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qtzoon · 1 year ago

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader PART TWO [35K] another year at summer camp, more broken kayaks, a change of plans, a lot of wondering. meet us in the afterglow.

PART ONE

Tell me that it's not my fault

“Steve!” You yelled the boy's name on instinct when you saw him the morning after the cabin incident. “Hey, Steve!”

He looked startled to hear you, to hear his name on your lips when it wasn’t snarled or yelled. But he stopped anyway, blinking at you in the sunlight as you jogged over to him, hair still damp from the lake, leaving your shorts unbuttoned over your swimsuit.

“Hey,” you said, softer now you were closer. “I heard about Billy.”

Steve made a face that you tried not to smile at, his expression somewhat regretful, like he was expecting you to tell him off, something you would’ve normally done. Instead, you turned your attention to the cut on his cheek, the small scratch that still looked too fresh not to hurt. There was a bruise forming around it, blotchy blue and purple, high on his cheekbone.

[THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (COVER) BY THE LUMINEERS]

You ached to reach out, to take Steve’s chin between your finger and thumb so you could pull him down to you, so you could kiss the mark better. “Are you okay?” You asked instead.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, eyes darting around the forest floor, at the trees and the sun, before they settled on you. He swallowed hard and tried not to watch the drop of water that was running from the nape of your neck down your chest. “Yeah, m’fine. No big deal.”

You huffed, a familiar sound that made the corners of Steve’s mouth pick up, because you still sounded soft, huffy in a way that made him want to fix it.

“That’s not what Eddie said,'' you told him, finally giving in and moving a little closer, toes of your sneakers pushed into the moss so you could peer at his injuries with concerned eyes. “He said you really went for Billy. That he’d never seen you like that before.”

Steve froze as you inspected his cheek, closer than you’d been in weeks. You still smelled the same, he noted, under your sunscreen and the lake water. Your perfume still clung to your skin and Steve watched with parted lips as you reached up to push some of his hair back in order to get a better look at his cheek.

You kept your gaze lowered as you did so, careful not to move too fast, wary about making eye contact. But Steve didn’t move away.

“S’nothing, honest. Just got out of hand.” Steve swallowed again, mouth too dry and Adam’s apple bobbing as his hand accidentally grazed your hip as he shifted. “Um, what else did Eddie say?”

You frowned, letting your hand drop from Steve’s face, albeit grudgingly. The boy was pleased to note that you didn’t move away. “Not much, apart from that. Why?”

Steve shrugged, feeling clumsy, feeling lovesick, like a teenager with a first crush, like a stupid boy who didn’t know how to function with a pretty girl so close. A month ago, he’d had taken this opportunity to pull you behind the kayak stack, nimble and sure fingers slipping down the straps of your swimsuit as he kissed you until you whispered his name the way he liked to hear.

Instead, he gave you a small smile. “No reason. Hey, do I, uh, still have sand or somethin’ in the cut? Feels itchy.”

Steve knew that the slice on his cheek was more than clean, he’d spent long enough cornered by Joyce as she squeezed cotton balls soaked in antiseptic over the injury, again and again until he batted her away with pleading eyes. But he was desperate for you to touch him again, to be this close to you without arguing. And if he couldn’t kiss you, well, maybe your soft hands on his cheek would just have to do.

You took the bait, whether you’d seen through his plan or not, Steve didn’t care. You leaned in, fingers careful on his jaw as you tilted his face this way and that, close enough that your nose almost skimmed his cheek. Steve thought you were warmer than the sun then, a heat against him that he missed even more than he’d realised. He held his breath, clenched his hands at his sides and tried not to touch you.

“Maybe there’s a little something,” you lied, “just there. Hold still.”

Steve did as you asked, frozen as you swept a gentle finger over the tender skin. You wanted to kiss the bruise, the mottled shape on his cheek that had darkened over night. But you kept your eyes lowered, movements careful, pretending to swipe away something that was never there.

“Think it’s some sand or something,” you whispered.

Steve licked his lips, hummed in agreement and let his gaze land on your face. You were just as pretty, he noted, even when you looked so sad.

“What do you think of Shelbyville?” The boy asked it so suddenly that you stopped what you were doing, your hand paused against Steve’s cheek, your fingers splayed over his jaw.

You wrinkled your nose, confused as you considered his question. “Shelbyville? Why?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he just smiled a little weakly and made a half shrug with his shoulders, waiting for your answer.

“It’s nice, I guess,” you finally replied, still confused but answering honestly. “S’pretty. My aunt lives there, out by Blue River. I like it.”

Something in Steve’s chest grew, an elated feeling that felt a little like hope, like a new possibility. “Yeah?” He smiled a little more confidently, brows raised.

You still weren’t sure why he was asking, or why he suddenly seemed so happy but you couldn’t help but smile back. You nodded, squinting up at him through the rays of sun that had appeared through the tree canopy, turning you both golden.

“Yeah,” you agreed. Grudgingly, you dropped your hand from his face, fingertips trailing down his jaw until you had no choice to step back, finding no reason to be so close. Not now. “There we go, all clean.”

Steve nodded, smile dropping slightly as you moved away, and his hand reached up to his own cheek, to the same spot you’d held. Like he was chasing your touch. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, just as soft.

It hurt to walk away, it physically hurt. So you backed up slowly, like keeping your eyes on Steve for as long as you could would somehow help and the boy stayed where you’d left him, his hand on his sore cheek, staring at you as you made your way back to the dock.

Robin was there, a stack of lifejackets in her arms, the ones you’d dropped at the sight of Steve. You took them back from her, cheeks warm, gaze lowered. You watched as Steve finally left, almost walking into a camp sign, face burning pink as he frowned at it.

“What was that?” Robin asked, brows raised under her cap. It was on backwards and had been adorned with another patch, a purple Care Bear that had its middle finger lifted.

You stared at her, wide eyed, as if that would help feign ignorance a little better. “What was what?”

“Bitch,” Robin scoffed, amused. “Don’t even try it.” She dumped more life jackets into your arms, laughing when you protested. “You’re not slick, you know.”

You kept your head down, a small shred of hope blooming in between your ribs like new flowers. If you smiled, Robin pretended that she didn’t see it.

—————

“Capture the flag,” Hopper announced, standing to face the crowd of campers and staff alike. “Need I explain?”

The kids murmured excitedly and shook their heads, eagerly awaiting their weaponry as Murray weaved in and out of the groups with tiny balloons filled with coloured paint and an old, fraying piece of ribbon that was meant to be tied around an arm. “Red or blue?” he’d ask each kid, before grinning and giving them the opposite of what they asked for.

“Aren’t these supposed to go in paint guns, or something?” Lucas called out, squinting pitifully at the small balloon he held aloft. “These ain’t gonna do shi--”

“Language, Mr. Sinclair,” Hopper called back cheerfully. “And I’m so sorry, you seem to have mistaken our budget with Camp America. Take the damn balloons and pray you got a good arm, kid.”

The campers snickered and Lucas frowned, shoving a shoulder into Dustin who jostled Will and Mike, a red paint filled balloon popping prematurely and bursting over the smallest boy’s sneakers. Will sighed, a long suffering thing that was too weary for a preteen, and held out a hand for Murray to deposit another one into it.

“Maybe we can do some fundraising for next year,” Murray added, making his way back to the front of the group. “I’m sure Mr. Harrington can help arrange something, right Steven?”

Every pair of eyes shot to Steve as he stood slack jawed and wide eyed, gaze finding yours in the confusion. You were looking at him with furrowed brows, wondering what on earth Murray could have meant. Next year? Mr. Harrington?

“Uh…” was all Steve had to say.

Eddie snorted. Steve backhanded him in the stomach. You were still frowning.

“Team captains,” Murray announced, holding two more armbands aloft. These ones had a crown on each, penned on with black marker that had faded over the years. “Choose your leaders, people.”

It took approximately half a second for Eddie to shove Steve forward, sending him through a crowd of kids that squealed at the jostling. Unsure if it was planned or not, you swore when Robin did the same to you, nipping at your side so you squeaked. You glared at Murray when he approached, grinning wide.

“This should be fun,” he drawled, teasing. His eyes flashed too much mischief for a man pushing fifty and you grunted your annoyance even when you grabbed the armband from him.

You didn’t look to see if Steve did the same, but you heard his hissed argument with Eddie as you made Robin tie the material around your bicep, red cotton against your mustard yellow lifeguard shirt.

“Harrington,” Murray announced. “Look sharp and uh, let’s keep it clean, huh, kiddies?”

When you finally spared a glance, Murray was looking between you and Steve, still grinning and the boy was knotting the blue band around his arm, his features pulled together in frustration.

Hopper was pinching at his eyes, looking pained. “For the love of god, any destruction of property, will be coming out of your fu— out of your paychecks.” The man sighed, already tired and he huffed. “Take the damned flags and don’t trash my camp.”

And then the game began.

The camp was alive with noise and colour, the sounds of kids laughing and screeching as they launched tiny paint balls at each other, all strategy and planning out the window after Eddie and Jonathan launched a sneak attack on Robin, dousing her in blue paint that they dropped from a tree. Subtlety was gone after that and the kids ran amok, abandoning their positions until you were the only one left defending the flag, an old ratty, red thing that was shoved up high and behind the stacked gym mats inside the hall.

You were bored hearing the screams from outside, pacing the gym as you waited for either a teammate to return (Max and Will had left ten minutes ago for more supplies, but you heard the sorrowful sounds of Will being pelted with balloons mere seconds after leaving the gym. Max had snorted and left him behind), or for an opponent to try their luck at capturing your flag. You weren’t sure which option appealed less, as the semi silence you were left in gave you too much time to think.

Why did Steve ask about Shelbyville of all places? Why did Murray talk like Steve was going to be here next year?

Outside, you heard someone yell, someone shriek and then a casualty was declared as Dustin yelped about having paint in his eye and how Max was playing too mean. You considered leaving, going to check everyone had it all covered but you heard Joyce fuss, kids giggling and soon enough, the game kicked back off.

The late afternoon was turning to evening when the doors finally jolted open, a squeak and a whine of the hinges that let in the last of the golden coloured light, the sky turning pinky peach through the old, cracked windows.

You turned to face your opponent with a balloon in your fist, already raised and aimed at the doorway.

Steve.

You sighed, trying your best to seem unaffected even though you could feel your own heartbeat in your ears. You pushed the toe of a sneaker into the gym floor, making it squeak. “This seems clichéd,” you joked.

The boy snorted, a light huff of air that eased the pounding of your chest. “Right?” He agreed. “But Eddie got disqualified for unfair use of weaponry and fuck knows where Billy led Mike and Lucas.”

You frowned, genuine concern evident in your voice. “And no one thought to check on them?”

Steve shrugged, grinning. “S’fine. Mike’s been taking karate classes. Apparently.”

It was easy to joke like this. Just like it had been easy to forget about how Steve walked away from the cabin trap set by the kids, how you’d run to him the minute you found out he was hurt, how it was easier still to put your hands on his jaw, his cheek, play pretend and fake act nurse.

But suddenly the last few weeks, the last few months, caught up to you and you were more aware than ever that August was soon approaching. You wondered if Steve’s room back in Hawkins was already packed up, if his carpet was covered in cardboard boxes, if his mom and dad would travel to Arizona with him, if he already had his class schedule, if he still really wanted to go.

“What’s in Shelbyville?”

“What—?”

“Do you know someone there? And why did you hit Billy? Was it something to do with me?”

The boy was reeling from your onslaught of sudden questioning and the attention made him burn. “What? No,” Steve scoffed, trying and failing miserably to appear cool and collected. “Why? What did Eddie tell you?”

“What’s going on, Steve? Why’s Murray calling you Mr. Harrington, why are you—”

“It’s nothing!” The boy interrupted. “Nothin’s going on.”

“Stop lying to me!”

Steve swallowed and let out a sigh that hurt his chest, a stuttering, wrenching thing because your eyes were turning glassy and he saw the way you caught yourself as your bottom lip started to tremble.

“I’m no— I, fuck, I’m not trying to lie to you, it’s just…” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Princess, listen—”

A paint balloon landed on Steve’s hip, a barely there thump but the ball exploded with red paint, splattering across Steve’s clothes, his shirt, his forearm. He blinked up at you, lips parting in surprise.

“Don’t call me that,” your words were thick with emotion, your lips in a tight line as you tried your hardest not to break. “And stop lying to me. All you’ve done is lie to me.”

Steve was speechless, holding his arms out before letting them drop back to his side in defeat. “I haven't lied to you,” he said mournfully. “At least I haven’t meant to, shit, it’s been— hard, okay? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know it’s been hard Steve, but god, tell me the truth! At least admit it to yourself.”

“What truth?” Steve yelled, grimacing when you flinched. He immediately felt awful, but the frustration in his chest was simmering over, clawing its way up his throat. “What do you want me to say, huh? That you were right? That I’m some kind of fucking loser that’s doing as daddy says? That I’m so stupid that only the way I can get into college is if I let my dad pay my way in?”

He threw a paintball at the floor, only feeling slightly bad when some of the colour reached the toes of your shoes, your bare shins. Bright blue streaked across your skin and you frowned, at the mess and Steve’s words.

“You’re not a loser,” you growled, annoyance colouring your tone. No one was allowed to talk shit about Steve Harrington. Not even himself. Not to you, at least. “And you’re not stupid, Steve. Stop it.”

Another paint balloon was thrown, this time by you, a careful aim that caught Steve’s chest. He swore, staring at the bloom of red over his staff shirt before he glared at you. “Hey, the fuck was that for?”

“You’re not a loser and you’re not stupid and your dad is a fucking bully who can’t be happy for his son’s own choices.” You launched another, huffing when Steve managed to avoid it, paint exploding over the gym floor instead.

“Stop!” Steve retaliated with his own weapons, chucking a blue balloon at your thigh, feeling a tiny flush of satisfaction when it burst all over your tennis skirt.

“Are you still going to Arizona?” You were near breathless, adrenaline high as you held another balloon in your hand, ready to take aim.

“No!” Steve burst. He swore, dropping the last balloon and groaning when the paint hit his feet. He scrubbed his hands over his face, streaks of blue over his cheeks and into his hair as he tugged on the ends. “I don’t know. Fuck, I— no. I don’t want to. I never fucking wanted to.”

You dropped your balloon too, red on the floor, on your shoes, your ankles. You stared at the boy, shocked as his admittance, despite how you’d known it all along. You weren’t sure what to do now, what to say. But tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, hot and heavy.

You sniffed, tears gathering at your lash line, making the boy before you blurry. You took a deep breath before your next question, wondering if this is the one that would hurt the most, but before you could, Steve spoke first.

“You said I didn’t call you back,” he sounded as wrecked as you felt, his words thick and clumsy, his eyes holding too much emotion to try and decipher. “That night, after the party, you said I didn't call you back. When? When did you call me?”

You were stunned. One, that you’d admitted that, and two, that Steve had remembered. The vodka you’d had that night made the memories blurry, but you could recall your head buried in Steve’s chest, his sweatshirt on your frame, his cologne and leftover campfire smoke amongst cotton sheets. A mumbled confession, sad words and sleep.

You shrugged, helpless. “Fuck, I— I called you the night after. The night after you told me about college. I rang and your dad answered.” You swallowed harshly, looking anywhere but at Steve. “He said you were busy. Said he’d tell you I called.”

If Steve had felt an annoyance, a disdain, for his father before, nothing really compared to the anger that burst in his chest like a bomb. “What?”

You shrugged at him again.

“Ba—” Steve groaned, tugging at his hair until it stood on end. He said your name, agonised. “I didn’t know you called. I— fuck, I would’ve called you back. I spent fucking weeks standing at the phone wishing you would, tryin’ to work up the balls to call you myself.”

Steve stepped forward, once, twice. “He didn’t tell me. My dad didn’t tell me you tried to get in touch.” Steve’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out and take your own. “I would’ve called you back. Fuck, I would’ve driven straight over to you and—”

Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence before you’d launched yourself at him. You didn’t know what any of it meant, not yet, not really. You didn’t know if Steve really was going to stay, what that meant for you both, what would happen next. Nothing could be fixed right now, not right away, not in the middle of the forest during a game of capture the flag, but you decided then and there - covered in paint - that eight weeks was too long to go without kissing Steve Harrington.

He caught you, arms around your waist as you crushed yourself to his chest, your hands finding the hair at the nape of his neck so you could tug him down to meet your lips. Steve went willingly, your toes barely skimming the floor, your T-shirt tangled between the boy’s fingers as he gripped you like he’d never dream of letting you go.

Not again.

Not ever.

It was a messy thing, that kiss. It felt new, like a reset, a restart, like the first time all over again. Your noses bumped and you breathed in the air that Steve blew out, a sigh, a swear, lips pushed together until either of you could handle it anymore.

“I thought you hated me,” Steve mumbled against your mouth, eyes closed tight and his arms still around you. “Fuck, I thought—”

“No,” you told him, hands covering his jaw, thumb soothing over the apples of his cheeks, the cut that was still there. “No, no, could never. Could never hate you.”

Your feet were back on the ground now, the toes of your sneakers pushed to the gym floor, stepping in paint as you both swayed slightly at the desperation of each other's grip. That’s all Steve seemed to need to hear, because the boy dipped his head back down to yours and kissed you soundly, with more confidence than the first time, like he suddenly remembered that he knew how to do this. His hands were up your shirt, fingertips skimming along your spine, palm flat to your skin to hold you to him so he could kiss you deeper, slower, longer.

And when you parted your lips for him, you weren’t sure who made the first noise. But you whined and Steve groaned, tongues licking over each other’s, four hands getting greedy, pulling and shoving at camp shirts to feel more.

“I don’t wanna go to Arizona,” Steve whispered, and you pulled back enough to soothe a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes. He looked at you so seriously that you felt it in your chest, a sharp pang of hurt and relief for the boy. “I don’t wanna study finance.”

“I know.” You nodded, bringing him back to you, kissing over whatever part of him you could reach. His jaw, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his closed eyelids, his chin. “I know, it’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy, you know that right?”

Steve nodded too, nose bumping yours as he stumbled backwards, clumsy footing taking you both away from the middle of the gym. “I know, baby,” he sucked in a breath. “M’sorry.”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

He had you up against a wall before you realised, head tilted down to you as he nuzzled at your throat, your head tipping back so you could let Steve do as he pleased. He nipped at the skin there, kissing along your neck until you cried out his name and god, the hands he had on your waist just squeezed tighter in response.

“Shit, Steve,” you sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. “I should be the one apologising, I shouldn’t have blown up the way I did, I should’ve—”

“Nonono,” Steve shook his head, catching your lips for another kiss again, swallowing your noises as you whined for him, fingers twisting and tugging meanly at his hair, the collar of his shirt. “Don’t wanna talk anymore,” he groaned. “Not right now, please…”

[MEDICINE BY HARRY STYLES]

“Storeroom,” you told him, nodding towards the double doors that led into the large cupboard, away from any prying eyes that would eventually come into the gym. “Now.”

Steve was apparently as desperate as you were, because he didn’t take his lips off of you, even as you both stumbled towards your chosen hiding spot. Feet tripped over each other as you made it across the gym, hands still in his air and tugging him down to you. Steve didn’t seem to mind, groaning loud when you sighed and tipped your head back for him, letting him lick and suck at your neck. There was paint smeared everywhere, splatters of red and blue mixing to make a lavender colour, streaking your skin and Steve’s.

And then the door to the storeroom was wrenched open and Steve was guiding you in with a tug of his hand. It was funny how your stomach flipped, a nervous excitement, an anticipation hooking in your stomach like this was your first time with the boy all over again. Except you knew what he liked and you knew how to make him fall apart so easily, which is why you didn’t hesitate to throw yourself at him, Steve’s back against the wall this time as your hands cradled his jaw and you pulled him down to meet your kiss.

Shoulders bumped old shelves, metal ball cages that were only half full now that the summer was coming to an end and there were stacks of old oars leaning against three kayaks, each plastered with patches of new paint that didn’t match the original colour. A quick fix it job that Steve had been tasked with last summer after he flat out refused to hand over the three hundred dollars Hopper demanded for a new boat.

You thought of that stupid jar on your managers desk and wondered if it would be worth it.

But once you’d pulled back, just a touch to look up at Steve, your mind was made up. The boy looked wrecked, tanned skin messy with paint, streaks of it running across strong forearms, dots of it somehow mixing with freckles across his cheeks and nose. You’d gotten red paint in his hair when you’d grabbed at it, making it messier than ever. But Steve didn’t seem to care, nor if the way he was looking at you was any indication. Heavy, hooded eyes on you, roaming unashamedly over your face, your frame, the way you’d pushed your thighs together for some relief. He was already hard, thick and strained against the zipper of his jeans at the very first touch of your lips against his.

Yeah, it would be worth it.

“Missed you,” he whispered, reverent, ruined. His hands reached out for you again, fingers twisting in the sides of your shirt to pull you back to him. “Thought that was it, thought I’d never get to have you like this again.”

You made a noise of protest at the thought, a hiccuping thing that Steve swallowed with a kiss, his breath coming out heavy against your cheek. You were impatient now, too worked up, desperate for him. Your hands snuck under his shirt, slipping up and over his stomach, smiling when the muscles there clenched and twitched under your fingertips. You raked your nails back down him, anchoring yourself to his belt loops, wondering if he’d let you do what you wanted him with, if he’d be patient enough.

Steve was working his mouth over your neck when you asked, his own thumb pulling at your shirt collar to try and stretch it out for himself, uncovering more skin to kiss.

“Steve,” you were breathless and he hummed, never stopping the way he sucked and bit down at the crook of your neck. “Wanna suck you off.”

The noise that left the boy’s lips was unholy, a needy, wrecked sounding thing that had you more desperate to get on your knees than ever. Your hands went to the button of his jeans, popping it with a finesse that made Steve’s eyes flutter.

“Please,” you added for extra effect, like you didn’t already know Steve would give you whatever you wanted.

“Fuck, honey,” Steve pulled back, just slightly, his head falling backwards until it thumped dully against the wall. His pupils were blown wide, his hold on your waist tightening, hands sneaking under cotton to steal a touch of your skin. “You want me to fuck you, right?”

You nodded immediately, lips parting at the thought, head going fuzzy at the idea of having Steve inside you again after what felt like a fucking lifetime. Two years of regular sex had spoiled you, and not even your own fingers in a private Sunday morning shower had gotten you past frustrated. “God, yeah, yeah I do.”

Steve nodded like he knew, like he understood your frustration and well, he probably did. He reached up to trace a thumb over your bottom lip, hand cracking your jaw as he pulled it from place, watching awestruck as it popped prettily back into place when he let it go. You whined, moving closer, chest to chest and wrapping your hands around his wrist, anchoring him to you.

Steve let out a quiet curse, breath uneven and watching you from under his lashes, bringing his thumb back to your mouth. He teased you just a little, rubbing the pad of it over the seam of your lips, taking it away every time you tried to part them. But when he saw you getting glossy eyed and restless, he gave in, sinking the tip of his thumb past your lips and resting on the soft of your tongue.

Steve groaned when you whined, pulling you closer by one hip and wedging a thigh between your legs for you to push yourself against. His gaze was locked on your mouth as he dragged his thumb out past your lips, just a little, just enough to see the slick skin and the way your tongue chased it, curling around the digit. His cock twitched with jealousy in his jeans.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered to your doe eyed stare, your wet lips. “Can’t let you get your mouth on me, princess, m’sorry. Wouldn’t last a fucking second.”

You bit down on his thumb as some kind of argument, frowning when Steve slipped it from your mouth. But before you could protest, he was back on you, hands carding into your hair and pulling you flush to him, tongue on yours in seconds. You moaned into the kiss, a heavy, dirty thing that made you lick into him deeper, grinding yourself down on the thigh he’d so kindly given you.

It didn’t take long for Steve to lose some patience - or maybe it was control - but he was effortless in the way he spun you both, trading places so he could pin you against the wall instead. You thought about resisting, thought about playing hard to get and keep up the pretence of still being mad but Steve’s mouth was on your throat and his hand was sneaking up the inside of your shirt.

“Baby,” you squirmed, lashes fluttering, body boneless against him. You clung to him for dear life, fingers clutching his shoulders, his shirt, his hair. “Please.”

You didn’t know what you were asking for, but it made Steve moan, a rumbling noise that vibrated through his chest to yours and he pulled back just to peck at your lips, your cheek, your jaw. “Say that again,” he murmured, voice thick with an endless affection. His lips were swollen, pouty and pink, his eyes glazed over for you. “Call me that again.”

Your body buzzed, your brain foggy and it took a few seconds for everything to catch up. Steve was still looking at you, pleading, his hands kneading at your hips, your thighs, like he didn’t dare stop touching you.

“Baby,” you repeated again and you see the relief in Steve’s gaze at the word. Affection, fondness, love, affirmation. He needed it too. So you pulled him back down to you, hands curled in the front of his T-shirt collar, kissing along his jaw and chin until he groaned and caught your lips with his. “Babybabybaby,” you mumbled against his mouth, sighing prettily between kisses, pulling him closer than necessary, scared he’d disappear.

It was a needy kiss that turned dirty, the ache between your legs making you nip at Steve’s lips, pull at his hair a little meaner, rake your nails down the back of his neck and pant into his open mouth.

“Fuck, I missed you,” you whined, your declaration messy and garbled as Steve kissed you between words. “Missed you so much.”

Steve nodded his agreement, eyes half lidded and heavy as he let you yank at his shirt, pulling it off and launching it over his shoulder. It hung from some racks, old metal shelves filled with broken gym equipment and a box camp hats that no one was made to wear anymore.

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “Jesus Christ, c’mere.” Steve pulled you back to him, your own shirt joining his, your plain white bra the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He tugged at the straps until they slid down your shoulders, baring more skin for him to kiss. “Missed you too, you’ve no idea.”

Something about the admission seemed to kick everything into high gear and Steve was mouthing across your chest as he slipped a hand up and under your skirt, teasing at the elastic edge, fingers gripping and pulling until it snapped against your thigh.

“Kept dreamin’ about you,” he confessed, whispering the words against your throat like something unholy. “Kept wakin’ up with a mess in my fucking boxers like a damn teenager ‘cause I’d fall asleep and dream about how you tasted.”

His fingers slipped past the cotton barrier, swiping achingly slow through your folds, parting them and feeling the slick there. You both moaned at the feel, one foot coming up to rest on the edge of a kayak, keeping yourself spread open for Steve. He swore and you felt his grin, a pleased and proud smile that settled against your chest.

“Good girl, that’s it, keep your leg up for me, honey.” Steve didn’t bother taking your underwear off as he sank to his knees, he just hooked your thigh over his shoulder and his fingers into pink cotton, tugging them to the side. “Fuck,” Steve hissed, eyes flickering from yours down to the shiny wetness between your legs. “Look at her, honey, still just as fuckin’ pretty, she missed me too, yeah?”

Fire nipped at your stomach, a fast roll of electricity under your skin at the boy’s words and suddenly nothing bad had ever happened, you’d never broken up and Steve had you pinned against his shower wall, cold tiles on your back and sticky, dirty words pressed onto your skin. You whined, a loud cry that Steve grinned at and you nodded, quickly realising that you’d agree to anything Steve asked.

“Yeah, she did,” Steve cooed, moving closer to kiss along your thighs, nosing at the crease where your leg met your cunt. “She’s drippin’ for me, shit, just begging for a kiss, huh?”

“Steve,” you hissed his name, half desperate, half a warning, canting your hips forward until his lips brushed against your folds. He pulled back a little, smiling wide, like he was having the time of his life. “We’re hardly in the privacy of a hotel room, fuck, c’mon, please.”

“S’where I’ll take you after camp,” the boy promised, voice low and sticky soft. He ran his mouth over your folds, a barely there kiss that made rise up onto one set of toes to chase his lips. “Gonna take you somewhere real nice, princess, gonna make up for this summer, gonna fix it, I promise.”

He was babbling, eyes closed as he kissed up and across the soft of your lower stomach, nose dragging through the soft curls below until he could lick a line over you, not parting you just yet, just teasing, tasting.

You were breathless, body bowing over Steve’s head as you grabbed at his hair and held on. If you wanted to meaner about it, if it was two months ago and he was teasing you in your bedroom, laughter on his lips, you would’ve pulled his hair and rode his face, giving in and making him moan.

But Steve was whispering promises into your skin like apologies and even in your pent up haze, you still had questions. “What about - fucking hell, Steve - what about Arizona?”

“Later, I’ll explain later,” was all he said, before he parted you with two thumbs and licked a slow, wide stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Steve knew how you liked it, had two whole years to learn what you loved, where to touch, where to kiss, when to slow down, when to speed up. He kept his eyes on you as he swiped over your clit, a soft, little kitten lick and that made you squeak and buck your hips down onto his face. The kayak you had one foot rested on groaned in protest.

You heard him whisper praise into you, filthy, pretty words that you barely heard over your own heaving breaths and your head fell back against the wall when his tongue worked its way around your entrance, licking over you, nose nudging at your clit as he did.

“Fuck, princess, she’s just crying for me, isn’t she?”

You could only whine, a soft, high pitched thing that made Steve palm at his cock through his jeans, pulling you onto his face with his free hand. He kept up those slow, lazy licks through your cunt, only speeding up when you started to roll yourself over his mouth. He groaned, a dirty noise that made you want to grab at him but you were hurtling towards an orgasm that you’d hadn’t been able to give yourself for weeks.

“M’gonna come,” you whispered, your throat tight, your voice wrecked. “Steve, Stevie, please, I’m gonna come.”

The boy didn’t dare take his mouth away from you, not even to whisper encouragement. He just snuck his hand from your thigh to your ass, squeezing you tight and he coaxed you further onto his tongue, silently telling you to rock yourself over his mouth, to take what you needed. And as your noises got breathier, needy, little whines that turned into groans, Steve took your clit into his mouth and sucked at the same time he slid two thick fingers into you, hooking them in place and rubbing.

You gushed around his fingers as you came, a sob ripping from your lips as your body gave in and bowed over Steve’s, hands clutching at his shoulders, his neck, trying to keep yourself up. Aftershocks jolted through you as Steve grinned, tongue seeking out your clit even still, licking over it softly as you came down, holding you in place as you tried to jerk away.

“Steve,” you gasped at him, pushing softly at his forehead until he gave in, running kisses up your thigh and stomach as he stood. “Fuck, baby, fuckfuckfuck—”

“How’d you want me?” He gaped out, his chest heaving, his hair a mess from your fingers and his lips glossy from the way you’d ground yourself against his mouth. “Huh, princess? Tell me, I’ll give you it, I swear.” The boy was desperate, clinging to you, his hands on your jaw as he dipped in for a kiss, groaning wild when you licked yourself from his lips, sucking the taste of yourself from him.

You couldn’t really think, words coming out in strings of pleases and curses, begging for something you didn’t know how to ask for. So you pulled at the belt on Steve’s jeans instead, shoving the denim down his hips, just enough for you to pull his cock out and show it some proper attention. Steve’s eyes glazed over as you pumped him, thumb swiping over his leaking tip, your mouth kissing along his chest.

He groaned, a gasping, rough sound that you knew so well and Steve shook his head, batting away your hand before he came all over it. He patted at your hip, held his hands out for you. “Up,” he commanded.

You hopped easily, Steve’s hands catching your bare thighs, palms curving around your ass as he turned and set you upon the stacked kayaks. You were just the right height for him to slip into you, but he kept you waiting, playing with himself as he pulled down the cups of your bra, freeing your tits for him. He thumbed over an already hard nipple, watched in awe as it pebbled even more and he licked his lips, cock nudging at your thigh.

“Like this?” He asked you quietly, running a hand down your front, curling his fingers around your throat, squeezing gently at your chest, your hip. He was everywhere at once. “Could fuck you like this, or I could bend you over, huh?”

The kayak stand shook a little when Steve tugged at your calf, bringing you closer to the edge and his cock. You had zero faith the boats would withstand the movements that were about to ensue, but you honestly couldn’t find it in you to care.

You’d help Steve burn the camp to the ground, as long as he kept touching you.

“Like this,” you whined and god, you sounded bratty, needy, the way Steve liked it best. “Need to kiss you,” you told him and it was the truth. You were as desperate to kiss and hold and look at the boy as much as you were for him to finally fuck you.

Steve’s expression softened then, melting brown butter, his gaze sugar sweet. He leaned in, nose nuzzling yours as he kissed you, a one, two, sweet peck of a thing before your mouth fell open for him and you were gasping his name.

“Steve!”

He’d slid into you easily, caught your noise with his lips, kissing it away as he groaned through it too. You were soaked still, but the stretch and burn of taking him again for the first time in months was apparent. You whined, clutching at him, letting the boy coo and soothe you with kisses everywhere, scattered pieces of affection dotted over your nose and cheeks. He felt you clench around him, tighter than ever, and his hands found your jaw.

“Honey - Jesus Christ - baby, look, hmm? Look at me, baby.” Steve sounded almost serious, his tone low and soft, determined for your eyes on his. He caught your jaw, cradling it as he pulled out of you, just enough for the tip of him to stay inside of you, throbbing. “There we go, there, that’s it, princess.”

You could’ve let your eyes slip shut at the pleasure of it all, lips parting and jaw falling slack when Steve thrust forward again, a slow and steady rhythm that kept you stretched out and wet for him. But you knew that Steve wanted you to keep gazing at him, his own eyes heavy and half lidded as he leaned in, his forehead against yours, his stare hot as he picked up his pace.

“S’fucking amazing,” you moaned for him, almost unaware of the shuffling and banging noises you were both beginning to make. The kayaks were bumping into the wall with each rock of Steve’s hips. “Fuck, keep going, please.”

It turned harder, faster. A dirty snap of the boy’s hips against yours, his hands everywhere, one holding a thigh wide, the other tangled in the hair at the nap of your neck, a hot and commanding hot that made you arch your back for him. Steve grunted at the push of your tits bare against his chest, skin on skin and your bra, a tangle of wire and straps around your ribs, your skirt tucked up to meet it.

“M’really not gonna last long,” the boy admitted, his chest heaving, his eyelashes fluttering as he glanced down at your spread legs, the soaked cotton of your underwear stretched at the seams around one thigh, the slick, shiny wet of you coating him with each rock of his hips. “Fucking hell, s’too much, so fucking good.”

The sound of skin on skin and the rattle of kayaks filled the small room, the soft glow of the sunset coming in from the tiny window that was partially hidden by old gym mats. It turned you both bronze, shades of gold and rose and copper in the light, breathy gaps and whines that morphed into moans as you both reached the edge. You weren’t sure how long it had been, if the game was still being played, if someone had captured your flag - or Steve’s - if a whistle had been blown.

Fuck, it didn’t even matter that camp was ending next week, that you’d go back to Hawkins and live a life without the boy. Maybe. Maybe? Would you see him again? Before he left? Would you go to his parents house and stand in the same driveway you left him in and let him leave you? Would it hurt less or more after this, after you let him kiss you in the shadows, in the last bit of the sun? Would this fix it? Would it matter, once you had your clothes back on?

It was like Steve could tell you were floating away from him, like he could see you trapped in a box in your own head. He tugged gently at your hair, nudging his nose against yours and worked his cock somewhere deeper inside you. He tilted his hips up until you gasped for him and he smiled, nodding against you as you caught him for another kiss, swallowing his soft “there you go, honey, just focus on me.”

You couldn’t take much more after that, emotions and the feeling of Steve hitting that pretty spot inside of you over and over and over suddenly becoming too much. You blinked at him, body flush with his, clinging to his shoulder, his neck, his messy strands of hair. Neither of you mentioned your glassy eyes, the stuttering sob that broke in your throat when you told him:

“Need t’come, Stevie.”

Steve just kissed you sweetly, a lingering push and pull of his lips against yours that felt warmer and softer than a summer morning. Steve Harrington was still the afternoon sun and blue skies, those endlessly big clouds, the sound of a creek, the splash of a lake. He was blue raspberry popsicles and pink lemonade, he was the taste of honey, the smell of cedar and wild mint.

He was still yours.

You were sure of it.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, letting a hand fall to your cunt so he could flick over your clit, thumbing soft circles as he started a dirty grind of his hips into yours. “Gonna come for me, honey, yeah? Gonna come with me?”

And you did, easily. Too easily. Your whole body tightened around him as you came hard, crying out and blinking back tears. Steve was quick to follow, losing his rhythm as his hips stuttered, his face pressed to the crook of your neck as you petted his hair and whispered to him, pushing him closer and closer.

“Baby, where can I—”

It was strange to hear him ask the question. Of course, it had been asked before, a few times, years ago, when sex with each other was new and exploratory, when condoms were still used and the afterglow was filled with shy laughter and out of breath kisses.

Then comfort and familiarity grew between the tension, and intimacy took over from that new excitement. It was even better, knowing each other like that, being able to touch and feel and know what the other liked, the easiness of falling asleep stretched out beside each other, naked and ready for toothpaste kisses and a shared cup of coffee the next day.

You missed it.

You missed all of it.

“Inside,” you whined, eyes clenched shut as Steve swore and pulled you closer still. “Inside, please.”

Steve kissed you when he came, a mash of his lips against yours, an open mouth groan that you swallowed, a clumsy, aching thing that made you want to keep him this close forever.

But then the kayak underneath you squealed loudly, an ugly protest as it dug too hard into the stack beneath it, the shell of it splintering. You swore, clinging to Steve with both arms and legs before he could even pull out of you. He took your weight just as the boat cracked, a jagged hole in the bottom of it taking your count of destroyed call equipment to an all time high.

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, Steve spoke. His arms were still tucked under your thighs, his face at your neck, close enough that you could feel the twitch of his grin. “Maybe we could hide it. Y’know, before anyone sees.”

You laughed, a tired sounding thing as you tightened your hold around the boy’s neck. You wanted to kiss his cheek, his temple, his forehead, you wanted to love on him until either of you could take it anymore. You never wanted this to end - at least not with another broken kayak. But camp was almost over and August was crawling closer. So you hummed, shrugging. “We could throw it in the lake. It would sink, at least.”

—————

Neither Hopper nor Murray believed you when you told them you’d hurt your foot in the scuffle of capture the flag, as convincing as your limp may have been. And they certainly didn’t believe you both when you claimed Steve was there to help.

Hopper had narrowed his eyes at the marks on Steve’s neck, the mess of your hair, the rosy tint to each of your lips. You both shrugged, staring at the forest floor before Murray had snorted, breaking the tension and sending you both back to your cabins.

No other questions were answered that night, especially seeing as Murray was ten feet behind you both at all times, trailing you through the forest with a flashlight as he whistled jovially, ensuring you both ended up in your respective beds. So you took one last look at Steve and smiled, somewhat hopefully, maybe a little sadly, before you clambered up the porch steps and into the darkness of your bunk.

You didn’t get a kiss goodnight. Or was it supposed to be a kiss goodbye?

I don’t wanna lose this with you

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve took a deep breath and made his way out of his cabin.

It had been a long week, the last days busy and filled with games, tasks, a swim meet, a gymnastics competition, Eddie’s musical extravaganza show - his title, not yours - and a campfire story every night.

The kids were filled with marshmallows, made up of sugar and sunshine, tan lines and freckles littering their faces, messy hair smelling of sunscreen and the lake. Everyone was happy. That soft, slow kind of joy that faded into melancholy as the days turned over. For those last few days you’d spent at the lake, you regretted asking Hopper to let you run swimming with Billy more than ever before.

It kept you away from Steve, all the way across the camp so all you could do was try to keep your eyes on the kids in the water and wave at the boy when your eyes met. It was only a little embarrassing, that kind of childish, first crush kind of interaction, eyes meeting, cheeks warming, hand raised to say whatever it was you couldn’t to his face.

Not yet, anyway.

It was made even more painful with Billy lingering behind you, still sprawled on the same deck chair he stared the summer in, minus his sunglasses, because his broken nose was still too tender for them.

“Could you get more pathetic?” The boy scoffed, a little nasally, biting down on the toothpick between his teeth. “Honestly, Hawkins, you’re too hot to pine.”

You scowled, flicking your towel over your shoulder so the corner of it whipped at the boy’s shoulder. He glared at you as much as he could with his sore face.

“I’m not pining.”

“Moping then,” Billy offered, grinning. “Either way, it’s disgusting. I thought you two were over.”

“I wouldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning, Hargrove,” you squinted at him through the sun, sparing a glance when Dustin pulled himself onto the dock, only to barrel roll back off of it. “What makes you think I’m discussing my love life?”

The boy huffed, a smirk on his lips, mean and cruel, like always. “Or lack of,” he commented. “You think one quick fuck can solve your problems? You think that what you got between your legs is good enough to make Harrington stay? Defy daddy dearest? Even Harrington isn’t stupid enough to turn down a free ride.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared stone faced at the water, watching the way the sun changed the ripples from white to blue to gold

Billy scoffed, taunting. “Keep dreamin’, princess.”

It hurt, his words. Billy Hargrove was a bully, a mean boy that liked nothing more than to make other people hurt as much as he did. You knew that. You’d always know that. But all that was left of you and Steve’s encounter in the gym was a fading lavender bruise on where your neck met your shoulder, a blurry bite of evidence that it had actually happened.

Your scowl deepened and you decided that being close to Billy wasn’t helping your mood.

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, you sat in your bunk, wondering if you’d be brave enough to do something about the gnawing want in your chest.

You hadn’t been spying, not really, but it had become harder to ignore how often Steve seemed to disappear in and out of Hopper’s cabin. You’d spotted him through the window when the kids were eating lunch, everyone else distracted by the pizza party Robin and Bob made for the last weekend of the summer. But Steve was sitting with Hop and Murray, heads bent over the desk, pieces of paper scattered on the wood.

Hopper had looked pleased. Maybe even proud. Murray was chatting animatedly, hands waving, eyes bright.

Steve had looked the most hopeful you’d seen him in weeks.

But you didn’t get the chance to ask what was going on, because Nancy was dragging you out for one last hike and El was pulling at your hand, pleading for you to join them. You couldn’t say no and you were half way up the hillside when Steve eventually emerged, a folded piece of paper slipped into his back pocket.

And when you returned, bug bitten and tired, you tried to seek the boy out, only to find him through the office window again, his back leaning against the cabin wall as he bent his head, eyes closed and the office phone pressed to his ear. You couldn’t hear, not from so far away, not over the yells of excitement from the campers as Eddie brought out guitars and old drums, but you were almost certain Steve was yelling, a frustrated furrow between his brow before he dropped onto the sofa with the phone cord wrapped around his wrist.

You could’ve gone to him then. Knocked on the door and offered your hand, a smile, maybe a hug. And maybe Steve would’ve told you what was going on, maybe he would’ve explained everything. But it didn’t feel like the time, it didn’t feel right and Mike was pushing an out of tune guitar into your hands and challenging you to some sort of battle.

Steve returned to the camp pit soon after, his eyes a little red but his smile seemed sincere when Dustin ran to him, a faux sort of tackle that made Steve catch him round the middle. They grinned as they wrestled, laughing brightly and the air around the older boy seemed lighter than it had in weeks. When Steve caught your eyes over the kid’s head, he smiled. A real thing, pink cheeked and achingly full of love, that sticky sweet kind of adoration that you’d missed so much it had hurt.

—————

On the last Saturday of camp, Steve knocked on your cabin door.

It was late, well after dinner and the kids were in their bunks full of sloppy joe’s and chocolate pudding, telling stories by flashlight, trading cards and secrets while they finished off their stashes of candy. Twilight had set in, that hazy lilac light that came after the sun had set and the forest was falling asleep. Cicadas buzzed in the depths of the trees and fireflies grazed the edges of the lake, that green-yellow glow that made you want to stay up a little later.

The knock came as Robin was painting her toenails, a cherry red she’d stolen from you, her damp hair wrapped up in a towel. She didn’t even look up at the sound, just slicked another coat of polish over her nail and said:

“That’ll be for you.”

You frowned from behind your book, setting it down with the pages splayed so you wouldn’t lose your place. The story of two star crossed lovers that pined for each other seemed more addictive than it usually would’ve been.

“M’not expecting anyone.”

Robin just huffed out a laugh and nodded at the door. “Don’t keep him waiting, babe.”

You padded barefoot across the cabin despite your confusion, sleep shorts high on your thighs and thank fuck you’d decided against wearing Steve’s staff sweater to bed, because the owner was standing on your porch when you opened the door.

“Hi.”

He had his shoved in his pockets and he looked flushed, slightly out of breath like he’d ran over. And maybe he had, considering it was lights out hours and no one was supposed to be out of their bunks.

“Hi.”

Steve smiled just as you did, a dopey, lovesick thing that felt awkward and lovely all at once. He shuffled on the wooden boards before he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to something you couldn’t see amongst the trees. “D’you wanna go for a drive?”

It was the easiest thing in the world to nod your head yes, trying to hide the smile that was making your cheeks ache. You dipped your chin as you turned back to your bunk, grabbing the sweater you kept under your pillow, avoiding eye contact with both Steve and Robin as you pulled it over your head. The material dropped to your thighs, the boy’s name stitched over your heart.

“Have fun and don’t get caught,” Robin warned cheerfully. She waved her nail polish brush between you and Steve before you had the chance to pull the door closed. “If either of you come back crying, we’re having words.”

You snorted, cheeks warming as Steve ducked his head with the same awkwardness. “We are?” You joked.

“Uhuh,” Robin nodded, “full intervention. Eddie will be here.”

“God forbid,” Steve deadpanned, wrinkling his nose at you when you laughed. He tugged his sweater sleeve, his fingers brushing over your wrist. “You comin’?”

You looked down at Steve’s hand like you weren’t sure whether to take it or not, if you were supposed to slip yours into his, fingers intertwined. But you nodded again, that little, shy smile still on your lips that Steve hadn’t seen in so long. Together, you walked between the cabins, keeping to the treeline and the shadows, smiling fondly when you heard the giggles and whispers from inside the kids' bunks. You were almost at Steve’s car, the BMW parked up in the makeshift lot behind the gym, when you both stopped in your tracks at the sight of someone else out in the dark.

Murray was walking back from the mess hall, a mug of something hot in one hand, an oversized cinnamon bun in the other. He was in slippers and a tartan bathrobe, his jovial whistling coming to a slow stop as he spotted the two of you out of bed.

“Shit,” Steve groaned, squinting awkwardly at the man. He raised a hand, half a wave, half a sign of defeat. “Murray, we weren’t—”

“That’s weird,” Murray interrupted, looking around the wooded area theatrically, eyes wide. “I could’ve sworn I heard someone.” The man shrugged before looking right through you, whistling again as he passed.

“Wha—?” You were stunned, both you and Steve pivoting in the mossy ground, brows raised.

“Must be the wind!” Murray announced again, continuing his walk back to his own cabin. “But if it was a couple of rogue staff members, I’d be sure to tell them to be back by midnight. You know. If I saw any.”

Murray turned back before he took a turn in the path. He didn’t say anything else, but he winked and raised his mug before disappearing.

—————

You didn’t ask Steve where he was driving you. Honestly, you didn’t mind. Didn’t care. The passenger seat of the BMW was as familiar as your own bed, a sense of ownership and melancholy hitting you in the chest as you clicked your seatbelt into place. Steve smiled as you tucked your knees up, legs bare and feet shoved into unlaced converse, his grin widening when you fiddled with the radio dials until the mixtape he had playing turned up a little louder.

[TWICE A FOOL BY #1 DADS]

The windows were down as Steve drove down a road you’d travelled before, the wind still warm from the heat that made the day suffocating, the smell of pine needles and wild mint lingering on it. The breeze picked at your hair and Steve’s, lifting the strands until they were brushing your cheeks and sitting between your lashes.

It was all sunburnt cheeks and sore knees, achy and bone tired from a whole summer of hikes and swimming in the lake, chasing kids who were too adventures along the creek beds and hanging from tree branches when the sun went down.

The smell of sunscreen, lake water, lemonade, Steve’s cologne, wildflowers, home.

It was a broken heart that was still splintered around the edges, the anxious gnawing feeling of the possibility of loss, of something new and unwanted, something you couldn’t control. It melted into hope, into the idea of reaching out and holding Steve’s hand until he gave you something to cling to.

Steve wouldn’t drive you somewhere pretty and quiet and peaceful, just to break up all over again. Would he?

So you sucked in a breath - pine needles and wild mint and mountain air - and reached out to where Steve’s hand lay idle on the stick shift. Your fingers brushed his, cautious, nervous and he looked from the road to you with surprised eyes. Shock turned to warmth, like he’d spent the last ten minutes wondering the same things you had, sharing the same worries. He flipped his hand, palm outstretched, waiting for you to slide yours into his.

Your thumb found the scar on the back of his knuckle, the small silver line that he got four summers ago, from helping a tiny Lucas Sinclair try archery for the first time.

So Steve kept one hand on the wheel and his other in yours, a small smile on his face that seemed so content, full of a fondness that rivalled the warm comfort of the wind in your face, the lavender shade of the sky, the way the moon was just starting to rise over the mountains in the distance.

Everything was tall trees and the distant trickle of a creek, a long road that turned to gravel and dirt and Steve. You held his hand all the way to the lake.

It was the same one you’d been to before, two years prior with Robin on a day off, Eddie and Steve trailing with you in a last minute change of plans. The last time you’d been on this shore, you’d had an odd realisation that you didn’t actually hate the boy you were supposed to hate. Now, as you toed off your shoes and stepped into the same sand, you were overcome with the urge to ask Steve if he still loved you as much as you loved him.

Anxiety rippled over you the same way the lake lapped at the shore, and you suddenly hated the silence you once cherished. You could hear the wind between the trees on the other side of the water, the quiet trickle of the creek that fed into it, the soft huffs of Steve breathing.

Neither of you said anything when Steve shrugged off his shirt, letting it drop at his feet. His shoes joined yours in a pile and you watched as he closed his eyes, just briefly, the stress leaving his body. His shoulders dropped, his jaw unclenched and when he opened his eyes again, he was looking at you. He didn’t say anything, didn’t prompt you into anything, but you pulled off your sweater too - Steve’s sweater - wiggling your hips until your sleep shorts fell and soon you were in your underwear, some cotton mismatched things that were less than enticing.

But it made Steve grin, the daisy print on your bra familiar, one he’d seen so many times before. His belt buckle clinked in the night and soon, his jeans were on the sand and he was hopping out of them as you laughed.

It was the most simple thing to do, to follow him into the water.

[SKINNY DIPPING BY SABRINA CARPENTER]

The night made the lake cooler, an inky navy thing that nipped at your skin for the first few seconds. But you let it swallow you whole, waist disappearing, shoulders dipping under, hair slicked back and eyelashes dripping beads of it.

Steve followed suit, a warmth underneath the water that your body recognised, his own hair clinging messily to his forehead as he ducked under the surface, hands brushing your ankles briefly before rejoining you. It went like that for a little while, the sky getting darker, the lake ready to copy. There were stars on the surface, a mirror-like reflection when you weren’t making ripples. So you swam circles around each other, Steve’s car parked up on the sand, the mountains in the distance, tall trees all around. There wasn’t a sound except the small splashes of water, the soft bubble of laughter when either of you swam too close and your shoulders bumped.

Steve ducked under one last time before he resurfaced, swiping at his hair before he took a breath and told you:

“Hopper offered me a job.”

You blinked at him, lips parting so you could start asking one hundred questions. But Steve beat you to it, treading water as he smiled a little shy.

“The whole, ‘Mr Harrington’ thing, that’s what that was about,” he shrugged, seemingly embarrassed. Water dripped from his chest, his neck, rolling into beads from his messy hair. “Uh, him and Murray, they’re opening this community centre for kids. S’gonna be a year round thing. After school, weekends. They, uh, they want me to manage it.”

You gaped at the boy before the smile you couldn’t contain started lifting the corners of your lips, a ridiculously happy thing that made your eyes crinkle and your cheeks ache. You thought about Steve - your Steve - running after kids all day, tired but content, paint stained and giving quiet pep talks, glitter in his hair as he clapped his hands and yelled for order.

“Steve,” your voice was almost too loud in the night. It shook, a trembling, overjoyed sound. You were so happy for him, even if you didn’t know what this meant. “You’d be perfect for it— if, if you want to take it, that is.” The unsaid hung between you, the elephant in the room that was the size of a whole other state.

Steve held your gaze and smiled nervously. “It’s in Shelbyville.”

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” you said slowly, realisation dawning on you. Things were starting to make sense now. But instead you said in a whisper, “that’s much closer than Arizona.”

Steve laughed softly as you tried not to sound hopeful, but there was a sticky, cloying ball of emotion stuck in your throat and it was barely holding back the tears. What you were almost crying for, you weren’t overly sure, but Steve moved a little closer, ankles brushing yours under the water. You could count the freckles on his nose by moonlight, you could see the faded green ink on his bicep from where El had tried to give him a ‘tattoo’ two days ago.

“It is,” Steve agreed and there was a smile on his lips, a barely there thing that you wanted to rub your thumb over. “It’s so much closer than Arizona. Like, thirty minutes on a good day.”

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what Steve was trying to say. Hope bloomed between every crack of your ribs like wildflowers and it was overwhelming, breath catching, it made you want to make a break for the shore and beg the boy not to crush your heart again.

“Steve—”

“I don’t want to go to Arizona,” he interrupted. “I never wanted to go to Arizona. I— fuck. You were right.”

You shook your head. “That’s not the point, I didn’t want to be proven right.”

“I know, but you were. It was all my dad,” Steve smiled and it was sad. “He came in one night after a day of golf and like, eight martinis. Told he spoke to an old friend and boom, handed me my whole future on a piece of fucking paper.” Steve laughed, dry and humourless and you moved closer still, close enough that your thighs grazed his and you could see the hurt in his eyes. “He didn’t even ask, you know? Just sat down at the dinner table and told me what I was doing for the next ten years of my life.”

You could imagine it. So easily. Michael Harrington’s imposing figure in a sharp suit and slicked back hair. You’d always wondered if it was once as wild as his son’s, if he ever liked the same music or spoke about movies and games with the boy. Michael Harrington was a straightened navy tie and a leather briefcase, polished shoes and numbers on a sheet.

“He told me he knew what was best for me,” Steve continued and his voice hit a crack that he didn’t even blink at. “He told me that he was my only chance and making something out of myself, that without his help, I’d spend my thirties and forties stacking shelves and regretting having a kid with you before we were twenty five. He told me I needed his help, even if I didn’t know it yet.”

Anger bubbled inside of you, intense and hot enough that you were surprised the water around you didn’t bubble and hiss. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “Steve, you know that’s not true right? Your dad— shit, Steve, when was the last time you ever needed your dad?”

You waited as the boy thought, confusion on his features as he struggled to recall a memory. Eventually, he shrugged. “When I was sixteen, seventeen maybe. Crashed my first car trying to show off to my friends. I was shit scared on the side of the road. Everyone else ran. I walked to a pay phone and told him I needed his help.”

You raised your brows, waiting.

“He told me to fix my own mess.”

More anger, a surge of it, pushing at your chest, making tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you shook your head, hands coming out of the water to finally touch Steve. You clung to his damp shoulders, still warm from the sun even now.

“You don’t need him,” you whispered fiercely. “You never needed him. Not then, not now, not for your future.”

The boy smiled, sad and tired, if not a little relieved. “I know that now.”

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” you swallowed hard, pride and stubbornness going down with it. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t make it easier for you, I was just so— so sad that you were going to give everything up for something you didn’t want.” You let your hand trail to Steve’s neck, thumb brushing the spot under his ear, an unbelievably soft touch. “You know I would’ve supported you completely if it was something you wanted to do, right?”

Steve nodded, his hands finding your waist, bringing you closer.

“But finance? Fucking finance?” You made a face and Steve barked out a laugh, a sharp bright sound in the dark and it made your chest ache, hearing such a happy noise from him.

He nodded again, humming in agreement before he gave in and hid his face in your neck. “Fucking finance,” he repeated. “I hate numbers.”

You laughed too, watery and happy at being so close. His touch was overwhelming, stubble on his jaw scraping at your throat, his lips ghosting at your jaw when he smiled. “I know you do,” you whispered and god, your voice was thick with affection.

There was more silence for a minute, a long, slow moment suspended in the water, holding each other, feet brushing the bottom, your arms wound around each other. An owl called out from a tree and somewhere in the distance, a car revved its engine.

“I took the job.”

You froze, unblinking, scared to move, scared to talk. Eventually, Steve lifted his head from your neck and he studied you, waiting for your response, cheeks pink and eyes nervous looking.

You wondered if your heart had stopped beating, if the world had stopped spinning. You couldn’t fathom another reason for the stillness you felt at his words. “What?”

The boy cleared his throat, his big hands squeezing gently at your waist, the tips of his fingers brushing the band of your soaked bra. “I took the job,” he said again, a look of amazement and incredulity on his features, like he still couldn’t believe it himself. “I told Hopper yes.”

Those wildflowers? The ones filled with hope that had wound their way into your chest? They flourished, blooming bright and big until the garden grew and grew and your bones cracked with the enormity of it.

“Steve—” you tried to say more, but nothing came out.

“My dad didn’t take it all that well,” he shrugged, grinning now, like he was suddenly weightless. He looked brighter, even in the night. “Yelled a lot, but I think we’re gonna have a talk when I’m back, a good one, y’know? He didn’t seem as… fucking furious when I told him about the job.”

“In Shelbyville,” you said, like you need clarification. You wondered if this was a dream, a really mean one.

Steve laughed, grinning all pretty. “In Shelbyville,” he nodded, looking at you through his lashes, tired and happy and feeling like things might just be okay. He hoped they’d be okay. “C’mon, let’s get you dry and warmed up, yeah?”

So you let him lead you out of the lake, a blanket pulled from his trunk that the boy wrapped you in first. You let him rub at your shoulders, your chest against his, sand sticking to your feet, water dripping from Steve’s hair onto yours. You were staring at him, still shellshocked, eyes wide and disbelieving and it made him laugh; soft, sweet thing.

You dressed with eyes on each other, wandering, lazy, greedy, seeking out the bare skin that you’d missed touching, kissing. And when damp legs were pulled through shorts and Steve’s sweater was back on your frame, you crawled into the front of his car and let the boy pull your calves over the console and into his lap.

He traced shapes there, copied the constellations from above onto your skin, joining freckles and scars until they made up a Milky Way and you could let your head rest against the window, languid, happy. You weren’t sure what all of this meant for you and Steve, but you’d go back to your bed happy, knowing that Steve was.

“Shelbyville isn’t far from Hawkins,” Steve murmured softly, his cheek against the driver's seat, his eyes on you. He smiled, shy, unsure. “Maybe you could check it out with me after we get home.”

You smiled, tired, the night a yawning thing through the windscreen. It was nearing midnight, the moon above the mountains and the sand glittering on the car floor. “That sounds nice. You think you’ll move?”

Steve nodded, shrugged, nodded again. “Maybe? Eventually.” The boy swallowed, nervous. “Could find a house by a creek, big yard. Big enough for a dog.” He squeezed your knee, a longing touch. “A start of somethin’ new, maybe. Somewhere different. Us. If you’d want.”

You thought about it, about the savings you’d both piled together, the extra shifts, the clip outs of apartment listings in downtown Indianapolis neither of you really wanted but could just about afford. You thought about the late night talks with your cheek pressed to Steve’s pillow, trying to hide your smile as you both whispered about houses with flower boxes and a tree you could hang a swing from, maybe a porch, maybe a lake you could walk to on the weekends.

‘Are we fixed?’ You wanted to ask. ‘Were we broken?’ You wondered.

And maybe Steve could sense your questions, maybe he just knew you that well. His hand swept from your knee to your ankle, fingers curling around, warm and soothing. His thumb stroked over the top of your foot, playing with your untied laces.

“S’okay, if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know you’ve got your job in Hawkins, I know your family is there. I don’t— I don’t expect us to just, you know, act like nothing happened.” Steve didn’t sound as nervous as before when he said, “But I know I love you. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t— that’s not changed.”

It didn’t surprise you, not really. You knew the boy still loved you. You saw it when he looked at you, when he frowned at Billy when he got too close, spoke too boldly . You saw it when you strayed too far, when he searched for you in the crowds of campers, when he helped your drunk self into his bed, when he refused to take his sweatshirt away from you. Still, relief flooded you and your breath hitched, emotion catching in your chest. You held out a hand, palm up on your lap, fingers spread for Steve’s to link between.

He let go of your ankle to do just that, fingers twisting, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles. He looked just as hopeful as you felt as he gazed back, all shades of navy and lavender in the night.

It was too easy to say, “I know I love you, too.”

Meet Me In The Afterglow

[YOU’RE SO COOL BY HANS ZIMMER]

The last of the kids left Camp Upside Down the way they arrived: in a flurry of colour and sticky hands, forgotten backpacks left on porches, teary eyes as they hugged their favourite counsellors.

You were left behind with Steve as the rest of the staff left one by one, more hugs exchanged along with new email addresses and promises to visit different cities and states before Christmas. And when the parking lot was just settling from clouds of dust and dirt, Steve appeared from Hopper’s office, a small folder in his hands, signed contracts and a set of shiny new keys. He twirled them around one finger, a smile on his face he was trying to tamp down with a crinkle of his nose and you raised a brow at him.

“Hey, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve let out a low whistle, joining you in between your two parked cars. He leant against his BMW and made a show of looking you over. “Oh,” he grinned. “Say that again?”

You laughed, slapping at his shoulder before pinching the papers and stealing it from him. You looked over the print, smiling warmly at the official look of it all. Full time hours, managerial role, pension plan, holiday pay. Hopper and Murray’s signatures were at the bottom with Steve’s and you looked up at him and beamed.

“Are you happy?” You asked.

Steve seemed to consider the question for a moment or two before he nodded, hair falling into his eyes that he didn’t bother brushing away. He pushed himself off his car with a foot, taking the two steps it needed to lean in close to you instead. He brushed away an invisible piece of dust from your shoulder, took it as an excuse to brush his thumb across your neck, ‘cause two months apart made him feel like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you anymore. But you did you both a favour and leaned into it, lashes fluttering when his big hand cupped your jaw. He let his thumb push softly against your bottom lip in lieu of a kiss.

“Yeah, I’m really happy, princess.” Steve let out a small laugh, a breathy thing full of surprise. “It’s stupid how I happy I am.”

You turned your head to catch his palm, pressing a soft kiss there that made the boy turn pink, a flash of affection warming his eyes and it only made him drop his hand from you to tug you closer, fingers catching the belt loops of your shorts.

“What ‘bout you?” Steve asked quietly. A hand crept up the side of your shirt, fingers seeking warm, soft skin and familiarity. “You happy?”

You nodded, pushing yourself closer to the boy, hands running over broad shoulders. It was easy to touch him again, even though your heart thundered like it was two summers ago and you were like a preteen with a crush. But you’d missed him too much to let that get the best of you.

“I’m happy,” you murmured. “We got jobs, roofs over our heads, friends, families that don’t wanna disown us—”

“Still to be determined,” Steve quipped.

You tutted. “It’ll be okay, handsome. And you’ve got me.”

Steve turned soft for you, brown eyes caramel and sugar, lips lifting back into a smile, thoughts of his parents forgotten. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. A promise. “Always got me.”

The words seemed to soothe him and if the birds above hadn’t stopped chirping at the right time, you wouldn’t have heard him whisper a ‘love you’ into your hair when he turned to kiss the side of your cheek.

“You’re gonna be a whole forty minutes away from me,” he grumbled, like it was an awful, awful thing. A hardship.

You were both - maybe more you - determined to take it slow before rushing back in. Steve asked you to help him find a new home, an apartment in Shelbyville, maybe even a small house. You’d agreed enthusiastically with the promise to talk about moving in together in six months or so. Despite the joy that leaked out of you like summer and warmth, there was a lingering sting of rejection in your chest. You knew it wasn’t the case, but you’d spent a while with thoughts that told you Steve picked Arizona over you.

“S’not far,” you told him. “I’ll stay over, you can come round on weekends, it’ll be great. We’re taking it one step at a time, remember?”

Steve stole a kiss, a barely there press because he was smiling too much. His contract was a crush of paper between you. “We’ll see.”

FIVE WEEKS LATER

Steve had found a house in Shelbyville that quickly became a home.

It was a small thing out by Big Blue River, a patch of land just outside of town where the river led into a creek and wild raspberries grew in the garden. You helped him move in, watched from your car as he hugged his mother and received a firm handshake from his dad. They didn’t help him into his new home, but they invited you both for dinner the following weekend, so it placated Steve enough.

So you spent days at your job in Hawkins, a bag of clothes always in your car so you could drive to Shelbyville after work, music blasting, engine sputtering. You’d take turns making dinner, cooking some pasta as Steve built a bookcase, a lopsided coffee table, hung up his favourite movie posters a little squint. But the house was filled with Steve and a little of you, photos of you and the boy dotted around the house, Polaroids of your friends stuck to the fridge with magnets.

It got harder to leave each time.

It got harder to leave when Steve kissed you senseless against your car in the evenings, a slow building, needy thing that came with wandering hands. It was lazy mornings with a shared pot of coffee, a bed with soft sheets that smelled like him and you, your body wash in his shower, your clothes in with his piles of laundry. It was long lies on the weekends with the promises of a walk along the river, lunch by the creek laid out on a blanket, the sun on your cheeks and Steve’s head resting on your lap as he made you laugh with stupid jokes.

Then one night your car broke down before you could make it out of the yard and Steve didn’t hesitate to pull you back into him, humming thoughtfully. He was all hands, sneaking up your skirt, pushing back your hair, lips against your neck, soft enough to make you shiver.

“Guess you’ll just have to stay,” he murmured against your jaw.

You snorted, “I need my car fixed, Steven.”

A shake of his head, his lips still on your neck. “S’a piece of shit anyway, princess, been yellin’ you for years.” It was cheeky enough for you to pinch at his side but the boy only grinned and took your face in his hands, cradling your jaw. He turned a little more serious, smile still there, but his words were determined. “I’m serious, babe. Stay. Please.”

“I just stayed all weekend,” you told him, your fingers tracing patterns along his collar. Your heart was thundering. “You’re not sick of me?”

Steve tutted, acting up. “You know that’s not what I meant. Move in. I want you to move in.” He nuzzled your cheek with his nose, smelling like cedar and mint and sunscreen. “Wanna live w’you.”

So the next day Steve gave you the keys to his car and painted the bedroom your favourite colour. You told your parents, who were unsurprised, packing up bags and boxes with your things, a bubble of excitement in your chest that you didn’t think would pop anytime soon. The drive to Shelbyville from Hawkins was like the drive to camp, and the same anticipation of a new adventure was in the air. You drove down roads lined with tall trees, wheat fields that turned golden past the old water tower, the beginnings of Big Blue River greeting you at the bridge.

And when you turned down the dirt lane that took you to Steve’s house - your house - it felt more like home than ever. The shutters were painted sage green, the flower boxes beneath the windows filled with blooms, and the old oak tree round the back looked the perfect height for a swing. A dog didn’t greet you, not yet, but Steve did, with all the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever.

Neither of you bothered with your bags, not right away, because Steve was pulling you from the front seat with a smile on his face that rivalled the sun. Steve Harrington was summer and sunscreen and lakes at night. He was mountain hikes with sixty kids, he was car racing out of town, he was sneaking out, sneaking in, he was lemonade, he was broken kayaks and hiding in the gym, he was arguing, he was kissing to make up and everything you ever wanted.

He was yours.

And he was staying here.

2K notes · View notes

qtzoon · 1 year ago

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader PART ONE [35K] another year at summer camp, more broken kayaks, a change of plans, a lot of wondering. meet us in the afterglow.

Tell me that you're still mine

The drive was the same, if not quieter.

The roads hadn’t changed and maybe the trees were taller, the sun was still too bright, too warm, a little mocking considering your mood. Your car was still shit and it still protested when you took corners too quickly.

The sign welcoming you into the forest was the same, a little weather worn, familiar and like home. The car park was emptier than usual, but then again, you’d never arrived this early before. Robin was by a delivery truck, hat on backwards despite the way she squinted into the sun to see you roll to a stop.

She grinned, waving but you saw the confusion there and your stomach dropped and twisted, that same awful feeling that had sat in the pit of your stomach for the last month.

Camp Upside Down seemed far too quiet when you finally opened the car door and set a foot on the old pine needles. Like something was missing.

“Hey,” Robin rushed in with a hug, warm and sweet. “You’re here early.” She gave that same frown, lips set into a confused smile as she looked through your windscreen, at the empty passenger seat. “Where’s Steve?”

You swallowed, the pit in your stomach opening up into a yawning thing, a wide open canyon that swallowed everything nice. It rolled, a storm between two cliffs and it made your bones ache. Acid touched your tongue and it only burned more when you tried to push it back down.

“Uh,” your voice broke, just a little, enough for Robin's eyes to widen. “We broke up.”

——————

“What happened?”

Robin hadn’t wasted much time, closing your car door for you before taking you by the hand. Your bags were left in the trunk and neither of you looked at Hopper’s office cabin, eyes set ahead as you let the girl lead you through the trees.

The paths were the same, worn down and more dirt than gravel, and they twisted through the oak trees in a way you knew like the back of your hand. The lake was on your left, eerily still, the kayaks stacked to the side. Nausea rolled in your stomach like waves.

“I— we— fuck,” you were laughing, a wrecked, desperate sort of noise that didn’t match the way your eyes were watering and Robin looked back at you, more serious than you’d ever seen her.

“C’mon,” she murmured, squeezing your hand. She walked a little quicker, down the path and past a fallen log, through the empty cabins that would be bursting with kids and noise and laughter in two days. “Almost there.”

She already had keys to your cabin, the door opened to air it out, the familiar smell of pine hidden under the mustiness of the last year. There were faded outlines on the walls, marks from sticky tape that would never come off, a reminder of the photos and the postcards that lived there over summer.

You knew if you pulled out your bedside table, there would be etchings on the back of it, lines made from a penknife that wasn’t yours, a name next to your own, a heart drawn around the letters.

The cabin you’d spent five years in suddenly didn’t feel like yours anymore.

But then Robin had you by the shoulders and she looked so worried, brows drawn together and you wondered if you counted the freckles on her nose, that maybe you could stall the conversation that was about to happen. She drew a finger over your cheek instead, catching a tear you didn't know was there.

“Tell me everything.”

[AFTERGLOW BY TAYLOR SWIFT]

You’d know something was wrong when Steve had called you.

It had been late enough that when he asked you to come over, you’d frowned and made a joke about a booty call. But the boy hadn’t laughed and he didn’t answer when you asked what was going on.

So you made an excuse to your parents and said you wouldn’t be too late, slipping out the front door in your pyjama shorts and a camp sweatshirt that had Steve’s name stitched on the front. Your bare feet were stuffed in your sneakers, uncomfortable and too cold despite the way the weather in Hawkins was starting to warm up. Your car grumbled as you drove to Steve’s like it knew something, like it was warning you.

Steve met you in the driveway, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, his hair messier than normal, like he’d been running his hands through it. When you killed the engine and smiled at him through the windscreen, he smiled back, but it wasn’t the same.

Something was wrong.

“Hey,” you’d greeted him warily, hands out to reach him, pushing on your toes to kiss his cheek.

He’d caught you off guard when he turned, your lips skimming over his skin until his mouth met yours with a neediness you hadn’t expected. His nose was a hard press to your cheek, his hand squeezing yours like he was scared you’d disappear, his breath mixing with your kiss in a huff that seemed full of an emotion you really couldn’t place.

“Steve?” You whispered when he eventually pulled back, gaze heavy and brows knitted together. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

He tugged gently on your hand then, taking a step back. “Let’s go sit out back, yeah?”

The lights that came through the Harrington’s kitchen windows let you know his parents were home, an abandoned dinner left on the dining table, half eaten but the wine glasses were empty. You let Steve lead you to the sunloungers, dusted off and taken out of the pool house for the start of summer, the newly cleaned pool pouring out heat and the smell of chlorine, steam swirling in the evening air.

The sky was lilac, a violet kind of twilight that made the first of the fireflies linger at the edge of Steve’s backyard fence, right by the treeline. The hum of the pool generator was the only sound and it set you on edge.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Your voice came out a little weak, anxiousness creeping up your chest and neck in a dangerous heat, the kind that prickled your skin and made your throat feel too tight.

The boy was sitting across from you, your knees bumping his between the loungers, both of your hands clasped tightly together in your own laps. You wanted to reach out to him, but something told you that you couldn’t, not like you used to.

You’d only seen him last night. A kiss against the side of your car, his knuckles under your chin, sweeping your jaw as you both laughed into open mouths, whispering about how his parents were due back from the airport any minute, how’d they’d catch you both in their drive, lovesick and melted together.

What had happened?

You watched Steve blow out a breath, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pushed himself to speak. “Uh, my dad got me a scholarship.”

You blinked. “What?”

Steve cleared his throat, his voice rough, like he’d been yelling, like he’d been crying. He leaned back, hands pushed into fists on the seat cushions. “Yeah, my dad came back and told me he’d gotten me into a Finance course. Full ride.” Steve barked out a laugh, like he didn’t believe it.

“What?” You couldn’t help repeating yourself, brows stitched together in confusion. “Finance? That’s— that’s not what you wanted— wait, how?”

Steve made a face, nose wrinkled and he stared at the ground. He shrugged. “He had an old colleague that knew the Dean. He pulled some strings, I guess.”

Your stomach dropped and lurched. A sardonic laugh crept up your throat that you tried to tame, a choked splutter coming out instead. You shook your head. “You mean he flashed his wallet.”

Steve groaned, his hand running through his hair, making more of a mess of it. “Babe—”

“Are you doing it? Finance? Steve, that’s, that’s the last thing that interests you! Why are you even telling me this? You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not serious?”

Steve dropped his chin to his chest, eyes closing. He looked like he was in pain. “It’s in Arizona.”

You’d always heard the expression, of someone’s blood running cold. You’d thought it silly, a weird and twisted exaggeration. Up until now, anyway. Your body turned icy, a sharp chill that ran through you and it made your bones feel brittle, delicate enough to splinter. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Arizona?” You mumbled it, a clumsy thing in your mouth that didn’t seem like a real word, too bulky to wrap your tongue around. “Steve—?”

“The scholarship is for Arizona State.”

The fireflies on the edge of the yard had gone and the purple skies were inkier, too big above you and despite the lack of clouds, you still couldn’t see any stars. Your throat was getting tighter.

“Arizona? Arizona. Steve, that’s, fuck, that’s the other side of the country. What? You’re not actually considering going, are you?”

“Princess,” he said it without his usual warmth, the affection still there but Steve sounded tired, drained. “It’s paid for. It’s all - shit - my dad’s organised all of it.”

You laughed then, an awful, bitter, nasty sounding thing but it was only to cover up the fact that you were ready to cry. Tears pricked hot in the corners of your eyes and your voice was sharp, biting. “So, what? Daddy’s decided then, yeah? That’s it?”

Steve flinched before straightening up, shoulders rolling as he prepared himself for the fight he knew was coming. You pretended not to see that his eyes were glassy too, matching yours.

“It’s a good opportunity, alright? I can—”

“Bullshit, Steve!” You snapped, rising to your feet because you couldn’t sit there and listen to what was about to leave your boyfriend's lips. “Don’t feed me the same lecture your dad drilled into you, okay? This can’t be what you want. No, I know this isn’t what you want!”

“What am I supposed to do, huh?” Steve’s voice got a little louder, taking over the hum of the pool, the insects that were buzzing from the bushes. “Turn it down? Spend the rest of my life in this shitty town, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing? Hoping that one day, maybe Keith will be kind enough to promote me to weekend supervisor?”

“I don’t know!” You were pacing, moving away from Steve to walk circles around the loungers, your gaze hardening when you saw his mother at a window, the curtains quickly drawn. “I don’t know, okay? But we were supposed to figure it out, we were supposed to do it together.”

You broke then, a hiccup breaking from your throat that turned into a sob that not even your palm could muffle. Your breath stuttered into your hand and the tears fell hot and fast, salt gathering between your fingers. Steve crumbled, shoulders dropping he was in front of you, hands reaching around your wrist to pull it away.

“Shit, princess, no, no, I know,” Steve blinked, water gathering at his lash line, turning you blurry, the pool a mosaic of blue and white. “C’mon, come here.”

He had you sitting again, nudging himself into the space between your legs, kneeling in front of the sunlounger. His thumbs were frantically trying to catch your tears, his hands cradling your face as he made soft noises, hushing you, soothing you.

“We still can, alright? Listen, baby, listen,” Steve seemed a little frantic now, wide eyed as he tried to calm you, hands cupping your jaw, thumbs stroking under your reddened eyes. “You can come too, we can work something out, we can get a place and—”

“What?” You squinted at the boy, confused. “Steve, I don’t want to move to Arizona. There’s nothing in Arizona! Not for me, not for us! My, my family is here, my job is here, fuck, we were saving up, we were gonna move and get our own place.” The tears were falling again, breath catching in your throat and panic clawed at you, vicious and unrelenting. “A place somewhere pretty, remember? Somewhere by a lake, with— with mountains and a huge garden—”

You broke off as Steve cursed, sniffing and only letting go of you to swipe at his own cheek, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t crying too.

“You don’t have to go,” you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, face pressed to his chest where it smelled like his cologne, like mint and cedar and home. “You don’t have to leave.”

A splash hit your head, warm, another following when Steve let his face hide in your hair. Tears. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to go.” Steve sounded broken, breath ragged and voice cracking. You didn’t dare look up at him. Not yet. “My dad— my parents. They said if I’m not getting myself an education, then I gotta find myself a place to stay.”

You moved them, head ripping back so you could stare at the boy, anger crawling up your chest. It simmered, a burning heat that felt almost unrecognisable. “Then leave, fuck, Steve, babe— you don’t have to sit and be blackmailed into this!”

Steve swiped at his face, broken down and tired, the bags under his eyes becoming more obvious as the evening grew into night and the pool lights sharpened his features. “It doesn’t work like that. Where am I gonna go, huh? We haven’t saved nearly enough, not for a deposit on some shitty apartment, never mind anything else. It’s just— Arizona… it’s the only solution right now.”

You shook your head, face crumpling and you tried not to cry again, but it was no use. Your cheeks felt too hot, vision blurring as you watched Steve sit back onto the other lounger, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

“You can stay with me,” you sniffed, voice a thick thing, bubbling and sticky with sorrow. This wasn’t happening. This was a bad dream. That’s all. “You can move in with us, until we save. We’ll work something out.”

Steve let out a huff of laughter, sad and a little mean. It landed on the patio between you both and you watched him shake his head. “You know that’s not realistic,” he swore under his breath, lip trembling. “Baby, I want to make this work, I do, but your parents— and you have your aunt staying with you all, and it’s just… it’s not gonna work.”

It felt final, the way he said it.

You stood again, shooting to your feet as if suddenly the idea of sitting too close to the boy was causing you pain. Maybe it was.

“So that’s it?” You laughed through your tears, a sharp, pitched noise that didn’t sound like it was coming from you. You sounded mean, cruel. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop. “Daddy just writes a check and you jump? He has your future planned out for you and you just… go along with it?”

“That’s not—” Steve’s eyes flashed, dangerous. A warning you took no heed of.

“Yes it is, Steve! That’s exactly what’s happening! Fuck me, right? Fuck us?”

Steve reached for you, a hand trying to catch yours but you moved back, head shaking, eyes wide. “You don’t want to study Finance, you don’t want to move to Arizona. But you’re going to ‘cause your dad is a fucking bully and he’s somehow convinced you that you need a piece of paper and some letters by your name to make you a man.”

Steve grinned, a flash of his teeth more than a smile, and he stared right past you, jaw flexed. You hadn’t argued with the boy like this before. Biting remarks and cruel words sure, but not in such a serious way. Not about something that could end you both.

“You think you know?” Steve shot back, “you think you’ve got it all worked out? What am I supposed to do, huh? Yeah, he’s an asshole, but he’s still my dad, princess. He’s, fuck, he’s trying to help, okay? Am I just supposed to stay in this same town and save and save and save until maybe, just maybe! We hit forty and we can leave? Having a college degree will help me. It will. Finance, I don’t know—it’ll at least get me a good job.. One that’ll pay well.”

“That’s your dad talking,” you told him, voice impossibly sad. “None of that ever mattered to you.”

Steve didn’t listen. “This is what’s best, alright?”

“No, it’s not, Jesus, Steve, just listen to me!”

“If— if you don’t wanna move, we can do long distance. I’ll visit, you can come on holidays, we’ll make it work.” Steve sounded as panicked as you felt, talking too fast, like he could fix it if he just kept throwing out suggestions. “It’ll be okay.”

Another sob ripped from you as you spun away from him, head tipped to the sky as you tried your best not to yell. Frustration leaked through the cracks of your anger. “I’m not letting your dad dictate our future.”

Steve paused, breath caught in his throat. You heard him step closer before he stilled. “What?”

You closed your eyes as you spoke, like it would help. Maybe it would hurt less. “I’m not letting your dad decide our lives. Not mine, anyway.” You turned, watching Steve turn blurry from your tears. His cheeks were pink, eyes glassy, his bottom lip still trembling. “You want to be apart? For what, four years?” You hiccuped, sniffed. “Steve, please don’t go. Don’t go. Not for something you don’t want to do.”

The boy took your hand, clasping it tight as it hung from his in the space between you both. It felt huge, the distance, a wide open thing.

“Tell me you want to do this and I’ll support you, I swear,” you told him, choked up but determined. “Tell me you’ve always wanted to study Finance, tell me you’ve always wondered what it’d be like to live in Arizona and get a job at a desk where you punch numbers onto a screen. Tell me all that and I’ll support you the whole way. Tell me this is what you want, not what your dad wants.”

Steve was silent. His cheeks were damp. It was the seventh grade science fair all over again.

“When do you leave?” You whispered.

He let go of your hand.

“August.”

He watched you turn to your car, a five second delay as he realised you were walking away, away from him. Steve chased you across the drive as his parents watched from a crack in the living room curtain, shouting your name with a choked up voice, panic making his words crack and break.

He held you in the driveway, your arms wrapped around each other uncomfortably tight, an alarming fear in the air around you both. It felt awful, heavy, like the end of something that wasn’t yet finished. So you tried again, tears running down your cheeks, pouring openly as you begged, asking him to stay, to try with you, promising him it would all work out and this wasn’t the life that he wanted, you knew that, Steve knew that.

Didn’t he? Right? Right?

But the boy was shaking his head, swiping a hand meanly over his eyes as he brushed away his own tears, trying his best to get you to understand that he didn’t have a choice. He dropped his voice, an agitated whisper as he hissed about families and business, expectations and being written out of wills, written out of a family name, how money was supposed to equal happiness, and maybe his dad was right, maybe he needed to get a job that required a suit and tie, and maybe - just maybe - he could live a life like his parents. Money in the bank, a big house, a fat cheque every month.

That’s what being a Harrington was, right?

Right?

You sniffed, lip quivering, brows raised and your voice mean. “Yeah? Is that what you want, Steve?” You stepped back, a hand on your car door. “You want to be just like your dad? Get the briefcase and the business cards and fly out of town every week? Maybe you’ll pick up a trophy wife in Arizona, huh? Then find a girlfriend in another state and hope your kids don’t find out? Flash your wallet and make problems go away? Have a son and make him feel as shitty and empty as you do?”

Steve was silent. And then, an ugly smile, a smirk that was cold and a little dead. “Sure, princess, that’s exactly what I fucking want. And hey, fuck, maybe I don’t have a choice in this, but at least I’m getting out of this town. Can you say the same? Weren’t you supposed to be saving for college too, princess? What happened to that, huh? Reality is real ugly, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you,” you laughed, angry and sad and in no way amused. “We were supposed to get out together.”

“I told you to come with me!” Steve barked out, sharp, an almost yell. You tried not to flinch. “Fuck, god, you could come with me… we could do this together.”

“It’s not together! Jesus, Steve, can’t you see that?” You were beyond frustrated, hands balled into fists by your sides before they flew up to grab at your head. You were in disbelief. Was this happening? This was happening. “None of this is us! Not for us, not planned by us, not wanted by us! This is all planned by him!” Your hand shot out to the front door of the Harrington’s house, grand and regal and dark behind the window. “He’s dictating it all, throwing money and hoping it lands, just so he can say his son went to college!”

Steve was stone faced, eyes on the tarmac drive.

“I don’t care if you go to college,” you whispered, watery. “I just want you to be happy.”

‘I want you to stay with me.’ You didn’t say it.

Steve didn’t answer but you saw his shoulders shake, miniscule, and then the streetlight caught the tear rolling down his cheek, flashing. He didn’t stop you when you got into your car and drove away.

—————

Robin was wide eyed when you finished, kneeling on your unmade bed with you, the sheets folded and sitting at the foot of it. Her hand was still holding yours, fingers twisted together, her thumb running over your palm. She sucked in a breath.

“Shit.”

“Shit,” you agreed.

“So it’s over?” Robin asked, letting go of your hand when you flopped backwards, head hitting the pillow. Your own one was still in the backseat of your car, a brand new pillowcase on it ‘cause the old one somehow still smelled like Steve. “That’s it?”

You shrugged, staring at the ceiling until the beams of wood blurred together and you sniffed. “I guess, yeah.”

Robin nudged you, crawling up the mattress until you shifted, leaving enough space for her to lie next to you on the narrow bed. You were shoulder to shoulder, head sharing the same pillow and you could smell her sunscreen, the lemon and lavender perfume she always wore. You turned into her, nose pressed to her shoulder, revelling in the comfort it brought.

“When did this happen? How long has it been?”

“Three weeks,” you mumbled into her shirt, the corners of your eyes stinging again, tears making your throat thick. You were shocked you had more in you, all you had done since that night was cry. “Feels like it’s been a fucking year.”

“And you haven’t spoken since? Is he definitely going? Fuck, I can’t— Arizona?”

“Fucking Arizona,” you agreed, sighing. “I tried to call him the night after. His dad answered, said he was in the shower and he’d tell him I rang.” You sniffed again, pressing the heel of your palm to your sore eyes. “He never called me back.”

“Dude,” Robin sounded morose, your pain now her pain and she dropped her head on top of yours. A small comfort, considering.

“Dude,” you agreed. You sighed, world weary and already tired, despite only being awake for four hours. “Do you think I blew it out of proportion? Was I too harsh?”

Robin opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again, thinking it over before she spoke. She smacked a kiss to your forehead before talking, her voice soft and more gentle than usual.

“I think you’re totally right. Steve doesn’t wanna study finance, or go to Arizona. Shit, he once thought Dustin’s pocket calculator was some kind of gaming console. But I know he struggles with his dad.” Robin sucked in a breath, wary. “And I know his dad is a certified asshole, but that little scrawny version of Steve at the science fair? He's still there, y’know? And he probably still wants to make his dad proud.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I know. I just don’t get why.”

Robin shrugged. “Me neither, but that’s on growing up with somewhat normal parents, I guess. I know he loves you though. A lot. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

You were openly crying now, tears soaking Robin’s shirt sleeve, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips were against your hair when she mumbled, “You don’t wanna go to Arizona with him?”

You sat up, chest heaving, hands swiping clumsily at your face to rid yourself of your damp cheeks, your swollen eyes. Your breath stuttered, a gasping, awful sound because it hurt being told that Steve loved you. It ached to be reminded. “No.” You were final about it, voice softening only when you continued. “Fuck, I thought I’d follow him anywhere you know? We were saving up, working stupid shifts and we had this stupid map and— and I would laugh at him ‘cause he’d circle these weird places no one had heard of, said we’d buy a house there and get a dog and… if I move to Arizona with him, we’re just starting a life that’s going to be dictated by his dad.”

Robin looked sad as she gazed at you, listening quietly, her feet resting against your knees as she curled up by the headboard. She nodded, knowing.

“Because Steve will graduate, right? And then his dad will be the one to set him up with interviews and jobs, and fuck, maybe this new Steve will even join the family business - which, by the way, I know he doesn’t wanna do.” You sucked in a breath, wide eyed at the possibility of this kind of future. “We won’t get a dog, ‘cause his mom says animals don’t belong in a house, and I’ll be left at home to press all his suits, with like, six kids that all look like the husband I don’t even get to see anymore, because he’ll be on business trips with his dad and dudes called Tony and Chase and he’ll meet a girl with a name like Britney, and you just know she was head cheerleader when she was in college and—”

You were cut off abruptly, Robin’s hands pressed to your cheeks, squishing them a little as she stared at you, concern in her eyes. “Babe. Breathe.”

You blew out a shaky breath and tried to smile, but it was watery and weak. “So what’s been happening with you?” You tried to joke.

—————

The rest of the staff arrived in drips, Eddie’s van parked dangerously close to Billy’s shiny Camaro, Eddie cackling and flipping the other boy off when he snarled obscenities about his paintwork. Nancy and Robin had picked up Chrissy on the way, Argyle following in a new VW bug, sunflower yellow with giant, green plants painted on the side that he told Murray, ‘s’just nature, my dude.’

There wasn’t any sign of a maroon BMW.

And then eleven o’clock came and everyone had to pile into Hopper’s cabin. The man was sitting behind his desk as usual, already looking tired as he watched you all trail in, taking up too much space. You’d managed to squeeze yourself on the old sofa between Robin and Nancy when the door opened at the last minute. Eddie trailed in with a guilty smile, another boy behind him.

Steve.

You felt Robin tense beside you, patting your knee when you slouched into the couch cushions a little further. The soft smile Eddie sent you as he passed told you that he knew everything too.

The two boys sat across the room, perching on the windowsill and Steve didn’t look at you. In fact, he didn’t look anywhere but the old carpet, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked as tired as you felt. His hair was a mess, like the wind had caught it, one curl sticking up from his forehead and you wanted to reach out and fix it for him, stand between his legs and let him touch you, let him give you a kiss as thanks.

Fuck.

Everyone shuffled awkwardly, glancing from you to Steve and back again, each staff member wondering why you weren’t sitting together like you normally would. Even Murray was frowning, holding an open bag of trail mix, peering at you over his glasses. You looked away.

“Okay, welcome back, glad to see some of you have managed to avoid jail time for another summer. Congrats!” Hopper stood with his clipboard, shooting a glance at Eddie, who grinned, smug. “You all know the drill by now, so let’s get into it. I’ve got a five ton delivery of Lucky Charms that nobody asked for to deal with.”

Murray took front and centre then, busying himself with paperwork and staff files. “Okay you bunch of delinquents, look alive, roll call!”

It went like it always did, Murray listing off familiar names, assigning them back to their usual stations, reminding them that they needed to hand in their up to date first aid certificates and that staff uniform was mandatory and not a matter of opinion.

Billy, lifeguard duties. Robin, kitchens with Bob. Jonathan, photography - and if he had time, could he help Hopper work on the website design for the new summer? Argyle, wood shop. Nancy, crafts and more time in the office with Joyce, so she can learn the ropes with admin stuff. Jason, lake games. Chrissy, gymnastics.

“Edward,” Murray announced, turning to hand the boy some sign up sheets. “Music. We’ve moved you to a bigger cabin for your lessons this year, we got way more sign ups than anticipated. Keep it up.” Murray clicked his finger and pointed at the boy, like he’d almost forgotten something. “Oh, and tell your girl we’re all proud of her. An architectural internship in Philadelphia is no small feat.”

Eddie grinned, chest puffed out, cheeks pink and looking full of pride. “Right?” He agreed. “She’s gonna be running her own firm in no time.”

“Harrington, Hawkins, you’re both on games—”

You couldn’t help it, it rose up like panic, acidic and bitter, bile in the back of your throat. “Can I be placed somewhere else?”

Everyone stared. Murray choked on a piece of trail mix, a too big pumpkin seed that hit the wall near Argyle.

Your eyes met Steve’s and you saw the flinch of hurt there before his brown eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. He stared hard at the floor, toeing at the carpet.

Murray looked confused, scanning the list of staff members to see if it were possible, but Hopper interrupted, frowning. He was gruff about it, gesturing to the schedules in the other man’s hands. “These have been written for weeks kid, we’re not fucking about ‘cause of a lovers tiff, we’re all adults here—”

“Actually,” Murray interrupted, gaze flicking from you to Steve and back again. He levelled you with a stare that looked like a challenge, a dare, a question. Like he was testing you. “We could do with someone else on the lake this year. More kids. You’ve been on life guarding duties before, right?”

Oh shit. You nodded.

Beside you, Robin exhaled, a curse under it as she pulled her cap down low, hiding under the brim of it. Across the room, Nancy stared at you, wide eyed. “What’re you doing?” She mouthed.

“Up to date on first aid? CPR?” Murray continued, ignoring the tension in the room.

You could hear a pin drop. “Yeah,” you muttered.

Eddie swore.

“Great!” Murray was too cheerful, whacking his pen off of the clipboard. “Congrats, Hargrove, you’ve got a buddy for the summer.”

It was awful, the way your stomach sank, the way Billy cackled, white teeth flashing as he made a show of looking you up and down. It was gut wrenching, the way Robin looked at you with sympathy, the way Steve was tugging a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at you.

Everyone filed out, back into the sun, collecting new staff shirts and sets of keys for the gym, the music room, storage cabins and equipment cages. Hopper held up a hand to stop you, gesturing to the couch. You sat back down, heart racing as he did the same to Steve, not speaking until the last person had left.

The jar was still on his desk, sticky label over sticky label, each one with a new name on it, everything from ‘kayak money’ to ‘therapy cash’ a scribbled out note from Eddie that said ‘lovebird fundz.’ Your stomach tumbled over, a sticky, hot nausea creeping over you when Steve sat down too, right up against the other side of the sofa.

Hopper leaned against his desk, already looking world weary. He sighed, running a finger and thumb over his moustache before pointing at the obvious space between you both. “Listen, I don’t make a habit of getting into my employees personal lives, and I don’t need to know what happened but—”

“I’d be interested in hearing, actually,” Murray interrupted.

Hopper ignored him. “All I wanna know is that you’ll be working together like professionals, when the situation calls for it, alright? No funny business. No arguing. No fighting. No breaking anymore of my goddamn kayaks.”

Steve was picking at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt and you were staring at your nail beds but when the man cleared his throat, sharp and jarring, you both nodded.

“Good.” Hopper nodded, “get going then, get settled and all that. I don’t wanna hear any trouble.” The man made a point of glancing at the empty jar on his desk, a fresh piece of tape on the front, yet to be labelled.

It took two seconds for Steve to round on you, your shoes barely hitting the grass outside, Eddie, Nancy and Robin bearing witness to the explosion. They stood off to the side, sat balancing on the porch railing of the medical cabin, pretending they couldn’t hear.

So Steve made sure his voice was loud enough to reach. “Really?” He all but yelled, “lake duties, huh? A summer with Billy fucking Hargrove? That’s what you’d rather deal with than me?”

You were quick to fire back, a familiar fuse lit inside of you as you snapped, eyes flashing as you went toe to toe with Steve. It made your heart hurt, knowing this argument was going to end without a kiss. “Oh, grow up, Steve! You really wanna spend all summer with me? Wanna hold hands and tell me all about Arizona? Show me your class schedule and talk about the weather there?”

The words were nasty tasting as they left your tongue, metallic and coated in invisible armour, meant to protect you more than hurt the boy. But it did the latter more than the first, Steve’s jaw clenching as he stared at you.

‘You didn’t call me back,’ you wanted to say. You wanted to yell it, sob it. ‘Why didn’t you call me back?’

“I’ve to grow up? That’s real cute, princess, you’re not even gonna try and be civil about this? Go back to being friends?”

You wanted to laugh at that, but the tightness in your chest might’ve been tears and you weren’t willing to let those out in front of Steve. You couldn’t stop. Poison dripping from your tongue, costing your teeth, sharp and barbed. You just kept talking. “Yeah, like we were friends before.”

Steve scoffed, nodding. “You’re right. We were never friends, were we?” He backed away, his eyes trailing over you like a reflex, like he couldn’t help it even now. “Have fun with Hargrove, princess, enjoy your summer.” He stalked off, sunlight hitting off his shoulders, making his hair turn auburn. Eddie jumped off the railing to trail after him, both boys heading towards the lake as Eddie sent you a regretful look over his shoulder.

Nancy and Robin approached as you did your best to even out your breaths, a pain catching between your ribs that felt all too familiar, an ache that had lived weeks for weeks now. It had wrapped around your heart like weeds, vines with thorns, squeezing at you until you wanted to cry. You sniffed, head ducked from your friends view.

Someone’s hand pressed between your shoulder blades and you looked up to see Nancy, a sad smile there. “I’m supposed to be working on the cabin groupings, but, uh,” she raised her brows at Robin, “I have a couple of bottles of wine hidden in Jonathan’s trunk. Why don’t we grab a few and pretend we’re not on the clock…”

You nodded, pretending there weren’t tears nipping at your eyes as you watched Steve’s retreating figure, the boy kicking angrily at a rock on the ground.

Tell me that we'll be just fine

You didn’t see Steve again before the kids arrived.

The two days before the official start of camp were spent hauling out the equipment, dusting off crash mats and kayaks, pumping up the sad, deflated balls and hoping to god the old dock would last another year. The June weather came with the usual force, blue skies, cloudless after sunrise, burning away with the morning haze until all that was left was an endless heat that lingered into the night.

Camp Upside Down without the kids was fireflies by the shoreline, feet in the lake after lunch, breakfasts in your cabin, stolen banana muffins and fresh peaches, music that toed the line of too loud before bed.

It still felt like home. But it was a house with a room missing. Steve’s lack of presence hurting like an open wound. You caught glimpses of him here and there, between the trees, on the edge of the lake, helping Eddie lug amps and drum kits from one cabin to another.

Jealousy flared when you saw him talking to Chrissy outside the gym, a friendly distance between them both but it twisted in your stomach like a knot, sickly and unwelcome. Robin had dragged you away by your elbow, telling you that you were being stupid and, shouldn’t you go talk to him?

“If he wanted to talk, he would’ve called me back, remember?” You reminded her sullenly, walking towards the middle of camp together to prepare for the hoards of buses and cars that were soon to flood in.

You stopped talking as you joined the cluster of staff members at the unlit fire, the unofficial heart of the camp. The logs were already arranged around the pit, ready for s’mores and stories. Steve was standing between Eddie and Jonathan, staff shirt sunbleached and loose around his frame, his jeans cuffed at the ankles to get some relief from the morning warmth that would only climb higher.

Chrissy was with them, ponytail bobbing animatedly, smiling too pretty. You’d never had a problem with the girl before, in fact, you’d even call her a friend. But she reached out and slapped playfully at Steve’s arm when she laughed at something he said, and suddenly you were wondering how deep the lake was.

Maybe Steve would sense that you were staring, maybe he still knew when you were near, ‘cause his head shot up and his gaze found yours immediately. He didn’t look away and neither did you, but he frowned when you lifted your chin, defiant.

“Hey, uh,” Nancy appeared by your side, looking uncomfortable as she said, “you know you’re wearing his sweater, right?”

“What?” You looked down, the forest green sweater suddenly swamping you as you realised it definitely wasn’t your own. Steve’s name was stitched on the front, small and neat across your heart. You felt your cheeks burn. “Oh, for fuck sake.”

That’s how you ended up arguing via the kids, the campers arriving in a flurry of colour and noise, yelling about lost rucksacks and the youngest crying as their parents drove away, consoled by Joyce and some animal crackers.

Max Mayfield found you in the midst of the chaos, tapping your shoulder as you turned around with your clipboard, interrupted from taking note of Will Byers new allergy medication.

She was holding Steve’s sweater, looking at you unimpressed. “He said he doesn’t want it,” she sighed, already bored of the back and forth.

“What?” You squinted at her, disgruntled and confused as to how Steve could reject his own sweater. “Why?”

The redhead rolled her eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know! He said that you should keep it.”

Panicked, you shook your head, coaxing the girl back into the crowd. “No, nuhuh, tell him I don’t want it. Lucas, hey, Sinclair!” You waved down the boy, confiscating the slingshot that was sticking out of his pocket as you did. “Go with Max, it’s important.”

And while you got rid of two kids, another came barrelling from out of nowhere, arms wrapped around your waist. You caught the attacker with an ‘oomph,’ your hand on the back of a familiar head of curly hair. Dustin Henderson stared up at you, a little taller than last year, but eyes just as innocent and earnest.

“Is it true?” He whispered, shell shocked. “Steve said—”

You groaned quietly, eyes closing briefly because this was exactly what you didn’t want. You nodded, smiled tight and tried to look sympathetic, patting at his head. “Yeah, listen, it’s just—”

“I’m a child of divorce!” He wailed, interrupting whatever explanation you were about to give him and garnering far too much attention from bystanders.

Before you could peel Dustin off of you, Max and Lucas reappeared once more, Steve’s sweater still with them. You sighed, wondering if this was how the entire summer was going to feel.

“Yeah, he won’t take it,” Lucas explained and you groaned when Max tossed it over your shoulder. You hadn’t worn it since the night you’d walked away from him, throwing it in your case instead of yours, an accidental nightmare. It still smelled like Steve, you weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed before. “Steve says he doesn’t want it.”

Over the heads of the kids, you found Steve, uncharacteristically stone faced as he listened to something Joyce was saying. He was nodding, not really listening, ‘cause his eyes were on you and he watched you take the sweater off your shoulder. You couldn’t bring yourself to let it drop to the forest floor, you just couldn’t. So you tied it around your waist and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

—————

[WORK SONG BY HOZIER]

Eddie found you bright and early on the dock the next morning, a carton of orange juice offered.

You smiled and said your thanks, knocking shoulders with him as he stood next to you, the water lapping at the old planks, the sun making the sky tangerine. “Her majesty has risen early,” he quipped, not looking at you as you both pierced your straws through the little carton. “Can’t sleep?”

You shrugged, staring out at the lake, hoping the day would be quick so you could fall back into bed. You craved sleep, longed for your head to hit your pillow each night in the hopes that you wouldn’t dream about a summer before where you could spend it with Steve. It hurt more waking up in a place so familiar, so important to what you once had with the boy.

“You could say that.” You smiled, but there wasn’t any humour behind it. You could feel Eddie watching you from behind his curls, big brown eyes earnest, worry rolling off of him in waves. “How’re you, Eddie? How’s your girlfriend? Missin’ her yet?”

Distract distract distract.

The boy nodded, sucking noisily from his juice box, citrus in the air. “I’m good, yeah - we’re good,” he added. “Got an apartment downtown together, we’re getting by. Hop let me use the phone yesterday, let her know if arrived, y’know? She’s doing good…”

Eddie nudged you again, an affectionate touch. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat too tight. So you bit down on your straw and waited until the carton was empty, orange juice tasting too bitter against the toothpaste still on your tongue. “Yeah,” you sounded tired. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart,” Eddie said kindly, his voice still quiet, matching the morning. “You volunteered to spend the summer side by side with Hargrove, I don’t think you gotta lie to anyone.”

You blinked, not surprised when tears blurred your vision. The sky melted into the lake, white-blue into peach, pink clouds nothing more than cotton candy, the lake reflecting it all back. “It would just suck, you know?” You explained, whispering. “To be with him all day and not—”

Touch him, kiss him, hold him.

You swallowed, the motion a struggle. “—it just, it would hurt. And I don’t want it to hurt any more than it already does, so…”

Eddie didn’t say anything, not right away. But he let his free hand drop between you both, covering your own. His fingers didn’t twist between yours the way Steve’s did and his rings were cold against your skin. It didn’t make your stomach summersault and there wasn’t a scar on the back of his hand when your thumb touched it, but it was nice all the same.

Kind, caring. Worried.

“He’s hurting too, you know,” Eddie murmured, fingers squeezing gently around yours. “I know you’re mad at him, that you hate he’s leaving—”

You bit down on your lip at that, hard enough to taste metal, glassy eyed and turning to Eddie. You shook your head, suddenly feeling a little manic. “No, no, fuck,” you sucked in a breath, trying not to cry. “Well, yeah, I hate that he’s leaving but— Eddie, shit, it’s his dad. He’s letting his dad decide his future and he’s doing everything he used to say he hated and- and I don’t know why.”

Eddie’s brows knitted together as he watched your lip tremble and he nodded, scrubbing the hand that held his squished juice box over his face. “I know,” he admitted, “I know. I asked him, but he’s just talkin’ bullshit. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Says it’s best for him, or some shit, keeps talkin’ ‘bout six figure salaries and, well, fuck if I know.”

“S’like he’s been brainwashed,” you mumbled, feeling very much like one of the younger campers as you said it, juicebox in hand. You wanted to stomp your feet and cry, you wanted to yell at Steve until he snapped out of it. “Like his parents came home and suddenly managed to convince him that he needed to do everything he hated.”

Eddie’s lips twisted, downturned and sad. “He said he’d get thrown out the house. Cut off. Sounds like emotional blackmail more than brainwashing, sweetheart.”

You sniffed, turning back to the lake so you could swipe at your eyes. “Yeah,” you croaked. “It does.”

You stayed with the boy until the sky turned blue and the clouds rolled away, the tannoy signalling it was time for breakfast. The camp came alive minutes later, kids clambering out of cabins, half dressed and with one shoe on, racing for a seat with their friends, hoping they’d be lucky enough to get some pancakes before Bob ran out.

Then Billy was sauntering towards the lake, already shirtless, red shorts and a whistle around his neck. He grinned as he approached, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, biting noisily into an apple.

“Been waiting long for me, darlin’?” His voice was a drawl, raspy from the morning, from the cigarette he probably hung out his cabin window to smoke before his shift.

You rolled your eyes and didn’t gift him with a response, silently thanking Eddie with a bump of your hip to his. Eddie seemed to puff out his chest a little as he passed the other boy, his smile anything but friendly as he narrowed his eyes at him.

“Piss her off, and we’ll have a problem, Hargrove,” Eddie’s voice was soft and lilting, an almost sing-song, but the warning was clear.

Billy merely grinned wider though, sharklike as he brought his hand to his chest, feigning innocence with a gasp. “Who, me?” He tsked, frowning at Eddie. “Don’t know what you’re gettin’ at, Teddy bear. And besides, she’s not your girl.” Billy turned to you and smirked. “In fact, last I heard, she’s not anyone’s girl, seems like fair game to me.”

You shook your head at Eddie who’d taken a step back towards Billy in response. ‘Not worth it,’ you mouthed.

So Eddie glared instead, his gaze only softening when he turned back to you one final time. “I’m in the music cabin all day, if you need me,” he said, “and Steve’s gonna be by the pit.”

The rest was unsaid, but understood. Loud and clear. ‘If you need him.’

You didn’t argue, you just nodded.

Billy didn’t speak again until Eddie was out of sight, a few kids racing towards the dock for their swim lessons, for their turn being taught how to control a kayak. He grinned at you as the small stampede started clamouring around him for life jackets.

“We’re gonna have fun together, princess, I can already tell.”

—————

You and Billy, in fact, did not have fun together.

The boy was boorish and mean to the kids, lazy when it came to actually working and he constantly made jokes about letting the campers drown. He spent much of the morning and afternoon on a deck chair, legs spread wide and his eyes closed behind his glasses, his skin growing more tan by the hour.

“Why do you even work here?” You’d eventually snapped at him, exasperated and breaking your vow of silence.

“Money ain’t bad, free food and well, I get to spend my time with you, babe.” He’d winked at you, sliding his glasses down his nose before pushing them back up again.

You somehow managed to stop yourself from kicking his chair into the lake.

The rest of the day went like that, ignoring Billy and the murderous thoughts he invoked, all while attending to the kids and making sure they didn’t swallow too much lake water. And when the session was coming to an end, Lucas had convinced you to jump in too, the water warmed only slightly by the sun, the skies above it turning back to tangerine as evening set in. So you jumped off the end of the dock, sandwiched between kids, El’s hand in your right, Suzie’s in your left.

And when you let the water roll over your head, feet barely touching the bottom, you wondered if you’d be okay soon, if by some miracle, you’d wake up tomorrow and the ache in your chest would have stopped. And if it hadn’t, you wished someone would tell you when. And maybe that same person could tell you what you were gonna do with your life too.

Your hair was still damp when you walked into the mess hall for dinner. Most of the kids were finished, running past you with yelled ‘hello’s’ as they made their way back to their cabins, pockets stuffed with treats they’d no doubt hide for midnight snacking.

One table was still occupied, most of the staff tired and lashing across the benches, just starting their dinner. Steve was between Robin and Eddie, a few slices of pizza on his tray that he didn’t seem interested in. You thought about turning around, going to bed hungry. You thought about being entirely pathetic and sitting at a table all on your own, preferably on the other side of the hall. But Nancy caught your eye and waved you over as Bob handed you your plate with a smile.

It was awful, the way the conversation trailed off as you approached, eyes flicking between you and Steve and back again. But the boy kept his head down, nodding at something Eddie was saying, and Jonathan slid closer to Nancy for you, letting you sit next to him.

“Did we mean to go for a swim or was the idea of a watery demise better than working with Hargrove?” Jonathan joked, his eyes kind as he smiled at you.

You snorted, picking off the greasy pepperoni that dotted your pizza slices, grimacing when Eddie held out his own plate for them. “The kids wanted me to join them,” you explained, “but now that you mention it, lake sludge and the possibility of a leech or two seems better than another day with Billy.”

Robin frowned, concern knitting across her features. Her nose was already a little burnt, her afternoon off spent napping under an old oak tree behind the gym. “He wasn’t too creepy, was he?”

Your eyes met Eddie’s over the table and you shared a look. He shrugged, letting you know he wasn’t going to say anything. Not that it would have mattered, you decided, Steve hadn’t looked up since you sat down, his fingers busy making knots out of a paper straw wrapped.

“Nah, no more than usual,” you assured her.

You took a bite of your pizza, if only for something to do, the awkward quietness making your anxiety gnaw at your chest and your bubbling stomach made you wrinkle your nose at the pools of grease the pepperoni left behind. It seemed more unappealing than usual.

Jonathan noticed. “Oh, here,” he pushed his own tray towards you. “I have Hawaiian leftover if you wanna—”

“She’s allergic to pineapple.”

The voice came before you could speak, ready to explain the same thing. Everyone turned, looking at Steve as he looked at you, a small frown on his face, as if he was annoyed that no one else seemed to know that.

“Oh,” Jonathan looked horrified, quickly pulling the slice away from you. “Shit, m’sorry, I didn’t kn—” he was talking to Steve more than you, because you still hadn’t said anything, too busy looking at Steve with your mouth agape.

But it didn’t seem to matter, ‘cause the boy stood up suddenly, eyes just barely finding yours before he tossed his own tray on top of the trash cans and headed outside. The huge doors slammed shut, echoing in the silence.

No one spoke, glancing between each other and the tabletop as you groaned, your hands covering your face. You weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.

And then, breaking the silence, Robin: “So, we’ll plan a meal schedule then, yeah?”

—————

The first week of camp quickly bled into the second, the days going by slow and lazy by the lake, the older kids happy to be watched diligently as they paddled around on the kayaks. Each boat had been checked over for any cracks and splinters that might’ve occurred the year before. You held a sandcastle competition with the younger group on a hot morning, lakeside in the grainy sand that was more in-depth than you imagined it would’ve been.

You ignored Billy throughout, leaving him on his deck chair with his sunglasses and whistle, pretending you didn’t hear him scoff when Steve walked by, your eyes tracking him with his own group until he disappeared behind some trees or another cabin.

The summer got hotter and you felt lonelier, longing for the familiarity you felt when Steve was nearby. You missed his touch on your back, a hand there when the kids were around, chaste enough that no one squealed and yelled about cooties.

You missed spending nights in his too small bunk, music playing low, feet touching under the sheets.

You missed seeing him across the camp, surrounded by kids who loved him, waiting for him to lift his gaze to yours, ‘cause no matter what, he always seemed to know when you were close. You missed the way that even after two years together, your stomach would dip and swirl when he inevitably winked at you, boyish and charming, a promise of a kiss later when he could get his hands on you.

Now, you either ignored each other or argued with each other, egos in the way, stubbornness winning over silence when you both fell too easily into your old ways. You both found that winning a fight against each other was much harder to do when you couldn’t make the other person concede with a kiss.

But at the end of the second week, a whole new kind of emotion took over when you saw Steve and his group come back from a hike, a smile on his face as he chatted to the camp counsellor next to him.

Strawberry blonde hair, tied up in a bow, pink this time.

Chrissy.

It was awful, watching them together, hands swinging side by side, not touching in the slightest, but far too close to it for your liking. You watched Steve say something, making Chrissy laugh, a musical giggle that had your teeth set on edge. You forgot what you were supposed to be doing, new logs for the fire pit frozen in your stagnant arms. Nancy must’ve noticed, ‘cause she looked up from the pit at you, face screwed up in confusion.

“What’re you doing—? Oh.” She watched your face fall, eyes studying every move as the two led their kids back into camp. “You know it’s not like that, right? Steve and Chrissy… it’s not— it’s nothing.”

You heard none of it, logs clattering to the forest floor, a mumbled excuse to Nancy about how you’d be right back and then you were taking off across the pathways, heading for a cabin that you hoped would be empty. The crafts room luckily was, the door shutting behind you, the tables clean and void of glitter, for once.

[DON’T LEAVE BY FAITHLESS]

You perched there, collecting yourself, wondering once again when it was going to stop fucking hurting so much. But your thoughts weren’t yours for very long, interrupted by the door opening again. You were ready to tell Nancy you were fine, that it was just a headache, a bee sting, anything. But Steve walked in instead, wary as he looked at you.

No one spoke, the silence deafening and the closer Steve moved, the more you could smell his aftershave, the same one still lingering on the sweater he refused to take back. He was more tanned already, cheeks freckled from the sun, flushed from his hike. He was staring at you like a wild animal, scared to get too close.

So he stopped a few feet before you, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, the cuffs of them a little dust covered from his hike. He looked good, awfully so, as pretty as the night you left him in his driveway and it fucking ached to look at him.

You wouldn’t cry.

“Uh, Nancy said you were upset.”

You blinked, his voice reverberating through you like a fifty watt amp. You buzzed with it, forgetting what his voice sounded like when he wasn’t yelling, arguing, when he was talking only to you.

You sniffed and lied. “I’m fine.”

Steve knew better than that. He looked like he wanted to come closer, one heel digging into the old carpet, debating on stepping forward. He didn’t. “Look, Chrissy and I—”

“I thought you were supposed to be hiking with Argyle?” You interrupted, unapologetic. You sucked in a breath, heart on your sleeve, openly vulnerable and waiting to be hurt. “The rota said Argyle.”

Steve shrugged, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah, I was.” He looked at you, eyes nervous. “But Chrissy showed up at the safety meet, said she’d swapped ‘cause she wanted to plan something for a gymnastics competition the day she was scheduled.”

You just stared at the floor.

Steve whispered your name, a crack in the middle of it, his voice awfully familiar. He sounded so much prettier when he wasn’t trying to hurt you. “It’s not like that. It’s not.”

You shrugged, staring at a piece of broken off crayon that had been squished into the floor forever ago, a sickly green that wouldn’t come out. You stared at it until it blurred. “It’s not any of my business, Steve, it’s fine.”

You practically heard the boy frown. “What do you mean it’s not your business, prin— I’m not interested in Chrissy. You’re— we only broke up a couple of weeks ago, I’m not exactly looking for something new.”

It hurt to hear him say it, even though you knew it already. But something about Steve’s words made it seem more real, more final. So you tried to keep your expression neutral as you finally lifted your gaze to meet his.

His jaw was set tight, brows ticking up to meet in the middle, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Are you still going?” You asked, and god, you sounded small, scared. You hated it. “To Arizona. Are you still going?”

Steve nodded, jaw tensing.

Something inside of you shattered all over again. You blew out the breath you’d been holding, smiling tightly, like it hurt to look happy. “Well, don’t let me stop you from another summer fling, like I said, it’s nothing to do with me—”

“Another?” Steve's voice hitched up, confusion and anger leaking in. “What do you mean another? Is that all we were, is that what you think? A two year summer fling? That’s real cute, princess.”

He said the pet name the way he used to, sarcasm mixing with malice, no affection behind it and it made you square your shoulders. It was like a battle call and you were ready for action.

It hurt less to fight.

“I didn’t say that,” you bit back, “don’t twist my words, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you wanted to work with Billy, huh?”

“Oh my god, get real,” you laughed, sliding off of the table so you could shove past the boy. “You really think that little of me?”

Steve’s hand caught your elbow as you tried to head for the door, a touch you knew well. He wasn’t rough about it, but he pulled you back with ease, your body against his as he set you with a look. You knew he was mad, you’d pushed too many buttons and this time, you couldn’t kiss his anger away, you couldn’t push yourself up against him and whisper pretty apologies as you loved on him.

Fuck.

“You started this,” he reminded you, “clearly you think I’m ready to forget all about you and jump into Chrissy’s bunk so don’t—”

You slipped up then, unable to help it, ‘cause Steve was staring at you with hard eyes and all of a sudden you couldn’t help but imagine him with Chrissy in her cabin, the lights off as he pushed her against her desk, moaning when she wrapped her thighs around his hips and gasped out his name…

“Please don’t.” It ripped out of you in a sob, tiny and cracking. You pressed your lips together so no more noises would come out, eyes turning glassy even though you tried to stave off the tears. “Please don’t do that. Don’t jump into someone else’s bunk.”

‘Please don’t forget me,’ is what you really wanted to say. ‘Please don’t forget about us when you leave.’

You felt too warm, exposed, blinking back tears and trying not to show the hurt but it was too late. Steve knew what you meant, read between the lines and watched tears gather at your lash line. You were too stubborn to let them fall but he softened, the anger leaving him in a rush of adrenaline until he felt tired, sore with it.

Steve let your arm go, hand trailing down until fingers brushed your wrist. He stepped back, eyes on the wall behind you, blinking until his own eyes stopped watering.

“I won’t,” he promised, words coming into a soft gasp, like he was shocked that you think he could’ve.

Words unsaid hung in the air, glittering with the dust motes in the sun, slipping between the shadows from the trees across the walls.

I miss you, I’m sorry, don’t leave me, I love you.

You sniffed again, eyes on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with the boy and not wanting to move away. “I have your sweater,” you whispered.

Steve shrugged, wondering if you could hear his pulse, how it seemed to thump in his neck, his chest. It was an awful thing, heartbreak. No one told him it would ache this much to see you, to be so close and not hold you.

The boy’s gaze dropped to your lips, saw the shine there and wondered if you’d still taste like cherries, or if even after so little time, that had changed too.

“S’alright,” he mumbled. “I have an extra one.”

“It’s yours,” you replied, your bottom lip wobbling again. Steve didn’t know how to stop it. He looked away. “I shouldn’t have your stuff anymore.”

He frowned, knowing you were right, hurting all the same. “Did you bring yours?” He knew the answer, knew how you could get disorganised when you packed, bleary eyed in the early morning hour before camp. You shook your head. “Keep it. In case you get cold.”

And then he left.

The second week went by the same, melting into the third with climbing temperatures and the threat of rain that never actually fell. You stayed away from Steve, tried to smile civilly when you did get too close, bumping into each other at mealtimes, on walks with the kids as you passed each other on the trails.

Will Byers was a little taller than last summer, but he still took your hand at the front of the crowd, looking up at you with a sad smile. “My mom always says it gets easier,” he told you, whispering it like a secret. “Eventually, you don’t have to think about it too hard anymore. She says it’s like maths.”

You laughed at that, a watery thing that made you smile and squeeze the boy’s hand. And that night, around the campfire, you snuck him an extra marshmallow for his s’more, winking when he beamed at you.

Even when I lose my mind

The staff party was an impromptu thing, thought of by Jonathan and Argyle, encouraged by Robin, alcohol run courtesy of Eddie and his van.

You hadn’t wanted to go, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything worse than spending your time off the clock with Steve in a small cabin, or huddled around a fire by the lake. But Robin insisted and the promise of wine lured you in, the idea of numbing the ache that still hadn’t left more inviting by the minute.

Then Nancy was at the cabin door, a staff shirt swapped for one of her boyfriend's sweaters, bottles of wine in her hands. She gave one to Robin, twisted your fingers with her own and then you were being led through the woods, to the split in the shrubs that only the counsellors knew about, the tiny, hidden trail that led to a patch of sand that was far away from the dock and Hopper’s office window.

There was a fire going, a pile of shoes by the rocks, people treading water up to their ankles, music playing from a boombox that crackled with static at the same time the flames popped on the logs.

It was fine until it wasn’t. It was nice until the wine became too much and the lake started to blur with the sky and suddenly, there were stars on the sand, fallen and forgotten and everyone danced over the top of them, left feet tripping over right.

You swayed, head pounding to the beat of the bass and the forest seemed to tilt on an axis as you left your shoes behind and slipped off into the night. You were tired, tongue coated with tequila that Eddie made you shoot with him, stomach swirling with bad beer and jealousy whenever Chrissy wandered close to Steve.

Nothing happened. Just like Steve said. But you wanted to drop yourself in the boy’s lap and press your nose to his neck, find the spot that made his hands grip your waist a little tighter, dozing there until he’d laugh at you, sticky sweet and fond, telling you it was time for bed.

So you took yourself there, unnoticed by the rest of your friends, all of them too busy, too drunk. The shadows between the trees were dark but the lights on each porch led you home, back to your cabin that smelled like lavender body spray and spilled vodka, the raspberry remnants soaked up with a bath towel, forgotten on the floor.

You tripped up on it in your mission to get to your bunk, bare feet cold and hazily. You wondered where your shoes were. But you stripped, struggled with your sleep shorts and dug under your pillow for the sweater you knew you’d folded there.

It was forest green and too big, and it smelled like the boy whose name was stitched on the front. You hiccuped and pulled it on, asking yourself with a mumble, why was the cabin spinning? You thought maybe it was the pizza rolls you had instead of a proper dinner, ‘cause it certainly wasn’t the alcohol.

Of course it wasn’t.

And then, teary eyed and suddenly overwhelmed, you gasped, a heaving breath that stuttered into a sob. You groaned, eyes closing, your head thumping on the cabin wall as you fell back into your pillows. Your stomach gurgled, rolled and dipped.

You absolutely were not going to be sick. You hated being sick.

You were not. Going. To be. Sick.

Your body made a sound of disagreement.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, sitting up to take some deep breaths. It didn’t really help, a too hot flush rushing over your chest and up your neck, settling over your cheeks until it was so warm you were cold. “No, no, no.”

You didn’t really think about how much time had passed since you left the party. It could’ve been twenty minutes, maybe two hours. The night was still dark, with the morning not in sight, the skies above just as inky as before. But when you opened the cabin door, there weren’t any stars on the ground, not anymore.

You didn’t know how long it had been since you left the beach, but you knew it had been five long weeks since you walked away from Steve Harrington and his backyard.

So you went looking for him.

Bare feet, cold and damp in the moss, sticking to the wilder parts of the woods, drunkenly complaining when you stood on something with thorns. You would’ve been a sight, a sure way to receive a warning if found by Hopper or Murray, but you found you didn’t really care. You wondered if the boy was still at the lake, if anyone was.

The moon was still high and the stars were back where they should be but when you stopped too long to look up, the world swayed a little, your stomach jumping with it.

You groaned, mumbling a little about the toadstools by the trees, how you needed to not squish them, ‘cause Argyle would be mad. And then there was a familiar cabin set back from the path, the lights off and cloaked in silence. You walked up the porch steps anyway, remembering to knock, not walk in, even when the alcohol made everything cloudy.

You waited, stomach churning, breath bated, lips turned down into a too dramatic frown, but you had decided you didn’t want to be drunk anymore and you certainly didn’t want to be alone. The silence stretched on, loud enough that it buzzed and you hiccuped again, tummy jumping in protest. You hushed yourself, curling the too long sleeves of the sweater into your fists, ‘cause you decided you needed something to hold onto.

You absolutely were not going to fall.

You wobbled, bare feet standing on top of each other, toes squished, a curse on your lips. Steve opened the door.

He said your name, surprised but warm, fond like he used to, the way you wanted him to. Your gaze shot up, toes forgotten about as you took him in, soft and sleep, hair a riot, chest bare.

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing? Are you okay?” He’d noticed your absence soon after you’d left, your shoes forgotten on the sand. But Robin had disappeared too, so he assumed you’d left together. The lake didn’t hold much interest for him after that. “Is something wrong?”

You wanted to laugh at that, you wanted to tell him everything was wrong.

But instead, you hiccuped, nose wrinkled. “I feel sick.” Another hiccup, a small groan to accompany it. “And I don't wanna be sick.”

Steve frowned, that soft kind of grumpy where his brows crinkled together and he looked at you with too much concern. His hand cupped your elbow, too gentle, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed. But the world righted itself again with his help and when you stumbled, just a little, Steve sighed.

“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “C’mon.”

He led you into his cabin, the space still dark and smelling like boy, like his aftershave and Eddie’s, the tangerine peels that Steve had left at lunch, the cherry twizzlers Eddie stashed in his desk drawers. Steve flicked the lamp on, a flicker that turned into a dim glow, too weak to make your eyes hurt but you squinted anyway.

“I’m gonna be sick,” you complained and you sounded panicked, the floor dipping and tilting as you walked.

Steve’s hands found your shoulders, wide and warm and taking up so much space. He led you to his bed and sat you on the edge, his sheets still warm from where he’d been lying, half asleep and thinking about you.

“You’re not gonna be sick,” he told you, pushing you back until you were comfy, kneeling before you to scrub at your poor, dirty feet with a towel. He fussed, inspecting your soles for injury. “Jesus, you could’ve cut yourself, you dummy.”

“I might be sick,” you replied, morose. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” Steve huffed back, keeping in the laugh he wanted to let out. “You’re never sick. S’like your superpower.”

You paused, as if remembering. He was right. But still, you felt unsettled, skin too warm and clammy, but the idea of taking off your sweater - Steve’s sweater - wasn’t an option to you. At least, not to drunk you.

You blinked as the boy rolled socks over your feet, too big and sporting a soccer team logo that you hadn’t cared to remember. You wiggled your toes, eyes still a little unfocused.

“S’like I have clown feet,” you murmured and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Alright, stay there.”

He disappeared only to come back seconds later with a bottle of water, not quite ice cold, but cool enough that you chugged it with enthusiasm, gasping when you finished it. You blinked again, lashes fluttering until the cabin came into a clearer view, if only just. Steve was leaning against his desk, arms folded and smiling like he couldn’t help himself.

He’d slipped a t-shirt on when you weren’t looking, a threadbare thing that was stretched out at the collar and you knew from wearing it to bed too often, that there was a hole in the hem. He looked softer than ever, that kind of sleep mussed that you loved, where he looked like summer and Sunday mornings, long lies and breakfast in bed, toothpaste kisses and the promise of a day being lazy.

Your heart hurt as much as your stomach.

“Better?” He asked.

“A little,” you nodded, head feeling too heavy to be on your neck. You slumped, socked feet curling under yourself, your head falling to the foot of Steve’s bed. His sheets smelled like him and you groaned like it was an awful discovery, your eyes closing in protest. “M’sorry.”

Steve didn’t acknowledge your apology, but he did come to sit by you, up by his pillows where he could watch your chest rise and fall, lips parting as tequila flavoured sleep tugged at you.

[COPING ALL ON MY OWN BY BELUGA LAGOON]

“Why’d you come here, princess?”

You were sure you smiled at that, the soft way he said his name for you. Maybe you hid it, maybe Steve didn’t notice. He definitely did. “Didn’t feel well, Stevie.”

“No, I know, but—”

“Wanted to feel better,” you sighed, as if it were obvious. Maybe it was. You yawned, cheek rubbing against the comforter, the cloying, sickly heat you’d once felt slowly disappearing. “So I needed to come see you.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Didn’t think he could, not when his throat felt tight and you were stretching a leg out, bare and with an already bruised knee from doing god knows what. His fingertips brushed over your ankle and he received a soft sigh from you in return, lips curling into a sleep smile as you felt your eyes shut.

“You always make me feel better,” you added, feeling the need to explain.

Steve’s hand wrapped around your ankle then, warm even through his socks. You hummed, a sleepy, upset sound, soft enough that it made Steve’s heart stutter and he clung to you a little tighter.

“M’so sad that you’re leaving, Steve.”

He heard his heart break, he was sure of it, the boy sucking in a breath as he tried not to let his emotions out. It wouldn’t have mattered, you were drowsy, still too drunk, face pushed to his sheets and your foot in his lap. But you didn’t look as peaceful anymore, brows stitched together, lips downturned.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

The boy sniffed, lips parting with a gasp because he was crying before he realised, silent tears rolling down his cheeks that you couldn’t see and he nodded, swallowing hard to keep himself in check. “I know, princess,” another heaving breath, “I don’t wanna leave you either.”

Your face crumpled a little more then, leg stretching out until your toes dug at the soft of Steve’s stomach and he smiled, watery eyed but just so pleased that you were close. That he could touch you.

“Then why are you?” You asked him, quiet and gentle and so much softer than you’d asked before. There wasn’t any yelling. It felt more dangerous this way. “Why’re you leaving?”

Steve swept a hand up your calf, careful and wary, waiting to see if you shoved him away. You didn’t, you curled into him instead, pushing your leg into his touch, seeking out more and you sighed when he tucked his thumb behind your knee. He drew hearts there, on the sensitive skin, and smiled when you shivered.

“My dad,” Steve explained and his voice sounded a little wrecked, croaking and splintering.

You hummed again, knowing, your eyes still closed as you said, “Don’t tell him, but, I don’t like him that much.”

The boy snorted at your honesty, not seeing much point at reminding you that he was already very aware of that fact. You’d never tried to hide your dislike for the man, speaking politely when spoken to, but keeping it short and civil. You always made a point to place your hand in Steve’s under the table at dinners, squeezing his when his father droned on about futures and business deals and how spending six weeks at a camp in the middle of nowhere didn’t get people places.

“I don’t like him all that much either,” Steve whispered back, like it was all some sort of secret. “In fact, I don’t really like him at all, right now.”

You opened your eyes then, blinking at Steve in the low light. You saw his flushed cheeks, his red rimmed eyes, the tears that he’d not yet managed to swipe away.

“Steve,” you mumbled his name like you were going to cry too, fumbling clumsily to your knees so you could make your way up the bed, letting him catch your hands when you reached for him.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, not questioning it when you folded yourself into his arms, his face finding the crook of your neck like he always did. Your hands knitted into the mess of his hair and the boy wasn’t sure how someone could feel so happy and so helpless all at once. You were in his lap now, bundled there with his socks and his sweater, smelling like campfire smoke and you. “I’m really fucking sorry, princess. I don’t know if I said that yet.”

You shook your head, tequila and wine colouring your edges but Steve had his arms wrapped around you tight and he still smelled the same, like cedar and mint and sunscreen. “I miss you,” you mumbled, voice wavering as you blinked away tears, not noticing how they fell into his hair anyway. “I really miss you and m’sorry too, I— I don’t know what to do.”

Steve nodded, like he knew what you meant. Maybe he did. Maybe he understood all too well what it was like to feel lost, to be somewhere that felt more like home than his house did, yet still feel like it wasn’t the same as it used to be.

He wrapped his arms around you tighter. He shouldn’t have said it, knowing that tomorrow you’d both wake up and he’d still be leaving for Arizona in less than two months. He shouldn’t have suggested it, even with Eddie’s empty bed, the boy probably passed out in a hot boxed van with Argyle and Jonathan.

He shouldn’t have said it but he did.

“Stay?” His breath stuttered, a messy thing, as he pulled back and gazed at you. He wanted to lean in, rest his head against your own. But that was too much, too dangerous. “Stay tonight?”

He only meant to sleep, to lay next to each other and let the other be held, maybe for one last time. The idea of it stung, but the way you nodded and lay your head against his chest felt better, an overwhelming surge of dopamine that tricked you both into thinking everything would be okay.

Maybe that was just the tequila. Maybe it was just the feeling of being close again.

So he shuffled you both until he was against the pillows and you were against him, legs tangled and head on his chest. You hands made fists in his soft shirt, fingers twisting there like you were scared to let go. Steve thought maybe you were. So held you a little closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck and his nose skimming over your hairline, the closest thing he’d get to kissing you. He couldn’t cross that line, you were both drunk and god, he’d never recover from it.

He wouldn’t be able to leave you if he got to put his lips to yours again.

“Alright?” Steve asked, a whisper that stirred the baby hairs by your forehead and you nodded.

“Feel better now,” you slurred tiredly, nuzzling your cheek against his chest, sleep dragging at you. “…hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

The boy frowned, wondering what you meant. Call him back? When? When did you call? “What?” He tried to crane his neck to see you, but you’d pushed your face into his shirt, lashes fluttering. “When? What’re you talkin’ about?”

You didn’t answer, breath evening out into soft puff, your body lax against him.

“Princess?”

You were asleep.

—————

You woke up before Steve, slipping out of his arms and his bed before he could wake, the early morning hour and last night's beer keeping him pressed into his pillows, eyes closed, lips parted.

You stood aimlessly in the middle of the cabin for minutes too long, Steve’s socks sliding down your ankles, his sweater smelling like him more than ever.His chest had been pressed to your back all night, his nose buried in your hair. Eddie’s bunk was still empty, a sigh of relief leaving you your lips as you realised that there was one less person to explain to.

Robin was going to have an aneurysm.

Your face crumpled all over again as you watched Steve one last time, heart beating too fast for such an early morning hour. He’d taken to hugging a pillow in your absence, nose pushed into it, eyes closed and lashes fluttering, like he was dreaming. His hair was a mess, wonderfully so, and you fucking ached to run your hands through it, to sooth back the strands that fell across his forehead, to kiss the skin you revealed underneath.

You didn’t. You couldn’t. It would hurt too much.

So you left.

The pain behind your eyes distracted you just enough from the fact you still didn’t have shoes. Steve’s socks gathered pine needles and dirt as you tried to tiptoe down the pathways, hobbling past any particularly muddy areas. The camp was still asleep, only the birds just waking up, that ultraviolet morning light creating navy shadows between the trees, birdsong starting from above the canopy.

You guessed it was about six o’clock, maybe earlier, maybe five. There was no sign of anyone stirring, the curtains in each cabin still closed against the rising sun. So you paused at one of the crossroads, looking left and right as you decided what you wanted to do.

It would be mean to wake Robin, your cabin door far too old and squeaky to allow a silent entrance and honestly, the idea of your own bed didn’t entice you nearly as much as Steve’s had done. You wondered if Bob was in the kitchen yet, if there was food to be scavenged, something that would soak up the tequila and beer that was rolling around in your empty stomach.

Unsure, you headed towards the lakefront instead, socked feet trailing through the damp grass, morning dew collecting at your ankles. You were seriously rethinking your life choices, swiping a hand over your face as you tried to bring yourself back to life. You should go back to your cabin.

You should go back to your cabin and tell Robin you fell asleep in your car, or something, fuck, in a tree, you didn’t care. You should go to bed and sleep it off and never talk about how you ran to Steve Harrington ever again.

He was your ex. He was leaving. You were only going to keep getting hurt.

The other side of your brain told you that it wasn’t his fault, that he was trapped, stuck, as helpless about the situation as you felt. You remembered him telling you that he missed you too and that he was sorry.

There was a really fuzzy recollection of him whispering that he didn’t wanna leave you.

You kicked a stone, groaning through pressed together lips as you realised too late - you still didn’t have any fucking shoes.

“Hawkins.”

Fuck.

Murray stood in neon gym shorts and the most ancient camp staff shirt you’d ever seen, sweatbands around his wrist and his glasses hanging from a beaded chain around his neck. His socks were pulled way too high up his legs but shit, at least he had shoes.

“Murray. Hi,” you waved a little awkwardly, toes pushed together and hands dragging at the hem of the sweater as if you could hide the fact you were wearing sleep shorts and a top that was most definitely not yours. “Nice morning for a run, huh.”

He stared at you blankly, eyes catching your lack of attire. He sighed, turning around and waving for you to follow. “C’mon.”

It was surprisingly easy to follow Murray to the mess hall, his keys clinking together in the quiet as he unlocked the kitchen door. The place was still empty, the metal worktops gleaming, the overhead lights humming to life when they were switched on.

Murray turned to you, shrugging, his arms held out to the full refrigerator, the large cooker, the overflowing pantry. “Pancakes?” He asked and there was a small smile on his face when you nodded.

It was even easier to tell the man everything, perched on a countertop as Murray donned one of Bob’s white aprons, the material tied in a bow over his running shorts. He listened and nodded as you ranted, flipping pancake after pancake, stacking them on the plate beside you, only interrupting to coax them into your hands.

And when you were finished talking and your socks were almost dry, Murray nodded to the fork in your hand, the still full plate of food. “You done?” He asked, not meanly— just, well, just like Murray. You huffed, nodding. “Good, eat.”

So you did as you were told, dipping your breakfast into the puddle of syrup, eyes closing briefly as you chewed, the hit of sugar helping the impending hangover. You both ate in silence, Murray leaning against the kitchen sink and when you were both done, he handed you a large glass of water and waited until you drained the last drop from it.

“So, you want my advice?”

You stared at the man, unsure. Did you?

“Couldn’t hurt, right?” You shrugged, defeated and tired. It couldn’t ache anymore than your head, or the hole in your heart. “Lay it on me.”

Murray smiled and shook his head, rinsing off the dishes as he spoke. He was serious about it, surprisingly so, his voice losing that usual sarcastic cadence, his gaze set on the sticky plates before him.

“You love him, right? You don’t have to answer that. It’s fairly clear to see.” Murray sighed, like telling you this was tiring, like this was all old information. “And he loves you - that’s even more obvious. And I don’t know a lot about what you guys get up to back at home but… I’ve met Steve’s dad before.”

You frowned, confused. “You have?”

“Years ago,” Murray noted. “Think it was Steve’s last year as a camper. Think he’d come second in the relay race or the boat contest, or something. Anyway, before pick up, we did an award ceremony. Steve came up, got his little plastic medal, waved out to the crowd. His parents were actually there - usually it was some nanny in a black car, y’know?”

You did know. You’d see the same woman at school, handing Steve his backpack and lunch, kissing the spot on the crown of his head where his mom should have.

“Kid was proud as punch. Ran over to his parents waving this stupid medal around. His mom gave him a hug. His dad saw that that little piece of plastic was silver and not gold, and well…” Murray trailed off, a furrow between his brow as he remembered. “I think the chief had to go over and remind Mr Harrington that it wasn’t the time for a family dispute. And that his son had worked hard and was a damn good kid.”

It sounded so familiar, so much so that it hurt. You’d seen that kind of thing before, even now when Steve stood as tall as his dad. “What did his dad say?” You asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Murray turned and smiled at you, but it was sad, coloured blue by the story, the memory. He wiped his hands on a towel and sighed. “He said he wasn’t interested in a second rate kid. That Harrington’s were winners.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t need to. You were left with the stickiness of maple syrup on your fingertips, on the flat of your tongue, but something still tasted bitter, a sensation that made you wrinkle your nose and frown.

It tasted like guilt.

Tell me that I'm all you want

You didn’t see Steve for the rest of the day. In fact, you didn’t see him until the next afternoon, late into the Sunday, once the sky was pink and purple and the kids were eating s’mores around the fire.

You felt awful for leaving him in his bed alone, the covers thrown back where you’d slipped from his side and snuck out the door. Murray’s words had only made you feel worse as the hours stretched on, but you had convinced yourself it was the hangover, the sour taste of last night's beer. And when Robin had finally cornered you, you avoided her gaze and her questions, letting her shake her head and tut at you until the bell for dinner rang.

And the next day went the same, turning corners and weaving through woodland paths in the hopes that Steve wasn’t around the corner. Because you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad, maybe it didn’t really matter - because he was still leaving, right? This didn’t make a difference, did it?

But then you saw him by the fire pit, head and shoulders taller than even the oldest of the kids, handing out Graham crackers and telling Max she wasn’t allowed to play with the fire. You caught his eye without meaning to, unable to pull your gaze away and you thought about smiling, you thought about going over, you thought about saying sorry.

For everything. For all of it.

Until Steve’s pretty face contorted into a scowl, his eyes narrowing into a glare that you hadn’t seen directed at you in years. He looked pissed. Worse, he looked hurt. But he was doing his damn best to cover that upset with anger, lips curling at you until you glared right back.

“Jeez, did we travel back in time?” Mike Wheeler appeared at your elbow, his hand held out for the giant marshmallows you were supposed to be handing out to your group. “Why do you and Steve hate each other? Again?”

“That’s none of your business, Wheeler,” you replied witheringly, making sure you squished his marshmallow as you handed it to him.

“They don’t hate each other,” Dustin materialised at your other side, melted mallow dripping down his fingers, sticky sugar coating his hand. He looked up at you from under his curls, wide eyed and earnest. “Right?”

You looked down at the boy with sad eyes, a smile that was even sadder. You shrugged and pulled at a curl, watching as it bounced back. “Right,” you told him, even if you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

“My mom says that all couples go through their differences,” Suzie joined your group, two sticks at the ready, waiting to spear her marshmallows on for roasting. She grinned at you toothily, one missing after an incident with Max and a dodgeball. “She said it’s normal. But then she drinks a lot of wine and sleeps a lot so she forgets in the morning.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that, so you stared at Suzie with a strained smile and nodded anyway. “Sure, exactly. Yeah.”

“I heard Steve’s moving away,” Mike chipped in again, blissfully ignorant to the way your frown returned at his words. “Will he work at a new camp in Arizona?”

“What?” Dustin was aghast, chocolate dripping to the forest floor without him realising. “No! He can’t!” He spun back to look at you, as if you could fix it all. You wish you could’ve. “He can’t, right?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stood amongst the kids and stared at Steve through the crowd. He wasn’t smiling, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as they continued to hand out snacks, and whenever the boy looked up and caught your gaze, the furrow between his brows reappeared. You thought about Steve in a new state, across the country in a dorm room that had a bed you’d never sleep in, one that was open to other girls, girls you’d never know about.

Maybe there would be another camp, there’d certainly be another job. And there would be classes and lectures, campus coffee shops and student bars, all overflowing with new people to meet. Maybe Steve would find someone there, someone he didn’t hate at first, someone who he could flirt with, someone who didn’t know about his parents, his past, his daddy’s influence.

Maybe he’d be happier there. Without you.

Dustin was still looking at you, waiting for a response. You tried to smile, you did. But it was tight and watery, and not believable at all. “I don’t know, bud,” you shrugged. “It’s… whatever.”

If Steve could decide that he didn’t care anymore, that he could go back to glaring at you across the forest, you could too. What did he expect you to do? Wake up in his arms and suddenly decide that you were okay with moving to another state? That you were happy to obey his fathers orders, just like he was?

It didn’t make a difference. Nothing would change. It didn’t matter. If Steve wanted to play enemies again, fine. You’d give as good as he did.

—————

When Dustin and El found you later that day, you were glad for the distraction. The lake had been quiet after swimming classes, the forest shrouded in shadows after heavy clouds rolled in, hiding the sun. The two had run towards you from the centre of camp, sneakers kicking up dust as you watched them, ignoring how Billy was trying to edge closer, fingers teasing at the straps of your swimsuit.

You’d told him to leave you alone, you’d told him to fuck off. You’d even tried to ignore him. Every option only made the boy grin wider. So you left your post on the dock and made your way towards the kids, smiling up until you saw their worried faces, panic in their eyes. You moved faster, meeting them by the shoreline, concern growing like a knot in your stomach.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, already searching over their heads for some kind of danger, for an emergency.

“Will needs help!” Dustin urged as El grabbed your hand, tugging at you, waiting for you to follow.

“What? What’s wrong? Where is he?” You were already running with them, following them past the mess hall, past the gym, towards where the cabins grew older, damp and unused, overgrown with vines and weeds.

“Uh, an allergic reaction!” Dustin yelled.

“Asthma attack!” El told you at the same time.

You slowed, just a little, your pace stumbling at each answer. You looked down at the girl, her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, wondering if you’d heard them both right. “Wait, wha—?” But then Dustin was grabbing your other hand and pulling you with determination, feet tripping over fallen branches until a cabin came into view.

Lucas and Max were standing outside of it, waving their arms like they were trying to flag you down, as if you could miss them.

“He’s in here!” Lucas told you, worried scrambled with what you thought was panic. “We think it’s a snake bite. Maybe a tarantula!”

Again, you stopped, looking between the four kids with confusion wrinkling your features. “What? A tarantula? Guys— shouldn’t we get Hopper? Someone needs to—”

“Mike and Suzie are getting him,” Max assured you, smiling too sweetly as Lucas and El placed their hands on your back, pushing you towards the door.

The cabin was dark, most of the windows boarded up, broken glass on the forest floor. Why the fuck was Will in there? Before you could ask, you were shoved one final time, the door slamming shut behind you. You made a sound of protest, turning to wiggle the handle but it was already locked.

“Guys! What the hell!” You thumped on the door with a fist, rattling the wood until the old hinges squeaked in protest. It wouldn’t budge. “Are you kidding me?”

There was nothing but the sound of birds, insects that buzzed and the distant sound of kids on the lake. “Guys! Dustin! I swear to god, you’re gonna be in so much trouble. I know this was your idea—”

The rusting of leaves, a twig snapping and then more voices. Hushed whispers that were interjected with another voice, an older one.

Male and annoyed.

No.

The cabin door opened abruptly and before you could barge your way out, another body was shoved inside, clumsy and disorientated. The figure was tall, broad shouldered and wearing a camp counsellor shirt, the forest green cotton sun bleached and faded. The boy’s hair was a mess, his cheeks already freckled from the sun, his brown eyes squinting into the dim light as he adjusted out of the sun.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“What the fuck?” Steve stood in the middle of the empty cabin, scowling at you even through his confusion. But the door had already been slammed shut again, the metallic clunk of a deadbolt sliding into place. “What’s going on? Those little shits told me they found a fucking bear cub.”

You rolled your eyes, stomping over to the door to bang on it again. “There’s no bears in Indiana, Steve, we’ve been over this.” You huffed when Steve swore and suddenly the cabin felt five times as small. “Dustin! Max!”

Silence.

“Then how’d they get you here, huh?” Steve spat, marching over to one of the boarded windows, doing his best to push the planks free of the rusted nails. “Did they tell you Hargrove was wet and waiting or something?”

You stared at him, gaze withering as you attempted to ram your shoulder into the door. It did nothing but bruise your arm and your ego, the wood refusing to move. “Get over yourself, Steve. Just because you’re happy to let Chrissy follow you around with her pom-poms out, doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump the next guy I see. Lucas! I know you’re still there! El, open the door!”

The space outside the cabin was silent and for a horrified second, you were almost sure the kids had left.

“I told you, it’s not like that,” Steve growled, slamming his palm into the board one more time.

“Yeah, well, despite me being repulsed by Billy Hargrove for the last five years, you don’t seem to get that it’s not like that either,” your voice was poisonous, your glare just as deadly. “So let’s not play that game, Harrington.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, forgetting about his escape plan to round on you instead. “Oh, so it’s Harrington again, is it?”

[EXILE BY TAYLOR SWIFT FT. BON IVER]

It felt awfully familiar, the sharpness in his tone, the mocking laughter, the way he glared at you. ‘Cause despite the anger, the annoyance, the frustration, a tension was still there that you’d recognised from your first year at camp with Steve.

A feeling that followed you home to Hawkins, one that greeted you every time you bumped into the boy in the supermarket, every time you spotted him at the pool, the arcade, the bowling alley. A tension that fizzed and popped, your own personal storm that crackled everytime Steve Harrington was near.

Except now - just like the beginning - you weren’t able to do anything about it.

“I can think of names that are a lot less nice than that,” you snapped back, turning away from the door to face him. “Take your pick, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you would, princess,” Steve was closer now, toe to toe, another achingly familiar position. You could smell his cologne, his sunscreen. You could see the way new freckles had gathered across the bridge of his nose. “No need to get bitchy about it though.”

All thoughts of kissing him, of lunging forward and pushing your lips to his to try and end this mess - to fix it - left your head at his words. You gaped at him, anger rising, blood boiling. Steve looked at you like he knew he’d overstepped.

“Bitchy?” You repeated, your voice getting higher in pitch and volume. “About it? It?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“What’s ‘it’ Steve?” You steamrolled him, arms crossed over your chest as you took another step forward, your converse kicking at the toes of his sneakers. “Our breakup? I'm not to get bitchy about that?”

“Hey, you’re the one who broke up with me,” Steve shot back, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “So don’t act all high and mighty about it.”

“I broke up with you?” You scoffed, letting the annoyance buzz at your skin like a swarm of wasps, anything to stop yourself from crying. “You’re leaving, Steve. You’re leaving me, remember?”

“You left me the other night!” Steve burst out, throwing back his response like it was suddenly a competition, a contest to see who hurt the other more. To see who’s heart was the most broken. “You left. I woke up, and you were fucking gone, so don’t start yelling about being left alone.”

You weren’t sure who was winning.

“You’re moving across the fucking country!” You yelled, finally snapping, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “You’re really, really leaving me.”

You took a step back then, and another and another, clumsy through the cabin until your back hit a table. Steve’s hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted you to hold onto it. He didn’t move.

“What do you want me to do?” Steve said, his voice more serious than you’d ever heard it. In fact, he sounded a little like his dad. “You want me to say no to him? Huh? D’you want me to say fuck it to the last opportunity I’ll probably ever get? Want me to stay unsuccessful with a shit job and a shit wage and just hope one day I can do enough for you? For us?”

Your eyes turned watery at that, despite the anger his words ignited in you, the frustration. “You’ve always been enough for me, Steve.”

The boy came closer then, like he’d wanted to. His footsteps were unsure, nervous and slow, but when he realised you weren’t backing away, you weren’t running, he was suddenly toe to toe. He was taller, tall enough for you to have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and you didn’t try to hide your tears. You held your head proud instead, refusing to look away. Your stubbornness made the boy smile, a little knowing, a little sad. ‘Cause he wanted to wipe your eyes, sweep his thumb under your lash line and pull you close.

“So what do I do, princess? Rip up the acceptance letter and mail the pieces to my dad? Hope he doesn’t kick me out of the family? Hope I have a bed to go back to? Do I get down on my knees for you here? Do I beg for you? Do I ask you to be mine again and hope to fuck that what ever comes next works out for us? Do I go back to Family Video and wait for you to work out what you wanna do with your life too?”

Steve wasn’t teary eyed like you were, but his expression seemed worse. His brows knitted together, his gaze helpless, sad, worried. But his hands were frantic, suddenly on your waist and pulling you close, chests bumping, his fingers twisting into your shirt.

“Do I kiss you now? Do I fuck you over this table and call you princess? Tell you that-- that,” Steve choked on his words, shaking his head at you like you were the one asking for him to say it. To admit it. “To tell you that I love you and it’s gonna be fine no matter what?”

You could help but feel the pull in your stomach at his words, the hook there that seemed to be tied to the way Steve kept his hands on you, your body pressed against his. He leaned in and you kept your eyes on his, noses bumping, lips hovering. It seemed so long since you’d last kissed him, years and years and years. You wondered what would happen if you gave in, if you pushed yourself onto your toes and pressed your mouth to his. Would it fix things? Would it change his mind, would it change yours? Would it make you feel better, even just for a second?

“Are you happy?” you asked the boy instead and you watched his bravado crumble in front of your eyes. “Are you happy about Arizona? About college? About finance and your future and leaving?”

Steve let go of you and stepped back, his warmth and the smell of his cologne fading. You should’ve stopped talking, you should’ve pulled him back and kissed him one last time, let him pull off your clothes, clumsy and desperate, you should’ve begged for him to make you come one last time, you should’ve made him feel so good that he’d never forget the way you felt wrapped around him.

“Would you be happy if I came with you? If I let your dad buy us some condo in Phoenix? If I went to college too, to study a major I didn’t want? Maybe get a job in an office where I gotta wear some tight, little pencil skirt and too high heels, but shit, it’s good money, right?” You were breathing harder now, trying not to cry, trying not to give in and say fuck it to all of it. “Would that make you happy, Steve?”

‘No,’ he wanted to say. ‘No it wouldn’t.’ He wanted to tell you that he wanted none of that, that none of that would make him feel any better. He wanted to yell out and kick the wall, kick the door. He wanted to grab you and pull you close, ask you to kiss him until he felt better, until he had enough courage to tell his dad that he wasn’t fucking following his rules. Until he felt brave enough to take your hand and let the pieces fall where they may.

Instead, he turned and made his way to the door, opening it easily, like the kids had heard enough and realised that this wasn’t going to work. Steve stopped then, his back to you as he paused in the doorframe, the forest empty and quiet before him. Like it was waiting for him, like you were.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Steve murmured sadly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I just want you to be happy, Steve,” you whispered back. “I want you to do what makes you happy.”

Steve walked away.

—————

Steve didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to get away from the cabin, from you, from the way you looked at him, the way you sounded. Like you were broken and hurt and it was all his fault.

Like he couldn’t do anything about it.

He passed the kids who were lingering by a broken log, kicking stones and looking guilty. Steve didn’t say anything, just tried to smile a little sadly at Dustin when he mouthed an apology, eyes wide and sad.

The wild roots and the overgrown bushes eventually gave way back to the normality of the camp, well worn pathways and the sounds of the lake. If you’d followed him, Steve didn’t know, he didn’t hear, he didn’t look back. His father’s voice was in his head, an echo from weeks before, a mantra about what it took to become a man, six figure paychecks and the white picket fence dream.

He didn’t want to go to Arizona. He didn’t want to leave you.

Steve kept walking.

A fast car, an office with a view, a mahogany desk, a custom leather briefcase, a pretty wife and a prettier secretary. Kids you didn’t talk to, a cheque book you could bargain with, a house that was bigger than your neighbours, a pool out back that was deeper than everyone else’s.

Steve kept walking.

A promotion, golf on the weekends with your boss, business cards with your name embossed in gold. Arguments at Christmas, couples therapy on your tenth wedding anniversary, a secret email address for the woman nobody knew about.

Steve kept walking.

A life like his dad’s, his parent’s.

“Is that you, Harrington?”

Steve groaned, turning to see Billy walking up the dock and towards him. The kids in Billy’s swim group were just leaving, variations of soaking wet and shivering as they all ran past Steve with towels bundled around their shoulders, greeting him with enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve huffed, levelling the other boy with a glare that told the other counsellor that he was less than pleased to see him. Steve waited until the last camper ran past them, stumbling towards the mess hall with wet feet. “Don’t cream your pants.”

Billy grinned, that wide spreading smile that made him look more dangerous rather than friendly. He was spinning his whistle from one finger, shirtless and tanned, sauntering towards Steve like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll try not to,” he snarked, eyebrows raised. “But word on the street is you’re the one who’s not gettin’ any.”

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve snarled, immediately on edge, shouldering his way past the other boy so he could continue walking to god knows where. Maybe he’d find Eddie. Maybe he’d let him sulk in the corner of the music cabin.

“Always trying,” Billy answered gleefully, ignoring Steve’s bad mood. “What about your girl?”

Steve stopped.

“My bad, she’s not your girl anymore, is she?” Steve didn’t need to turn back around to know Billy was still grinning. He could hear the laughter in his voice, the pleasure at his twisted words. “Either way, I’m pretty sure she’ll be gagging for it by now, right? You guys were always at it. In the gym, your cabin, fuck— I bet she’ll jump on the next guy who offers—”

If Steve was surprised he let Billy talk that long before launching himself at him, well, so was Billy. Steve’s fist landed on the other boy’s jaw with a crunch, a satisfyingly, sickening noise that only urged Steve on. He managed to grapple at the boy pushing him over until Billy tumbled into the dirt, skin smeared with wet sand and pine needles.

It didn’t take much for Steve to land on top of him, anger and frustration coming out as quickly as the blood from his knuckles. He managed to aim one more blow at Billy’s nose before the boy pushed him back, the breath knocked from Steve’s lungs as a fist caught his cheekbone, a crack resonating through his face, making his head buzz, his ears ring. He let out a yell as he tried to bring his knee up, catching Billy in the groin with it, pushing him back even as Billy tried his best to push Steve’s head into the forest floor, pine cones piercing his shoulders, his neck, his cheek.

And then the pressure was lifted from his chest as Billy was hauled away, tattooed arms lifting the boy off of Steve, Eddie yelling obscenities as Billy thrashed.

Steve scrambled up, launching himself forward without a care, ignoring Eddie’s warnings as he raised his arm again to try and land another hit but Jonathan caught his wrist, wrenching him backwards.

“Fuck, man. Let it go, yeah?”

Steve was panting, blood on his knuckles, a split in his cheek that was angry and red, pine needles and sand on his shirt and in his hair. “You didn’t hear what he was saying,” the boy managed to ground out. “What he was sayin’ about, about—”

“She’s not your fucking girl, Harrington,” Billy yelled, cursing when Eddie elbowed him in the side, never letting go of the hold he had on him. “The only person you’re gettin’ fucked by now is your daddy—”

Steve managed one more hit, a crack to Billy’s nose that Eddie winced at but said nothing. Unfortunately, Hopper had a lot to add to the conversation as he marched towards the group, yelling before he was even within hearing distance, moustache twitching as the campers that Steve didn’t even see, parted as he got closer.

“Harrington! Hargrove!”

Eddie and Jonathan stepped back from the accused, hands raised to show their intact knuckles, how their hands were clean, not bloodied.

“My office! Now!”

—————

Eddie jumped up from where he was lying on his bunk when Steve finally entered the cabin. The boy was flustered looking, knuckles wiped clean of blood but the cuts on his fingers and face were angry looking, red and fresh.

Hours had passed since Hopper had led the two boys into his office, both covered in blood and pieces of the forest floor, glaring at each other as they walked into the cabin.

Steve stripped off his dirty shirt as Eddie eyed him warily, dropping the comic he’d been reading in order to sit at the end of his bed and wait. When Steve finally pulled on a clean staff shirt and sighed, Eddie threw him an ice pack that he’d managed to wrangle from Joyce’s office.

“Did he fire you?”

“He offered me a job.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

Steve groaned, letting himself fall onto the bed, his hands scrubbing at his face, hissing when he caught the Billy inflicted cut on his cheekbone. “He offered me a fucking job, dude. Didn’t even yell.”

“Like, a new job? An actual job?” Eddie moved to the end of Steve’s bed, shoving at his friend's legs until there was enough room for him to sit. “What the fuck?”

“He dealt with Hargrove and told him to walk it off,” Steve murmured, wincing when he brought the ice pack to his face. “Then he sat me down and asked me what the fuck I was playing at. He wasn’t even mad about the fight, he told me he’d heard about Arizona—‘bout my dad.”

Eddie just waited, breath held as he wondered where this was going, if Steve was going to crack.

“He said it was a real shame I wouldn’t be back next summer and that it was an even bigger crime that I was listening to Michael Harrington.”

Eddie’s mouth fell open and he picked at the bedspread, suddenly feeling awkward. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Shit. Told me he knew my dad from school, apparently they played football together or somethin’. Said he was sad that I was doing something I didn’t wanna do.”

Eddie paused then, waiting. Waiting for Steve to admit it to him the same way he’d get to admit it to himself. “What did you say?”

“Nothing at first.” Steve shrugged. “But he sat and stared me out like some kinda cop and fuck, I dunno. I started rambling.”

With raised brows and an expectant expression, Eddie waved his hand at the boy. “About?”

Steve squirmed, pink cheeked and embarrassed. He stared at the bedsheets, shrugging. “Everything, I guess. Anyway, he said he and Murray have been planning to open this kids club thing for a while, some kind of community centre. S’open seven days a week, all through the year. Not just summer.”

Steve stood up then, pacing, his hand going to his hair to pull ag the strands and Eddie had to turn to watch him, up and down, up and down the cabin.

“He wants me to run it.”

“Shit,” Eddie was quiet, shocked.

“Shit,” Steve agreed.

“Like, a manager?”

“Yeah, like a manager. Full time.” Steve let out another sigh and he sounded tense. Stressed. “It’s in Shelbyville.”

Eddie let out a low whistle, flopping back onto the space Steve had vacated. His head hit the pillows and he smiled, unable to help himself. “That’s near Hawkins, right?”

“‘Bout a half hour out,” Steve confirmed.

“Hell of a lot closer than Arizona, huh?”

“Yeah, sure is.”

“So, he offered you it, just like that?” Eddie snapped his fingers and stared at the beams across the ceiling, not sure how far he could push Steve. “No degree needed?”

“No degree needed,” Steve repeated. He sounded dazed. “Good pay, healthcare, dental, pension. Everything. Hop said he thought I’d be really good at it. That he couldn’t imagine asking anyone else.”

Steve didn’t say anything about how his manager’s words made him realise that his dad didn’t know him at all. Less than he’d originally thought.

Silence took over, just for a few minutes and Steve did the same as Eddie, flopping down onto the other bunk with a soft ‘oof’, his arms stretched out the mattress and his eyes trained on the ceiling. In the quiet, he could hear the kids by the lake, wrestled into order by another staff member, someone who sounded like Nancy. A whistle blew, shrill and sharp and then splashes, happy shrieks. Steve lay until the sun warmed his face, until he had to squint and sit up, the cabin filled with that golden kind of light that only appeared around dinner time.

The same light hit off Eddie’s rings, silver turning even brighter and rainbows bounced off of them, tiny and scattering across the walls when Eddie moved. He sat up when Steve did, both boys peach and pink coloured in the sun.

“So, what’re you gonna do?” Eddie finally asked. He said it softly, like he was scared to ask, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I’m not sure,” Steve replied honestly and he didn’t try to hide the distress on his features. He felt tired, too heavy. A little lost. “But I don’t want to fucking go to Arizona.”

PART TWO

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