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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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We Tried The World CH7. (The Last Chapter)

THE MASTERLIST CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA, CALIFORNIA. 2305 MILES FROM HOME.

Driving out of Nevada was much like driving into it, the roads long and seemingly unending as you drove through the desert. Mountains lined the horizon on either side of you, the rising sun making everything hazy, peach and tangerine skies, clouds that looked too big to be real.

Steve’s hands were busy, one on the wheel, the other on your bare leg, high up so his fingers could curl around the inside of your thigh, just below the ripped hem of your shorts. His sweater was too long on your arms and it smelled like the cheap detergent from the laundromat, Steve’s cologne and chlorine pools and sunscreen.

It had been easy to wake up that morning in Steve’s arms, the sun barely in the sky as the lights of the city lit up the inside of the motel room. You were both still naked, tangled in sheets and bathed in warm, summer air, your head resting on the boy’s chest as it fell and rose softly underneath you.

You knew he was awake when his large hand cupped the back of your head, fingers carding through your hair, gentle enough to make you sigh and stir. He’d grinned even though you couldn’t see, his heart going haywire at the feeling of you against him, the memories of what had happened only a few hours before, how he could smell your perfume, could remember the way you’d felt around him. It made his chest ache, how you were suddenly his last and first thought of the night and say, how he looked at the sun in the sky and thought of you, how lakes and valleys and entire mountain ranges reminded him of you.

So it felt normal, it felt right, when you shifted up his body, the slow drag of warm skin on warm skin. Steve sighed at the feel of your soft skin and he caught at your waist when you slid a leg over his hips, straddling him. Each pass of your lips over Steve’s was lazy and languid, a slow, soft sigh of a kiss that tasted like leftover mint toothpaste and sleep, and it didn’t take long for the boy to roll you both, keeping you in the cradle of his arms as he tucked you underneath him.

Steve was as warm as a summer's day, radiating heat from all the bare skin he had on show, his mouth hot and growing a little more insistent against yours. He groaned when you spread your legs for him, when he settled himself into the cradle of your thighs and kissed you a little deeper. Everything was soft noises, happy little huffs of breaths between kisses that grew more desperate as the sun started to rise and paint you both in a rose coloured light.

The city grew louder when Steve kissed his way down your body, hands dragging down your sternum, over the soft of your stomach until he was able to mouth at your hip bone and throw one of your legs over his shoulder. His hand pushed at your other thigh, spreading you for him and he looked up at your through messy hair when he pressed a kiss to the inside of your leg, right where the edge of your underwear would’ve normally sat - if you’d been wearing any.

A push of his lips, gentle, open mouth and wet. A wide, warm hand on your leg1, the rough scratch of his stubble on your skin. Big, brown eyes, earnest and full of so much fucking affection it made your chest ache.

“Can I?”

You nodded, swallowed hard, not trusting your own voice, ‘cause Steve’s was a sleepy, rough rasp, tinted with want and it made you lose your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” They boy coaxed, wanting to hear you, wanting to know that you wanted - no, needed - this too. “Can I taste you? Can I put my mouth on you, sweetheart?”

“Uhuh,” you gasped, keening high when Steve brought his mouth down onto you, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds. “Fu-uck, Steve--”

You both brought the morning in like, with Steve between your thighs, licking softly at you until you were crying, back arched, pulling at his hair until he groaned into you, finger shaped bruises painted lavender on your hips. You showered together afterwards, the lights off and the only sound the rush of the water against the tub, the soft gasps and choked off groans of the boy as you made him come with your hand and mouth, his hand pushed to your cheek in an awfully sweet gesture as you tried to take as much of him as you could down your throat.

You’d checked out with flushed cheeks and damp hair that was a little messy, Steve’s sweater covering the bruises he’d sucked and nipped over your chest, the hem of it skimming your shorts. Steve brought the car around as you walked out onto the street, the day barely starting, the clock on the car’s dash telling you it was barely seven o’clock.

You left the city behind with Steve, matching smiles on your faces and the car windows down, heading towards the ocean with a promise you suddenly felt like you could keep. It was easy, to let the boy touch you, to lean into it, to look at him like he looked at you, with a softness you weren’t used to.

Steve Harrington was summer and he had wildflowers growing between his ribs, but he looked at you like you were the sun.

You passed over the state line and into california with held breaths, the air stuck in your chest until it burned a little, tension and anticipation and excitement bleeding out of you until you were driving through the Mountain Pass with Steve’s hand still curled around your thigh and you realised that nothing and everything had changed.

You were closer to the ocean than you’d ever been, but Steve was still beside you.

The boy looked over at you, brown eyes honey in the new light, hair messy from where you’d run your hands through it. He smiled, soft and fond and awfully lovely, squeezing at the dough of your leg as the wind picked at both of your shirts, the flyaways around your forehead.

“Where to, babe?”

So you pulled out the map that was folded all wrong and creased, stabbing a finger at the Sequoia National Forest because Yosemite was too far out the way. You traced the lines of the mountains with your fingers instead, copied them down in your own sketchbook in black ink and drew Steve on the opposite page, an image from memory, the boy in bed with wild hair and closed eyes, lashes fanning shadows over his cheeks with his neck taut and his head thrown back.

Steve drove with the music quiet, murmured prettily to the songs you didn’t know, turned it up and yelled with you at the ones you recognised. The car kicked up desert dust and red sand as he drove, stopping at an old gas station with four pumps, parked up at the only one that worked as he grinned at you through the open window, winking when you flushed for him.

And when he went into the store to pay, coming back with iced tea and snacks tucked under his arm, you were perched on the hood of the car, shoes as dust covered as the BMW. You leaned back onto the warm metal, palms pressed flat as you grinned at him, hotter than the desert air, happier than you’d ever been in your life.

The boy threw the treats into the open window, keys rattling against glass bottles as he moved to stand between your legs, fingers pushing under his sweater to hook into your belt loops, pulling you flush. The kiss was joyous, electric, it tasted like young love, that first love, that real real stuff, playful and slow, like the world stopped spinning just so Steve could take his time to kiss you.

It took another car honking its horn at you both, a group of young guys hollering from their open windows at your public display for you to pull apart, cheeks flushed, Steve pink, hiding your laughter in his chest.

Steve grinned as he nodded towards the driver's seat, silently telling you to take a turn, hand slapping playfully against your ass when you let out a noise of excitement and skipped to the other side of the car.

It went like it always did, windows down, music playing, sunglasses covering your eyes but Steve’s hand cupped the back of your neck as you drove, fingers playing with the hair there.

You drove the both of you into the mountains, until the sand and dust turned to green and the trees grew taller, fuller. The roads started winding, taking you higher and away from the flat plains until the air smelled different, like creeks and pine and fresh, summer air.

It felt like a new adventure when you parked the car up in a gravel covered lot, smiling at the way the sun filtered through trees that were bigger than you’d ever seen before. Steve took your hand, led you through the paths and through the forest, walking past other tourists, people with kids and cameras and bikes and dogs.

And despite all that, there was a lovely kind of quiet, a special kind of peacefulness that you remembered feeling at the Grand Canyon, from when you passed over the long dam at The Ozarks, nothing but water to be seen. People spoke in hushed tones, birds tweeted and the sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above, painting pretty patterns across your face and Steve’s.

The trees got bigger the further you walked, old leaves and dead pine needles underfoot, the forest creating its own burnt orange carpet for you to walk on. And then the plants grew a little wilder, flowers growing from between rocks, weeds that grew like ivy until it all led you to the sequoia trees. It felt like walking among giants, like everything wasn’t quite real anymore. You knew you should’ve felt small in comparison, you were. You were tiny, a dot, a speck, the smallest piece of stardust on the bottom of a forest floor.

But Steve took your hand and pulled you into his chest as you both craned your necks, heads tilted back to look up up up until the sun got too bright and the sky seemed like a new kind of blue. You didn’t feel as small anymore, not beside Steve, not even two thousand miles from home when the entire fucking world seemed like yours to take.

You felt bigger than the sun.

Steve squeezed your hand, grinned down at you before he rested his chin on the crown of your head and although he didn’t say anything, and neither did you, it seemed like he agreed.

You spent the afternoon like that, Steve leaning against a tree that was older than everyone he knew, you leaning against him, back to his chest as you brought up your knees and used them to lean your sketchbook on. The boy watched you draw, watched you put pencil to paper until the shapes and the lines made the trees, the plants on the side of the path, his face, one of his hands.

He’d press a kiss to your cheek when you least expected it, his chin hooked over your shoulder, a noisy smack of affection that made you huff out a laugh, nose scrunched, eyes crinkled. It was a different kind of happiness, one you weren’t sure you’d felt before but, oh my god, it felt like the warmest day, the brightest sunrise, the kind of night where all the stars came out. Steve hummed a song low in your ear, peeled a gas station clementine until his skin smelled like citrus and he had fed you your fill as you drew.

When the evening drew closer and the trees became harder to see, swallowed by the sky that turned to ink and indigo, Steve led you back to the car. It wasn’t too long a drive to town, a tiny place called Earlimart but Steve watched you yawn and took the keys from you with a look that told you not to argue. So you didn’t, leaning into him for a second as a thank you before you climbed into the car, tucking yourself into the passenger seat that you knew so well.

You both brought in the smells of the day, the forest, the moss, the oranges that you’d shared at lunch, citrus, sunscreen and pen ink on your skin. It was still warm enough to keep the windows down, the lukewarm air seeping into the open car as Steve took you back down the hills, leading down into the valley until the dark roads lit up with streetlights and trucks passed faster than they should’ve.

It was easy to find a motel on the outskirts of town, the vacancy sign a fluorescent fuchsia, the walls aquamarine and crumbling a little. It was even easier to ask for one room, one bed, crumpled dollar bills exchanged for a room key with a broken number card. The windows looked out onto the road, quiet in the evening hour, flat fields for as far as the eye could see across from it. You wondered how far you were from the ocean, if you’d know when you got close, if you’d be able to smell the salt in the air, if you’d be able to hear the waves above the roaring of your own heart.

It was late but you weren’t tired, the muffled sounds of music coming from a room below, or maybe above, and the neon sign outside the motel flickered by your window, barely concealed by the paper thin curtains. But it didn’t matter ‘cause Steve turned on the television set and battled with the static, found a showing of Fast Times at Ridgemont High that was half way through and he was falling back onto the bed with a sigh.

It was a soft noise, a happy sound that made your heart swell and your knees weak and the feelings only intensified when Steve craned his neck to look for you, opening his arms for you to fall into. You did just that, content and warm and sun kissed and held like you were precious.

The evening went like that, with Steve eventually coaxing you to lie against the pillows so he could lie between your legs, his cheek pressed to the soft of your tummy as he traced patterns under your sweater, one eye open and on the television. You were busy above him, flicking through the photos you’d both gotten printed at a gas station between Moab and Vegas, the images grainy and full of colour.

There was Steve and you and Steve and you and you and you. On the hood of the car, underneath The Arches, both of you on the precipice of the Grand Canyon, cheeks pressed together, eyes bright with something you were sure you’d never seen before.

Then there were the pictures where you weren’t looking, laid out in the grass of a park with a coffee beside you, your sketchbook and the map on your stomach, eyes closed against the sun. One of you walking ahead, sun dress a blur of movement by your thighs, a lake in front of you, one arm stretched back, hand searching for Steve’s.

You’d already agreed to go back to Hawkins with Steve, to go back to the small town with the boy you’d left it with. You’d promised him with kisses and words and nervous nods of your head and every night since Missouri, when you’d spent an afternoon stretched out by the water, you’d remembered the way you’d asked the boy if he’d found out where home was. When you closed your eyes, you could still see the way he looked at you when he answered ‘maybe’. He was all curious and soft, like he was trying to work you out, like maybe he already knew something you didn’t, even back then.

And now, with these photos spread out around you, the past few weeks of your life captured in colour, you wondered if it wasn’t all that crazy to think that maybe, just maybe Steve was right. Maybe home could be you, it could be him, instead of a place, four walls and a roof. Maybe you could go back to Hawkins and build something different with a boy who took you on an adventure, a boy who was going to take you to the edge of the world and let you dip your feet in the ocean.

It felt too soon for declarations, too soon for big words with bigger meanings and the thought of it all made your stomach twist and tighten - but then Steve let out an easy breath, a huff of air that fell over your bare thighs and he scratched the stubble on his jaw against your skin, barely looked away from the movie to press a kiss there too.

And god, you thought, you wanted that every night. You wanted this every day, no matter what state you were in, what country. You’d spend your life under a rain cloud as long as you could have Steve Harrington.

“Hey, Steve?” You whispered, dropping the photos on the bedspread in favour of combing your fingers through his hair instead.

“Hmm?”

“Tell me a secret?”

Steve smiled as he turned, facing away from the tv so he could lie across your lap and look up at you instead. He didn’t let you move your hand from his hair, grunting in disagreement when you tried to untangle your fingers from the unruly strands, only quieting when you scratched your nails against his scalp.

The boy hummed, wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his face to the soft curve of your stomach. He was quiet when he spoke, a secret whispered into your skin, into the hem of his own sweater, the cotton smelling like you and him and the summer outside.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” Steve told you softly. “Like, ever. Not that I can remember anyway.”

Your heart did more than skip a beat, it felt like it fell down your chest, bouncing off a rib or two until it tumbled into your tummy. You felt warm, lips bitten to try and hide your smile ‘cause you felt like a lovesick fool and the only thing that made you feel better about it, was the fact that Steve looked the way you felt.

Bright eyes, rosy cheeked, a smile that couldn’t be tampered down.

“Never ever?” You whispered.

Steve shrugged, or tried his best to without letting go of you. He smiled and it wasn’t all that happy, not all that sad either because he was trying to remember the last time he felt so at peace, so ridiculously overjoyed at being with someone.

He couldn’t.

“Not that I’ve been like, permanently sad, or anything like that,” the boy told you and he thought of his friends, he thought of Robin and Eddie and the kids he called his family. “I just don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy before. This feeling—,” he gestured to you, pushed his nose to your navel and nuzzled. “This, here, with you.”

You grinned, blinked back the glassiness that made your eyes turn a little blurry and nodded, agreeing. It was an awfully lovely thing to hear, to be told, especially by a pretty boy who liked to lay his head on your lap, who looked at you like you were everything he ever needed.

Maybe you were.

“What about you, pretty girl? What secret do you have for me?”

You didn’t have to think too long and it felt like letting go of a inhale you’d been holding too long. It felt like breaking the surface of a deep, deep lake, surging up, sucking in a new breath.

“I’m not scared anymore,” you told Steve softly, “of this, of you,” you swept a hand over his forehead, pushed the hair that lay messy there away from his eyes so he could see you clearly, could watch the sincerity on your face.

‘Cause going back to Hawkins didn’t feel like giving up or giving in, it felt like trying again. And with Steve, trying again felt a little easier.

“I’m not scared,” you murmured again, soft, quiet. But god, you felt like you were yelling it from a mountain top, arms out, defiant, ready, full of something you’d never felt before.

Steve’s answering grin was brighter than the sun.

—————

It didn’t take long to hit the Pacific Coast Highway.

Steve drove, windows down, warm air blowing in the car and you sat beside him with your feet on the dash, legs bare with a dress hitched high up your thighs. You lay your sketchbook on your knees, running fingertips over the photos you’d stuck to the pages the night before, an image of you and Steve in Colorado pressed down beside the old photo of your grandparents house.

Two smiling faces next to the beach house with its buttercup yellow door, white sand, blue skies.

California seemed lazier, slower than the other states, peaceful in the way the hills and valleys rolled and dipped, more green than you’d seen before. The roads curved around collections of palm trees and bright flowers growing on bushes, the pace of everything slow, like no one was in a hurry.

It let you enjoy the scenery, bright skies, big fluffy clouds and the promise of the ocean appearing at any second. Steve must’ve known it was coming before you did, ‘cause he grinned and nodded towards your window, laughing softly when you jolted, elbows leaning on the open window frame, hair whipped by the wind.

And there it was.

Blue, blue water. A deep navy that went on for as far as the eye could see, crystal clear and aquamarine at the shoreline, white foam waves rolling onto the sand. Gulls flew above and boats seemed as small as ants as they bobbed in the distance. You weren’t sure what you expected, hoards of sunbathers on the beach, surfers slicing through the waves, maybe even huge liners cutting through the sea line.

But it was quiet, peaceful, unbelievably vast.

Water gathered at your lash line before you could stop it from happening, a hot, sharp prick of tears that made your cheeks burn and you pressed your mouth to your arm, staring out the window as the ocean kept rolling by.

Maybe Steve saw, maybe he just knew, ‘cause despite you not making a sound, the boy reached over and squeezed at your knee, the softest kind of pressure, the sweetest reassurance.

You stayed like that for a while, head leaning on your folded arms as you rested against the window frame, Steve’s music playing softly from the radio, Steve Nicks singing about going your own way.

The ocean kept scretching, curling when the road did, never going out of sight for long. It was only broken up by green patches of flora and fauna, some palm trees, a roadside vendor and some parked cars, people taking photos from the windows.

Steve asked if you wanted to stop, to get out and look but you were too busy looking at the crinkled map, nose almost pressed to the paper as you looked for the right spot, the name of a beach, the right kind of shape on the coastline that would tell you where to aim for.

So you shook your head and told him to keep driving, your breath catching in your throat when the roadside told you both cheerily, “welcome to Carmel-by-the-Sea!”

The road took you both down, sweeping along the coastline until a small town appeared by the shore. White buildings, white sand, a blue sky that melted into a bluer sea and you could hear the distant squabble of sea-lions on the rocks, music from a restaurant you couldn’t quite see yet. The air smelled fresh, less heavy with heat, a new breeze sweeping in through the open windows and you could smell the salt in the air.

When Steve slowed, driving through small streets, sidewalks lined with tourists and townsfolk, you could see the storefronts, tiny shops selling jewellery and trinkets, swimming attire and bakeries with windows filled with pastries and cupcakes.

It looked like a toy town, picture and quaint, so much smaller than Vegas and Illinois, prettier than Hawkins, neater than the wilderness of Utah and Colorado. A fountain sat in the middle of a square, a bandstand amongst flowers. Thatched roofs, cobbled lanes, wooden stairs that led downdowndown to the beachfront.

It took a minute to find a parking space, the town was tiny but busy and Steve’s desert dusted BMW seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. But you were able to draw a small heart on the hood, grinning when he tutted, ashamed of the state he’d let his precious car get into.

But the dirt and the soot was made up of so many states, hardly washed away by Colorado thunderstorms, only to be decorated again by Nevada deserts, the orange dust that blew off the mountains in Utah and you thought that the once shiny car had never looked more impressive than now.

You took Steve’s hand as you walked through town, your eyes set on the hint of blue you could see between each building, but it was hard to stay focused when each shop was so interesting, how the smell and promise of food was too alluring.

You gave in easily when Steve tilted his head towards a small coffee shop, both of you ordering something sweet and cold to drink, huge sandwiches that took up the entire plate, a bag of chips to share between you both. Steve paid, pushing away the money you tried to hand him as always, because during the entire trip, everything had been split down the middle.

And when you tried to argue, the boy’s ears turned pink and his cheeks went rosy as he shrugged, muttering something about wanting to treat you and suddenly your lunch in the corner of that little cafe felt a lot like a first date.

It was barely late afternoon when you stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the sun at its peak in the sky and Steve turned to you, hand lifting to smooth back the hair that had fallen in your eyes and he let his gaze flicker to where the ocean lay behind the buildings.

“Do you wanna—?”

You shook your head, tangled your fingers in his and tugged him away from the coast. “Not right now,” you told him and your voice was sticky and thick with emotion. “Not yet.”

You weren’t sure what you were waiting for, why you were stalling. The ocean was right there, just across the street and down a flight of stairs or two. You could hear it, you could taste it in the air and even as you walked in the opposite direction of it, you couldn’t help but turn around to chance a glance at the deep blue between a bookstore and another cafe.

Steve let you lead him around town instead, hands joined, stopping every now and then to peer into storefronts, tiny art galleries, bakeries with huge macaroons, cakes and pies, stores selling tiny figurines of boats and sea lions on jagged rocks.

And every now and then you’d stop, smiling until your cheeks hurt as Steve pulled you into him, warm, wide hands curling around your sides, cupping the back of your neck, sliding into your hair so he could kiss you soft and sweet.

It felt new each time, a touch that made your tummy tumblr, your heart drop and dip and surge in your chest. You were over two thousand miles from the town you grew up in but with Steve holding you to his side, you felt like you had everything you ever needed.

When the sun started to dip in the sky, the clouds falling towards the horizon, the colours above changing from blue to lavender, pinky peach and tangerine, Steve just smiled and told you, “c’mon, pretty girl.”

You let him tug you towards the stairs that led to the beach, white sand that almost seemed the colour of rose quartz in the setting sun. There were a few people sitting along the shore, a dog running in the distance and Steve didn’t question it when you walked further down the sand, towards the cliffs that held up the road that brought you both here.

The water was a quiet rush, slipping back and forth over the wet sand, making it glitter in the light. Steve held your hand as you walked, stopping to grin wide and bend to take his shoes off and roll up his jeans, making you laugh out loud, bright and joyful when he tugged yours off too.

You carried them in your free hand, took a deep breath and stopped when the beach turned quiet, when the sun was low enough to make the ocean turn crimson.

One stronger wave pushed the water a little further and you gasped when it touched your toes, just barely, before falling back again. It was cool, almost cold and you stared out at the ocean, endless, too big to comprehend.

It seemed like a goodbye, an ending, a ‘what now?’

But you remembered what Steve had said, what you had said, the idea of trying again, starting fresh, making new plans with a boy you knew you were falling in love with. And besides, it was a long drive back to Indiana.

“Ready?” Steve asked you and his smile was full of excitement, of possibilities, of something new.

So you nodded, grinning and trying not to let the bubble of laughter burst from your chest because it felt uncontrollable, it felt dizzying, it felt electric.

You stepped forward and Steve followed, that messy haired, brown eyed boy that always fell asleep in Mrs Cheltham’s English class, the boy that was suddenly your best fucking friend, the boy with sunshine in his chest, summer on his tongue, who tasted like rainstorms and lemonade.

He squeezed your hand and you took another step, brave, scared, excited, terrified. But you took another and another and another and—

You were both shin deep, the water cold against your sun warmed skin, the waves lapping around your legs, foam bubbling white and the sand underneath shifted between your toes.

You stood, eyes wide, lips parted, a smile forming slowly until you were laughing bright and loud, clutching Steve as the waves rushed lazily back and forth and the boy kissed the sound from your lips. You could feel his smile against yours, his hand on your cheek, catching your chin and his own quiet laugh breaking out between your mouths.

You’d done it. Both of you. Carmel-by-the-Sea. The ocean.

You were standing in the ocean.

“Happy?” Steve whispered, forehead leaning down against your own, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, the dip in your cupid's bow.

“Yeah,” your eyes were glassy, smile still there and you kissed the pad of his thumb, pressed your nose to his just because close was never close enough. “Really fucking happy.”

And when Steve turned, arms wrapping around you, head leaning on yours, he spotted a house on a small hill, white sand and tall grass lining the edges of it. It had white walls and a blue roof, matching shutters and a buttercup yellow door.

The hanging baskets were empty of flowers and the windows looked stained and dusty with age. Steve had seen it before.

“Is that—?”

You were already looking, staring at the house with an achingly familiar warmth. You’d never been here, never got to visit, never seen it outside of an old, water stained photograph, one that sat at the back of your sketchbook.

“Yeah,” you nodded, cheek pressed to the boy’s chest as you both gazed across the water and the sand at the pretty, empty home. “That’s my grandparents house.”

Steven remembered the first day, sitting across from you in a diner on the state line, only a mile or two away from leaving Indiana with you. He’d asked you why California, why here. You’d told him about the ocean, about dipping your feet in blue water for the first time and the boy had been smart enough to ask why once more, because there was so much ocean before Carmel-by-the-Sea.

And now he knew.

He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t press, he didn’t move. Steve held you until you were ready, placed a kiss on your forehead as you both took in the house with its pretty colours and its sand covered path. You waited until the sunset turned the white walls pink, orange, then lavender, until the sea got too cold and the breeze picked up.

Steve waited until you moved first, breaking free from his hug to take a step back towards the sand. He stared at you with an aching fondness and you were sure you looked back at him the exact same way. So you held out your hand once more, palm up, eyes on his.

“Let’s go home.”

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