lottevence

[lottevence]

stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

[lottevence]

she's always a woman

⋆⁺₊⋆❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: Steve Harrington finds himself drawn to a fiercely independent, emotionally guarded woman whose contradictions both challenge and captivate him. As he chooses to love her without asking her to change, she begins to unravel the walls around her heart—slowly letting him into the chaos she’s always called home.

trope: messy but tender love

a/n: this song always inspired me to write about complex love (sorry some parts are kinda goofy but steve himself is goofy so.)

ꕥ based on she's always a woman by billy joel

Steve Harrington had never been good with women who confused him. He was great with the ones who smiled wide and batted lashes and let him lead. He’d memorized that game in high school. But her? She played by her own rules, and that scared him more than he liked to admit.

She wasn’t flashy. She didn’t dress up for the sake of being seen. She could walk into a room in denim and combat boots and still make every head turn without meaning to. She had a quiet confidence—sharp eyes that looked at people like puzzles, a mouth that could sting or soothe depending on her mood, and a laugh that always sounded like it belonged somewhere far freer than Hawkins, Indiana.

And yet, she stayed.

She stayed in that small town, in its suffocating quiet, working odd jobs, writing poems in the margins of receipts, reading philosophy in the Family Video breakroom like it was light reading. She’d cut her hair short one week just because she was “tired of being romanticized.” The next, she wore lipstick the color of dried blood and told Steve she wanted to start a punk band just to piss off the churchgoers.

He couldn’t keep up with her. And yet—he never wanted to stop trying.

⸻

He remembered the first time he noticed her, really noticed her. She’d just snorted with laughter at something Robin said and then looked at Steve like she could see right through him. Like she wasn’t impressed by the facade, but maybe curious about what was underneath.

“You think too much,” she had said, head tilted. “Or maybe you don’t think at all. I haven’t decided yet.”

And that was the thing—she was always in the in-between. Always teasing him with affection before pulling away. One minute she’d be curled beside him on his couch, sharing popcorn, her head on his shoulder. The next, she was lighting a cigarette with a smirk, telling him not to get too comfortable.

She could hurt him without meaning to. Sometimes, Steve thought she liked that she could. Like she found power in knowing he’d always come back.

But she could be soft too. She could run her fingers through his hair when she thought he was asleep, whisper things like, “I don’t think I’m built for easy love,” into the night like it wasn’t meant for him to hear.

He heard. Every time.

⸻

Robin told him he was wasting his time.

“She’s chaos, Steve,” she’d said one night, sipping Coke through a red straw. “You can’t fix chaos. And you? You’re… a golden retriever. You want things to work out. You want answers.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t want to fix her.”

Robin gave him a look. “Then what do you want?”

He didn’t know how to explain it. That when she walked into the room, everything got quieter in his chest. That he felt seen, even when she barely looked at him. That her contradictions made sense to him in a way no one else did.

“She’s… everything,” he finally said. “She’s always a woman.”

Robin blinked. “You’re quoting Billy Joel at me right now?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “It fits.”

Robin snorted, "God, even started to talk like her..."

⸻

There were moments when he wanted to walk away. When she ghosted him for days with no explanation. When she kissed him one night outside her apartment, soft and slow like it meant something, and then said, “Don’t fall in love with me, Harrington,” before disappearing inside.

He didn’t listen. He was already too far gone.

⸻

It was in the quiet moments that she showed herself.

Like the time her hands trembled while lighting a candle and he noticed the scar on her wrist, old but jagged. She didn’t explain, and he didn’t ask. He just gently took the lighter from her, lit it himself, and didn’t let go of her hand.

Or the night she showed up at his door, soaked from the rain, mascara smudged, and said nothing—just walked in and collapsed on his couch. He made her tea, handed her a blanket, and sat beside her in silence. She leaned against him, whispering, “I don’t know why you stay,” and he whispered back, “I do.”

⸻

Eventually, she came to him. Not in a dramatic way, not with some grand confession.

She just showed up at Family Video during his shift, dropped a folded note on the counter, and walked out.

Steve stared after her, heart thudding. He opened the paper slowly.

“I feel safe when I’m with you. I want to be cruel less when you’re around. I don’t know what to do with that. But I think I want to try.”

No signature. Just that. That was enough.

⸻

And so, they tried. Slowly. Messily. Tenderly.

She still disappeared sometimes, but always came back. She still said things that made his heart twist, but now she also said things that healed it. She’d touch his face when he couldn’t sleep, murmur weird poetry in the dark, and say things like, “You make the world feel less sharp.”

He never asked her to change. She never asked him to understand everything.

And in all the ways that mattered, he loved her.

Just like the song said.

She’s frequently kind and she’s suddenly cruel…

But she’s always a woman to me.

[lottevence]

Tastes Like Trouble

༉‧₊˚.⋆✴︎˚｡⋆. ݁₊ . ݁

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: just being back from your trip to europe for a few months, the last thing you expected was to find your bestfriend being friends with 'king steve' AND for him to claim that he left highschool days behind.

trope: enemies to lovers, slowburn

Chapter One: You Again?

Coming back to Hawkins felt like stepping into a memory you didn’t exactly miss.

Same cracked sidewalks. Same rusty signs. Same suffocating silence in the air that clung to your clothes like dust. You weren’t even back for a full day before Robin dragged you into the fluorescent-lit pit of hell known as Family Video.

“You’re gonna help me pick out a movie,” she declared, already yanking you past the door. “Because if I have to alphabetize one more box set, I will snap and start filing things under ‘existential dread.’”

You snorted. “Sounds organized.”

She smirked, about to retort—when a bell jingled from the back room.

You turned. And immediately regretted it.

Steve Harrington stood there in his full 80s glory—hair too perfect, polo shirt smugly tucked in, like the universe hadn’t let him know it was 1986 and his reign ended years ago. His expression shifted the second he saw you. A flicker of recognition. Then something harder to place.

“Oh,” you said flatly. “King Steve. Didn’t realize royalty worked retail.”

He blinked, then laughed. “Wow. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“I could bring it back,” you offered, saccharine-sweet. “Retro’s in, right?”

Robin’s eyes bounced between you two like a tennis match. “Oh no,” she mumbled. “No, no, no. Not this dynamic. Not again.”

Steve leaned on the counter, completely unfazed. “So… you’re the one who ran off to Europe with a backpack and a bad attitude.”

“And you’re the one who peaked in high school,” you shot back without missing a beat like it was a some kind of slur.

He looked genuinely amused now, which only made it worse. “You’ve been talking about me, Buckley?”

Robin groaned. “You know me, i talk about everything! I may have said some stuff when we had just started working together.”

Steve pressed a hand to his chest like he was wounded. “I’m reformed. I’m, like, humble now. Nice. Friendly.”

You crossed your arms. “Sure. And I’m Miss Indiana.”

“Missed you too,” he said with a wink that made your stomach flip—out of annoyance, you told yourself.

Robin glanced at the ceiling like she was praying for strength. “This is going to be exhausting, isn’t it?”

“Deeply,” you muttered, as Steve gave you a look that said game on.

Chapter Two: You’re Not As Funny As You Think

The night started simple enough—Eddie’s place, too much pizza, a stack of movies no one actually planned on watching, and the vague promise of “chill vibes.” You weren’t sure why you agreed to come. Maybe it was the way Robin asked. Maybe it was the boredom. Or maybe it was some strange pull you refused to name.

You walked in and saw Steve Harrington immediately—manspreading on the couch like he owned it, a Coke in one hand, a cocky grin already forming the second his eyes met yours.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, brushing past him to sit on the opposite armchair.

“Aw,” Steve said. “You missed me.”

“Like I miss mono,” you shot back, grabbing a paper plate.

Robin plopped beside you, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “Play nice,” she warned, pointing at you both like a tired kindergarten teacher. “If I have to referee, I’m charging extra.”

Eddie came in next, grinning widely “God, the tension in here could set off a smoke alarm.”

“It’s not tension,” you said flatly.

“It’s just her charm,” Steve added, taking a sip. “Sharp as a butter knife.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “I’ve met bricks with more personality than you.”

Robin hid a laugh behind her drink. Eddie didn’t bother hiding his. “I give it a month,” he muttered.

“A month for what?” you asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Robin said quickly, elbowing him.

“Anyway,” Eddie said, louder, “we’re playing cards or we’re watching something?”

“Cards,” you and Steve said at the same time.

You turned to glare. “Don’t copy me.”

“Right, because everything you say is revolutionary,” he deadpanned.

Robin dealt the cards, mumbling, “Oh my god, just kiss or kill each other already.”

You locked eyes with Steve, and something flickered—annoyance, definitely. But also something… electric. Brief. Dangerous.

You looked away first.

He smirked like he knew it.

You were definitely not staying for the movie.

Chapter Three: Smoke Signals

As said before you didn’t plan on staying.

But then Robin had that look—eyebrows up, pout halfway formed, like she was going to guilt-trip you for a decade if you left now. So you stayed. You grumbled your way through helping grab bowls of popcorn and a questionable-looking bag of Sour Patch Kids from Eddie’s kitchen. You pretended not to hear Steve’s comments as you passed him the soda.

By the time the movie was picked—something ridiculous and loud—you needed air more than anything else.

You stepped out onto the trailer’s rickety porch, lit the cigarette you’d kept stashed in your jacket, and took a long drag. The first hit burned a little in your chest. The second less so. The third felt almost like quiet.

The stars above Hawkins didn’t shine as much as they used to. Or maybe you just stopped looking for them.

The screen door creaked behind you.

You didn’t turn around. “I’m not putting it out.”

A pause. “Wasn’t gonna ask you to.”

His voice was softer out here. Less performative. Almost… real.

Steve stepped up beside you, hands in his pockets, leaning against the railing like this was something you two had done before.

You didn’t offer him the cigarette, but he didn’t seem to expect it.

“You always smoke when you’re uncomfortable?” he asked after a beat.

You took another drag. “Only when I’m around people who think they know me.”

He let that sit in the air between you for a moment, the silence settling into something heavier than the smoke curling around your fingers.

“Okay,” he said finally. “That was kind of a good line.”

You glanced at him. “Don’t get used to it.”

He smiled, and for once, it wasn’t smug. It was tired. A little honest.

“I’m not like I was in high school,” he said suddenly.

You flicked ash off the edge of the porch. “You mean you’re not a self-absorbed jackass anymore?”

Steve gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. That.”

Another pause.

You looked at him again—closer this time. Not the hair, not the polo shirt, not the dumb smirk. But the quiet eyes behind all of it. Still brown. Still guarded. Maybe a little more cracked.

“People don’t change that much,” you muttered.

“Sometimes they do,” he said, not quite looking at you. “Sometimes they have to.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t.

Instead, you offered him the cigarette.

He took it with two fingers, slow, careful, like you were handing him something sacred.

And when his lips brushed the filter where yours had just been, something in your chest moved.

You ignored it.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Chapter Four: Background Noise

You didn’t speak on the way back in.

He handed you the cigarette stub before opening the screen door, and you dropped it into an old soda can perched on the porch rail. Neither of you mentioned what happened outside. Not the silence, not the glance, not the warmth still buzzing on your fingertips.

“There’s no way this guy survives the opening scene,” he declared, pointing at the screen. “He’s wearing a red shirt and confidence. That’s death in movie language.”

“You missed your calling,” Robin mumbled. “Should’ve been a prophet.”

You dropped onto the floor beside her, stealing a handful of popcorn. Steve sat across from you on the rug, closer than you’d like but not quite close enough to call it out. His shoulder bumped Eddie’s. His knee almost brushed yours. Almost.

Robin leaned down to whisper, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, eyes on the screen.

She watched you a second longer than necessary. Then nodded.

Ten minutes in, Eddie was shouting at the characters. Fifteen minutes in, Robin was giggling at her own commentary. Twenty minutes in, Steve passed you the candy without a word, and your fingers brushed again.

You didn’t flinch. But your breath hitched.

The movie continued—something about ghosts, bad decisions, and worse acting. But it all felt like background noise. You were aware of everything else: the scratch of the rug under your hand, the sound of Steve shifting his weight, the quiet laughs he didn’t let out too loud.

He was different when no one was looking. Or maybe you just never looked closely enough before.

But when the scene jumped, loud and sudden, and you instinctively reached for Robin’s arm and accidentally grabbed Steve’s instead, you didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

And when you finally did, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you, like he saw something he wasn’t expecting.

You looked away first again.

But you were starting to wonder if that was becoming a habit.

Chapter Five: Don’t Start

Robin was already halfway through her orange juice when you showed up at the coffee shop.

You slid into the booth across from her, sunglasses still on, even though it wasn’t that bright inside.

“Okay,” she said, not even greeting you. “So. Are we gonna talk about it?”

You didn’t take off the sunglasses.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, picking up a menu even though you already knew you were getting pancakes.

Robin leaned in, resting her chin in her hand. “You sat next to him.”

“There was limited floor space.”

“You didn’t roll your eyes once.”

You squinted at her over the menu. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I live for drama,” she replied. “Also? You touched his arm. Voluntarily.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “It was an accident.”

“Mhm. And the part where you didn’t immediately recoil in disgust?”

“Muscle paralysis. Tragic, really.”

Robin laughed, loud and delighted. “I knew it. You like him.”

You froze with your hand halfway to your water glass. “I do not.”

“You don’t hate him the way you used to.”

“I’m capable of being civil. Sometimes. When I’m in a generous mood.”

Robin grinned like she was watching her favorite show. “So generous these days."

“I still think he’s full of himself,” you said finally.

Robin nodded. “Sure. But…?”

You picked at the corner of the napkin. “But he’s less of a jerk now. Maybe.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” you said quickly.

Robin smiled behind her straw. “Whatever you say.”

You kicked her under the table. She kicked you back, grinning the whole time.

Chapter Six: Table for One

The morning shift wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours.

You liked the rhythm—coffee pots refilled like clockwork, the smell of pancakes and burnt toast clinging to your skin, and the low hum of 80s ballads playing from the ancient jukebox in the corner. It was quiet, mostly. Familiar.

And then he walked in.

You didn’t see him right away. You were busy wiping down the counter, a pencil tucked behind your ear and your focus glued to the coffee machine hissing in the background. But he saw you the second he stepped through the door.

Steve Harrington froze.

You were wearing a black-and-white waitress uniform, the retro kind with the cinched waist and short sleeves, a silver name tag glinting on your chest. The outfit shouldn’t have worked. It should’ve been plain, forgettable.

But on you?

It looked like something out of a damn movie.

Your golden hair fell in loose, effortless waves down your back—slightly frizzy from the summer air, but in a way that looked almost…deliberate. You hadn’t noticed a thing. You were moving like this was just another Tuesday.

Steve swallowed hard, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, and slid into a booth by the window.

That’s when you finally noticed him.

Your shoulders stiffened for half a second, then relaxed into something more practiced—cool, casual, untouchable.

“Great,” you said as you approached, pulling out your order pad. “Didn’t realize Family Video gave out lunch breaks.”

Steve looked up at you with a crooked grin, but his eyes didn’t match it. They were softer. Focused.

“Didn’t realize you were working on giving me a heart-attack.” He mumbled.

You blinked. “…Excuse me?”

He shrugged, all fake nonchalance. “Nothing. Just—this look?” He motioned vaguely toward your uniform. “Works. Unexpected. But yeah. Works.”

You stared at him, suspicious. “You come here to bother me, Harrington?”

He leaned back in the booth, eyes still on you like he couldn’t help it. “I came for coffee. The emotional damage is a bonus.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks felt warmer than they should’ve. “One black coffee. Got it. Anything else? Sarcasm? Unwanted flirting?”

He smirked. “Surprise me.”

You scribbled something on the pad—Harrington: insufferable—and hot coffee. Then turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

Behind you, Steve exhaled into his hands and muttered under his breath.

“Yeah. Definitely in trouble.”

Chapter Seven: Third Party Commentary

You dropped the mug of black coffee in front of him with a practiced thud.

“No cream, no sugar. Just like your personality.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Careful. You’re dangerously close to flirting.”

You gave him a look. “If I was flirting, you’d know. You’d be terrified.”

“Oh, I’m already terrified,” he said, eyes following you as you wiped your hands on your apron. “In a… weirdly enjoyable way.”

You snorted. “That says more about you than it does about me.”

The bell above the diner door jingled, and you turned—instinctively straightening, only to see Robin walking in with her usual whirlwind energy, combat boots scuffing the tiles.

Her eyes landed on Steve first. Then on you.

Then she grinned. That devilish, all-knowing Robin Buckley grin that made your stomach drop.

“Well, well, well,” she said, sliding into the booth beside Steve without asking. “What do we have here? Harrington, are you lurking again?”

“I’m not lurking,” Steve said, flustered. “I’m supporting local businesses.”

Robin grabbed his coffee, took a sip, and made a face. “Supporting their sewer system, maybe.”

You crossed your arms and glared at her. “Don’t you have work?”

“I’m on my break. And clearly so is he—” she looked between the two of you, squinting. “Wait. Hold on. Did I just walk in on a moment?”

“There was no moment,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.

Steve smirked. “There might’ve been a moment.”

You kicked the edge of his booth without thinking. “There wasn’t.”

Robin gasped theatrically. “Did you just flirt-kick him?”

You turned to walk away, cheeks burning. “You two are unbearable.”

Robin shouted after you, “That’s not a denial!”

From the kitchen, someone called your name, probably to grab another table’s order. You disappeared behind the swinging doors, jaw clenched, heart pacing like it hadn’t gotten the memo that this was supposed to be casual.

Back at the booth, Robin turned to Steve, eyebrows raised.

“So. How long you been staring at her like that?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at his coffee, then back at the door you’d vanished behind.

“Since before the coffee.”

Robin sat back, whistling low. “Yup. You’re screwed.”

Chapter Eight: Just My Luck

You didn’t even bother changing out of your uniform.

The heat was clinging to your skin, the collar of your dress stuck slightly to the back of your neck, and your feet ached from ten hours of non-stop motion—but you needed a movie. Something stupid. Something loud and distracting. And maybe a little Robin time to complain about customers who snapped their fingers for refills.

Family Video’s air conditioning hit you the second you walked in—cool, a little too sterile, and eerily quiet.

“Robin?” you called, weaving through the aisles.

No answer.

You passed the horror section, the romance section, paused briefly at Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—then heard someone clear their throat behind you.

“I think she left, actually.”

You turned.

Of course.

Steve stood behind the counter, slouching a little, wearing his Family Videos vest and a crooked grin that had way too much confidence for someone who worked next to a stack of VCR cleaner kits.

“She what?”

“Date night,” he said, tapping a pen against the counter. “Vicky picked her up like ten minutes ago. I’m all you’ve got.”

You blinked. “Great.”

He tilted his head. “You sound thrilled.”

You walked over to the counter, resting your elbows against it. “I was promised Robin. Not Harrington.”

“Ah, my government name. Cold.”

“I’m off the clock,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t expect charm.”

“I never do,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

You started scanning the wall behind him. “Alright, King of VHS. Recommend me something dumb. No rom-coms. No action. No plot twists that make me think about life.”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “You’re a blast, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

He disappeared into the aisles without another word. You could hear the soft scuff of his sneakers as he moved through the racks, flipping through boxes.

You took a breath.

Why did it feel so quiet when it was just the two of you?

Steve returned with a tape in hand. “Beetlejuice.”

You raised a brow. “That’s your idea of dumb?”

He shrugged. “It’s weird and chaotic. Felt like it matched your energy.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your mouth twitched despite yourself. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Almost,” he echoed, handing you the case.

Your fingers brushed again, and this time, neither of you pulled away immediately.

The moment was stupid. Fleeting. Charged like static under fluorescent lights.

You grabbed the tape and cleared your throat. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You started walking away, then paused near the door. “Hey,” you said without turning around, “You’re not as annoying as I thought.”

Steve leaned against the counter, voice casual but eyes sharper than ever. “I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”

You pushed open the door with your hip and stepped into the late-summer air.

He didn’t need to see you smiling.

Chapter Nine: Nothing Fancy

The movie didn’t hit quite right.

Maybe it was the quiet. Or maybe it was the way Steve’s voice echoed in your head when you laughed at the weirdest parts. You’d rolled your eyes, turned the volume up, and told yourself you were being insane.

And then you couldn’t sit still.

So you pulled on a hoodie—one of those oversized ones that swallowed you up—and wandered out into the warm, hazy night. The gas station a few blocks away was still open. The flickering “Open 24 Hours” sign buzzed as you stepped through the door.

You walked past the cooler section with no real plan—just loitering with intent.

“Didn’t peg you as a midnight snacks kind of girl.”

Your heart jumped in your chest before you turned and saw him.

Steve. In a worn flannel. A little rumpled, a little tired, standing by the candy aisle holding a bag of Red Vines like it owed him money.

You stared. “Didn’t peg you as someone who eats candy that tastes like wax.”

He smirked. “It’s nostalgic.”

“For what? Bad decisions?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Touché.”

You wandered over, grabbing a bag of chips without really looking. “What are you doing out?”

He shrugged, leaning his weight into the shelves. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about that stupid movie.”

Your stomach flipped a little.

“Oh,” you said, too casually. “Did you end up watching it?”

He looked at you. Really looked. Then nodded. “Yeah. Thought about texting you a running commentary.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”

Steve looked down at the bag in his hands. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Something in your chest tugged.

You shifted your weight, suddenly very aware of the distance between you, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights, and how this place somehow felt more honest than anywhere else in Hawkins.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” you said softly, then immediately regretted saying it.

He glanced up again. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip to hide the small smile creeping in. “Yeah.”

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense.

It just was.

Finally, Steve cleared his throat. “You wanna split these with me? Or are you strictly a chips-for-one kind of girl?”

You looked at the Red Vines, then at him.

“Only if we sit on the curb like delinquents.”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Ten: Red Vines and Real Talk

The curb was still warm from the day’s sun.

You sat with your legs crossed, hoodie pulled over your knees, the half-crushed bag of Red Vines between you. Steve passed you one without asking, and you took it, even though you still thought they tasted like flavored rubber.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

The gas station light buzzed above, casting a soft glow over the parking lot. A single moth fluttered against it, desperate and aimless. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked once and then went quiet again.

“You were kind of scary in high school,” Steve said eventually, like it had just occurred to him.

You looked over at him, brow raised. “I was scary?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling apart a Red Vine and chewing slowly. “You walked around like you knew everything and didn’t care what anyone thought. People either wanted to be you or disappear when you looked at them.”

You snorted. “That’s rich. Coming from King Steve. You literally had people part the halls for you.”

“Yeah, and it sucked.”

His voice wasn’t bitter. Just… matter-of-fact.

You turned slightly toward him. “You didn’t seem to mind it back then.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know any better. I thought being liked meant I was doing something right.”

You were quiet for a beat. “And now?”

Steve didn’t look at you when he answered. “Now I’d rather be known.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. You looked down at the candy in your hand and twisted it around your fingers.

“No offense,” you said, voice quieter, “but I didn’t think there was much going on under the surface back then.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s fair.”

You glanced at him again. His jaw was softer in this light. Less defined. Less guarded.

“I hated you for a while,” you admitted.

“I know,” he said. “You weren’t subtle.”

You both laughed, but yours died a little too quickly.

“I think I hated what you represented more,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Like… everything I didn’t fit into. Everything I didn’t want to be, but also kind of wished I could have—just to make things easier.”

Steve turned toward you fully then, elbow on his knee, brow furrowed like he was seeing you for the first time. Not just looking—seeing.

“You were never easy to ignore,” he said.

You swallowed hard.

“Still aren’t.”

The moment stretched between you like a tightrope—one breath, one lean, one word away from something that felt like a cliff.

You reached for another Red Vine just to do something with your hands.

He smiled a little. “Still think they taste like wax?”

“They’re awful,” you said, biting into one anyway.

And for the first time in a long time, sitting barefoot on a curb at midnight with the boy you used to hate—you didn’t feel so out of place.

Chapter Eleven: Tables Turned

Steve was mid-alphabetizing the horror section when the bell over the Family Video door jingled.

He didn’t look up at first. “Be right with you,” he called over his shoulder, stacking VHS boxes like it was his life’s calling.

“I’d hope so,” came your voice—cool, lazy, unmistakably smug.

His head snapped up so fast he almost dropped Poltergeist.

You stood just inside the doorway, in cutoff shorts and a faded band tee that clung to you in all the right places. Your hair was down again—wild and golden and a little wind-tossed, like you hadn’t meant to look good but somehow still managed to.

He blinked. Twice.

You smirked.

“You gonna help me find a movie, Harrington?” you asked, sauntering toward the counter.

Steve cleared his throat and tried to play it cool. “Uh—yeah. Sure. What kind of movie?”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded, grin sharp. “I don’t know. Something fun. Something I can watch with a guy if I ever accidentally have one over.”

He choked slightly. “A—guy?”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head. “Unless you’re volunteering.”

His ears went red instantly. Not pink. Not flushed. Red.

“I—I mean, depends on the guy,” he stammered, then winced. “Not—not that I’m saying I’m the guy. Or—well, like, I am a guy—but not—God.”

You let out a laugh, sharp and melodic.

“Relax,” you teased, plucking a copy of The Lost Boys from the shelf without breaking eye contact. “I’m just messing with you.”

Steve stared at you like you’d just punched him in the gut and smiled while doing it.

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice just enough to make it dangerous. “You always get this nervous when a girl flirts with you, or am I just special?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You’re—uh. Definitely something.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Smooth.”

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breathy laugh. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, straightening. “That’s the plan.”

And with that, you placed the movie on the counter and walked away—cool, composed, lethal.

Steve stood frozen, watching you go, a single thought spinning on repeat in his head:

He was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Chapter Twelve: Busted

Steve was still behind the counter, staring at the spot where you’d stood just moments ago, when Robin walked in.

She clocked his dazed expression immediately. The far-off look in his eyes. The slight pink still lingering in his ears.

She didn’t even say hello. Just walked up, leaned both arms on the counter, and stared him down.

“Okay,” she said. “What the hell happened?”

Steve blinked at her, slow, like he was coming out of anesthesia. “She was here.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “She?”

“She,” he repeated, dragging a hand down his face. “She came in. She flirted.”

Robin leaned in closer. “Like, casual flirted? Or murderous sexy villain flirted?”

Steve made a strangled noise. “Weaponized. It was weaponized.”

Robin burst out laughing. “No way. She flustered you?”

“Robin, I forgot how to speak words. I think I might’ve implied I’m not a guy.”

“Oh my god,” she wheezed, slapping the counter. “She reverse-Harrington’d you.”

Steve dropped his head into his arms. “I’m never going to recover.”

Robin grinned so wide it looked painful. “I told you she was dangerous.”

“You didn’t tell me she was gonna walk in here looking like a rockstar and end my bloodline with a smirk.”

Robin reached over and patted the top of his head like a tired puppy. “Poor baby. Did the scary pretty girl make your brain go fzzzt?”

He groaned again, face still buried. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…No. I really don’t.”

Robin leaned back, looking way too pleased with herself. “You know what this means, right?”

Steve glanced up warily. “What?”

“It means,” she said, already pulling her walkie out of her bag, “that I have to tell her everything.”

“Robin—”

But it was too late. She was already pressing the button.

“Breaker, breaker. This is Wingwoman One to Certified Flirt Machine, do you copy?”

Steve lunged for the walkie. “Do not tell her I called her a flirt machine!”

“Oops,” Robin said. “Too late.”

Chapter Thirteen: Your Move, Harrington

Robin’s thumb was still pressed on the walkie button when a familiar crackle of static burst through, followed by your voice—calm, slightly amused, and dangerously smooth.

“This is Flirt Machine reporting in. I repeat, Flirt Machine has entered the frequency.”

Steve groaned, slumping behind the counter like he could physically escape the embarrassment.

Robin’s grin stretched even wider. “We have eyes on one Very Flustered Steve. He’s hiding under the register.”

“Adorable. Is he breathing okay?”

Robin peeked over the counter dramatically. “Breathing’s erratic. Eyewitness confirms intense blushing.”

You didn’t respond for a second. Just a beat of silence on the line—and then:

“Tell him if he wants to save what’s left of his dignity, he can bring snacks and come watch The Lost Boys with me.”

Steve blinked. Sat up.

Robin stared at the walkie. “Wait. Was that a—did you just—invite him?”

“Well, someone has to explain the vampire lore to me, and Harrington seems like the type who overanalyzes movies he pretends not to care about.”

Steve stood there, mouth open, every thought short-circuiting in real time.

Robin slowly turned toward him, raising her eyebrows with a grin that screamed do it, you idiot.

Steve cleared his throat. “I—uh. Yeah. Sure. I can do that.”

Robin grabbed the walkie again.

“Flirt Machine, Target Steve has accepted the mission. ETA: however long it takes him to fix his hair and pick a bag of chips he won’t share.”

“Noted. Tell him to knock like a normal person. And if he shows up with licorice, the door stays shut.”

Robin cackled. “Copy that. See you soon, Agent Chaos.”

You clicked off.

Steve stared at her, still half-in-disbelief. “She just… invited me.”

Robin clapped him on the back. “Oh, Stevie. She didn’t just invite you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then what did she do?”

Robin smirked.

“She dared you.”

Chapter Fourteen: Late Night, Low Lights

Steve stood outside your door with a bag of chips, two sodas, and a heart rate that probably needed medical attention.

He had changed shirts twice. Briefly considered bringing two movie options just in case. It was just a movie. Just a hangout.

Just you.

He knocked.

You opened the door a few seconds later, backlit by the soft glow of string lights inside.

Your band tee was gone—replaced with a loose tank top and soft flannel pajama pants. Your hair was still slightly messy, like you’d just run your hands through it instead of bothering with a mirror. Barefoot. Comfortable.

Dangerous.

“You brought chips,” you said, eyeing the bag.

“Cheddar,” he said quickly. “Not wax candy. I learn.”

You smirked and stepped aside to let him in. “So proud.”

The living room was cozy, not too neat—blankets tossed over the couch, the movie already paused at the title screen. He recognized the faint smell of popcorn and something floral—maybe your shampoo.

He sat on the couch while you headed to the kitchen.

“You want a glass for the soda or are you a straight-from-the-bottle kind of guy?” you called.

“Straight from the bottle,” he said. “No time for formalities when vampires are involved.”

You returned with two drinks, handing him one as you plopped down beside him—closer than you had to be.

“So,” you said, pulling the blanket over your legs. “You going to tell me why you were looking at me like I kicked your puppy earlier today?”

Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Was it that obvious?”

“Mmhmm.”

He sighed. “You just… caught me off guard. Usually I’m the one making other people flustered.”

“Poor baby,” you teased. “Did I ruin your streak?”

“I think you ended it,” he muttered. “Permanently.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile.

“I’ll try to go easy on you,” you said softly, eyes flicking to the screen.

The movie started. You didn’t move away. Neither did he.

Halfway through, your arm brushed his. Then your knee. And by the time a vampire exploded in dramatic 80s fashion, your head was leaning slightly against his shoulder.

Neither of you acknowledged it. But his hand brushed your knee a little too intentionally. And your heart beat a little too loud for just a movie night.

Chapter Fifteen: Almost

The credits rolled, but neither of you moved.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering TV screen now blank except for the softly glowing pause icon.

Your head was still resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder, and his breath was steady but shallow, as if he was trying not to betray how much this moment meant.

You could feel his body shift just slightly, the heat from his skin seeping through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your heart hammered loud enough you were sure he could hear it.

Steve’s hand hovered just above your knee, fingers twitching, caught between moving closer and retreating.

He swallowed, lips parting slightly as if to say something, then closing again.

Your breath caught.

His gaze flicked up to meet yours — dark, searching, hesitant.

You held his eyes, daring him to bridge the space.

The air between you thickened, charged with everything unspoken.

Steve’s hand finally moved — just an inch, a whisper closer.

Your breath hitched.

Then, just as his fingers grazed your skin, a sharp noise from the kitchen—an old clock chiming the hour—broke the spell.

You both jumped apart, breaking eye contact, suddenly aware of how close you’d been.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed deeper now.

“I—uh—guess we should, uh, maybe watch the rest of the movie series later?”

You laughed softly, the tension melting just a bit.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The moment was gone, but the promise lingered like a spark, waiting to catch fire.

Chapter Sixteen: Robin’s Recon

Steve was nursing a coffee behind the Family Video counter, trying to act like he wasn’t still thinking about last night.

Robin strolled in, all casual confidence, her eyes immediately locking on him with that mischievous sparkle.

“So,” she said, leaning over the counter with a sly grin, “how’d your movie night with Ms. Can’t-Stop-Flirting go?”

Steve choked on his sip, nearly spitting coffee everywhere.

“What? Nothing! It was—uh—fine. Totally normal. Just two friends watching a movie. Nothing weird.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Steve,” she said, voice dropping conspiratorially, “I saw the way you looked at her when she walked in yesterday. Like you just got hit by a truck you didn’t see coming.”

Steve’s cheeks flamed redder than ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robin chuckled. “Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.”

She tapped her finger against her lips, pretending to think.

“Honestly, you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Steve groaned.

Robin smiled wider.

“But hey, good luck. You’re going to need it.”

She winked and walked off, leaving Steve to stew in the best kind of trouble he’d ever gotten himself into.

Chapter Seventeen: Backyard Glow

The sun was just dipping below the trees, casting long golden shadows over Steve’s backyard. The pool shimmered quietly, still and inviting, while the camping chairs were scattered around in a loose circle, some with empty beer cans perched on their armrests.

You settled into your chair, the warmth of the day still clinging to your skin as you cracked open a cold one. Steve was leaning back in his seat, casual and relaxed, tossing a bottle lightly between his hands. Robin had her legs stretched out, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she sipped her drink.

Eddie was the last to arrive, carrying a small paper bag with a knowing smile.

“Got what we need,” he announced, pulling out a neatly rolled joint and a lighter. “This’ll take the edge off.”

Robin’s eyes lit up. “Finally, the real entertainment.”

Steve chuckled. “You know, I’m all for chill nights, but you always manage to kick it up a notch, Eddie.”

You watched as Eddie lit the joint, the smell of pine and something sweet curling into the warm evening air. One by one, the group passed it around, slow inhales and gentle exhales blending with the laughter that bubbled up easily.

Robin leaned over to you. “You good?”

You nodded, feeling the buzz unfurling in your chest like a soft tide. “Yeah. This is nice.”

Steve caught your eye from across the circle and gave a small, almost shy smile. You returned it, and for a moment, the noise faded into background hum.

Eddie was talking animatedly about a crazy movie plot he’d just seen, his hands painting pictures in the air.

“Man, that ending was wild. Like, who writes this stuff?”

Robin rolled her eyes. “You do realize it’s a horror flick, right? They kinda have to go wild.”

“Exactly!” Eddie grinned. “Makes it fun.”

The joint made its way back to Eddie, who took a slow drag and passed it along again. You leaned back, letting the quiet warmth settle in.

Steve’s voice broke through softly. “Hey, you wanna swim later?”

You blinked, surprised, but smiled. “Maybe.”

Robin elbowed him playfully. “Look at you, finally asking.”

Chapter Eighteen: Deeper Water

At some point, Robin had sprawled across the couch and knocked out mid-sentence, one arm flung dramatically over her face. Eddie was curled up in a mismatched blanket on the floor, snoring faintly with a half-empty bag of chips under his hand.

Steve was sitting at the edge of the pool, feet in the water, jeans rolled up to his calves. When he heard you step onto the concrete, he looked over his shoulder.

“They’re out cold,” you said.

He grinned. “Knew that would knock Eddie out. Robin was a surprise, though.”

You came over, sitting beside him and dipping your feet in too. The water was cool against your skin, shocking and perfect.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Nights like this.”

Steve tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “When everything goes quiet. When you’ve got nowhere to be and no one’s watching. Feels like… a different version of life. Like nothing matters but this exact second.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

The joint made everything feel a little softer. The pool lights under the surface made the water look like it was glowing. You turned to him, and his gaze was already on you.

“You still wanna swim?” you asked.

His grin returned, slower this time. “Hell yeah.”

You stripped down to your bra and underwear without a word, standing and walking to the edge. He tried not to stare, but he absolutely failed.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled.

You turned your head just enough to smirk. “You coming or what?”

He was already pulling his shirt over his head, jeans off a second later. You both jumped in, the splash echoing across the empty yard. The cold hit hard at first, but then it felt good. Like it washed everything off you.

You floated on your back for a moment, watching the dark above, then drifted closer to where Steve treaded water near the deep end.

“You ever think about how different we used to be?” you asked softly.

He nodded, water glinting off his collarbones. “All the time.”

“I hated you,” you whispered, but your voice wasn’t cruel. It was honest. Soft.

Steve’s voice was lower now. “I thought you were too cool for me.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

“But I wasn’t,” you said.

“No,” he said, moving a little closer, water rippling between you. “You were real. And I didn’t know how to handle that.”

Your hands brushed beneath the surface. You didn’t pull away.

“You’re different now,” you said.

“So are you.”

You weren’t sure who moved first—maybe both of you. But suddenly his mouth was close. Breath ghosting over your lips. His eyes searching yours like a question.

You answered by kissing him.

It wasn’t soft—not at first. It was heat and hunger and tension unraveling all at once. His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you closer as your legs drifted and tangled together. You kissed him like you had something to prove—maybe that the version of you he used to see wasn’t all there was.

Steve kissed you like he was afraid he’d wake up.

You didn’t come up for air for a while.

When you finally did, foreheads touching, breath shaky, you both just floated there in the water, caught in something quiet and real.

No past.

No noise.

Just this.

Bonus: “You’re Kidding Me.”

Robin was the first to stir, blinking awake on Steve’s couch, groaning like she’d just been hit by a car. “Ow. My neck. My spine. My soul.”

She sat up slowly, glancing around. Eddie was still passed out on the floor, curled like a possum in a pile of throw blankets.

No sign of Steve.

No sign of you.

Robin narrowed her eyes.

She stood, stretched, and padded toward the kitchen just as Eddie woke with a theatrical yawn and a dramatic, “I think I saw God in my dreams.”

“Cool,” Robin muttered, grabbing two mugs. “Help me find the sinners.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“They’re not in the guest room,” Robin said. “Or the couch. Which leaves…”

Eddie’s grin slowly stretched as realization bloomed.

“No. Way.”

Robin didn’t wait. She walked straight to Steve’s bedroom, didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate.

She flung open the door.

And froze.

You and Steve were tangled in his bed, half-covered by the sheets, limbs unmistakably not platonic. His hand was curled against your hip. Your face was tucked into his chest. One of your legs was across his.

You both blinked at her in half-conscious horror.

Robin’s jaw dropped.

Behind her, Eddie leaned in, saw the scene, and gasped like he’d just discovered a secret affair in a soap opera.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

“Shut the door!” Steve hissed, sitting up, hair a mess, eyes wide.

Robin didn’t move. Just blinked. “You swam.”

“Robin—”

“You swam and then you swam,” she said, voice pitching up.

You pulled the sheet up over your face.

Eddie cracked up, full-on laughing now, doubled over. “I knew it! I told you! I saw the way you were eyeing each other at the pool like horny teenagers.”

“You are teenagers,” Robin shot back. “Emotionally.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please—both of you—leave so I can die in peace?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Robin said. “This is my Roman Empire now.”

You peeked out from the sheets, cheeks burning but eyes defiant. “If you tell anyone—”

“Oh sweetheart,” Eddie said, hand on his heart. “We’re telling everyone.”

Robin grinned. “After we get details.”

Steve buried his face in the pillow. “Kill me.”

“You did that yourself, loverboy.”

[lottevence]

welcome!

✧˖*°࿐

lottie, she/her, 19 going on 20

—about the author,

sag sun, scorpio rising, istp (i didnt know what else to write..)

write/read for steve harrington currently

(marlene mckinnon and barty crouch jr in the future maybe?)

⤷ masterlist (coming soon)

⤷ latest works

she's always a woman

tastes like trouble

to be loved is to be seen

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖

currently playing: everywhere - fleetwood mac

im kinda new so suggestions and requests are welcomed!

[lottevence]

to be loved is to be seen

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: after accepting that he needed to focus on himself and stop with the constant dates, steve was forced to face some of the things he bruied inside with some drunken words by his favorite poet for the second time.

trope: friends to lovers, slowburn, being vulnureable to eachother, fluff, sorry its kinda depressing

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The first time she affected steve with her words were at a party. Steve was still mourning what happened with nancy even after all that time and she just had the right words, everytime.

Robin, steve and her attended the party together. It was a highschool party but who cared if steve and her graduated last year? Steve and her both had clearly drank slightly too much, robin was with vickie which meant no bothering them.

Steve wouldnt say you two were actually close like besties, no. You had these invisible walls around you, the walls that not many people noticed but he did. He actually noticed that you never talked about your stuff yet listening intently when someone talked. Thats what intrigued him the most. He was curious what was behind those walls.

After a few hours of dancing with the crowd, drinking and having fun, you were nowhere to be found. He didnt know why but he wanted to know where had you headed off to. Were you with a boy? or where you still having fun in the crowd without him? He HAD to know.

He looked around the halls, of course crowded with couples hanging out. He looked at the livingroom which turned into a dancefloor with everyone swaying to the music that was playing. He looked at the kitchen where all the alcohol was, still you were nowhere to be found. He still didnt know why he looked everywhere for you in his drunken state. Lastly he went out to the backyard. Here you were, sitting at one of the chairs at the porch with your marlboro red as you took a drag. He wasnt surprised finding you here just like this, he was more like... relieved? He sat beside you. "why am i not surprised finding you here just by yourself?" he said with a loopsided smirk of his. You turned to him, your lips turning into a smirk too. "well, am i that predictable?" Your words twisted something in his stomch, something that shouldnt have twisted because of you. He looked at you, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it. "maybe you are." he said with a slight tone of teasing. You glanced at him taking a drag "you okay?" you said. Only thought inside of his mind was, how did you noticed when he tried so hard not to be noticed. He sighed, looking at the sky above two of you. "its just that, sometimes i just feel like... i try too hard for things that i really shouldnt.." The words slipped his lips before he could prevent it. She hummed silently “You know… I don’t think trying too hard is a flaw. It just means you care, maybe more than most do. And yeah, not everything deserves that kind of effort but honestly, it’s one of the things I admire about you. Even when you give too much, you make things better just by being you. You've really changed yourself.. for the better.." She said softly as she watched the stars with him but quickly added, chuckling softly. "sorry, i always become too 'poetic' when im drunk." Steve was stunned upon hearing this, he turned to her in disbelief as his eyes wandered upon her with something raw. "you.. really think so?" Steve asked , barely above whisper. She took one last drag of her cigarette and turned to him. "and i hope... you never lose that part of yourself."

That was the first time he felt so appriciated and.. seen. He felt so understood that he looked at her freezing for a while until they started chatting again. That was the first time she affected him with her words.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

After that night steve started to notice simple yet affectionate things about her. Things that she did to her friends casually.

She was always there when one of them needed. When robin felt down she would sense it right away, getting her all the snacks she loves with her favorite movies without robin saying so. When eddie had a depressive episode she made sure to get to his trailer and make him his favorite brownies -with an igredient they both love ofcourse- playing his favorite music throughout it all even though it was not her favorite at all. When it came to steve she was so understanding, always having some kind of answer that always affected him deeply. She was just the professional to understand people but herself? She never shared, sometimes wandering off but quickly getting back her attention to you if she senses someone studying her. He didnt know why she was so close yet so distant. He wanted to understand, see you. This was diffrent from his past relationships, not that he didnt care about them but he never had to be curious about someone this close to him.

The second time was at one of their camping trips

.

Robin shouted as practically ran off to the lake the moment tents were done "FINALLYYY! i was waiting for this the whole time". You looked at her chuckling softly with your bright smile, "robs be careful, you'll slip!" you said as you walked towards her after removing your tshirt, leaving you with your bikini top and your shorts. Eddie and Steve chuckled to the two's interaction as they both removed their clothings before catching up to them. When you arrived at the water you removed your shorts too and looked behind the other two, robin urging you all to hurry. "c'mooonn the waters so nice." she said giggling still. Your eyes found steves after getting inside the lake with robin. The look of him walking towards you was... something that would make anyone flushed. You quickly looked away as you didnt want any of your looked noticed in any way.

The lake water was cold, but the kind of cold that felt like summer — fresh, alive, something that made you laugh as it hit your skin. You and Robin had been giggling like children, splashing each other as the sun dipped lazily behind the trees. Eddie was shouting something about leeches, but no one paid attention.

Steve, now waist-deep, had his eyes on you again.

Not in a creepy way, but in that quiet, studying sort of way. Like he was reading your body language the way he used to read comic books as a kid: slowly, over and over, hoping to notice something new each time.

You met his eyes briefly before looking away, pretending to focus on Robin dunking her head underwater.

He didn’t know what possessed him — maybe it was the warmth of the day, maybe the buzz of the beer he’d had earlier — but he waded closer, until the ripples of his movement lapped gently around your legs.

“You’ve got a weird way of always knowing what people need,” he said quietly.

You raised an eyebrow, water glistening off your skin. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on the way the fading sunlight caught in your hair. “Like… you see people in ways they don’t even see themselves.”

You tilted your head at him, the usual guarded look flickering behind your eyes. “It’s not that hard,” you said. “People are loud when they’re hurting. Most just don’t listen.”

Steve took a breath, suddenly very aware of how close you were. “You listen too much. But never talk.”

You went still. He could see it — the tiniest shift in your expression. A beat of silence passed before you swam a little further out, putting distance between you. Not enough to be obvious, just enough to feel safer.

“I guess… some people talk when they want to be saved,” you said, voice softer now. “Others just hope someone will see them drowning without having to say a word.”

Steve blinked.

There it was.

The second time.

The words that dug deeper than he expected, that made his chest twist and his throat tighten with something unspoken.

“Are you one of those people?” he asked, voice nearly breaking.

You smiled — not your bright, Robin-style smile, but that small, tired smile you saved for late nights and heavy truths.

“Maybe,” you said, “but I’m a pretty good swimmer.”

And then you dipped underwater, leaving Steve alone with the sting of something that felt a lot like falling.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The sun was gone now, and the only light came from the fire they managed to build — mostly thanks to Eddie and a questionable amount of lighter fluid.

The lake shimmered dark in the distance, and the air had cooled just enough for you to wrap a hoodie over your damp bikini top. Steve watched you across the flames, the soft orange glow catching in your face, painting shadows under your eyes. You looked tired, but calm. That kind of calm he’d seen in you before — not peace, but pause. Like holding your breath.

Robin and Vickie were curled together on the same log, whispering and laughing. Eddie was on the ground, legs stretched out, a joint tucked lazily between his fingers. Steve sat next to him, beer in hand, cigarette lit but half-forgotten between his lips.

He kept sneaking glances at you.

You sat a little off to the side, cross-legged on a blanket, rolling a new cigarette from someone’s leftover tobacco pouch, fingers quick and practiced.

“You roll like a pro,” Steve commented after a few minutes, standing up and walking over to you. You didn’t look up.

“Learned young,” you said, licking the paper shut. “House full of people who’d rather smoke than talk.”

He sat beside you, close enough to feel the heat of your arm when it brushed his. You offered him the finished cigarette without looking, already lighting another for yourself.

He took it, nodded in thanks. There was silence for a while, just the crackle of the fire and Eddie’s soft humming.

“Earlier,” he said, voice low, “what you said… about people drowning.”

You exhaled smoke slowly. “What about it?”

He hesitated. “Did you mean me?”

You glanced at him finally, eyes unreadable. “Did it feel like I did?”

Steve nodded, barely.

You took a sip of your drink, then tapped ash into the grass beside you. “I didn’t mean to make you feel exposed,” you said. “But… yeah. Sometimes you look like you’re trying not to sink.”

The truth of it hit harder than expected.

“I’ve been trying,” he admitted, voice shaky now. “Trying not to be that guy anymore. The one who’s always chasing something—girls, attention, I don’t even know what. It gets exhausting.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’ve changed, Steve. You really have.”

He swallowed. “Does it show?”

“Yeah. In the way you listen now. In the way you don’t talk about Nancy like you used to. In the way you’re not trying to prove anything anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Then you added, your voice gentler, “You’re not drowning anymore. You’re just tired.”

Steve looked at you like he wanted to say something else — something important. Instead, he reached out, wordlessly, and stole the cigarette from your fingers to take a drag. You didn’t pull away. You just smirked a little, smoke curling past your lips.

For a moment, it felt easy between you.

Then you leaned your head back and looked up at the stars. “Drunk me says too much again, huh?”

“No,” he said quietly, watching you like you were the only thing that made sense in the dark. “Drunk you says exactly what I didn’t know I needed to hear.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, your expression softened completely. You didn’t say anything back.

But Steve felt it — that unspoken thing pulling tighter between you two.

And this time, it wasn’t the beer. Or the smoke. Or the stars.

It was just you.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

Steve woke up with a sore neck, a dry mouth, and the distant regret of drinking one beer too many — again. The sun was already high, cutting through the trees in streaks of gold. Birds were chirping too loud, and Eddie was snoring just as loud somewhere inside his tent.

Steve rubbed his face with both hands and slowly sat up. Someone had tossed an old hoodie over him during the night. He wasn’t sure who, but it smelled faintly like Marlboro and vanilla lotion.

You.

He looked around.

Robin was crouched near the embers of last night’s fire, poking at a dented kettle balanced on some rocks, trying to coax it into producing some kind of drinkable coffee. Her hair was a frizzy halo of chaos, her shirt inside out, and she was humming tunelessly under her breath.

“You’re a vision,” Steve croaked as he walked over and plopped down on the log beside her.

Robin didn’t even look up. “If by ‘vision’ you mean dehydrated and suffering, then yes. I am beauty, I am grace.”

Steve smiled, resting his arms on his knees, eyes half-lidded. He watched the kettle for a second before speaking again.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a dead guy,” she said. “You?”

He hesitated. “Kind of.”

Robin didn’t say anything for a second. Just stirred the kettle with a stick like it would make it boil faster. Then, without looking at him, she said, “You gonna tell me what that was last night? By the fire?”

Steve’s head snapped toward her, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on, Dingus,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “You and her? Sitting there like the cover of some indie record? Sharing smokes, talking like you’re the only two people on earth? I may have been tipsy, but I’m not blind.”

Steve looked away, jaw tightening slightly. “She just… says things. Stuff that sticks.”

Robin tilted her head. “You like her.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s just… different. Not in the ‘oh-she’s-so-mysterious’ way. More like—she gets it. People. Me. But she doesn’t let anyone get her.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully, finally pouring the vaguely coffee-colored liquid into two mismatched mugs. She handed him one.

“You know, for someone who says she never lets anyone in,” Robin said, sipping her coffee with a wince, “she sure says a lot when she’s with you.”

Steve blinked. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Robin replied. “She talks more around you than anyone. And you? You listen when it’s her. Like really listen. Which is saying something, because half the time I have to throw popcorn at your head just to get your attention.”

Steve laughed under his breath. Then he stared into his cup for a moment.

“She said she hoped I never lose that part of myself,” he murmured. “The part that tries too hard. Said she admires it.”

Robin softened. “Yeah. That sounds like her.”

“I think it was the first time I ever felt seen,” he added, quieter now.

Robin bumped his shoulder. “You deserve that. To be seen. And maybe you should let yourself see her, too. The real her. Not just the quiet cool girl who says poetic things when she’s drunk.”

Steve looked up at her, brows furrowed. “How?”

Robin smirked. “You’re Steve Harrington. You’ll figure it out.”

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

By the time the coffee kicked in and the hangovers dulled into background noise, the group slowly came alive again. Robin and Vickie took control of the tiny speaker and started blasting cheesy ’80s pop hits while Eddie tried (and failed) to make breakfast on the rusty camping stove.

“Eddie, I swear to God, if you give us food poisoning before noon—” you called out from your spot on the picnic blanket.

“It’s called ‘flavor,’ sweetheart,” Eddie said, dramatically flipping something vaguely egg-shaped with his spatula. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Robin snorted as she handed you a drink. “He’s poisoning us with love and half-cooked bacon.”

“Honestly,” you shrugged, grinning, “that’s kinda romantic.”

Steve watched from where he sat at the edge of the group, still sipping his coffee, legs stretched out in the grass. His heart did a dumb little thing when he saw your eyes light up like that — soft and playful, your walls forgotten for a second.

Eddie burned the toast, then burned his finger, and Robin screamed-laughed while Vickie tried to help him with a Hello Kitty bandaid she brought from her purse. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.

After the tragic breakfast was consumed, someone suggested a game — Robin, naturally — and soon enough the six of you were knee-deep in a very competitive round of “truth or dare,” made up entirely of bad decisions and too much honesty.

Steve had to do ten jumping jacks while holding a beer in his mouth (he failed miserably). Eddie was dared to serenade a squirrel. Vickie admitted she once cried during a car commercial. Robin kept rigging the dares so she could get people to do karaoke. You laughed so hard you nearly fell over when Steve dramatically sang Take On Me into a marshmallow stick.

Later, when the sun dipped a little lower, the six of you made a sad little attempt at roasting marshmallows. Eddie lit his on fire immediately. You and Robin stole everyone else’s chocolate and built the worst s’mores tower ever made.

It was sticky. Loud. Beautifully dumb.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Steve looked around at his friends — Eddie’s laugh, Robin’s endless commentary, your smile when you thought no one was looking — and felt something shift.

It was the kind of moment you don’t realize is golden until you’re far away from it.

But he already knew.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The sun was low again, orange bleeding into pink as the heat of the day slipped away. The group had started to scatter — Robin and Vickie had retreated to the tent, whispering and giggling under the excuse of “changing clothes.” Eddie had wandered off with his guitar, probably to write a dramatic power ballad about squirrels and breakfast trauma.

And you… you were sitting at the lake’s edge, legs dangling into the water, cigarette tucked between your fingers, the hem of your hoodie sleeves pushed over your knuckles.

Steve saw you from the campfire and didn’t hesitate this time.

He grabbed a fresh beer, the cigarette of his own between his lips, and made his way down the worn path to where you sat, the ground cool and quiet.

You didn’t flinch when he sat beside you. Just passed him the lighter without a word.

He lit up, took a drag, then glanced sideways. “You disappeared again.”

“I like the quiet,” you said softly, eyes still on the water. “Noise is good, but quiet doesn’t ask anything of you.”

He nodded. “I used to hate it. The quiet. Felt like it gave me too much space to think.”

“And now?”

“Now… I kinda want to hear what I’m thinking. Even if it’s weird or messy.”

You turned to him, head tilted. “That’s new for you.”

He smiled, a little self-conscious. “Yeah. Guess I’m a work in progress.”

You flicked ash into the water and looked away again. “Aren’t we all.”

Steve sat in silence with you for a moment, letting the air settle, watching how the sky colored your features in warmth.

Then, gently, “You meant it, didn’t you? Last night.”

You didn’t pretend not to know what he meant.

“I always mean it,” you said after a beat. “Drunk or not.”

“I’ve never had someone say stuff like that to me,” he said, eyes distant now. “Not like… not in a way that felt like it was for me, not just about me.”

You looked over at him, the softest thing in your expression — something fragile and unsure, but open.

“I saw you, Steve. That night. The party. And now. I just… I see you.”

Steve turned toward you completely, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “And I want to see you.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked.

“I mean it,” he said, voice rough from smoke and nerves. “I notice how you vanish when things get too close. I notice how you always help people but never let them help you. You care so much about everyone, but you don’t let anyone hold that same care for you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to push,” he added quickly. “But I just… I don’t want to pretend I don’t see it.”

You were quiet, eyes on the ripples in the lake. Then, softly:

“It’s hard. Letting people in. When you’ve been… hurt. Or made small. Or told that being too much is something to be ashamed of.”

He nodded, gently. “Yeah. I get that.”

“But for what it’s worth… I don’t think you’re too much. I think you’re exactly enough. Even when you go quiet. Even when you disappear for a bit.”

That did something to you. You turned to him, eyes a little shinier than before, lips pressed in a thin line like you were holding something back.

Then, barely audible: “You see me, huh?”

Steve didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I do.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, slow and cautious — like testing the weight of being known. And when he didn’t pull away, just exhaled slow and leaned his head gently against yours, you finally let your eyes close.

No more hiding.

Not tonight.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

It was supposed to be movie night.

Just a dumb horror marathon at Steve's house while his parents were away, junk food stacked on the coffee table, Vickie bringing popcorn nobody asked for, Eddie pretending to hate scary moviesand Robin jus being her usual self. You weren’t even sure why you came — probably because Robin begged, and Steve said, “C’mon, it’s fun when you’re there,” in that casual way that always made you wonder if he meant more.

By midnight, Eddie had fallen asleep with a half-eaten bag of Cheetos on his chest. Vickie and Robin had wandered off upstairs, whispering and trying not to be obvious. You were curled up under an old fleece blanket on the floor, your eyes stinging, head foggy from the wine you sipped too slowly for it to actually help.

Steve was still on the couch, legs sprawled, nursing his third beer. The glow from the TV flickered over his face, casting soft shadows under his eyes.

“You tired?” he asked suddenly, eyes shifting to you.

You nodded. “Kind of. Not tired enough to sleep, though.”

He made a low sound. “Yeah. Know that feeling.”

The movie had turned to credits, forgotten in the background.

You sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Want me to head out? I can walk home.”

Steve frowned instantly. “No. No way. It’s too late, and you’re buzzed. You can crash here.”

You looked at him carefully. “Are you sure?”

“I want you to,” he said simply, and something in his voice made your stomach twist.

So you stayed.

⸻

Sometime later, the lights were off, the room quiet. Everyone else was asleep or close enough. You lay beside Steve on the couch now, both of you sharing the blanket, not touching — but barely.

“You ever get scared when it’s quiet like this?” you asked into the dark.

Steve turned his head toward you. “Not of the quiet. But of what comes with it.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He hesitated. “What scares you the most when everything’s quiet?”

You almost didn’t answer.

Then, voice low “That maybe this version of me—the one that makes people laugh and listens and brings the good wine—is the only version people want. That if I’m too much or too honest, they’ll just… leave.”

Steve exhaled slowly.

You weren’t looking at him when you said it, but when he spoke, his voice was close enough to feel.

“I wouldn’t.”

Your throat tightened.

You turned to face him in the dark, both of you just barely visible in the faint light from the streetlamp outside.

“I mean it,” he said. “I don’t care if you fall apart or go quiet or stop making poetic speeches every time we drink. You don’t have to be the ‘good’ version of you around me.”

You blinked, then whispered, “Then who do I have to be?”

Steve reached out — slow, unsure — and brushed a strand of hair off your cheek, his fingers warm and gentle. They lingered, just slightly, before falling away.

“Just you,” he said. “That’s enough.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You just leaned your head against his shoulder, and he leaned gently into you.

No kisses. No confessions. Just warmth. Just presence.

And the soft, powerful truth of being seen in the dark — and not being afraid of it.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The hum of the fluorescent lights above Family Video was especially irritating today. A storm had rolled through earlier, leaving the windows smudged with rain and the store with a damp, sleepy quiet.

Robin sat on the counter, lazily flipping through a stack of returned tapes, while Steve stood behind her, rewinding a copy of Pretty in Pink with one hand and nursing a lukewarm coffee in the other.

“God, this day is dragging,” Robin muttered. “We’ve had, like, three customers in four hours. I’m officially becoming part of the carpet.”

Steve didn’t answer.

She turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “You good?”

He nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. I mean… I’m fine.”

Robin narrowed her eyes. “No, you’re weird. You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” he asked defensively.

“That ‘staring-at-the-labels-but-not-seeing-them’ thing. The ‘I’ve-been-in-my-head-all-day’ thing. Is this about her?”

Steve looked up sharply.

Robin smirked. “Dingus. Come on. You think I didn’t notice the whole blanket-sharing, long-staring, lake-sitting, ‘oh-no-we-accidentally-touched-hands’ vibe happening between you two?”

Steve sighed, leaning on the counter beside her. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Robin grinned. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “She’s… different. I’ve never met someone who could just… undo me with a few words. And she doesn’t even try. She just is that way.”

Robin tilted her head. “And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because I want to be close to her,” Steve said. “But she’s still got these walls. I don’t want to push, but I also don’t want to wait around forever hoping she lets me in.”

Robin was quiet for a moment, tapping her fingers against the stack of tapes.

“You know,” she said slowly, “sometimes the only way someone lets you in is if you show them a door.”

Steve gave her a look. “That’s not a real saying.”

“It is now,” she shot back. “And guess what? You’re in luck. Because I happen to be a certified, government-licensed matchmaker.”

“You are not—”

“Hush. I’m scheming.” She slid off the counter and began pacing, deep in thought. “What you two need is time. But not group hangout time where Eddie’s talking about goblins or Vickie’s crying over documentaries. You need space where she doesn’t feel like she’s under a spotlight.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You’re planning a murder or a picnic?”

Robin smirked. “Both involve blankets and silence.”

Steve chuckled softly, but his heart was already racing a little.

Robin leaned back on the counter, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with purpose. “I’ll organize something low-key. Chill. No pressure. Just enough intimacy for something real to surface — or for you to accidentally hold her hand again.”

Steve smiled — truly smiled — for the first time that day.

“Thanks, Robs.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “Wait until you’re laying in the grass next to her again, trying not to fall in love.”

Steve looked away.

Too late.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened.

One minute you were at home, curled up with your book, and the next Robin was banging on your door with a plastic bag full of snacks and that too-sweet grin that meant she was up to something.

“Trust me,” she said, tossing a hoodie at you. “Dress cozy. We’re going somewhere.”

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in the back of Steve’s car — Eddie’s blanket stuffed in the trunk, a cooler full of stolen convenience store drinks in the backseat, and a portable radio Robin claimed she “borrowed” from her neighbor.

It wasn’t until Steve pulled the car into a quiet, grassy clearing just outside Hawkins — a place none of you ever really went — that it hit you.

This was a setup.

Robin, Vickie, and Eddie were all supposed to come. But somehow they mysteriously had other plans.

That left you and Steve.

Alone.

Under a sky spilling stars.

Robin didn’t even try to be subtle when she bailed last minute. She’d called it “giving the night some breathing room.”

Yeah, right.

⸻

Now it was just you and him.

The blanket was laid out across the grass. The drinks were opened. The radio played something soft and echoey in the background.

You both lay on your backs, staring up.

You pulled your hoodie sleeves over your hands again. It was quiet. Not the awkward kind. Just… open.

“I think she set us up,” you said finally.

Steve let out a soft laugh. “Oh, one hundred percent.”

You turned your head, saw the grin tugging at his lips.

“You mad?”

You shook your head slowly. “No. Just surprised.”

He glanced over at you, eyes soft. “Is it okay? Us being here? Just us?”

You didn’t answer right away. Then: “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

A beat passed.

He leaned back again. “I don’t do this often, you know.”

“Lay in fields and get tricked into stargazing?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I mean—try this hard to get closer to them for someone who isn’t even mine.”

That made your chest tighten.

You turned toward him again. “Why me, then?”

He looked at you.

And for once, he didn’t soften it with a joke.

“Because you say things that stay with me. Because you care without making it a performance. Because even when you vanish a little… I still want to find you.”

Your breath caught.

There was silence again. But this time it pulsed.

“I’m not used to people wanting to find me,” you said, your voice quiet, raw.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I keep showing up.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you said it, but it was there — the weight, the want, the fear.

Then Steve nudged his hand slightly across the blanket, his pinky brushing yours.

He didn’t hold your hand.

He just made sure you knew it was there.

And you let it stay.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The stars above felt too endless to speak under — like anything said here would echo for miles, held by the night itself.

Steve hadn’t moved his hand. Neither had you.

That small point of contact, that barely-there pinky touch, was the loudest thing between you.

You let the quiet stretch, let it wrap around you until you could finally breathe out the words that had been clawing at your chest for longer than you could admit.

“I used to write letters to people I never sent,” you said suddenly, eyes still on the sky.

Steve turned slightly, watching you now.

“Things I couldn’t say out loud. Apologies. Confessions. Sometimes just stuff I wished someone had told me when I was younger. I’d keep them folded in a box under my bed like they meant something.”

Steve didn’t interrupt.

You continued, voice softer now.

“One of them was to someone who made me feel small for caring too much. For being the one who noticed everything. They made it seem like it was a weakness. Like feeling deeply was embarrassing.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, but he stayed still.

“I think I learned to build walls right after that,” you admitted. “Because if no one can reach you, they can’t ruin you.”

A breeze moved through the grass. You didn’t shiver, but something inside you trembled.

“And yet,” you added with a hollow laugh, “here I am. Letting some guy brush his hand against mine like it’s the safest thing in the world.”

Steve’s voice was steady when he spoke. “I’m not gonna ruin you.”

“I know,” you said. “That’s what scares me.”

You turned to him then — fully, your eyes meeting his in the dark.

“I think I don’t know what to do with people who actually stay. People who don’t run when they see the real stuff.”

He leaned in, just slightly.

“Then let me be the one who stays.”

Not a promise. Not a plea.

Just a truth.

A breath passed between you. You didn’t kiss. You didn’t reach for more.

You just looked at him — really looked — and let him see you back.

Then, after a moment, you asked, almost teasing but not quite:

“Would you want to read one of the letters sometime?”

Steve smiled, soft and slow, like it reached somewhere deep in him.

“I’d want to read all of them.”

You looked back up at the sky.

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel too quiet anymore.

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

The blanket had been folded. The drinks packed away. The grass had left damp prints on your jeans, and the stars still clung to your skin like a secret.

You slid into the passenger seat, hoodie pulled tight around you, hair wind-tousled from the night. Steve got in on the other side, keys jingling as he started the car.

The radio picked up mid-song — something low and nostalgic. Fleetwood Mac, maybe. Something you both knew but wouldn’t admit you liked.

“I can’t believe Robin tricked me into this,” you said, half-laughing.

Steve grinned as he pulled onto the road. “You loved it.”

You gave a dramatic sigh. “Maybe. Still rude, though.”

“She’s persistent. I think she’s emotionally invested in our love lives.”

“Pretty sure she’s just bored.”

Steve glanced over at you. “She’s not wrong, though.”

You raised a brow. “About what?”

He shrugged, smile still tugging at his lips. “That it’s different with you.”

You looked out the window, trying to hide the warmth rising in your cheeks. “Yeah. It is.”

⸻

The road was quiet, passing under pools of moonlight. Your shoulders had relaxed. You were tapping your fingers gently on your thigh to the rhythm of the music, and Steve kept catching himself looking over.

“You know what I was thinking?” he said.

“That you’re gonna stop and get me fries?”

He laughed. “Okay, yes, but also—”

“Wait, was that a yes?”

Steve chuckled. “Yes, but also… you don’t seem like the kind of person who lets people in easily. And yet… I feel like I’m already inside.”

You turned to him, caught off guard. His hands were still on the wheel, eyes on the road, but that vulnerability in his voice was unmistakable.

“You are,” you admitted softly. “Maybe not all the way, but… you’re somewhere important.”

Silence.

But it wasn’t heavy. It was full. Charged.

⸻

By the time he pulled into your driveway, the song on the radio had faded into a commercial you both ignored.

He didn’t turn off the engine.

You didn’t move to open the door.

You sat there, both quiet.

Then you turned to him, voice softer now. “Thanks for tonight. Even if it was a setup.”

“I’d let Robin trap me like that every week if it meant more nights like this,” he said.

You bit back a smile. “Careful, Harrington. You’re sounding dangerously close to romantic.”

He leaned across the console a little, the space between you narrowing, breath warming the air.

“I could be, you know,” he said. “If you let me.”

You met his eyes. “I think I’m ready to try.”

And then—

You kissed him.

It wasn’t perfect. His nose bumped yours, your hands were still cold, and the console made it awkward — but it was real.

Soft. Brave. Just a little shaky.

Like the beginning of something built slow and strong.

When you finally pulled back, forehead brushing his, you whispered, “Just so you know… I’m still scared.”

Steve smiled, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“That’s okay,” he whispered back. “I’ll stay anyway.”

────────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────────

You’d written hundreds of letters before.

Some were angry, some desperate, some shaped like poetry or nothing at all. You never sent them. You weren’t supposed to. They were just for you — a way to let the ache out and trap it somewhere else.

But this one?

This one was different.

This one had Steve’s name on it.

It was folded carefully, sealed with a scrap of tape. No envelope. No address. Just his name, written in your handwriting — slightly tilted, always a little too careful.

You gave it to him on a quiet Wednesday afternoon. Family Video was slow, the rain had been soft all morning, and you’d swung by with coffee under the excuse of boredom.

Steve smiled when he saw you, hair a little messy, name tag crooked.

“You always bring the good kind,” he said, taking the coffee. “It’s like you know me or something.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling the letter from your jacket pocket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning curiously.

You didn’t look at him. “Something I usually never give anyone.”

He sobered at your tone. Took it gently. “You want me to read it now?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

So he did.

Right there behind the counter, leaning against the cash register, Steve unfolded the paper and began to read.

Dear Steve,

I never meant to let anyone in. Not really.

I got good at listening so I wouldn’t have to speak. I got good at asking questions so I wouldn’t have to answer any. And most people are fine with that. Most people don’t look closer.

But you did.

You noticed things I didn’t think anyone saw. You made space for me in ways no one else ever tried to. You didn’t ask me to open up — you just kept showing up. Again and again.

You made me feel safe.

That night at the lake, I felt seen. And it terrified me. And it made me feel alive. Both at once. You were patient with me, even when I gave you nothing back but half-smiles and smokes and silence.

This isn’t a love letter. Not yet. It’s a thank you.

For not asking me to be anything other than myself.

And for making me want to be brave enough to let someone stay.

– Yours. In whatever way that means to you.

Steve didn’t move for a long time.

He stared at the paper, reading it twice, then folding it with impossible care like it was something fragile.

When he looked up at you, his eyes were glassy.

“You meant this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” you said, stepping closer. “It was never about getting a response. I just… I wanted you to have something real.”

Steve reached forward, cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

“You’re the bravest person I know.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes soft, breath shallow.

And then he kissed you again — this time slower, deeper, more sure. Like the letter had told him everything he’d needed to know, and now he could finally answer without words.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against yours and whispered:

“Yours, too.”