘I called her a brat.’ He simply said.

‘That’s a bad word!’ You pointed at him.

‘It’s not as bad as bitch!’ He argued.

‘Hey!’ Steve’s dad took him by the shoulders. ‘Don’t say that word.’

‘I am not a brat.’ You said between your teeth to Steve as you stood there, ready to push him again if it was necessary. ‘And this is my pond.’

‘Okay, Snowflake, why don’t we—’

‘What happened?’ Your mother’s voice suddenly made them all look up. She had wrapped herself in one of those beautiful cosy shawls you loved to fall asleep on sometimes. ‘Oh, you must be the Harrington’s. I’m so glad to finally meet you.’

Mr Harrington didn’t refuse your mother’s hand as he stood up and gave her an awkward smile before looking at Steve.

‘This is Steve.’ He said putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We just had a bit of a misunderstanding.’

‘Oh, no.’ You mother said gravely, looking at you before she bent a little in front of the boy. ‘W-What happened?’

‘Your daughter’s a brat.’ Steve said.

And that was it, you were on him again. You heard your mother let out an Oh my god as you both fell on the floor, and you started to scream at him.

‘I told you I’m not a brat!’ Your hands gripped at his hockey shirt.

‘You are a brat!’ He screamed. ‘Get off me!’

You were taken away by a pair of arms that you’d recognise as your dad’s while he swore under his breath, and Mr Harrington had to help little Steve stand up once again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You mother said mortified as she helped Mr Harrington with Steve. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie. We’ve tried— She’s just not really good at sharing yet.’

‘This is my—’ Your started saying.

‘Hush!’ Your mother employed a severe tone you had rarely heard her use with you. Her eyes shut blades at you when she looked behind, and that was the day you learned that if there was something your parents couldn’t handle, was public humiliation. ‘Come here and tell Steve you are sorry.’

You crossed your arms, getting rid of you dad’s embrace as you looked from him to the scene in front of you. Steve swallowed hard when your eyes fell on him, and it should’ve given you some sense of satisfaction to know he was now scared of you, but it didn’t. You were too embarrassed by the warmth that ran to your cheeks at the sight of his pretty pink cheeks and his messy brown hair.

‘No.’ You finally said.

Your mom took a deep breath, looking from Steve to Mr Harrington as she offered them an apologetic smile.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said defeated. ‘Give us a few minutes with her. I am so embarrassed about her behaviour.’ She laughed nervously as she stood up, looking from father to son and cursing the day she said she wished to have an opinionated daughter.

‘She’s not usually like this, Steve.’ She proceeded as she smiled to the little boy. ‘I promise.’

‘Please come for dinner this evening.’ Said your dad then. You looked up at him with a frown on your face. Today was supposed to be pizza night. Another thing that this stupid Steve had taken from you. ‘We’ve been living in this neighbourhood since we got married, I wouldn’t like you to feel unwelcomed just because… Well…’

Your dad looked down at you, still with your arms crossed and determined not to apologise for what you had done.

Mr Harrington’s laugh made you all look back at him. Steve looked at his father too, shaking his head with a smile of the defeat before giving your parents an understanding look.

‘She’s got character, your little one.’ He said looking at you for the first time. You finally grew shy then, moving to hide behind your dad’s legs as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘She’s gonna make it far.’

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Not between you and Steve, no. No matter how many playdates your parents arranged, or how many times you were invited to the Harrington’s and Steve to yours, you never seemed to get along and you’d probably never will. But the more your despise for each other grew, the closer your families became.

Every winter there were fights about the pond. At first, they were appeased by your dad, who offered to play hockey with Steve while you skated when his parents couldn’t. On other occasions, it was Mr Harrington who agreed to arrange a new routine for you as long as you remained polite and respectful of Steve’s time on the pond.

Through the years you heard him tell your father many times during dinner, that you should go professional, that you had potential. But you never failed to interject in the conversation and remind Mr Harrington that your mind was set on dancing, and though skating was a beautiful discipline, you weren’t interested in the elitism of sports. Steve’s dad would take a deep breath and give you a smile of defeat, as he had always done, before asking his son to pass him the salad.

It worked like that all through primary and middle school. Until you and Steve became too old to push each other every time there were disputes about the coveted body of water. But then ambition brought subtle changes: Steve started waking up extra early to practice before school, then you’d come back from rehearsals in the evening and changed your ballet shoes for the skates. Peace had been restored, and despite the occasional quarrel, it worked. Until Steve got injured.

It didn’t happen in the pond, but one Friday evening in Hawkin’s ice rink while he was at hockey practice. A bad fall, a crack and suddenly there was a femur fracture, a knee dislocation and three months in bed that cost him his place at college. He couldn’t play anymore.

So, the pond ended up being all yours that winter, just like you predicted years ago, and the tension faded away, almost forgotten. The forced interactions decreased as Steve started working in Starcourt on the weekends and you had to train harder in the dance studio. Then he moved to Family Video and you saw him even less, only when you’d walk into the Harrington’s house when his parents had invited yours for dinner, and he’d be kissing his mom goodbye.

Other times you simply didn’t have the energy to join anyone downstairs, or you stayed at the studio until late. Life got in the way sometimes, but you always, without exception, found some time to put your skates on and go on the ice for a while.

And despite his injury, so did Steve.

‘Look who’s here.’ He said that evening when you appeared still wearing your baby blue leotard and your translucent skirt, only a scarf and legwarmers to protect you from the early December cold.

He wasn’t on his own, and you hated that even more, giving him an unwelcoming smile as you started sliding casually around the ice. While you had always been consistent with your friendships, Steve seemed to change friends every damn season.

First it was Carol and Tommy, sometime around that he started dating Nancy Wheeler. After the incident, he started hanging around with this Robin that somehow needed to be invited to every single family dinner, and along with her there was a group of pre-teens that idolized him. Then it was Eddie Munson, and somewhere along the way there was Nancy again with Jonathan Byers. And today they all seemed happy to come to your pound to smoke weed or skate mediocrely or whatever thing they had planned. And all you needed was some time alone to think.

‘Hey Ice Princess!’ Nancy greeted you from her place next to Jonathan’s car. She was more enthusiastic than usual, and you assumed by her heavy eyelids that she was either drunk or high.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly as you slowed your pace.

‘Hey, do you want a beer?’ Eddie Munson’s voice made you stop in your tracks. You looked from him to Steve before giving him a polite smile and shaking your head.

‘No, thanks.’ You said. ‘I just had rehearsals and I’m tired.’

‘How’s the dancing going?’ Nancy asked, taking a sip of the glass bottle before cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘It’s going okay.’ You shrugged before smiling and resuming your workout, thinking that maybe now they’d leave you in peace.

It didn’t last long until you heard a very distinctive noise behind you, the familiar scratch of a pair of skates that you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Hey, bratty.’ Steve said as you both kept skating at comfortable distance. ‘What are you doin’ tonight?’

‘This.’ You simply said as you kept skating without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the nickname or even look at him.

‘I’m having a party at mine.’ He said catching up with you and skating besides you. ‘Do you wanna come?’

‘Not really.’ You said still looking at the ice in front of you before you looked over your shoulder. ‘Slow down.’

‘I’m fine.’ He brushed it off, but he still had to put one of his hands on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got training to do tomorrow, and I don’t like dancing hungover.’ You finally stopped when you started hearing his agitated breathing, rolling onto your skates to finally face him. ‘Steve, you could hurt yourself like this.’

A smile slowly formed on his face as he looked back at you.

‘What’s up with you tonight?’ He said amused.

‘Nothing’s up with me.’ You crossed your arms, studying his face. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Are you drunk?’ He mocked you. ‘D’you ever hear yourself?’

‘Right.’ You started skating away, but though Steve wasn’t as agile as before, you remembered how strong he still was when he caught your forearm.

‘Wait.’ He said, laughing as he softly pulled you backwards. ‘Okay,okay,okay. I wanna know how your audition was.’

You stood still as you looked back at him, curious brown eyes searching for an answer in yours, the heat rushing to your cheeks in a matter of seconds as you fixed your skirt.

‘How do you know about that?’ You said more shyly than you intended.

‘Your mom doesn’t stop talking about it.’ He rolled his eyes with a silly smile that fell from his face the more his eyes studied you. He swallowed hard for a second, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath then, his semblance turning serious out of sudden. ‘Nobody fucking stops talking about you.’

You nodded once, looking away from him as he let go of your arm, or you slowly pull it away, you weren’t sure.

‘Have fun, Steve.’ You said softly before skating away.

‘Jesus, mom!’ You screamed as soon as you walked through the threshold of your home. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?’

Your mother stood on the entrance, wearing her pyjamas and holding a pair of jeans and one of your favourite tops while she looked apologetically at you.

‘I’m holding the clothes I need you to change to so you can go and stay at the Harrington’s tonight.’

It took you a second to process her words before you could speak again.

‘What?’

‘Well, Steve came here earlier…’

‘Of course he did.’ You rolled your eyes as you walked past her.

‘He said his parents are away tonight and he’s having a little party! And he was so sweet and polite about it as usual. He asked if I could keep an eye on them and told me he wanted to invite you too.’

You let out a scoff-like laugh as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of juice.

‘Wow. He’s good.’ You said bitterly to yourself. ‘He’s really good.’

‘Honey,’ Your mother said with an accusing tone as she rested against the kitchen’s door. ‘You’ve been training a lot lately, and I think it’d do you some good to hang out with friends—People your age.’ She corrected herself as soon as you gave her an annoyed look.

‘Listen, mom.’ You said pouring some juice on a glass. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, but Steve didn’t invite me because he’s sweet and polite. He invited me so you wouldn’t tell his parents. They’re getting high, and drunk and—’

‘And you’re here talking to your mother.’

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before drinking the juice.

‘I’m not going.’ You said before leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs. ‘Oh, and by the way, auditions were good. Thanks for asking.’

You heard your mom sigh behind you as you made you way to your room.

‘I told Linda.’

‘What?’ Your peeked over the banister to look back at her. ‘You called his mom?’

‘Of course I did.’ She said. ‘What kind of mother do you think I am? I’d like her to call me if you were having a party while I’m away.’

‘That’s dirty, mom.’ You accused her as you walked down the few steps you climbed, standing in front of her with a face of disbelief. ‘That’s mean as fuck even if it’s Steve we’re talking about.’

‘Which is why I promised her you would stay with them tonight.’ She said stroking your arms.

‘Cause I’m so responsible.’ You mocked her with disbelief all over your face.

‘Well…’

You couldn’t say anything, your jaw open and a hysterical frown taking over your face as you looked back at her.

‘You’re a psycho.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘You are. A psycho.’ You took a step back as you moved your hands in the air. ‘Why do you need this woman’s approval so badly?’

‘Now don’t be mean, honey.’ She said putting a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Linda and I are just really good friends. Like you and Barb before she moved away. We want the same for you and Steve.’

‘Well, that’s not really easy, is it!’ You said lifting your hands in the air, feeling suddenly hurt at the name of your best friend. ‘Not with all the ass kissing that goes on in this house!’

‘Honey!’

‘Oh. My god.’ You said taking another step back. ‘Like, really. Joint dinners every week, Mr Harrington practically living on our couch to watch the baseball, and then it’s football at theirs every Sunday. Labor’s Day, 4th of July, Thanksgiving. Like every fucking thing is with the Harrington’s involved! Are you guys like swingers or something? Can’t you do something normal like having a book club where nobody reads and get drunk every now and then at the diner?’

Your mom stood quietly in front of you, shocked and processing your words before the sound of the bell dissipated the tension. You stood on the bottom of the stairs, clenching your jaw as she walked to open the door.

He had changed, and probably sprayed something to cover the scent of weed and beer, because you could smell bergamot from where you were.

‘Just came to pick up the Ice Princess.’ Steve said.

‘Ew, don’t call me that.’ You said stepping down. You gave your mom a severe stare as she got lost on the living room with a smile painted all over her face.

‘I like it, ‘s got a ring to it, you know? Nancy’s really good with nicknames.’

‘Do you need a toothbrush, honey?’ She asked offering your dance bag. ‘I put the change of clothes inside for you.’

‘No, I’ve got one, thanks.’ You said with a straight face before looking at Steve. ‘Come on. I need to get out of here.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so mean to your mom.’ He said as you walked past the pond together. He had sobered up somehow, the weird mood he had shown earlier completely gone, leaving the indifferent Steve you knew so well behind.

‘It’s a mother-daughter thing.’ You shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘C’mon.’ He pushed your arm with his, and you frowned just a little at his sudden friendliness, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘She adores you. Everyone in this town does.’

You looked down to the snowy ground, not particularly flattered by his comment, but thoughtful about what he had said before. Apparently, people in Hawkins talked about you, saw you. This wasn’t a big town, but with the results of the auditions coming out tomorrow, you wished for once to be tiny and invisible.

‘I just can’t stand her sometimes.’ You admitted out loud. ‘She’s too friendly.’

He let out a snorty laugh. Dry, and so very spiteful that you couldn’t help but look back at him with a frown.

‘Or you’re too cold.’ He concluded as you made it to his front porch.

You didn’t say anything else while he opened the door, following behind. Without Steve’s parents around, the house acquired a desolated, almost ghostly atmosphere. Linda Harrington always made sure that there were flowers in the vases, that there was lightning everywhere, that the kitchen always smelled like raisin bread and coffee.

You peeped through the living room’s entrance to find Steve’s friends all curled up on the couch, hypnotised by the TV while cans of beer and boxes of pizza were scattered on the floor. Nancy’s blue eyes found yours and her lips lifted softly in a drunken smile.

‘You came!’ She said softly.

‘Hi, guys.’ You said shyly as you took a step inside. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Uhm,’ Nancy stretched on the couch before she realised Robin was fully asleep on her shoulder. ‘The Exorcist?’

‘That’s over now.’ Said Eddie amused at Nancy’s state of drunkenness. ‘We’re watching The Nanny now.’

‘The Nanny.’ You repeated as you looked at the TV before your eyes fell back on them.

‘Ya wanna join’ us?’ Said Nancy as she tried to sit down properly. ‘Uhm, tell Steve to bring you a blanket.’

‘She gets really affectionate when she’s high.’ Said Jonathan with a smile.

You opened your mouth to say something, when you heard an unusual thud upstairs. You looked back at them, wondering if only you had heard it, but they all seemed too high and sleepy to even notice.

‘I see.’ You looked down to your shoes before taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long night. ‘I’m gonna check on Steve. To see where ‘m sleeping and stuff.’

‘Sure, Ice Princess.’ Nancy said with a giggle. It should’ve tendered you or you should’ve at least found it funny, but somewhere inside you felt bad. As if she was mocking you in some way you weren’t aware of.

You climbed the stairs quietly, having been in this house so many times before since you were a child. Knowing exactly where they kept towels, what step cracked if you pressed on the right spot, what colours the walls were five years ago before they modernised the place.

You made it upstairs with your bag still on you, wondering if you should just sneak into the guests’ room or maybe remind Steve that you had to wake up early for practice tomorrow. Your train of thought was about to take you somewhere else when you heard another thud, this time less loud, followed by a whine.

‘Steve?’ You softly called before pushing the door of his room to find him sitting on the floor, a painful frown taking over his face as he held his knee against his chest.

‘Jesus, are you okay?’ You said kneeling next to him. ‘What do you need? Where does it hurt?’

‘S just my knee.’ He said under his breath. ‘It’s fine. It’ll go away.’

‘Let me help—’

‘Get the fuck out of here.’ He said clenching his jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said sitting better. ‘This was your idea, remember? Now shut up and let me handle this.’

‘I don’t need you to handle— Uh.’ He moaned in pain again. ‘F-Fuck.’

You started to feel hot under your layers, but you still found the nerve to put Steve’s arm around your neck and squat next to him.

‘Put your weight on your other foot.’ You instructed. ‘I’m lifting you in …1 …2 …’

And then swiftly, you lifted him so he could sit on the bed. You heard him complain under his breath again, but at least he wasn’t on the floor anymore and you could help him more easily from here.

He observed you as you breathed heavily by the effort, lifting his other leg along the bed and as a result, making his whole body move until he was safely laying on the bed. Steve stood silently, a bit in shock, looking at you as you got rid of your scarf and jacket, before walking towards the door.

‘M just gonna get some ice.’

You blinked away your tears on the way downstairs, feeling flushed and a bit confused about why you were this emotional. But there was this recurring thought, echoing through your head saying Steve, Steve, Steve. He was supposed to go places.

You poured a glass of water in the kitchen, hearing the distant sounds of the TV in the living room while you drank it slowly. In the freezer you found not one, but about three different types of compresses, and you took the biggest one.

Something took over you then, and you were suddenly moving automatically. You checked that the back door was locked as well as the front door. You took an extra blanket from the cupboard and covered an asleep Eddie with it before taking the remote from his hand and turning the TV off. You did the same with the lights and climbed upstairs, before taking a clean towel to wrap the icy compress with.

Steve’s leg was still flat on the bed, but he was now sitting more comfortably against the headrest, waiting for you. He wasn’t particularly grateful or relieved to see you come back, but you weren’t happy to be here anyways.

He took the compress you offered and leaned in to place it on his knee, and another hissing sound of pain came out from his lips when he did. You stood there for a second until you realised you were staring, and before he realised too, you started to untie your hair.

‘Am I sleeping here?’ You said taking a wool sweater out of your bag and pulling it down over your leotard.

He shrugged.

‘Your friends don’t mind?’ You pressed, looking at him with a straight face. ‘Your little girlfriend?’

‘Nancy’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with indifference.

‘M talking ‘bout the other one.’ You said walking around the bed to find a place on the opposite side.

‘Robin’s not my girlfriend either.’ He said in the same tone as you got inside the sheets.

‘Wow.’ You said sarcastically as you made yourself comfortable. ‘Talk about being bitchless.’

‘They actually think we’re sleeping together.’ You heard him say as you closed your eyes.

‘As if.’ You replied, trying to get cosy in this bed that smelled like bergamot and boy, and Steve.

‘Wouldn’t kill you to moan a little for the sake of my reputation.’ He joked, and this time you actually laughed. It was a subtle thing, but loud enough to make him smile to himself.

Steve stood there, waiting for the pain to pass as you dozed off. It had been a long day, after all. Training from five, then driving to the city and waiting the whole day to be seen for the audition.

‘I’ll drive you to the studio tomorrow morning.’ He said.

You stayed quiet for a while, and he thought maybe you had fallen asleep already. But really you were wondering why he couldn’t just give up and say thank you like a normal person. Thank you for staying. Thank you for helping. Things always had to be so complicated with Steve.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ You said after a while.

‘I want to.’ He simply said before turning the light of his bedside table off and placing his back against the wall to sleep like he had so many times before.

A few hours later you were woken up by something warm on your face. You leaned in for a second, giving in to the soft fingertips that brushed your cheekbone, before they were gone too soon.

‘C’mon.’ Something pushed your leg softly. ‘You don’t wanna be late.’

You growled softly, feeling your body aching in ways it hadn’t in months. Maybe you should’ve left the studio a bit earlier yesterday, or maybe you should’ve skipped skating after such a long day.

Stretching, you opened your eyes slowly to find Steve standing next to you, his eyebrows lifting softly at the sight in front of him. You stayed there for a while, looking at each other, before you looked to your side to find the sky was still dark.

‘What time is it?’

‘Four.’ He said. ‘Where are you training today?’

You took your hands to your face, growling softly before you decided to sit down properly.

‘In the city.’ You said still quite sleepy.

He nodded once. ‘I’ll get the car ready.’

‘Kay.’ You said trying to convince yourself to get up. Only then you noticed he had changed already, and his hair was wet as if he had just taken a shower. ‘How’s your knee?’

Your question seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he scratched the back of his neck looking away from you. But that was normal, Steve’s injury had always been a forbidden subject. Only then you thought that he had probably been drunker than he had let on last night.

‘S good now.’ He simply said before moving to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs, yeah?’

‘Sure.’ You said, before he left you all alone in his room.

Hawkins was beautifully quiet in a way it could only be during this time of the year, showered by the atmosphere of sadness, nostalgia and desolation that winter often hid during Christmas time. Steve seemed to understand this pretty well, because he didn’t speak or even turned the radio on as you left the town behind, and the sun started rising.

‘When do you find out if you got the role?’ He said as he parked outside the theatre. You saw the way his eyes lingered on the intimidating building behind you as you opened the door.

‘Today.’ You were trying to be a big girl and pretend you weren’t nervous, but you swallowed hard as you took the heavy bag with you, switching the subject as you stepped out of the car. ‘Thanks for driving me.’

‘Thanks for staying.’ He said in the same plain tone. ‘What time should I pick you up?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ You stood up awkwardly on the pavement while the door was still open. ‘I’ll call dad and ask him to pick me up.’

The frown that took over his face made you feel stupid out of sudden.

‘Your dad’s away fishing.’ He seemed amused at your cluelessness. ‘With my dad? For the fundraising dinner?’

‘That’s tonight?’ You complained with a whine, fighting the need of stepping your foot on the floor. ‘I thought that was next week! Why can’t they just donate some money or just buy the fish like normal people do?’

‘Well,’ He started patiently, ‘Given is an event for the Fishing Association I guess there has to be some fishing involved, you know—’

You interrupted him with a sound of irritation, climbing on the passenger’s seat again and closing the door behind you.

‘Okay. We need to talk, Steve.’

‘Talk?’ He chuckled, sitting back on his seat to have a better look at you.

‘This whole thing between our parents?’ You started. ‘This is like, toxic. It’s sickening, actually.’

‘Sickening.’ He repeated with an amused smile.

‘Why do they need to do everything together?’ You complained. ‘It’s like— God, like there’s no privacy between our families. I can’t remember when was the last time I walked into my house on a Friday evening and I had my parents all to myself.’

Steve lifted his eyebrows then, looking visibly uncomfortable as he scratched the space behind his ear.

‘Uh, have you tried having actual plans on Friday nights?’

You sighed loudly, fighting the need to roll your eyes as you sat on your side.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Actually—’

‘It’s forced.’ You said stretching the word. ‘It’s just not the fact that they can’t stay away from each other but how they force us to be there too.’

Steve took a deep breath as he sat better on the seat, looking through the windshield as he considered your words.

‘What?’ You finally said after a while.

‘I mean, you’re never really there, are you?’ He finally said.

‘What do you mean?’ You pushed his arm. Though it was demanding, it had been a soft, innocent gesture. Yet you noticed the way he sat better on the seat after it, as if your impulsiveness hadn’t pleased him very much.

‘Well, last week it was the bake sale. And the week before that we all went bowling, even Robin was there.’

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Steve’s friend.

‘Hey.’ His voice had turned firm as he started losing his patience with you. ‘All I’m saying is that maybe you’re exaggerating a bit. The only reason they—’ He started saying, but he seemed to be unsure of how to proceed. ‘Well, you know…’

‘What?’ You pressed, feeling the heat rush to your face and even your scalp was turning warm while you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Say it, Steve.’

‘Maybe it’s been suggested that you don’t do anything other than skating and training since Barb moved away.’

‘So I get a pity invitation because I don’t have any friends?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ He let out a frustrated sigh.

‘You didn’t have to.’ You said in the same tone. ‘Yeah, I miss Barb, whatever, but that’s not reason why I’m not willing to join the circus every weekend. I’m working. Hard. For this.’

‘You are.’ He said, looking through the windshield as you stared at him, challenging him to disagree with you. ‘But you’re… You’re too strict, I’ve seen you, you— You don’t breathe.’

‘I do. Breathe. Steve.’ You said feeling more desperate every second you entertained this argument. ‘But I’m not just competing physically, there’s— There’s the girls whose parents have contacts, the ones that went to dance school— Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by people whose lifestyle only consists of eating once a day?’

He scoffed then. You had to sit back on the seat with the sudden discomfort of feeling arrogant or vain, irritated at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

‘Get out of my car.’ He snapped.

You stayed there just for a second, wondering if he was joking. But one of the worst things about having grown up with Steve Harrington, was the involuntary understanding you both had of each other’s character.

You squinted your eyes as you tried to read him, and it took you a few seconds of studying him. Of really looking at him, to realise. The nervous movement of his leg, the way he looked through the windshield, his hand instinctively rubbing his leg over his jeans, where you knew there was a scar.

‘You, more than anyone else, know what it’s like to want something so much you get scared of losing it before you even have it.’ You felt the anger rising and the frustration growing as you spoke. ‘The difference is that you lost it, and I won’t.’

And just like that, you grabbed the bag and left his car before he could say something back.

The guilt set on your chest like a heavy rock the whole time you were warming up. It stayed there when you broke through the anxious bodies of the other determined ballerinas to have a look at the board where the roles for the winter production were displayed. It didn’t leave you when you started your training, when you switched from pirouettes to fouettes, and it certainly didn’t stop haunting you as you looked at yourself in the mirror, carefully repeating grand adages until you couldn’t feel your toes anymore.

You were late to the fundraising dinner, but you hoped, you prayed that your parents would be too drunk to reproach you. The soft roar of the taxi’s engine got lost behind you as you walked through the many cars parked outside, climbing the steps of your house and hoping for the best.

There was laughter and music coming from the living room, your cheeks going from freezing to warm as soon as you closed the door behind you. The first few seconds where nobody noticed you were comforting, until Steve’s silhouette appeared through the living room’s entrance.

He was wearing a green sweater over his shirt, and a full glass of wine was on his hand when his eyes looked at you with curious amusement. You were aware that your pride would only make things worse, but there was no part of you that wished to apologise right now.

You were about to move towards the stairs when he walked first, standing in front of the first step. Repressing a sigh, you had no other option but to face him.

‘How were rehearsals?’

‘They were good.’ You simply said before walking past him to climb the stairs.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you heard him follow behind you.

‘Did you get the part?’

‘I got a part.’ You said as you opened the door to your room. ‘I’m very pleased with it.’

You thought that would be enough to keep him away, that he would give up. But as you absentmindedly got rid of your shoes and walked towards your window to close the blind, you heard the door of your room closing.

‘Do you mind!?’ You said as you turned around, finding Steve standing against the closed door, hands inside his pockets and the same unbearably amused stare on you.

‘Not really.’

You shook your head and decided to ignore him, grabbing the dress your mother had picked for you from the closet, still feeling his eyes on you as you did so.

‘Do you want me to have a look at that?’

When you looked up his eyes were on your feet, the bloody bandages wrapped around each one of your toes making you feel way too self-aware.

‘No.’ You hid your eyes from him before walking into the bathroom.

You took another deep breath as you felt him move around your room while you quickly got rid of your leotard. Somehow his calm was frustrating you, his lack of pride had you overthinking about all the different ways in which he could get back at you tonight.

He was looking around your room when you walked out fully dressed. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way he studied your posters while you slipped on a couple of mary janes, because you couldn’t bother to change the bandages just now and nobody would want to look at those.

You sat in front of your vanity then, swiftly starting to get rid of the bobby pins around your hair bun as you kept an eye on him through the mirror. He seemed chill, he seemed unbothered, it was killing you. Your gaze lingered on him easily through the mirror, leaving his empty wine glass aside as he took a book from your shelf and eyed it casually.

The heat rushed to your cheeks when he looked back to find you staring. You looked down quickly as your hands moved clumsily, your hair tangling a bit as you kept working.

He moved without you having to ask, standing behind you to help you get rid of the tangled pins, your fingers progressively giving up until his took over delicately.

He worked in silence, and you stood there, thinking about a time where your mother used to brush your hair before practice, those days were you still had ballet classes with Miss Cécile. She had left Hawkins years ago now, to retire somewhere far, somewhere in Europe.

‘There’s no hard feelings, by the way.’ He said as he placed the last pins on top of your vanity.

‘Hm?’ Your eyes were fixed on your reflection as you brushed your hair, making sure you remained expressionless as he placed his hands on the wooden surface of the vanity. You could feel the warmth of his body, the softness of his sweater on your back as his bergamot cologne surrounded you.

‘About today.’ There seemed to be some satisfaction behind his tone, but you didn’t want to acknowledge how much his indifference annoyed you. ‘I forgive you.’

You stood then, fighting the need to clench your jaw as you walked towards the door.

‘I didn’t say I was sorry.’

The dinner started as it always did. Because your parents were hosting, your father gave a little thank you speech before everyone sat down. You and Steve sat on opposite sides of the table as people started passing the fish. He let a discreet chuckle out when you wrinkled your nose at the sight of some of the dishes, but you ignored him, focusing on acting as a good host and kindly helping the rest of the guests.

People started to talk and joke, conversations about the town, the upcoming holidays or, well, fishing dominated the table while you stayed quiet. The tiredness of the day was heavy on your shoulders and neck, even your eyelids were a bit heavy.

You tried to sit straighter in an attempt to wake up, wishing you could’ve spent at least half an hour skating outside to bring your energy back, when Mr Harrington addressed you from the other side of the table.

‘Hm!’ He cleaned his mouth with the napkin as you waited to hear what he had to say. ‘How was your audition yesterday?’

‘Uh, it was good.’ You nodded shyly.

‘Did you get a good part, honey?’ Mrs Harrington next to him asked.

You stood quiet for a second, avoiding your parents’ gaze on the other end of the table as you tried to choose your words carefully. All the guests stared at you expectantly, and for a second you were speechless, even helpless, until you felt a subtle touch on your ankle.

You lifted your eyes to find Steve’s brown gaze already on you. A bit softer than usual, you couldn’t help but swallow hard when the tip of his leather shoe ventured upward to stroke your shin. He lifted his eyebrows subtly, an encouraging sign that brought you back to Earth quickly.

‘Yeah, uhm…’ You shyly played with the drops that fell from your wine glass before looking back at Mr Harrington. ‘Yeah, I did. I, uh… I’m going to play Odette.’ You chuckled nervously. ‘And Odile too, of course.’

‘Oh my God!’ Said Mrs Harrington. ‘Sweetie, that’s amazing.’

‘Congratulations.’ Said Mr Harrington, followed by a few more alike comments from the guests next to you.

You dad winked at you from the other side of the table. There was a sweet smile on his face, you knew he was proud. What you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just say it.

‘That’s wonderful news.’ Your mother agreed with a soft smile. ‘We shall have a little toast after dinner.’

You looked down to your plate, biting the sarcastic smile on your face as you grabbed your glass of wine.

‘After dinner.’

Maybe Steve was the only one who heard you repeat your mother’s words before you took a sip of the drink while the conversation around resumed. He was the one who saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek as the fishing subject arose again, searching for your eyes while his foot kept stroking your leg.

He abruptly lost you a few seconds after, as you crossed your legs under the table, leaning towards Mrs Miller next to you to ask her if she needed any salt for the sprouts.

There was no toast after dinner, just a dessert that you politely declined with the excuse of a headache. Wine glasses kept being refilled, Christmas music played louder, and when everyone moved onto the living room you took the opportunity to sneak away in your bedroom’s direction.

Once you made it upstairs, the sight of Steve coming out of the hallway’s toilet made you stop in your tracks for a second.

‘Downstairs was taken.’ He said before turning off the light.

You nodded once as he walked towards where you stood. He was supposed to go back to the party, and you were supposed to get in bed, but all he could do was stand in front of you with his hands inside his pockets.

‘What if,’ he said before nodding on your bedroom’s direction. You lifted your eyebrows with an unamused semblance. ‘I steal a bottle of wine, and you save me from another conversation about seabass.’

There was still a trace of the charm that had worked for him during High School on his face, his adolescent confidence always took over him after a few drinks. But now those traces faded away much more easily; he took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes and looked down at his shoes.

‘Dad just keeps introducing me to these friends of him.’ He looked up at you. ‘He wants me to beg for a job in finance.’

You chuckled before shaking your head no, but the proposal was still tempting. Your limbs were tired. You hadn’t gotten properly drunk in forever. Your eyes were still on him as you started walking towards your room.

‘Just get something stronger, would you?’

You got rid of your shoes before climbing on top of your covers. It was relieving to feel free to stretch your toes, and flex your feet soles, and crack your ankles. Looking at the ceiling, your started remembering today’s steps in your mind. The passé, the relevé and then…

‘What are you doing, you weirdo?’ Steve said when he walked into the room with a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

You shrugged when he closed the door with his foot. Sitting up, you observed in silence how he poured a bit of the dark amber liquid on the glasses.

‘Just… revising, I guess.’ You took the glass he was offering you.

You took a sip as he shook his head in disapproval. The liquid burnt your throat, but it made you warm and it awakened you, while Steve downed the drink fully before sitting next to you and pulling your legs up to his lap.

You frowned, but instead of saying something you just took another sip of the whiskey.

He carefully started to remove the bandages, frowning painfully at the sight of your poor blistered and bloody toes. You observed him in silence, completely numb to the pain on your feet but entertained by his clear distress as he piled the bandages at the end of the bed, rubbing the bridge of your feet in the process.

‘So…’ He started.

He wouldn’t look back at you as you waited for him to speak.

‘So?’ You finally said.

‘What’s the name of that character you’re playing on the show?’

‘Characters.’ You corrected. ‘Odette and Odile are traditionally played by the same ballerina.’

‘Hm.’ he said as he got lost in his thoughts. You waited for him to say something else, but he just kept massaging your feet.

‘Hm?’ You repeated searching for his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounds like quite a demanding role.’

‘It is.’ You recognised. ‘We’ve got about three weeks of rehearsals. Opening night’s on Christmas Eve.’

‘Three weeks.’ He repeated humorously. ‘That’s impressive.’

You clenched your jaw in silence before removing your legs off his lap and moving to lay on your side.

‘Hey,’ He laughed behind you as you faced the window. His hand stroked your leg playfully from your ankle upwards, but you kicked him before it could sneak under the skirt of your dress. ‘C’mon, bratty—'

‘Don’t call me that.’ You said squirming and hugging the pillow under your bed. ‘I should’ve known you’d make fun of me. You don’t understand anything.’

‘Aw, c’mon.’ You felt his body fall on the space behind you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His bergamot scent invaded your lugs, and before you could help it you were taking a deep breath. ‘Don’t get mad at me.’

You turned around on the bed, facing him with a serious frown on your face. You’d never been this close to Steve or had even touched him like this. His cheeks were so red it looked as if he had a fever, and his eyelids were heavy as he looked down at you with an amused smile.

‘You’re drunk.’ You simply said.

‘And you’re warm.’ He said with the same stupid smile, his fingers brushed the skin on your back as he pulled you towards him.

You stayed very still as his head leaned in, and for a second you thought he’d might kiss you, but instead he just innocently hid his nose on your neck.

‘You’re so warm.’ He whispered to himself. Your hands hovered on your sides before you lifted an arm and slowly rested your hand on his neck, diving your fingers on his hair to stroke his scalp softly. He seemed to like that, by the little noise that left his mouth when his body melted against yours. ‘M so proud of you.’

It was the softest thing, barely a whisper, but still you heard it. You swallowed hard as he made himself more comfortable, sighing deeply as he started dozing off and you were more awake than you’d ever been in your life.

‘Steve.’ You called as you softly pushed his shoulder to have a better look at him. ‘Don’t fall asleep. C’mon, wake up.’

‘I’m awake.’ He said lazily while his eyes remained closed. You rolled your eyes before pushing his shoulder with a bit more of strength, and that finally made him look back at you. ‘I’m awake! Fuck, I’m awake. Jesus Christ, you really like hitting me, don’t you?’

‘Well, you earn it quite easily, you stupid idiot— Why are you laughing?’

He took a deep breath as he looked back at you with the same annoying smile. The silence was tense as he stretched slowly, never taking his eyes off you while you were still so close you could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the layers.

‘Can I touch you?’ He suddenly asked. It wasn’t blunt, really, just a bit unexpected as his eyes lingered on your dress before they looked up at your face again.

The heat rushed to your cheeks immediately, and that angered you in ways that you refused to acknowledge as you looked back at him.

‘Touch me?’ You repeated softly, almost offended as you slightly moved back. ‘Touch me how?’

Your eyes never left his as he took another deep breath and the hand he rested on your waist drew a trace down the curve of your hip. You stood very still as his hand slid under your dress, fearing that any move you could possibly make would ruin the tension and spoil the excitement you were feeling right now. This was wrong, it was Steve, for God’s sake,but—

‘Like this.’ He whispered when his thumb stroked your upper thigh, so very close from your centre. Then his hand tentatively stroked the hem of your underwear, before it confidently found the warmth of your crotch over the fabric. ‘Here.’

You let out a choky breath as his fingers wandered, stroking softly, as if he was getting to know you. You remained on the same position, not quite opening your legs for him but trying to understand where was all this coming from.

‘Why?’ You asked foolishly, still not able to show your real emotions. The anticipation, the excitement. You knew you were getting wet every second that his fingers brushed over your skin, and surely he did too, because the sides of his mouth were lifting slightly.

He shrugged, looking down at you as his fingers ventured a bit more daringly, finding shelter on that little, sweetly tight gap between your thighs. ‘You seem tense.’

You swallowed hard, clenching your jaw just slightly, because you didn’t know how not to be tense. You didn’t know how to not to be this: the perfectionistic, overachiever kid that everyone in town considered an uptight prissy. Just the thought made you even more anxious.

You looked down then, maybe reconsidering why he was doing this or if you were even cool enough to enjoy it, when he searched for your eyes. You only looked up when his nose brushed against yours, encouraging and so very patient.

‘Can I help?’ He asked softly, his fingers’ touch was even gentler now, almost soothing as he rubbed his fingers against your wet underwear.

You were unable to reply, either by the heat on your cheeks, the rising temperature of the rest of your body or the wet patch that was staining your panties by his sweet yet bold proposal.

So instead, you just opened your legs slightly. It seemed like such a simple gesture had a big effect on him, because when his palm was able to cup your pussy fully, his forehead fell softly on yours while a deep sigh came out of his mouth.

He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the upper hem of your underwear. Unable to deal with the anticipation any longer, your own hand sneaked under the skirt to start pulling the soaked fabric. As if your initiative was relieving, he pulled the other side down to your knees, always keeping his eyes on you. Always careful that he was doing the right thing, that you weren’t just yielding.

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky, skin. All those nerves sensitive and tender just for him, and something impulsive took over you as your head fell back by the pleasure. A guttural, helpless sound left your mouth when his fingers stroked your clit softly. His fingers were soaked by you, and yet it seemed like that wasn’t enough, by the way he ventured further until the base of his palm was rubbing against your core too.

You were maybe too responsive, your hands found his shoulders to hold on to him, pushing down while you moved your hips.

‘Moan.’ He whispered, it wasn’t an order, but it did feel as if he was giving you permission. Maybe he had noticed how hard you were trying not to be loud, by the way he chuckled softly. ‘I won’t judge. Wanna hear you.’

You shook your head softly, shutting your eyes hard as you repressed yet another whine.

His hand started moving a bit more enthusiastically, finding a circling pattern that excited you in a completely different way. The sudden stimulus made you release a choking breath, and only then, when he saw how your lips parted and your eyebrows arched, he leaned in.

Steve’s lips were surprisingly soft. Despite the strong taste of whiskey, despite the dislike you felt from each other, despite your limited experience, he was so very tender and soft.

This was maybe what messed up with your head, because all you had ever known when it came to Steve Harrington was determined roughness. Pushing his arm, rolling your eyes, laughing at him. And yet here was his delicate tongue tingling your palate; his sloppy lips sucking on yours, while his soft fingertips were buried deep in between your legs. And all you wanted to do was bite him.

And when you did, his hand started moving faster, his lips became much greedier. You moaned shamelessly, and the thought of being unable to be tender or sweet as him was starting to haunt you. It was impossible, you’d never be able to show this much need without fucking it up in the process. Not as he was. But did you have to?

‘Slow down.’ He said with a raspy voice when you grinded more violently against his hand. You dig your nails on his shoulder wishing you’d left marks on him, hoping that you were.

You were searching for that extreme, unreachable release. Daring to open your eyes, you looked right at him to let him see what you were capable of. With Steve, things had always been about proving yourself. His eyes had turned almost absent as he looked at you, the way you were almost convulsing on his hand, the contradiction of the anticipatory ectasis taking over your innocent face.

‘Slow. Down.’ He said between his teeth. This time it did sound like an order, worse than that, his voice had taken that tint from the day you caught him skating drunk.

He was mad at you, maybe, but you couldn’t care. One of your hands dived into his hair and you dared to pull a little bit, softly at first, but the more you moved the more you wanted to turn into a sweet mess on the palm of his hand. You wanted him to feel your pussy pounding, you wanted him to keep looking at you with those lost pupils. As if you were the only thing worth looking at in this cosy room, in this boring world.

Then you pulled harder, letting out an animalistic sound as you started feeling it from your belly. Hot and nice. His fingers were soaked, his skin so warm and eyes glossy as you kept looking back at him with challenging eyes.

‘Slow down, fuck.’ He repeated, the obscene noise of your hips moving and the mattress squeaking worsened the situation. ‘M tryin’ to—’

You finally released a chocking breath as the walls of your pussy started pulsing, your breaths got mixed with little high-pitched noises, and the sweet orgasm hit you as you pulled his hair once again. This time shamelessly, and so carelessly you heard his chocked complaint in the distance.

The embarrassment rushed to your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, looking down as he helped you lift your panties again. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as he unleashed from your embrace to lay on his back and you waited for something, anything. But he remained quiet, looking at the ceiling as a soft frown took over his face.

You licked your lips, half-confused, half-disappointed, before you turned your back towards him again. The sky was navy outside, but the snow made it all seem much brighter. You knew down there the frozen pond waited for you, and on the other side of it was Steve’s house, with his empty bed that waited for him.

But he wouldn’t make it, not tonight. A few minutes later, his arm wrapped around your waist. This time more carefully, and gentle. He pulled you in, and you let him. When his lap barely touched your ass, there wasn’t a trace of his excitement, and that somehow relieved you, confused you and offended you at the same time.

But you just stayed silent.

He took a deep breath while his nose dived in your hair and you let him. He fell asleep like this, in your bed, and you let him.

Steve was woken up by the sun on his face. He growled and stretched on the bed searching for a body that he knew had been laying next to him during the night, but the space next to him was empty.

When his eyes opened slightly, he recognised your room. The blue dress was on top of your desk and a towel drying on the chair next to the window. He took a deep breath, hugging the pillow where you head had been and rolling onto the other side to get a few more minutes of sleep.

It could’ve been a couple of hours later when he woke up out of sudden. He felt embarrassed and a bit disoriented as he sat up, realising that the sun was much lower than where it had been the first time he woke up.

You were still not in the room, but there was movement downstairs. He stood up from the bed to find the distant figure of your body skating outside. Steve stayed there, looking at you sliding around the pond elegantly, like a lonely swan swimming on a silver lake, and he thought about had happened last night.

The morning was quiet, the snow around the pond glistened and the cold winter sun tinted everything in your room with a blue hue as he stood there with his hands in his pockets, wondering how was it possible, that you could look so delicate from afar and then yet still be so rough whenever he touched you.

After a while, he made his way downstairs, feeling his stomach rumbling and his head pounding by the ghost of a hangover.

‘… Have no idea what to do with her.’ Steve heard the sound of your mother’s voice in the kitchen when he made it downstairs. ‘She doesn’t want to do things with me anymore. I feel… I feel weird. Like, I’m unwanted.’

Steve lingered on the corridor, not sure about why he was suddenly so interested in your parents’ conversation about you.

‘C’mon, honey, she’s just a bit reserved.’ Your dad started. ‘She’s always been… shy, and overly independent. Maybe you’re reading too much into this.’

‘You say that because you’ve always indulged her too much.’

‘Honey—’

‘You have. You do.’ She complained. ‘For her you’re the— the cool parent, the “chill dad”. I’m not. But what does that leave me with? She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore! No Christmas shopping, or charity activities, or salon appointments… I used to be the one who went to try tutus with her, remember? She hasn’t even mentioned anything about that and I’m pretty sure she must know already when the appointment is—’

‘Honey,’ Your dad interjected again. ‘She’s an adult. You need to let her be.’

‘She’s playing Odette!’ She snapped. ‘She’s wanted to be Odette since before she even had pointe shoes, before she could even walk. And she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me, her mother.’

‘Just give her some time.’

‘Maybe I should’ve told Linda and Ronald not to ask her about it in front of everybody.’

Steve held a breath at the mention of his parents, wondering about what to do. If he should interfere, if anything he thought about the situation was important enough to argue.

‘Honey.’

‘They put her on the spotlight.’ She said. ‘That’s not good for her, she doesn’t know how to deal with it. And… maybe it wasn’t the right time.’

‘The right time for what?’ You dad asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She pondered in silence for a second. ‘For Steve. I mean, did you see his face when they mentioned it?’

Steve started walking loudly towards the living room then, making himself heard around the house as your parents suddenly turned silent.

‘Good morning.’ He said shyly as he walked into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry I overslept; I didn’t mean to abuse my stay.’

‘Oh, good morning, honey.’ Said your mother with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘Don’t worry about it, you know this is your home.’

‘Do you want some breakfast, son?’ Asked your dad searching for a cup in the cupboard.

‘I’d, uh, love to.’ He admitted politely with a shy smile, he still didn’t know how he felt about your parents talking about him or his family. ‘But I have a shift starting in half an hour and I still need to shower and search for my vest.’

‘I’ll pack something for you, then.’ Said your dad without waiting for an answer.

Steve observed him grab a container, and before he could protest your dad was already filling it with scones.

‘Are we seeing you at dinner tonight?’ Your mother asked sweetly.

‘Uh…’ He couldn’t reject the scones that your parent handed him, feeling a bit uncomfortable out of sudden. Maybe you had been right, and all this friendship thing between them and his parents was getting a bit out of control. ‘Unfortunately, I close tonight. Robin’s taking the evening off. But I’ll be there next week.’

You dad tsked. ‘That’s a shame. It’s football night.’

‘S a pity, sir.’ Steve agreed, feeling he needed to leave the house soon, or he’d go crazy. ‘But I’ll be there next week.’

‘Have a good day, honey.’ Said your mom as he walked towards the kitchen’s door.

‘Thank you.’ He said without looking back before closing the door behind him.

You were still on the ice, and he wondered how long you had been there as he walked the distance towards his house in silence. The cold was burning his cheeks, and you were only wearing gloves and leg warmers over your leotard and tights.

He looked down at his feet when you spun on the ice flawlessly, and he couldn’t help but clench his jaw softly. Some things just came so easy to you, and he wasn’t really sure if you deserved them.

The first week of rehearsals went so quick that when you made it home on Friday night you could feel a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Training had been ruthless with your body and mind. You had thrown away your ballet shoes mid-week and replaced them with a new pair on Thursday, and no matter how long you had spent banging them against the floor, they still hadn’t been broken in. That was messing with your balance and the overall quality of your performance, it was driving you insane.

That’s why you couldn’t care less about having dinner at the Harrington’s as long as that meant that you were fed and in bed by eleven. You opened the door carefully, hearing the noise of cutlery and chatter as you dropped your bag on the entrance, got rid of your coat, and walked inside.

‘Hey!’ Mr Harrington was standing next to your parents, refilling their wine glasses with a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘Come in.’

‘Hi.’

Steve was sitting next to the only empty seat, and you were looking for Robin everywhere, but she didn’t seem to have been invited tonight. That somehow disappointed you as you stood next to your mom’s chair, smiling shyly at everyone.

‘Hi, sweetie.’ Said your father.

‘Was there lots of traffic?’ Asked your mother looking up at you. You were only about ten minutes late, but she didn’t seem very happy about it.

‘I had to make a quick stop at the mall to get some more tights.’ You explained simply without looking at her as you made your way towards the empty seat. ‘And then I went home to change.’

‘Have you tried on your costumes yet?’ Steve asked as soon as you sat down.

You placed the napkin on your lap as Mr Harrington poured some wine on your glass, wondering why he was asking that or why did he even care.

‘Not yet.’ You simply said, feeling your mother’s eyes on you. ‘They took my measurements today so the first fitting should be next week.’

‘Isn’t that too close from the show?’ Your mother asked, worried.

You shrugged as you grabbed a spoon to get some potato salad. Steve’s stare was on you, but you were too tired to indulge the awkwardness between you two. That and maybe the fact that you didn’t want to tell your mother the costumes were practically ready.

‘You need to let us know when the tickets go on sale.’ Proceeded Mrs Harrington. ‘I’d love to take my goddaughter with me, you know Maxine, right?’

You nodded politely as you took a bit of your food. ‘I know Max, yeah.’

‘We’ll she’s training with Dolly Higgens at the Hawkins theatre.’ She proceeded, putting her fork aside before she sat down better. ‘I know she’s no Miss Cécile, but I was wondering if you could give her some pointers for her Sleeping Beauty audition next Monday?’

‘Oh.’ You stayed quiet for a second before smiling. ‘I didn’t know she was auditioning for next season. She could’ve tried The Nutcracker.’

‘I think she was a bit intimidated by the idea.’ Mrs Harrington said, satisfied by your excitement. ‘But I told her about you, and she said she’d really appreciate it if you’d help her prepare for the audition. As long as that’s not a problem for you, honey. I know you’re very busy right now.’

‘It’s no problem.’ You giggled, excited for the first time in a long while. ‘Of course I’d like to.’

‘I told Steve he could drive you and Max to the city as a thank you for your help.’ She said satisfied. ‘That way I won’t feel like we’re taking time from you.’

‘Oh.’ This time you looked down, trying to conceal your discomfort. ‘That— I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just happy to help.’ You turned to Steve then. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

An uncomfortable silence took over the table then. Steve didn’t say anything as he extended a hand to grab his glass of wine. When you looked up, your dad hid his eyes from you while your mother cleaned her mouth and proceeded to ask Steve how his shift had been.

The dinner progressed as it usually did after that, but you felt a strange feeling of inadequacy as your parents talked about work and Steve complained about his manager Keith, and your mother started planning some new event for the town with Linda. Yet you still ate your food, said yes to dessert and listened absentmindedly.

‘Don’t worry about that, sweetie.’ Linda’s hands on your arms surprised you when you started taking the plates from the table. Everyone had moved to the living room, and you had thought that by helping, your parents might forgive you for leaving early. ‘I’ll get Steve to clean all this later tonight.’

You opened your mouth to say something, but she didn’t let you speak.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs to get those tapes Stevie got for you, huh? You go watch some movies together, we’re just gonna play a record and talk.’

Before you knew, you were leaving the living room feeling like she had probably dismissed you in a polite manner, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel offended.

You climbed the stairs fighting the need to roll your eyes, wondering how things would’ve been if you had chosen college rather than sticking to dancing. You’d be having a normal life away from the Harrington’s and Hawkins, maybe your parents would miss you enough to visit you on weekends and you could just spend time as a family the way everyone else did.

The door to Steve’s room was briefly open, but you still knocked before coming in. In the darkness, your eyes lingered on the wall next to the door where once there had been hockey trophies and now there were framed pictures of his friends and piles of records and VHS tapes. You’d probably missed that detail last time you were here, when you had found him struggling with his knee on the same spot where he was sitting comfortably now. His eyes lifted when you closed the door behind you before they went back to the TV in front of him.

‘Your mom said you had some tapes for me?’ You asked shyly. ‘What was that about?’

‘They’re on my desk.’ He said without looking at you.

You bit your lip as you walked to the other side of the room where the desk was. On the surface there was a copy of the 1980’s production of Swan Lake by the New York City Ballet, where Merrill Ashley had played the lead. The other one was a version from 1975 by the National English Ballet that Merle Park starred.

‘These are very hard to find.’ You admitted loudly before looking behind your shoulder with a smile, but Steve kept his eyes on the TV, ignoring your comment.

You walked back with the tapes in your hands before sitting next to him. Fixing your skirt as you rested your back on the side of the bed, you wondered how you could thank him without making things more awkward than they already were.

‘How was training today?’ He asked without looking back at you.

‘Honestly?’ You chuckled. ‘It was miserable.’

Your confession was what made him finally look back at you, but you didn’t seem stressed, just very tired. The sight of your puffed eyelids reminded him of your relaxed face when you slept, he didn’t get to see you like that as often as he wished.

‘Surely not as miserable as rewinding tapes for four hours.’ He joked before speaking softly. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, my new shoes are still breaking in and Priscilla Webber spent the whole day watching my développés like a hyena looks at a baby antelope.’

He grabbed one of the cases and took the Merle Park tape out of it.

‘Is she your understudy?’ He asked as he put the tape inside the VHS under his TV.

‘Yep. It’s usually the other way around, I’ve always been the one ready to cover for her.’ You made a short pause when the opening credits rolled up. ‘I don’t think she’s ever been anyone’s understudy.’

He chuckled as he sat back next to you.

‘Sounds like she’s having a hard time.’

‘I fucking hope she is.’ You recognised. ‘She’s unbearable.’

Steve’s eyes stayed on the TV for a few seconds, a subtle frown took over his face as he looked at the screen but didn’t really watch. The reflection fell on his face tinting his cheeks blue and purple at times. After a few seconds of silence, he finally looked back at you.

‘Do you always talk about each other like that?’

‘What do you mean?’ You laughed softly as you rested your cheek against the bed.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Aren’t you two members of the same company? Like, you’re putting a show together, right?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not friends.’ You said amused. ‘No one really is, to be honest.’

‘Well, but you’re like co-workers. Kinda. Like, in a normal situation you’d be decent with each other at the very least.’

You looked back at him with a tendered smile on your face, and he didn’t seem to like that very much by the way his cheeks were blushing under the TV glow. You weren’t really offended by his logic, just merely entertained.

‘This is not a team, Steve.’ You whispered patiently. ‘If something happens to me, Priscilla gets my spot and the world goes on.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

You shrugged. ‘People work really hard to get to dance at a professional level. It’s expensive, time consuming, and once you turn twenty-five people start treating you like you belong in a nursing home.’

‘Sounds like hell if you ask me.’ He said after a while.

‘Good thing I didn’t.’ You replied looking back at the TV.

Your eyes got lost in the beautiful silhouette of Merle Park as she appeared on the stage like a pale silver ghost. Her make up was at least ten years outdated now, but she still managed to look elegant and perfect.

‘It’s just so fleeting.’ You admitted out loud. ‘The rush of satisfaction when you’re there. There’s also the fear of not getting it right, of giving in to the pain, but, I don’t know. There’s something so humanly beautiful about attempting to reach perfection even when you know it’s impossible. And there’s something… euphoric about proving what your body is capable of.’

‘There are easier ways of doing that.’ He said resting his head against the bed next to you. His knees had flexed just enough to brush yours, and you craved for the texture of his soft fingertips under your skirt. He was smiling, softly, but still cheeky.

‘Yeah, but they’re not all beautiful.’ You murmured.

He looked back at you, studying your face seriously before whispering.

‘You don’t think what we did the other day was beautiful?’

He looked so small then, as he waited for your answer, and you wondered about what to say while your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You shrugged shyly, feeling that no answer would be good enough, because you didn’t want to tell him that you had thought about it every night this week. You had thought about it a lot.

‘Come here.’ He said patting his lap.

And you did, because somehow you were listening to the Overture for the thousandth time today, but this time it felt like that distant day where you watched the ballet when you were seven. This time it felt as if it had a meaning, as if the ethereal notes had a complete different effect on your body.

‘Tell me,’ He whispered in the dark as his fingers dived under the chiffon skirt of your dress. His greedy hands cupped your butt cheeks before he pushed you down, and your centre hit the erection under his jeans. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? Huh?’

‘We clearly have different concepts of beauty.’ You joked, but the amusement died when he started guiding your hips and your clit was being nicely pressed against his hard cock.

You released a sigh of relief when you started getting wet, throwing your head back as he was learning you did when something really excited you. He lifted one of his hands and softly pulled down the strap of your dress before kissing your shoulder. Every hair on your skin turned into a goosebump, and your fingers sneaked under his sweater, scratching the skin of his back as you rubbed yourself a bit harder against him.

You heard a distant complaint coming out of his lips, but it could’ve been a moan as you pushed yourself against him and your mouth searched for his neck. The TV started playing the familiar notes of the black swan’s pas de deux, melancholic and dark, and so frivolously complicated. He heard you take a deep breath, and you tried to kiss him there as softly as he had pecked your shoulder, but in a matter of seconds you were sucking on his skin while your hips gained speed.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say under his breath. Your hands dived in his hair, making it messy and pulling it a little like you had before. You liked that he didn’t know what to do with you, because you also didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was so hard under the warmth of your lacy underwear, and he smelled so good, and his skin was so soft you couldn’t bear it.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but you hushed him with a violent kiss. Your heart beat much faster when your tongue dived inside his mouth and he blindly searched for a dominance that you weren’t going to give him. A guttural noise left his throat then, and when your hand pulled the neck of his sweater to hold on to while you rubbed yourself on him, something changed.

Steve grabbed your waist more firmly; he pushed you harder and it all turned much clumsier and dirtier after that. The moan that left your mouth encouraged him to explore this, something melancholic and dark that hid in the unconscious corners of himself. Now he was moving his hips with you, your breaths were getting faster, you were staining his jeans for fuck’s sake. It was as if you didn’t know the concept of patience when it came to sex.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned against his mouth; he was looking at the way you shut your eyes hard as he swallowed your breath, mesmerized by the delicacy of your features despite the violence of your body.

He observed you through it all to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you, but you responded gladly to the increasing pressure, to the hard rhythm. Then you opened your helpless eyes to look at him while he squeezed your butt cheek, his fingers wandered a bit further down to find a sticky mess in between the friction of your bodies, and you pleaded with a soft, exhausted whine.

His eyes didn’t leave your face as you came hard, almost painfully as you trembled in his arms. Your legs wrapped tightly around his sides while you panted on his shoulder, the music had been muted by a buzzing in your ears, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he spoke urgently.

‘Take them off.’ His nose stroked yours, his lips so close from yours you could almost taste every word as his hands slipped inside your underwear. ‘Please, take them off for me. Please.’

Steve’s request was urgent and needy, he couldn’t even wait for you to mutter a response as he was starting to pull down the soaked fabric and you blinked repeatedly in confusion.

It took you a couple of seconds to help him pull down the pale blue panties. His eyes lingered on the way a thin thread of wetness kept connected to your pussy, your legs getting a little bit stained with the clumsy movement. He urgently unzipped his jeans as his eyes were still lost on the mystery under your skirt and yours couldn’t leave his dumbed-out face when he pulled down his boxers.

For the first time since this started your movements were slow and delicate, your knees found a place on each side of his legs while he sat more comfortably, and you placed the fabric on his hand. You couldn’t even breath by the anticipation, and by the funny fear that sat on the pit of your stomach as your eyes fell on his veiny and hard cock.

With the same urgency as before, he wrapped your soaked underwear around his dick and started to touch himself softly, but insistently. Your cheeks couldn’t get impossibly warmer as you observed him in silence, equally fascinated and shyly flattered by his desperation.

‘Touch my face?’ He asked in between breaths, his eyelids getting heavier the more he pumped his dick. ‘Please?’

You realised then, that there was an unbearable distance between your bodies now. Sitting carefully, you lifted your shaky hands towards his face and cupped his cheeks, you thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth before you leaned in to kiss him, not knowing if you were doing it right.

But apparently you were, by the way he sighed under your mouth, by how he shut his eyes hard as you licked his lower lip. If only you’d knew how to help him release his tension, if only you weren’t you, maybe you’d be able to be sweet enough to him.

You tried though, clumsily, testing it all as you pecked the little red bite you had left on his neck minutes earlier. Then you licked it, drawing a line up to his ear with your tongue, letting out a nervous breath that he would’ve loved to swallow.

‘Tell me.’ He whispered, feeling your mouth so close from his ear, resting his cheek against yours. He was sweaty and hot against you.

‘W-What?’ You asked nervously. Somehow you felt embarrassedly naked there, even if he wasn’t touching you anymore, even if you were dressed.

‘Tell me.’ He repeated, begging in a vulnerable whisper. ‘Tell me anything, just— just say something, please. I’m so close.’

What could you say to him? What could you offer him that wasn’t rough and battered? What did he want to hear? That this was beautiful? Would it be honest if you said that? No, he’d knew you didn’t mean it.

But it was, wasn’t it? He was beautiful, you thought as your nose played with his earlobe and you pecked his cheek. His request got you feeling clueless, completely speechless for the first time.

Feeling uncomfortably embarrassed, you moved back to face him. Your nose brushed against his while your hands were still on his face, and you let out a nervous, shaky chuckle as his movements increased speed.

‘I don’t know.’ You admitted softly. ‘I-I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.’

He smiled then, equally tendered and amused by this side of you while he studied your face. Your stupidity didn’t seem to discourage him as he rested the back of his neck on the edge of the bed. His free hand stroked your thigh, still touching himself with a patient smile on his face.

‘Just somethin’ sweet.’ He murmured. ‘Anything you can think of.’

You swallowed hard, fearing that you would finally fuck this up.

‘But I’m not sweet.’ You whispered after a while, totally defeated.

He tsked then, shaking his head softly as he sat better. It had all turned much slow-paced than before, and you thought that was odd, that he couldn’t possibly not be desperate to cum. You were confused by his lack of disappointment as his free hand wrapped around your waist to sit you better on top of him. His forehead rested on yours as you looked away, feeling anxious and stupid.

‘You gave me these.’ He said looking down at the obscene yet flattering image of your lacy, wet underwear around his dick as he stroked up and down. His nose poked yours so you’d look up at him. ‘That was sweet.’

‘Hm.’ You shrugged, grabbing the neck of his sweater with your fist.

‘And you slowed down this time. A little, at least.’ He laughed softly as his lips brushed yours. ‘For me.’

‘Well, I want you to feel good too.’ You admitted softly.

‘Yeah?’ He leaned in, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, getting lost in the warm closeness between your bodies. It was overwhelming, how he managed to get so needy in such a short time. ‘Tell me. How.’

You were breathless at the fact that this was somehow working. You looked down at his fast movements before your gaze fell on his beautiful face again.

‘I just think it’s… nice.’ You giggled, and hated yourself for it, but he smiled with his eyes closed, so it couldn’t have been that bad. ‘Maybe you can keep them and use them again. If you want to think about me.’

‘Do you want me to think about you?’ He asked as his free hand sneaked under your skirt again. He squeezed your bare ass softly, fondly, releasing another deep shaky breath. ‘Huh?’

‘Yes.’ You whispered. The effect of such a simple word made him shut his eyes harder, his lips opening partly but no agony sound coming out of them as his forehead fell on your chest.

Your hands dived in his hair carefully and you couldn’t resist to leave a kiss on his head. He smelled so good, so sweet, so Steve, and the moan that left his mouth tendered you even more. It was loud, as if he was in pain, but you knew he wasn’t.

What took over you then wasn’t animalistic or primal, it was oddly human. You embraced him, hugging him against your chest, hiding his head under your neck as if you were protecting him. You had never protected anyone or anything before, and such a realisation could’ve brought tears to your eyes.

He came hard, by the way he was trying to repress his growls, by how tightly he squeezed your waist and how long he stayed there catching his breath.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as you sat back while he cleaned himself with your underwear before zipping up his jeans. You swallowed hard, feeling the need of crossing your legs as you climbed down of his lap. The TV was still playing the tape, while the soft ethereal music overtook the silence between you.

‘Honey?’ Your mom’s voice from downstairs made you stand up out of sudden.

You fixed your dress as you walked towards the door before you felt Steve’s hand wrapping around your arm. It took you out of surprise when he turned your body back, cupping your face before his lips found yours desperately. His hungry tongue tasted you, licked you, his greedy hands were squeezing your waist again.

You pushed him then, out of habit or maybe out of fear. Steve looked seriously at you, and you felt the anxiety rush to your chest as he took his jacket and walked past you towards the corridor.

‘Oh!’ Your mother’s exclamation made you walk out when she encountered Steve on the stairs. ‘Is everything okay, Steve?’

You were on the top of the stairs now, unable to look at his face as he made his towards the entrance, and your mom stood still with a worried look on her face.

‘Just remembered I forgot to lock the back door at work.’ He said taking his keys from the hook on the wall. He still didn’t look up as he shouted at his parents from the entrance. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You stood on your place, fixing your skirt once again and trying to process what you had done and what had happened before.

‘Is everything okay, sweetie?’ Your mom asked as she looked back at you.

You nodded softly.

‘Yeah. Of course.’ You chuckled as you walked down the stairs. ‘Why wouldn’t it?’

‘It just kind of seems you two got into a fight.’ She said as she followed you back downstairs.

‘Steve and I don’t get into fights, mom.’ You rolled your eyes nonchalantly when you made it to the entrance and picked your jacket and scarf from the rack. ‘We’re not eight anymore.’

‘But he seemed so upset…’

‘We just never seem to get along.’ You shrugged. There was a careless smile on your face but something inside you was unbearably breaking the more you pretended things weren’t wrong. ‘Think I’m gonna go home now, I’ve got a long day at the studio tomorrow.’

You kissed her cheek softly, ignoring the knot on your throat, and then you walked out of the house.

There was no sign of Steve’s car once you closely observed the desolated surroundings of the house. You took a shaky breath in and walked down the steps before walking home in the silent winter night. The moonlight lit the frozen pond like a glistening lighthouse, and for once you allowed yourself to feel lonely.

A snow day in the middle of the second week of rehearsals wasn’t ideal, it was fatal. You had spent the whole morning begging your dad to find an alternate route to the city for you. You promised, promised, promised that if he’d help you pay for a hotel room for the rest of the week, you’d give him the money back as soon as possible, but he reluctantly said no.

So, you had no other option than to grab your skates and spend the morning on the pond as you wondered what to do. You started as you always did, skating in loops for a while before you moved on to more complicated turns. You had just started practicing some harmless jumps that you hadn’t tried for a while, when the noise of chatter and laugh behind you startled you.

The fall was clean, and not too nasty. The heat rushed to your cheeks as you clenched your jaw and stood up while Steve and his friends looked at you from the other side of the frozen pond.

‘Are you okay?’ Max Mayfield was skating towards you now. Behind her, the other four boys that were always accompanied by Steve were putting their skates on.

You cleaned the snow off your butt as you nodded softly, skating in their direction.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said skating past her.

Steve’s eyes never left your face as he realised how that had discouraged Max from speaking to you, but he couldn’t concentrate on that for much longer when you stood in front of him.

‘Steve,’ you said. ‘Not today.’

He let out a sarcastic chuckle with a frown on his face, he was holding his own skates on his hand as he looked back at you.

‘I agree.’ He said walking around the edge of the frozen pond. ‘I’m not arguing with you today either.’

‘Steve,’ You insisted as you skated next to him. ‘I really need the place for myself today. Just give me a couple more hours and I’ll—’

‘I don’t care.’ He snapped, stopping on his tracks. The kids had lifted their gazes at his tone towards you, a few of them frowning in confusion at his sudden change of mood.

‘Steve.’ You said more stubbornly, feeling your fingers almost shaking on either side of you because of how angry and stupid you felt.

‘What!’ He screamed at you. ‘I can’t leave the fucking pond whenever you want to! What are you, five? You parents are home, you’re always complaining ‘bout how they ignore you, well then why don’t you go and leave us the fuck alone?’

You stood there, feeling ashamed under his severe stare as you tried to think about a comeback, when Max spoke softly:

‘There’s no need to be so harsh, Steve.’

‘Yeah, I can say the same.’ He said still looking at you.

‘Right.’ You said looking back at the kids, trying to pick up the last pieces of dignity you still had. ‘The pond’s all yours, guys.’

You walked out of the ice with your skates still on, too mad to even take them off yet. After a few seconds walking towards your house, you took a deep breath and stopped. This was dangerous, you could injure yourself and say goodbye to Odette and Odile if you hurt your ankles or knees. You already had a bruise forming on the side of your leg by the previous fall, and you weren’t going to fuck up things this easily.

You threw the skates away from you as you still stood on the snow barefoot, wondering where the fuck you had left your boots, when a soft tap on your shoulder startled you.

‘Jesus.’ You said turning back to find Max’s shy face in front of you.

‘I, uh, sorry.’ She said nervously. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ You said, a bit confused. Beyond her, the kids had already started skating while Steve was putting his own skates on.

‘I just wanted to tell you that Miss Dolly’s at home today, she might be able to lend you the theatre’s studio.’

‘Your ballet teacher?’ You asked excitedly before thinking about it. ‘Holy shit, you’re so right. Thank you, Max.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She smiled softly. ‘Am I still seeing you this Saturday for the audition thing?’

‘Sure.’ You nodded. ‘Right, I’ll make sure to write it down on my calendar.’

‘Cool.’ She said with a wide smile.

You weren’t able to reciprocate her excitement, but you were happy that she was so enthusiastic about getting better at dancing. It reminded you a little bit of yourself.

‘Cool.’

As Linda Harrington had said, Dolly Higgens wasn’t Miss Cécile, but she had trained in Paris and toured Asia as Coppélia. So, when you knocked the door of her house trying to catch your breath and explained everything to her, she gave you the keys to the old studio where you had once learned the transition from first position to sixth.

The place was warmer than your remembered, but the wooden tiles still creaked the same way they did when you were eight. The old curtains had been replaced, but the barres under your stretching ankle still felt the same as the first time you managed to execute a successful plié.

All your ballet clothes were in the washing machine, so you had to resort to shorts, a sports bra and your leg warmers. You were sweaty when you heard the knock on the door. The noise made you frown, so you kept on moving until you heard the knock again, grabbing your shrug from the floor and wrapping it around you before walking to the door.

‘I came to pick up Max.’ Steve said as he stood on the threshold. He was avoiding your eyes, wrapped in endless layers of wool and cotton while you still caught your breath.

‘Uh, she’s not here.’ You said.

He scoffed.

‘C’mon, just tell her I’m outside.’ He looked at you, annoyance written all over his face as he looked back at you. ‘She asked me to drive her to the movies tonight.’

‘Well maybe she meant—’ But he didn’t let you finish, he just walked into the studio to find the large room empty except for the big speakers and your bottle of water.

‘Max?’ He asked loudly. ‘Max?’

‘Maybe she meant her house?’ You crossed your arms over your waist.

‘No.’ He turned back to look at you. ‘No, she said she’d be rehearsing with you and then I could come pick her up.’

You bit the pitiful smile that was trying to form on your face before shaking your head.

‘Our rehearsal’s on Saturday.’ You simply said.

He shook his head then, growing more tense the longer he spent inside the studio, the longer you looked at him from the other side of the room.

‘She wouldn’t lie to me.’ He scoffed.

You shrugged, closing the door behind you as you walked back into the studio.

‘If you don’t mind,’ you said calmly, taking off the shrug. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

But just as you were about to play the music, he snapped again.

‘What did you tell her?’

You scoffed, knowing that he was just looking for excuses to fight with you.

‘Nothing.’ You said, looking at him seriously. ‘I didn’t have to tell her anything. Maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that Hawkin’s golden boy was treating me like shit this morning.’

‘Oh, please.’ He let out a snorty laugh. ‘You got it well deserved.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ You were more than just offended as you walked towards him, letting out a laugh of disbelief. ‘Steve, you ran away.’

‘You pushed me.’ He said between his teeth.

‘What?’

‘You fucking pushed me.’ He repeated. You could see that his cheeks were turning redder by the anger.

‘You kissed me.’ You said slowly. ‘Steve, my mom almost caught us.’

‘So what?’ He said throwing his hands in the air. ‘Who gives a shit? We’re not kids anymore.’

‘I do, Steve.’ You argued, feeling yourself more and more flushed. ‘I give a shit. I have to deal with her belittling me all the time—’

‘Oh, here we go.’ He rolled his eyes, letting out an exhausted noise before he licked his lips. ‘Seriously, don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?’

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

‘Right. I get why you’d like her to know.’ All your patience had ran out, this time all the anger and frustration were taking over you as your heart beat fast. ‘I guess you enjoy the fact she hasn’t stopped talking about you since your accident—'

‘Do you think I like the fact you’re getting everything I wanted?’ He shouted then ‘When you don’t even fucking deserve it?’

‘Yes.’ You said firmly. As firmly as you had asked him to think about you a week ago. He didn’t get to decide if you deserved this or not. ‘In fact, I think you like the pity, Steve. I think there’s no one in this fucking town that feels as sorry for that accident as I do. Because now everyone fucking pities you except me, and that’s probably why you’re doing this— Why you keep kissing me, and touching me and shit, because you want me to pity you so badly…’

You just couldn’t keep your impulses in, and your arms found his chest easily to push him again, to vent, to throw all your anger at him. But as soon as you did, and you realised he was almost flinching, you couldn’t do it. All you could do was pull him from his shirt and kiss him, you were on your tiptoes, you were sighing hard.

He hesitated, and that made you feel desperate, stupid, small. But then a few seconds after his hands were cupping your ass, his tongue was making his way inside you as he pulled you in. He was leaning in to be at same height as you, the cold surface of the mirror was against your back as his wet lips made their way from your ear to your neck. You could feel him hard against your groin, warm under all those endless layers that kept him away from you.

Your desperate hands got rid of his scarf first, before moving on to his jacket. You were squirming against the mirror, desperately trying to chase his lips, when you felt the warm breath of his laugh against your neck.

‘You’re so bratty.’ He whispered before laughing again.

‘Don’t call me that.’ You tried to said it seriously, but you were sighing, you were melting by the way his kisses were making their way down your chest.

‘Can I taste you?’ He said between kisses, slowly kneeling in front of you. His lips were warm and soft against the hem of your sports bra, and you blinked repeatedly as you looked down at him.

‘W-What?’

His hands had entwined with yours and he only stood straight again to kiss you. You were too stunned to say anything as he pulled you down softly, and you followed him, of course. Your back was against the floor, his mouth on your bare stomach as you felt a sweet, yet terrifying rush of energy run down your spine.

You lifted your waist so he could get rid of your shorts, and you were purposefully avoiding his eyes as you felt the fabric leaving your ankles. His gaze was focused on the side of your thigh, a worried frown taking over his features as his fingers brushed against the bruise.

‘Is this from this morning?’ He asked softly.

You were still trying to catch your breath so all you could do was nod.

‘God, I’m sorry, baby.’ He said before leaning in to kiss it. Just the stimulus had you repressing a moan. ‘M so sorry.’

There wasn’t a good answer you could think of, anything that could’ve left your lips would’ve sounded stupid to yourself. All you could do was shut your eyes hard as he kept repeating soft I’m sorrys while he kissed your thighs, your hipbone, the little curve of your pelvis. You weren’t sure what he was apologising for, and at this point you couldn’t even care.

‘…gentle.’

‘Huh?’ Your fingers were already diving inside his brown locks, waiting for the moment where you could pull them that way you liked to.

The warm breath of his laugh brushed against your covered pussy, and you had to fight the need to roll your eyes at it.

‘Was saying,’ He took your hands then and placed them over your breasts. ‘I’m gonna teach you how to be gentle.’

You blinked a couple of times, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks when he kissed you over your panties before his hands stared to pull them down. His eyes lingered from your face to your stomach, down the trail that led to your pussy as if he was fond of the image in front of you.

‘Lift your bra.’ He said then. ‘And touch yourself softly.’

You were too nervous to roll your eyes or get embarrassed by the fact he was telling you what to do. You did as he said, rolling up the elastic fabric and feeling quite exposed, but too needy to worry about it.

The sides of Steve’s lips lifted softly as you stroked your breasts, the tips of your nipples hardening by the stimulus, a longing sigh stuck on your throat as your eyes never left his. You thought of him the first time he touched you, his murmured I’m proud of you, was it so crazy that you wanted him to be proud of you for this too?

‘I said softly.’ He laughed when you pinched one of your nipples. And you laughed too, shrugging while you still looked at him.

‘I like it.’ You confessed shyly.

He shook his head to himself then, before his hands rested on each side of your legs. You looked down attentively, mesmerized and terrified, until he finally leaned in.

His tongue was warm. Wet. Soft. You were a mess of little noises and gulps as you arched your back while he licked your clit. Your hands softly wandered down, but then you remembered he wouldn’t let you pull his hair, and there were no bedsheets to fist as he started sucking.

You shut your eyes hard, sinking your nails on the skin of your stomach as you panted, too overwhelmed to keep the moans in.

‘Don’t do that.’ Steve said suddenly. You looked down then, finding his lips shiny and cheeks pink, his eyes focused on the harmless little half-moons on your abdomen.

One of his hands grabbed yours, kissing your fingertips before sucking them in the same sensual way he had sucked your clit before. Your eyes couldn’t leave his face as his tongue licked the bottom of your middle finger up to the top, leaving them sticky and wet for you, until he guided that same hand back to your bare, needy breasts.

You were breathless as he resumed his kisses in between your thighs, and you pushed your breasts until all his spit had been perfectly rubbed on your nipples, until you felt completely his.

‘Steve.’ You moaned as you recoiled, trying to find sweet ways to beg him to release you from this misery, but other than his name you didn’t know how to do any of this. The sweetness, the softness of it all.

The thought brought tears to your eyes, and you had to shut them hard and move your head to the side to keep him from looking at you like this. It was better if he thought your choky breaths were due to the pleasure, and not because the words you had said to him were drilling your brain.

‘Open your eyes for me.’ He asked then, and when you did, what you found was your reflection on the mirror, his lips working on you as your legs were lightly flexed, your body all exposed for him. ‘Look at us.’

‘Huh?’ You looked down at him, trying to get rid of that image but at the same time wishing you could cherish it forever.

He smiled again, tendered by your cluelessness, by the sudden shyness that sometimes overtook your face.

‘Do you still think this is not beautiful?’ He asked softly against your pussy. You threw your head back when he dived in again, this time more consistently, with the purpose of eating you, with the purpose of ruining you.

‘Cause I think we’re…’ He sighed, hearing you panting and feeling you squirming under his tongue. ‘Hmm.’

‘Shit.’ You finally moaned, as the feeling built from your stomach and you were moaning, maybe crying a little, you were laughing and cumming deliciously. ‘Fuck.’ You laughed again. ‘W-What the fuck.’

You were still catching your breath as he sat up, and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly too, his eyes falling on your uncovered breasts for a second before he looked away. You took it as a sign to pull the fabric down, finding yourself more exposed than you had ever felt in front of him.

He grabbed your underwear and the silent question of if he’d ask to keep them lingered between you. Yet your eyes stayed on his puffy lips as he pulled your panties up through your legs and you let him, lifting yourself so he could place them perfectly, then doing the same with your shorts.

The silence was awkward when the heat and the sweetness died down, tensions from the previous argument resurged in between you two. You sat down as he stood up, putting your shrug back on and playing with its sleeves. Then you felt the need of saying thank you, I’m sorry or please stay.

‘Guess I’ll see you around, bratty.’ He nodded at you. You guessed he was supposed to sound cold, but his lips were shiny, puffy, red. And you wondered if he could still taste you.

‘Sure.’ You murmured, hugging yourself as you heard the door close.

On Monday you climbed out of your car feeling achy and restless. What was supposed to be a resting weekend turned out to be a couple of days of training with Max nonstop. She was better than you thought she would be, and just as stubborn and perfectionist as you were at her age. So, when you figured that spending two days with Max at Dolly Higgens’ studio would save you from another dinner with the Harringtons, you told her you’d help her get the role no matter what.

Steve had driven her to the city for her audition. You knew this because Max had told you several times that it wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to join them on Monday morning. It shouldn’t have caught you by surprise then, when you saw him on the theatre’s lobby as you walked in with your dance bag.

Max was queuing for registration as you walked past them quickly, lifting your hand in the air as a quick, subtle hi. She waved back at you enthusiastically, while Steve looked at you with a careful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Good luck.’ You said waving again, before you got lost on the hallway that led to your studio.

A few hours later you were still achy and more tense as you sat down to have a snack.

The forecast for the last week of rehearsals didn’t seem too good. You had been shouted at before, and it was normal to have disagreements with other dancers, but it was obvious that everyone was as nervous as you.

Miss Fyodorova, the ballet mistress, had been constantly repeating you not to tremble, and the more she did the more you did, and the worse it got the easier it was to lose your balance. You had to force yourself to look at your eyes in the mirror to avoid getting distracted, but somehow you were able to see everything you were doing wrong with your pirouettes and it all got so tense and ridiculous everyone was sent to lunch earlier.

The door to the dressing room opened behind you, but you didn’t look back as you took an absent bite of your protein bar. Once again you tried to read the same paragraph from your novel when you heard Priscilla Webber’s voice behind you.

‘And this is the dressing room. I think I can check if I can show you my costumes.’

You looked behind your shoulder then, because you knew that what she meant was your costumes, though you knew that in a normal show she played one of the Baby Swans. Priscilla was accompanied by an old woman, and the tension on your face dissipated when you noticed the way the lady was looking at the room in fascination before her eyes fell on you.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly.

‘Hi.’ Priscilla said, not too amused by your interruption. ‘This is my grandma.’

‘Hello.’ You were suddenly standing up and offering your hand and your name.

She took it kindly. ‘And who are you playing?’

You looked at Priscilla then, almost searching for her approval, or asking if you should lie. If maybe you should’ve humoured the lady a little bit and tell her that you were his granddaughter’s understudy and not the other way around.

‘She’s Odette, grandma.’ She said ignoring your gaze on her. ‘And Odile.’

‘How wonderful.’ Her grandmother said.

You were about to say thank you when she carefully placed the palm of her hand under your chin, looking at you closely.

‘You’re perfect.’ She said.

‘Excuse me?’ You chuckled.

‘For the role.’ She smiled. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘T-Thanks.’ You said softly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried not to look at Priscilla.

She didn’t seem bothered, though. Both of them stayed on the room for a little longer as you stood awkwardly next to your chair, feeling that your hands were sweating cold.

‘It was nice to meet you.’ She said before walking out, Priscilla was standing on the entrance as she looked at you behind her shoulder. ‘I will see you on the show this Friday, dear.’

‘It was nice meeting you too.’ You lifted a hand in the air.

The old lady finally got lost behind the door and you bit the inside of your cheek as you got lost in your thoughts.

‘Why are you being so weird?’ Priscilla said once her grandmother left.

‘I’m not being weird.’ You murmured. ‘I’m just… I don’t know, nervous.’

You sat down then, feeling her eyes on you through the mirror as you picked your book once again.

‘I know that you wanted to tell her.’ She walked towards you. ‘I don’t need to lie about being the understudy.’

‘Okay.’ You said after a while.

‘Specially just so you can feel better about yourself.’

‘Fine.’ You turned the page without knowing what you had just read exactly, but you were trembling again, and you couldn’t stand it.

‘Though it does makes me feel kind of good to know that you can’t even get your family to visit you.’

You shut the book then, grabbing your things to leave the dressing room.

‘I’m not doing this today, Priscilla.’

‘You should’ve seen yourself back there in the studio.’ She said frustrated. ‘Seriously, you were worse than bad, you were unprofessional.’

‘Fine, well,’ you said standing in front of her. ‘There’s a reason why I get to be bad and unprofessional and still be the lead and that’s the fact that I deserve this.’

‘I deserved this.’ She shouted, you could see her eyes getting progressively glossy as she spoke. ‘I fucking do, and it’s killing me to see you fucking it up!’

‘Well, you don’t have it.’ You said in the same tone. ‘I do. Sometimes, Priscilla, people deserve better than they have, and they still don’t get it. Get over it.’

You left the room feeling a strange sense of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t the first time you two got caught on a quarrel and it wouldn’t be the last, but something about what you said was starting to mess with your breathing pattern. You were thinking about Steve. You were thinking about his accident. Why did you care this much?

Your heart beat fast, and there was a knot on your throat the size of a fist as you walked out towards the parking lot.

It was easy to find his car, you almost had the plate memorised just by how many times you had seen it next to your house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, of course, eyeing a magazine as you made your way towards him almost stomping.

A frown took over his face when you opened the door, not worrying about anything else as you jumped into his arms, sitting on his lap and clashing your mouths as you felt yourself almost panting by the anxiety. You were trying to show him that you needed him, right now and here more than anything else. Because there was no one else that could understand what you were feeling right now as he did.

He let out a noise of protest, pushing you softly before looking back at your face.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked almost angry.

‘W-What?’ You asked confused.

‘Move, Jesus.’ He said lifting you easily as you moved absently to the co-pilot seat. ‘Somebody can see you, and then what? You lose your place as the lead for this shit?’

He closed the driver’s door then, and you were still confused, blinking a couple of times as you wondered what you were doing here, inside his car.

‘Are you stupid?’ He said then, only then you had noticed the little dot of blood in his lower lip, one that you had probably caused by how unexpectedly you had kissed him.

‘I-I’m—’

He hit the top of the wheel with his hand as he tried to check through the windshield if there was anyone around.

‘This could’ve got you fucking expelled.’

You didn’t say anything, instead you lifted a shaky hand towards his face. Your thumb brushed the bloody spot of his lip as you blinked repeatedly again.

‘Did you bite me?’ He said then, before he tried to look at himself in the rearview mirror. The heat rushed to your cheeks then as you sat back uncomfortably.

‘I-I’m sorry.’ You said. ‘I didn’t realise. I didn’t mean to.’

He chuckled, shaking his head as he cleaned his mouth with his hand.

‘Listen,’ He said after a while. ‘This thing between us can’t keep going if you don’t learn to be a little less rough, okay?’

You nodded softly then. It was so absurd that after everything, this was the one thing that was almost bringing you to tears. You felt so stupid out of sudden. Every single day since this had started you had felt stupid.

‘Like…’ He tried to find words, but all he could do was sit back and look through the windshield while he shook his head. ‘You worry me sometimes. Do any of the other guys liked this type of shit? Did they treat you like this?’

This time you felt the blood leaving your face as you hugged yourself in the seat. You looked away, towards the window, trying to remember any words but unable to find any.

‘I gotta go.’ You said softly, trying to open the door on your side, but it was locked.

‘What?’

‘I have to leave,’ Your voice was shaky and you hated yourself for it as you tried to open it again. ‘I have to go back inside, Steve.’

‘But you still have about forty minutes.’ His voice didn’t sound so harsh as he checked on his watch. Steve’s hand landed on your knee as you tried to open the door again, and then he pronounced the next word softly and sweetly, as only he could.

‘Stay.’

‘I don’t wanna stay.’ You said still hiding your face from him.

‘Why not?’ His thumb was stroking you softly and it was unbearable, you kind of preferred it when he was angry.

‘I’m not comfortable here.’ You simply said, feeling that you were losing oxygen every second that you were trapped in this car.

‘W-Why? Was it something I said?’ He tried to touch your arm, but you flinched at his touch, taking your hands to your face. ‘Hey. I’m sorry I snapped, you just caught me off guard, okay?’

‘I really need to leave.’ You repeated, massaging your temples as you felt yourself shaking.

He sat back then, pondering about what to do. You could feel his heavy breath next to you as you hid your face from him, fighting the tears that were about to leave your eyes.

‘I don’t get to ask about other guys?’ He asked softly.

‘No, Steve. You don’t.’ You snapped as your eyes kept focused on the glove compartment because you just couldn’t look back at him. Because you couldn’t tell him that there were no other guys. There had never been any because you were simply not that likable. ‘Can I leave?’

‘R-Right.’ He said, and you heard the relieving noise of the car unlocking. ‘Will I—’

You closed the door behind you, finally feeling the tears that were in your eyes rolling down your cheeks. Hugging yourself, you rubbed your hand against your cheekbone, deciding that you didn’t have time for this right now. You had to clean your face, fix your make up and go back to the studio, because the opening night was in five days.

Who would’ve thought that the secret to reach perfection was a broken heart?

As soon as you had made it inside there was no more trembling or unbalancing allegros, your face was perfectly able to enact Odette’s agony, or Odile’s malice as you blindly looked beyond your body in the mirror.

There was no doubt you deserved the role, despite what everyone else had try to make you believe. And yet when you left the theatre that night, as soon as you walked out to the desertic parking lot, you were in tears again.

In fact, you had spent the whole week crying in your bed, facing away from the sight of the glistening pond where sometimes you could hear the laugh of a few teenagers accompanied by the voice of someone you couldn’t give your heart to.

Nobody noticed, and often you were thankful while other times you wished you could scream loud enough that he could hear it from his house. But your behaviour of rejecting dinner at the Harrington’s or leaving your parents to have plans by themselves wasn’t new. You could call Barb, but last time she had mentioned she had finals on the week of the show. You were more than desolated, and angry at yourself, you were embarrassed.

On Thursday night you walked into the kitchen to find your mother weaving Christmas wreaths. She smiled at you softly as you moved inside to prepare some tea. Outside, the night was navy and illuminated by the reflection of the snow, you could hear noise coming from the pond, maybe Steve was having another party, or maybe it was just the kids.

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?’ She asked.

You turned back, resting your back against the counter as you waited for the water to boil on the kettle. She was distracted, adding glue to a little red ball that she stuck next to a fake leaf.

‘Yeah.’ You admitted. ‘Terrified, actually.’

She laughed softly, still concentrated on the design as you looked back at her.

‘You don’t need to worry, honey.’ She sounded as if she was certain of it. ‘You will be great. You always are. I never have to worry about you.’

You swallowed hard, looking down at your slippers as you bit the inside of your cheeks.

‘Sometimes I wish you did.’ You admitted then. ‘Worry. Louder.’

Your mom turned back then, looking at you for a second as she processed your words.

‘Oh, honey, that’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ You said immediately. ‘I know, mom. I just— Forget it, I just wanted to ask you if you’d do my hair tomorrow, that’s all.’

Your mother sat back then, a confused stare on her face as you bit your lip and tried to play it cool.

‘Honey, sit down.’

You did as she said, wondering if you’d be able to put your thoughts into words if you had the chance to.

‘Okay, so. First of all, of course I’ll do your hair whether you like it or not.’ You let out a small laugh as she lifted a manicured finger to distract herself with some of the supplies that were on the table. ‘Second, I need to know why, my daughter, the best ice skater in Hawkins, hasn’t gone to her favourite spot in the world not even once during the most stressful week of her life.’

‘Second best.’ You admitted under your breath.

‘He can’t be the first after his injury, honey.’

‘Mom.’

She burst out laughing, and you stayed there in shock that she was trying to joke about something so serious right now.

‘How bad was it?’ She placed her hands on yours.

She lifted her eyebrows at the way you were biting your lip, shrugging.

‘That’s it.’ She said standing up. ‘I’m going there.’

‘What?’

‘I told Linda things weren’t good, and I told your father something was definitely up with Steve, and nobody listened to me…!’

‘Mom,’ you said standing up. ‘It was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault? You’ve never had a boyfriend.’ She said taking her jacket and scarf from the counter. ‘And if they think I’m not uninviting them for Christmas after their son—’

‘Mom.’ You softly took the jacket from her. ‘You don’t need to uninvite anyone. It was my fault; I handled it terribly. Steve’s patient. And sweet. And I’m… awkward and rough, and cold—’

‘Stop.’ She lifted a finger at you then, her eyes had suddenly turned serious. ‘You’re going to stop now; you’re not talking about yourself that way in front of me. You’re the sweetest girl in this town. Everyone adores you.’

‘That’s not really…’

‘It is.’ She said firmly. ‘And you would know this if you ever attended anything with me. Everyone’s constantly talking about you. Half the town is going to the show tomorrow to see you.’

You stood silent as you looked down to your slippers again.

‘This is not about Steve, is it?’ You bit your lip.

‘Oh, it is about Steve.’ She said then. ‘That boy should’ve showed up with flowers and a card as soon as you two had your disagreement. But instead, he has you skipping dinners and missing daylight and exercise. I don’t like him.’

‘Mom…’

‘I am fond of him. I love that kid. But I don’t really like him right now.’

You took a deep breath, trying to hide your smile as you moved to pour the hot water inside your cup. Moving in silence, you decided that maybe you might prepare a sandwich too, given the circumstances.

‘Do you need help with that?’ You sat down next to her, grabbing the other naked wreath on the table.

She hummed for a while as you two worked together, and you drank your tea and ate your sandwich in silence.

‘I thought you’d be happy.’ You said with your mouth full as you sat more comfortably.

‘About you and Steve?’ She laughed. ‘Well, it had occurred to me before, I just thought you disliked each other way too much. You two are too competitive and I never wanted to encourage you to fight. But clearly, I always failed.’

You laughed softly, focused on the wreath because you didn’t want her to notice the way you were blushing.

‘And, well… his parents always pushed him into the whole scholarship thing, and then he had that terrible accident.’ She shook her head. ‘The poor boy’s had a terrible time trying to find his own path, I feel so sorry for him.’

You took a deep breath, thinking about all those awful things you had said back in Miss Higgens’ studio, knowing that you didn’t mean any of them. Your mind took you back to a year ago, when Steve was at the hospital and you spent the whole month skating alone.

‘It was very bad, wasn’t it?’ You murmured.

She swallowed hard before looking back at you.

‘Yes.’ Then she made a long pause before she grabbed another fake leaf, looking at it carefully. ‘It almost made me want to ask you to quit dancing.’ She sighed when she looked at your confused stare. ‘Sometimes I still want you to. I just wouldn’t be able to see you deal with that level of disappointment if something like that happened to you. I’ve got mixed feelings about it, honey, I’m sorry.’

You bit your lip then, considering her words.

‘But that doesn’t matter. You’ve always been stubborn enough to do what you want whether I like it or not.’ She shrugged. ‘As you should, that’s how I raised you. Look at me.’

A soft laugh left your lips as you looked back at her, feeling your eyes turning glossy.

‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ You admitted softly, hugging yourself. ‘Very much, but I was such an idiot. I was just… so unpleasant and so stupid, mom.’

She laughed softly then, looking back at the wreath.

‘And when have you ever been anything else when it comes to Steve Harrington?’

Steve Harrington had in fact, never felt so unpleasant and stupid in his life. He had dodged Robin’s questions the whole week, he had forgotten to pick Dustin to take him Christmas shopping to the mall, and he had snapped twice at his mom.

It came to him slowly. At first, he had just assumed you were seeing someone else at the same time, maybe some guy from the ballet company, someone from outside Hawkins.

Then he thought there must’ve been something seriously wrong with him, because you never spent this much time away from the pond unless you were sick or away on vacation. He must’ve done something awful to have you avoiding him so purposely.

His friends just assumed he was on a bad mood since soon it would be the first anniversary of the accident, that maybe Christmas had him in this gloomy mood, but when Nancy bumped his shoulder and innocently asked where was the Ice Princess, he just shook his head and started walking back to his house.

A part of him was scared to know what had he done wrong. What if all this time you had been trying hard to like him but never really managed to? What if all those instances in which you threw your head back and your back arched irresistibly at his touch had been just an attempt to please him? Steve knew you could be mean, but were you that mean?

On Friday evening, he stood inside his car longer than necessary, wondering if he should just drive back to Hawkins and throw the bouquet of white roses somewhere far, so no one would ever find out that he had been making a fool of himself.

He had told his parents he wasn’t sure if he would come to the show tonight, some lame excuse about his shifts and Keith. But Robin had made sure that Steve’s schedule was clear, she even double checked that his tank was full, that he was dressing properly. And when she said goodbye on the front porch of the Harrington house, she made him promise to bring back a programme for her.

‘There you are!’ Said his mom as soon as he walked inside the lobby. The heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight of so many acquaintances. So many people were trying to be discreet about the bouquet he held in his hand, except for Max, who was smiling widely at the sight of the white roses.

‘Hi.’ He said with an attempt of a smile.

‘We thought you had changed your mind.’ Said his dad as he put his hands inside his pockets.

‘Sorry, I was just trying to get a tie, and then I… decided I didn’t want to wear one, and… I don’t know. Thanks for waiting for me.’

Mr Harrington nodded, trying hard to repress his smile as the queue advanced and they finally made it to the entrance.

A sudden noise made him turn back, someone seemed to be rushing inside the lobby. A security guard approached the young lady that was panting next to the heavy glass doors, and it took Steve a few seconds to recognise her.

‘Miss, you can’t run in here.’ The man said.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said in between heavy breaths. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I was late; I got a ticket. Here.’

‘Barb?’ Said Steve as he walked towards here.

‘Hi?’ She said confused for a second until she recognised him too. ‘Oh, hi, Steve. God, I’m sorry, I’m all over the place. I literally ran from the train station. I couldn’t get a taxi with all this traffic. What time is it?’

‘We still got about ten minutes before the show.’ He said.

‘Great.’ She said before her eyes fell on the bouquet in his hand. ‘Oh, no. Nononono— Flowers! I forgot the flowers, fuck. I was gonna get her some on the way, but my train got delayed, and— She doesn’t even know I’m here you know?’

‘I figured.’ His face was overtaken by a pitiful smile, the internal debate taking over him as he looked back at Barbara. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you give her these? You know her better than I do, after all.’

‘Are you sure?’ She said as they started walking towards the entrance of the main theatre. Behind the young lady who was checking the tickets, Mr and Mrs Harrington waited along with Max.

‘Of course.’ He said giving his ticket to the girl as he offered Barb the flowers once again. ‘Here.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She smiled then. ‘It means a lot. Really.’

He shrugged before walking to join his family. ‘Enjoy the show.’

‘You too.’ She said offering her ticket to the girl.

‘Why did you do that?’ Max asked when he joined them.

Steve shrugged, hiding his hands inside his pockets as they walked inside the theatre. The place was full of people already chatting softly on their seats, as he followed his parents towards the row where your family was waving from.

Max let out a frustrated sigh as they sat down, and he suddenly felt nervous. He wondered if you were, somewhere behind those intimidating red curtains that kept the stage hidden from the audience.

‘Steve, sometimes you can be very stupid, you know?’ Max said before the lights started to turn dim.

‘Shhh.’ He heard his mother in the dark.

Steve didn’t reply. He curiously leaned in as the orchestra walked in, followed by the applause of the audience when the director appeared right behind them.

The was an unbearable silence then. The director lifted his baton, the curtains opened, and the music started. He could feel Max leaning in next to him too, the sight of a few male ballet dancers, the interpretation of some sort of royal scene in which the characters discussed.

‘Where’s she?’ He whispered then.

‘Shhh.’ Max said.

Steve sat back, releasing a sigh as his eyes wandered around the staging, the fairytale-like music that preluded your apparition made him feel equally anxious and inadequate inside the fancy room. He rubbed his leg as he looked at the male dancers, nervously touching that one spot where he knew there was a scar.

Then the scenery changed. The lights were cold and dim, the stage washed in shades of blue, and about thirty different figures in white tulle costumes appeared, but only you wore the delicate silver tiara on your head that granted you the title of principal dancer.

He swallowed hard at the sight of you that wasn’t you exactly, but at the same time held the innocent air that so often you tried to repress but sometimes it slipped unconsciously. It seemed than in Odette you had found a way to expose it openly though, in the ways your eyebrows arched, and you lamented the day that awful spell had turned you into a swan forever.

Steve stood still as he saw you tiptoe around the stage in elegant movements that he knew required excessive amounts of discipline and control. From the distance, his eyes lingered on your hands and arms, as you tried to hide from the price, as you blushed, as you danced. He found himself smiling at the way your movements resembled those he had seen you try on the ice sometimes, his eyes took in the perfect harmony of the choreography, the urgency of the music… and the hope in your face, that mixed with despair the more the show progressed.

He had the pleasure to just watch you for a few hours, as if you were the graceful figure inside a musical box gifted to him on Christmas day, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted. He was enjoying himself.

But then he saw you turn into something else, that was also you in a more obscure and uncomprehensible way. Of course, he recognised the piece that played that day in his room, when you had so beautifully turned into nothing as your warmth rubbed against his. He couldn’t help to hold onto his seat when you appeared wearing a black version of your tulle dress. Your movements were still impeccable but much more calculated, hiding a certain malice he had familiarised with through glimpses you let him see, but not in such a shameless manner.

The prince lifted you and held you as if you were a leaf, while Steve thought of your mouth, of your hands in his hair, of the weight of your body on his. He swallowed hard at this other version of you, that was not scared of embodying this elegant violence that took over Odile’s body as she stole the only precious thing Odette had left.

He held his breath when he saw you appear again as the poor, desolated Odette who prepared herself to give in to the sorrow of heartache. It was as if the whole audience stayed breathless with him, while the orchestra’s symphony turned progressively darker, ethereally distressing and your own innocence mixed with a doomed melancholy that he knew was yours and only yours. He knew then that you understood loneliness in a way probably not a lot of people did. And yet you were here, selflessly descending into madness in the most delicate and artistically delicious way in front of everyone. The disturbing last notes of the Moderato echoed through the theatre and Odette fell into a painful death in front of him. And then you were gone.

He was still getting used to the lights when they all walked out towards the lobby and his mind was still trapped inside that dreary, foggy stage where your ghost had danced for about two hours. Max kept pulling his sleeve, asking him if he had liked the show and Oh, wasn’t it so sad? Wasn’t it so sad how fate kept people apart in fairytales?

All Steve could do was nod absently as he tapped his shoe against the red carpet of the lobby while everyone waited for you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he saw Barb talking to your parents next to the exit. She was still holding the flowers he should’ve given you right after you left the show; with your hair still up a bun and your sparkly make up still on. In another life, you would’ve jumped into his arms right after and he would’ve wrapped you in a hug like a precious thing. He would’ve told you how proud of you he was. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt the insides of his throat closing, the knot of his stomach growing, and the blood leaving his face.

‘I think I’ll see you guys at home.’ He turned to his dad then.

Mr Harrington stared at his son for a long beat before taking a quick glance at the place where your parents waited. Steve thought that for a second he had figured him out, he probably had already if he was smart enough, but he just couldn’t talk about it. Not here, at least.

So, all his dad could do was nod carefully. Steve returned the glance; he was saying thank you, he was saying I’m sorry. As he had so many times before during the last year.

‘Where’s he going?’ He heard the voice of his mother as he made his way out towards the parking lot, but he couldn’t stay. He knew he couldn’t.

The blanket of snow that fell on Hawkins overnight glistened in the quiet morning of Christmas Day. You woke up early, feeling rested for the first time in forever, but you still stayed in bed for a little while, looking at the way the sunlight reflected on the distant snow.

One year ago, you had woken up to the awful news of Steve’s accident. It had happened around lunch, while you slept through a hungover in the living room after spending the whole night watching movies with Barb. You heard the phone in the distance, you mother picked up, and when she gasped, loudly and urgently, you got up disoriented.

Now everything was quiet. Your parents were probably still asleep while you ate your cereal leaning on the counter. They had driven Barb to her parents’ late after dinner last night, when half the town went to Enzo’s to celebrate your success. It had been nice to be the centre of attention, to receive flowers and cards and enjoy the praise after all the hard work. Still, you had to try hard to keep your eyes away from the empty seat next to Max the whole night. Many times your eyes fell on the restaurant’s doors, hoping that maybe he’d walk in with a forgiving smile, but it didn’t happen, and you went to bed feeling in your heart that things were really over before they even began.

That feeling still accompanied you as you looked back behind your shoulder to find the white landscape of the desolated pond through the window. You hadn’t gone skating in a week, but somehow the idea still didn’t seem appealing; maybe you were just tired, maybe in the last few weeks something had changed in you. You felt much more grown, less childish and impatient than before. Sad.

The nostalgia didn’t leave you the whole day as you helped your mother with the cooking and your father lit the chimney. The snow slowly melted as you opened presents, the house filled with the smell of roast and cinnamon, and when your dad took out a bottle of his finest whiskey and the guests started arriving, you excused yourself to get changed upstairs.

It took you a while to get the courage to leave your room. You stroked the front skirt of the black dress as you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering if the hair updo was too much, if you were too much. Maybe you would avoid the drinking tonight and stay in the shadows of the living room. Maybe all that attention from the day before had left you drained.

You walked down the steps slowly, carefully trying to peek through the bannisters to see who was downstairs. A few of your father’s coworkers, some women that were part of the knitting club your mother attended, Nancy Wheeler’s parents…

No. It was too much, you were about to walk back into your room when Linda Harrington appeared through the corridor.

‘There she is!’ She seemed excited at the sight of you. Her glass of wine was half empty and most of her lipstick was gone, so you assumed she had at least downed half a bottle. You laughed shyly, making your way down as she extended a hand towards you. ‘Our little swan! I still can’t believe how wonderful you were last night.’

Mrs Harrington hugged you from your side fondly as you walked towards the living room together. You recognised a few joyful people from the Fishing Association, and you tried to smile and wave as the noise of chatter and Christmas music made you flushed and a little bit overwhelmed.

It was very warm inside, yet you still rubbed your arms as you looked around the room, maybe looking for your parents but really just looking for him. But Steve wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. He hadn’t come. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t come.

You blinked your tears away as you discreetly made your way back to your own room, passing through a few people that were chatting on the couch, until you made it back to the entrance. And then you stopped in your tracks when you saw the familiar silhouette of Steve Harrington sitting down at the bottom of the stairs with a glass in his hands.

He absentmindedly looked up to find you standing on the living room’s entrance. His eyes went to your hands when you tried to pull your sleeves over your fingers out of habit, but your dress didn’t have any. You felt naked.

Steve looked down at his glass again, and you finally got the courage to walk and sit down next to him. From here, the party sounded like a distant dream; the sound of laughter and chatter were like a forgotten memory, the clash of cutlery and glasses overshadowed by the music while the tense silence sat between you two.

‘Merry Christmas.’ You said softly after a while.

His lips lifted subtly as his eyes still stayed on the drink in his hand. He was about to take another sip, but then he seemed to have changed his mind and put it aside on the step below. You felt silly when he attempted to look back at you, your eyes fell to your hands immediately while all the blood on your body rushed to your face.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He said as well.

You both stayed silent for a while, avoiding each other’s gaze as the party progressed and everyone inside seemed to get more enthusiastic.

‘Congratulations on the show.’ He said then.

‘Oh, thanks.’ You smiled softly at him before looking away to the decorations on the front door. A few people walked out of the living room to go out smoking then, and you and Steve smiled politely at them before they closed the door behind them.

‘You know,’ You started, still looking at your hands. ‘I never said I’m sorry for not going to see you at the hospital after the accident.’

You heard him laugh softly next to you. ‘That was a year ago.’

‘Still.’ You shrugged. ‘It must’ve been hard.’

‘It was hard.’ He said after a while. ‘…It was also very frustrating to see you skate every morning while I was paralyzed in bed. But I got used to it.’

You nodded softly, looking at your hands while you tried to find the words to say what you wanted to say beyond your foolish apologies. You were about to open your mouth when he spoke.

‘I’m sorry.’ Your eyes looked back at him as he studied your face. ‘I never meant to upset you that day at the parking lot.’

‘You didn’t.’ You rushed to say. ‘I was just being stupid. I’m sorry, Steve.’

He frowned then, considering your words before he nodded softly. Silence took over once again and you felt your heart beating against your chest as you swallowed hard. Again, you were thinking of the right words to say what you really meant, something, anything that could mend the situation, but you felt as if thousands of invisible eyes were on you as you kept nervously playing with your hands.

‘You’re not stupid.’

‘Huh?’ You said looking back at him. You must’ve looked so clueless, feeling the back of your neck sweaty.

This time his laugh echoed in the little space you shared, as he looked back at you with a softness he had been holding back during these last agonising minutes filled with small talk.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He said again, this time smiling at you.

‘Oh.’ You said under your breath, thinking that if you looked away then maybe your insecurity wouldn’t be so obvious. You felt worse than stupid, you felt defeated. ‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling pretty stupid the last few days, if I’m honest with you. You see, I…’

His eyebrows lifted subtly as he looked back at you attentively, but your eyes couldn’t hold the sweet brown of his. You turned even more nervous when they fell on his mouth, and then you were looking away again, because your lips had forgotten the rest of the sentence. You tried to hush the voice in your head that reminded you why you sucked so much at this: because you had never done it before.

Steve was about to say something then, but you had finally found some courage, some humble remains of dignity inside you when you decided to speak again.

‘Do you remember,’ You interrupted him with an unintentional aggressiveness, feeling that you had messed up the calm, cosy atmosphere, but well. ‘Do you remember the first time you tried to skate?’

He sat quietly, maybe remembering, but you weren’t about to let him speak now. You were too hyped to, too terrified to let yourself get carried away by cowardice.

‘I do.’ You proceeded. ‘I-I was seven. It was a year before you moved. I saw these pair of skates at Miss Vinny’s second-hand shop. You know the one that used to be ‘round the old gas station?’ You were almost swallowing every word as you kept going enthusiastically. ‘They were silver and white, and they had stars on them and I just— I went crazy. I needed them.’

Steve laughed softly at your story as you looked back at him feeling more scared every second that passed, uncertain that he knew where you were going, feeling your heart on your throat the whole time.

‘So, you know me, I can’t take no for an answer, and I begged dad, and he got them, of course.’ You kept going. ‘And well, one winter morning he and I went to the pond… I put them on. And I guess I expected to be good at it at the first try, but I had this— this feeling Steve, in my stomach. This awful, sickening vertigo that I felt inside as I stood there. Because I had never done this before.’

He stayed very still as he looked at you, and you swallowed hard as you hoped he’d understand what you meant, you hoped to God that he’d get it.

‘So, I did what I used to do sometimes, what I do still, which is basically throw myself into the unknown and hope for the best and pretend that I’m perfect at something that I’m not.’ You said looking down at your hands, feeling the tears pooling on your eyes and goddammit why were you trying to pull your sleeves again if you knew you didn’t have any? ‘And then I fell.’

You looked back at him, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks while his eyes were desperately studying your face. His soft hands found your arms and they were rubbing them so softly, as if his fingertips had a lifetime of experience stroking the arms of girls who cried on Christmas day.

‘I fell so hard.’ You admitted to yourself before looking back at him. ‘…And the ice was cold.’

And the ice was cold? You shut your eyes then, hiding your face on your hands and then placing your forehead on your knees as you felt that you had made a complete fool of yourself once again.

‘Hey.’ You knew he was smiling even without looking at him, just by the way he said it. His hands found either side of your head before you felt his mouth kissing your hairline softly. His lips still brushed against your scalp as he whispered. ‘Hey. ‘S fine, sweetheart. I think I’m getting where you’re coming from.’

‘I feel so stupid.’ You murmured.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He tried to search for your face with little kisses that started at your crown and followed down all the way to your ear and cheek. ‘You could never be.’

Your teary face came out of its hiding place then, and you looked back at him fully ashamed and flushed. Your fingers found the collar of his sweater as you tried to get distracted with something, because the hem felt just like the sleeves of your shrugs. Because it felt like him, and it smelled so much like him.

‘I hurt you.’ You said softly.

‘For a very valid reason.’ There was a shadow on his smile on his mortified face as he cupped your cheeks. ‘I should’ve done things differently. I didn’t know.’

You blinked a couple of times before rolling your eyes at him.

‘Well, you must have because I never touched you.’ You said almost annoyed.

He laughed then, throwing his head back before he brought your face close enough so his nose could brush yours.

‘I wasn’t even thinking about that.’ He whispered cheekily. ‘Was too busy looking at you.’

You pushed his chest then, like you had so many times before, but this once he was able to get back at you when he pulled you in playfully, and his lips finally crashed against yours. You melted like ice, like honey, like a little helpless snowflake. And as you deliciously sighed under his lips and your grip on his sweater slowly turned into your flat palm over his beating heart, you thought that maybe there was something deeply sweet inside you that had desperately been trying to come out for a while. It just needed a little push.

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

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