#Thirteen Days in September | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xspeter · 6 months

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𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝘾𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙋𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙋𝙚𝙣𝙨 (𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩 𝙐𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙈𝙚 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣) / Part One

❣︎ 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

❣︎ Steve remembers the exact moment he ruined everything. He remembers when those blinds closed for the last time, and he lost you for good. But, it’s been a year since then, and Steve is determined to make you fall in love with him again.

❣︎ wc: 16.4k

❣︎ notes: 𝙚𝙭𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙚!𝙖𝙪, jason carver gets handsy with reader but nothing happens, some cussing

reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

September, 1979

You’d met Steve Harrington a week before your first day of seventh grade. You’d just moved to Hawkins from some small town in Pennsylvania - apparently your parents were big on the small town life - and you had been terrified.

You’d spent your entire life with the same group of kids and the same friends. You didn’t want to leave them, but you didn’t have any choice. And to a thirteen-year-old you, it felt like your parents were stabbing you in the back.

You still remember the tears that rolled down your cheeks as you helped your parents move the boxes holding your childhood items out of the U-Haul and into your brand new bedroom. Your mom did her best to cheer you up, “Look,” She spoke softly, tugging you into her side, “It’s so much bigger than your old room. Isn’t that nice?”

You just cried harder.

It was true, your dads new job in Hawkins was rolling in money like your family had never seen before, but you didn’t care about those kinds of things, you never had. You cared about the people and the memories you had to leave behind.

But, of course, none of that mattered at this point. You’d left. You still had your friends' numbers memorized, but how long would it be before it faded from your mind, and your number faded from theirs? The thought made you nauseous.

You spent that first night sniffling, surrounded by scattered cardboard boxes and various items. You didn’t even have your bed frame yet, the U-Haul had gotten delayed for whatever reason, so you were stuck with a mattress laid onto the dusty hardwood floor.

But, like there is with almost everything, there was a silver lining. Your books.

To most people, books are just that. Books. They’re boring, expensive, and seen as a way to waste time and nothing else. They don’t see them for what they really are.

To you (and your friends back home), a book was an escape. It was the perfect way to spend your time and the perfect hobby, and right now, it was the only thing keeping you from breaking down.

Your current book was about four sisters who all were navigating through different paths in life, and all finding different ways to deal with the world around them. It was a classic, and you saw a bit of yourself in all of the sisters. (The painter a little more than the others in all honesty.)

It was simple yet complex in all the right places and definitely one of your favorite books this year. You continue to read it through glassy eyes, doing your best to keep your mind off of your current situation, when suddenly there’s a bang at your window.

You jump up, arms instinctively hugging the open book to your chest. There was another one, and then another, and then another, before you finally swallow harshly and work up the courage to approach the glass. You placed your book gently onto the hardwood next to you, the spine up as it laid flat, and softly padded towards the noise.

Goosebumps rose onto your skin as you did, your short clad legs attempting to get used to the cold air around you now that you’d left the safety of your blankets.

At first, you couldn’t make anything out except for the house next to you and the starry night sky, but then you saw the cause of the noise. A rock. Someone was throwing rocks at your window.

You furrowed your brows and looked towards the ground, and low-and-behold some boy was standing outside your window. He had dark brown hair, wore a green sweatshirt with what you’re assuming is a school logo on it, and gray shorts.

Hesitantly, you unlocked your window and hauled it up, but not before another rock hurled its way straight at your neck. It hit you smack in the middle of your throat, causing you to choke for a moment and grab at the area. “Ow!”

The boy winced and immediately dropped the rest of the rocks in his hand, (why did he have so many rocks? At least ten fell out of his hand!) “Sorry!” He yelled out.

You glared at him, hand rubbing soothingly at your now sore throat, “Who are you?”

“Uh, Steve - Steve Harrington. I live next door.” He pointed at the house next to you, “You see that window?” He gestured to the one directly across from your own, “That’s my room.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing into thin slits, “Alright, Steve. If your room is right across from mine, why didn’t you just stay up there instead of going through the trouble of pelting rocks at me?”

Steve stills for a moment, and you can physically see the gears turning in his head. “Um,” He stumbles for a moment, “Give me one second.” You can hear him practically sprinting back into his house, his sandals smacking against the ground as he goes, and you can’t help but snicker.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t find the twenty seconds you’d spent with the boy so far to be the most enjoyable of this whole week, but it had. It was almost strange to you - to be talking to a boy. All of your friends back home had been girls, and you mostly stayed away from the boys. To you, they felt like unknown territory. What did they like to talk about? What did they like to do for fun? Did they have any interest in a girl like you? Would they ever have any interest in a girl like you?

All of your friends had had a boy like them at some point in time, some of them had already had boyfriends! But not you. No, never you.

Boys didn’t look at you. Steve was the first to ever even show any interest in you at all. It made your stomach flutter.

Soon enough, the light across from you flicks on and you watch curiously as Steve stumbles across piles of clothes and other knick-knacks to reach you. He struggles with the window for a second, before it suddenly pops open with a slight screech.

“Hey,” He smiled, breaths coming out a bit heavy.

Your lips twitched upwards at the corners, “Welcome back.” You teased.

Steve slapped his arms at his sides and let his head dip to the side, his eyes rolling a bit as he did, “I’m sure you missed me.”

You furrowed your brows, “You were gone for, like, five seconds. And I don’t even know you. Why would I miss someone I don’t know?”

“Uh, because I'm super buff and attractive?”

A snort slipped from you at that comment, “Yeah, okay. Keep telling’ yourself that.”

“I will.”

There’s a short pause between the two of you, and you nibble on your bottom lip. You’d never been able to banter so easily with many other people before. It made you excited.

“Soooo, where are you from?” Steve asks, effectively breaking the silence.

You sighed and leaned your elbows against the sill, your chin falling atop your hands, “Pennsylvania.” You answered dryly.

Steve nodded and copied your actions so that you were face to face, “I’ve never been there. I mean, my dad has for his work, but I never have personally.” He rambles.

You click your tongue, “That’s cool.”

Steve nods slowly, “Why’d you guys move?”

“Are you interrogating me?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

You quickly shake your head, “No, I do. I just wasn’t expecting so many questions,” you chuckled, nervously tucking a stray piece if hair behind your ear, “Um, my dad got a new job here. Some bank job or something, I’m not really sure.”

Steve perked up, “My dad works at the bank too! Maybe they work together.”

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

Steve licked his lips and glanced down at the ground below you. The both of you were only on the second story, but the grass felt so much farther away then it really was. “You don’t seem very excited about it.”

You bit your lip, eyes darting across his tanned skin. The summer had done wonders on him, but you were sure the upcoming school year would fade it away. “Because I’m not.”

“Why?”

You gave him a look, “Would you wanna move away from all your friends?”

Steve paused to think for a moment. To him, leaving Tommy and Carol wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. He could start over and ditch the reputation he’d built, but he knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for, so instead he said, “No, I guess not.”

You gestured with your hand and huffed out a breath, “My point exactly.”

Steve shrugged, “Well, Hawkins isn’t all bad. It’s not like there’s monsters hiding out around here or something.” He joked.

You could help but laugh along with him. There was something about the way he always had something positive to say to make you feel better, or maybe that was just how you were observing him in the last ten minutes. “You’re funny, you know that?”

Steve scoffed out a laugh, standing back and crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look nonchalant, “Duh, of course I know that.”

You snickered, “Don't let it get to your head.”

“Too late. I can already feel my skull growing to accommodate.”

Your body shook as you laughed, moving your face under your hands to hide yourself. Steve mentally fist pumped at making you laugh like that, and he prayed he’d hear it again, and soon.

Once your laughter died down and all was left was silence, Steve asked, “Are you going to Hawkins Middle for school? Or did your parents enroll you in that Catholic place down the street?”

You shrugged, “Well, I’ve never heard of the Catholic place down the street, so I’m gonna say Hawkins Middle.”

Steve grinned, “Great! I go there, too. You can totally sit with me at lunch and stuff.”

“I’d be grateful to be allowed in your presence.” You tease, pretending to bow your head.

Steve just smirked, “I’d expect nothing less.”

You and Steve spent practically all night talking. He’d gone down to his kitchen at some point for a snack and came back upstairs with two bowls of chips. After many failed attempts, some including one of you nearly falling to your death, you were able to grab the chip bowl meant for you.

Once both of you were full and content, it was already nearing midnight. If your parents saw you up and talking to Steve, you’d be in so much trouble.

“I think I’d better head to bed.” You mumbled, a sad smile on your face.

Steve nodded and wiped his palms on his pants, “Yeah, me too.”

You didn’t want this to be a one time thing in all honesty. You really, really enjoyed talking to Steve, and you hoped he really, really enjoyed talking to you as well.

You opened your mouth to tell him so, but decided against it, so all that fell from your lips was a simple, “Goodnight, Steve.”

He gave you a sappy smile, “Goodnight…” His eyebrows furrowed and he blinked excessively, “Wait, you never told me your name.”

He was right. You hadn’t realized it, but you never thought to tell Steve your name.

“It’s Y/N.”

Steve just chuckled and placed his hands above his head onto the window, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

❣︎

That following week had been filled with late night conversations between you and Steve. They’d always start the same - you’d be laying in your bed reading a book (you’d gotten your bed frame finally), Steve would throw something at your window, and then you’d talk and share a bowl of chips.

In all honesty, this tradition had become your rock. It felt like the one thing that was really yours in this new town.

That last night before the first day of school, Steve had seemed troubled, his brows crinkled and he wasn’t talking as much as he normally did.

“Whats wrong?” You asked hesitantly. You weren’t sure if you and Steve were at the point in your relationship where you could be open with each other. In all honesty, you were expecting him to say something like oh, i’m fine or nothing, why? But he didn’t, instead he said, “I’m worried about tomorrow.”

You furrowed your brows. Steve had been practically shouting from the rooftops how excited he was for you to meet all of his friends just two days before. “Why?” You asked, “I thought you were excited?”

Steve bit his lip, “I was.” He sighed, “But I went to this pool party at a friends house today and it just.. it reminded me of some stuff I’d forgotten about.” Well, that explained his fresh tan.

You weren’t sure how to reply to him. You didn’t want to push him or make him feel pressured to say anything, but you were also curious. “Was it.. was it bad?”

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Honestly? Um, kind of.” He groaned, eyes shut as he tried to find the words, “Tommy and Carol… they’re not the best people. And I know that I shouldn’t be friends with them but,” he paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose. You wanted to reach out and comfort him. “I feel like I owe them, you know? I was a real lonely kid and they were the first people who ever made an attempt to get to know me, but now…” He trailed off, his forehead hitting the windowsill as he dipped his head.

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You didn’t know Tommy or Carol, the only things you knew about them were what Steve had said, which were only good things.

You crossed your knees, left heel popped as you nibbled on your lower lip in thought. If Steve really felt this bad about whatever they were doing, then the right thing would be to distance from them, but you didn’t know his situation. To Steve, he felt as if he owed them something, even though friendship isn’t something that should have to be repaid.

You sucked in a breath, socked feet tapping rapidly at the hardwood below you, “It’s okay to grow out of friendships, you know?” You mumbled. “It’s happened to me, and we both parted ways happily without some big, dramatic fallout. If you really feel that way about them, maybe it’s time you do the same.”

Steve was silent for a few moments, and you couldn’t help but feel badly for him. “Thanks Y/N, but…” He took a deep breath and shook his head lightly, “I just don’t think that’s something I can do. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

You were a little shocked when he ended the conversation so suddenly, and were worried you’d said something to bother him. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

He chuckled softly, messy brown hair falling over his eyes, “Don't worry, It’s not you. But I've really gotta get to bed, okay?”

Unconvinced, you just nod. “Alright… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve crashes into his bed with a muffled groan, pink lips pulled down into a frown. In all of reality, he’d gone to this party and boasted to everyone about his new neighbor. And instead of being happy and excited to have a new person in the group, Tommy and Carol had grimaced at the thought.

“What’s her name again?” She asked, legs crossed as she sat on the purple lawn chair.

“Y/N.”

Tommy snickered and leaned over to whisper something in Carol's ear, and she got that knowing smirk on her face. The one that practically dripped venom. “Oh, you little friend can totally hang out with us.” She said, tone heavy with sarcasm, “She seems just peachy!”

Steve’s stomach immediately twisted, his intuition practically screaming at him to realize it’s a setup, and to do everything in his power to keep you away from it.

“Come on, guys,” He grumbled, wiping a hand over his face as water dripped from his hair onto the concrete below him, “will you please just be nice?”

Carol crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips, “What makes you think we’re not gonna be nice to her, Stevie?”

His nose scrunched at the nickname, anytime Carol called him that he knew he’d struck a nerve. “I’m not trying to say you won’t be, it’s just… I really like her and I don’t want her to stop talking to me if you guys do something.”

Carol snorted, her red hair falling over her shoulder as she did, “You like her? You don’t even know her!”

Steve’s cheeks flush a bright pink as he sinks further into his chair. Yes, it was true that he’d grown the tiniest crush on you during your late night talks, but he couldn’t help it! You were so kind and soft-spoken, and you always knew how to make him laugh. And the fact that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen was just the icing on the cake. How could he not fall the smallest bit in love with you?

That next morning you’d been practically shaking in the car. Your mom assured you over and over that it’d be a good day and you’d make lots of new friends, but it wasn’t that you were nervous about.

Sure, school without friends sucked but you could live just fine without them. No, you were worried about Steve. He’d been worried about something his friends had said, and you had a sinking feeling it had something to do with you.

As soon as you stepped foot onto campus you were immediately looking for Steve. You’d seen him leave his house a couple minutes before you did, so you assumed he was already here, you just weren’t sure where.

You swallowed as you walked through the crowded halls. There were groups of girls reuniting after summer vacations spent in Europe, guys with tan skin and even brighter eyes, but no Steve.

You get through your whole first period class with zero sign of the brunette boy, and it’s not until you’re halfway to your second do you catch a glimpse of him. His back is turned to you, but you could recognize that laugh anywhere.

Shyly, you walk up to him. You can see he’s with a freckled boy and red headed girl, who you assume are his friends, Tommy and Carol.

Carol notices you first, and she eyes you up and down with precision. She smacks on her gum before she nudges Tommy and gestures her head in your direction.

The both of them stare at you for so long that by the time you even make it to Steve’s side he’s already turning to face you.

Surprise flashes on his face, but it’s soon replaced with happiness, and then something you can’t quite read. The smile on his face is strained as he says, “Y/N! Hey!”

You give him a small wave back, nerves crawling up your spine at the hungry look Carols giving you. Like you’re her next meal.

“Oh my gosh!” She practically squeals, grabbing your arm and forcing you closer to her. You nearly stumble to the ground from the force but Steve grabs your shoulder and steadies you. “Steve told us so much about you!” She leered, well manicured hands hugging you close to her body.

You pushed away from her gently, uncomfortable with all of the attention, “Oh. That’s nice.” You glance at Steve to try and get a read from him, but his face is blank. He meets your gaze apologetically and crosses his arms over his chest, “Leave her alone, Carol.” He mutters.

Tommy flashes his teeth with a hateful grin, “Oh, come on,” He snickers, “we just wanna know your girlfriend better.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Steve defends, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

Carol rolls her eyes at him and then turns her attention back to you, “Look, why don’t you eat lunch with us today, hm?” She asks, batting her lashes.

Your eyes dart to Steve. You don’t want to invade his space (even though he’d said you could eat lunch with him days ago), and you can tell he’s clearly uncomfortable with the way Tommy and Carol are acting, so you attempt to say, “Oh, I don’t think-”

Carol cuts you off, “We’ll see you there, okay?” She draws out the syllables in the okay, linking her arm with Tommy’s and then walking away without allowing you to answer.

You and Steve watch them go, and you begin to bite your nails, a nervous habit you’d been trying to break. “I didn’t mean to-” You begin, hoping Steve isn’t too angry with you including yourself like this, but he just shakes his head with a sigh. “It’s.. fine. It’s not like Carol gave you much choice.” He attempts to joke, and you let out an awkward laugh.

Steve eyes you, clearly unsure of how to release the tension surrounding the both of you, but the late bell does it for you.

You barely bid him a short goodbye before you’re reaching for the map in your back pocket and leaving Steve behind to stand awkwardly in the hallway alone.

He watches you leave, stomach flipping at whatever he knows Carol must have planned for lunch.

Unlike Tommy, Carol was calculated. Tommy would be mean on the spot, he didn’t really plan out any of the things he did, they more so just happened. But Carol, she’d plan them for weeks.

Once, she’d pretended to be friends with Jacey Collins for nearly the entire fifth grade year just so she could embarrass her at her birthday party. Steve doesn’t know what Carol did, but whatever it was, it was bad enough to make Jacey move schools.

So, yeah, he was a little nervous for lunch.

He was even more nervous every time he’d catch Tommy and Carol giggling with each other, both refusing to tell Steve what the hell they were talking about, and instead promising he’d find out soon enough.

By fourth period, their last period before lunch, Steve had had enough. Carol was whispering something in Tommy’s ear, casually glancing at Steve as she did. Finally fed up, steve smacked his hand on the desk and said, “Carol, whatever you're planning, just quit it, okay? Y/N’s a nice girl, and she doesn’t deserve whatever twisted joke you and numb nuts are planning.” He smacked Tommy upside the head, causing the boy to rub at the spot gently.

Carol glowered, her eyes thin slants, “If you really have that much of an issue with it, why don’t you go sit with your little girlfriend in the bathroom or something. I’m sure she’d love that.” She giggled with a suggestive wiggle of her brows.

Tommy cackled, “I could totally see her and Steve getting it on in the bathroom.”

Steve scrunched his nose, “Gross, man!” He shoved Tommy in his chair, and then focused his attention back onto Carol, “This is the only time I’ve ever asked you to do basically anything for me. So please, just this once, can you just be nice?”

Carols lips thinned into a line as she swung her feet back in forth in her chair, back resting against the plastic seat. “If I leave your little,” she pretended to gag, “girlfriend alone, what’re you gonna do for me?”

Steve should’ve known that Carol Perkins does not do anything for anyone unless there’s something in it for her. He shrugged, “Anything you want.”

A cheshire grin immediately spread onto her glossy lips, “Anything?”

“Yep,” Steve huffed with annoyance, “anything.”

She shared a look with Tommy, the both of them almost looked to be communicating with just their eyes. “Okay,” She suddenly slapped her palms onto her lap, “We want full 24/7 access to your pool for the rest of the summer.”

Steve immediately groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t use the excuse that his parents would get mad at him because his parents were never home anyway and they knew that. That’s why she asked him, because she knew they could get away with practically anything there.

He’s tempted to say no, to refuse and let Carol have her way with you, but then he thinks about the soft smile you get on your face everytime he opens his window, and he knows there’s no way he could do that to you.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He already knows this is a bad idea, but he reminds himself who he’s doing it for. “The pool is completely yours.”

Carol squeals happily, immediately turning to Tommy to discuss what Steve assumes are the things they’ll do together, but he drowns them out.

All he knows is that you won’t have to be subjected to Carol’s cruelty, and that makes the whole thing worth it.

But, he should’ve known Carol would find a loophole.

By the time lunch came the knot that had formed in Steve’s stomach had disappeared, and he was actually excited to see you.

Tommy spotted you first, a yellow tray in your hand as your eyes darted across the room. “God, she looks like a puppy.” He snickered in Steve’s ear.

Steve shook him off, muttering a quiet shut up under his breath as he made himself known to you.

“Y/N! Hey.” You’d never looked so relieved to see him as you do now, your furrowed brows immediately relaxing. “Hi.” you murmured.

“Uh, I’ll take you to our table.”

You gazed down to his empty hands, “Aren’t you gonna get lunch?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at your words, “Oh, no. We never eat lunch here.” He gestured with his head to the rest of his friends, who were already sitting and were also without lunch.

Your gaze dropped down to your own tray, and you suddenly felt insecure. At your old school, you and your friends always ate lunch, you didn’t even know it was a thing not to. “Should I…” You trailed off, gesturing to the trash can. Steve immediately shook his head, “Oh, no! I mean if you’re hungry then you should eat.”

You nodded and squared your shoulders. Steve was right, no one was gonna care if you were eating lunch or not. It was just your insecurities speaking.

You gave him a genuine smile and let him lead you to the table, you sat next to him obviously, on the outside of everyone else.

Carol flashed a grin at you, “I’m so happy you decided to come! For a second there we thought you might run off to the bathrooms with the freaks!” She giggled. The comment made your stomach churn, but you were sure it was just some harmless joke, right? You forced a laugh, “Oh, no. I was just confused in the whole lunch situation.” You said, pointing to the empty spaces around them.

Carol hummed, pretending to be intrigued, “Oh, we never eat lunch here. It makes you gain, like, twenty pounds in just a day!” All of Carol's friends giggled, and that nervous feeling in your stomach suddenly came back tenfold.

“Oh,” You swallowed, “I didn’t know that..”

“Of course you didn’t, silly!” She eyed you up and down, “Actually, do you want me to throw that away for you? It’s probably a good thing you don’t eat that you wouldn’t want to..” She trailed off with a wince.

Tommy let out a loud laugh, “Yeah, no offense, but how often did you eat your other schools lunch? It kind of shows.”

“Tommy!” Steve shouted suddenly, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

To you, your body had never really been an insecurity for you. But Carol and Tommy’s comments suddenly have you folding your arms over your stomach in an attempt to hide.

Tommy pursues his lips, “It’s just the truth!”

Steve just scoffed and stood roughly from his spot, “Come on, Y/N.” You immediately followed him, doing your best to avoid Carol's smirk as she watched you walk away.

Steve led you into the empty hallway, hands clenched at his sides in anger. “God, I am so sorry. I should’ve known they’d say some dumb shit like that-”

“Hey, hey,” You shushed him, “It’s fine. You didn’t know. We did the right thing by leaving.”

The guilt still didn’t leave Steve though, because deep down he did know something was going to happen. He knew Carol wouldn’t stop just because Steve offered her something. And the thing about her was she was so subtle about it that it seems like she doesn’t know what she’s saying is mean, when in all actuality, she does.

“No, still, I shouldn’t have let you sit there.”

You sighed, “Look, maybe I just..” You swallowed, “Why don’t we just keep our friendship out of school, okay? I’ll find some friends on my own.”

Steve’s lips parted slightly, eyebrows crinkling together in confusion, “So I'm just supposed to ignore you?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips, “I’m not saying that. We just won’t go out of our way to see each other.”

Steve sucked in a breath. Doing that made it seem like he was ashamed to be friends with you, which was honestly anything from the truth. If anything, he was ashamed to be friends with them.

“I don’t want you to think…”

“I won’t think anything,” You reassured, “This was my idea anyway. And besides, this way we can keep everything more private.”

Steve took a breath and let himself soak in the information. You would still be friends, just not at school. Easy.

“Okay,” He said, “I’ll see you tonight then.”

June, 1986

Present Day

Getting a summer job at the bookstore was honestly one of the best things you think you could’ve done. After graduation, and the unfortunate mall fire at Starcourt which destroyed your job at The Gap, you’d been out of work and living with your parents.

For most people, nineteen is a normal age to be living with your parents, especially when you’re putting yourself through school like you are because you’re parents refuse to pay because you chose a local college instead of the prestigious one they’d picked out for you across the country.

Your parents were disappointed with your choices and you knew that, but you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving just yet. There were so many relationships you weren’t ready to end and so many things left unsaid with.. certain people.

Like Robin for example. You’d both met a couple weeks after your seventh grade year started. She was a year younger than you were, but she was still the closest friend you had outside of, well, yeah. Steve.

Yours and Steve’s relationship had grown much more complex as the years went on, and long story short, you didn’t talk to him anymore. It hurt too much to do so.

But, Bookish was almost like an escape for you. Most of the people that came in were either kids with their mothers, usually just beginning to fall in love with books just as you did, or they were elderly people who'd fallen in love with it way before you’d even been born.

Robin working there with you only made it better. She used to work at Scoops Ahoy in the mall, along with he-who-shall-not-be-named, but once it burned down she’d been left without a job just as you had.

She’d been over at your house during spring break, the both of you watching Footloose. You on your back, head hanging off of the edge of your bed. Robin rested her back against the headboard, shoveling another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “You know,” Her words came out muffled, so she paused to let herself chew the rest of her food. “That new bookshop or whatever opened a couple weeks ago. Maybe we should apply there.”

You readjusted so you were leaning back into your elbows, a slight raise of your brow. “Bookish? I just went there the other day.”

Robin nodded and popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth, “Did you see if they were hiring?”

You scrunch your nose, trying to remember. During your visit, you’d been too preoccupied trying to find the best book to purchase and hadn’t really looked. “I have no idea. But, if they're new, they probably have to be.”

Robin agrees with you with a nod of her head, and the both of you decide to finish out the movie and then drive down. Robin unfortunately doesn’t have a license, so that meant you were basically forced to drive her everywhere. Well, either you or Steve.

Robin used to hate Steve, even while you were friends with him. She was one of the only people who was aware of your friendship and what it had turned into, and she constantly reprimanded you for getting involved with a guy like that.

But, once they started working together at Starcourt, her view completely changed, but by that time you and Steve were already avoiding each other like the plague.

You glanced at the window, wondering if maybe Steve was on the other side. You hadn’t opened that window or even the blinds for over a year, too afraid of what you might end up seeing.

“Hey, you ready?” Robin asks, throwing her jacket on and leaning against your doorframe. You swallow, eyes lingering on the blinds before you turn to her with a smile. “Let’s go.”

And that was that. You’d both gotten hired nearly on the spot by the sweet old lady who ran the store.

Bookish was one of those places that made you feel like you were entering a different time. The floor was dark oak wood and the walls were linen, and it was lined with rows and rows of books. Some were neatly displayed while others just stacked messily.

It was June in Indiana, which meant all the electric fans were going and the AC was cranked as high as it could go, but the warmth still seeped into the building.

“It’s so hot!” Robin groaned, leaning over the counter dramatically, “I’m gonna melt.”

You snorted as you continued to organize the books in the fiction section, “It’s not that bad.”

Robin smacked her lips, “You say that now, and then you’ll turn and see i’ve become a puddle on the floor.”

You placed a hand on your heart in false sympathy, eyes closing as you imagined the situation, “That would be so, so completely horrible.” You sniffled, pretending to be sympathetic, then whipped your head to her with a teasing glint in your eye, “But maybe I'd finally be able to get some work done without that constant whining in my ear!”

She scoffed, pretending to be offended. “This is not whining! It’s complaining. There’s a difference.”

You grinned and pushed the cart holding the books back behind the counter, “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

She just rolls her eyes, slumping back into the counter with her head resting in her hand, “Whatever…” She trails off, eyes wondering across the building, and then she gasps suddenly, “Oh, shit.”

You turn to look at her, eyebrows crinkled, “What's wrong-” She cuts you off by basically pushing you to the wall, her hand covering your eyes.

“What the hell, Robin!” You huff, pushing on her arm in an attempt to release yourself form her hold.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“What are you talking about-” You’re finally able to push her away from you, her arm falling to her side as you blink in an attempt to get used to the lighting again. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?” You question, wiping your hands on your dress.

Robin bites her lip and stares right past you towards the front door, her eyes slightly wide.

You like to think that after so many years of knowing Robin you’ve become an expert on her body language, and right now it was practically screaming one thing. Panic.

Hesitantly, you allow yourself to look towards the front where Robin was staring. Honestly, based off of the look on her face you were expecting a monster or maybe even Tammy Thompson to be standing there, but the reality is much worse.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Steve Harrington is casually conversing with Mrs. Beck, the old lady who runs the bookstore, like he’s known her for years. He’s got that soft smile on his face he always got when something made him happy, and his hair has grown a little since the last time you saw him. His face looks freshly shaven, and he’s wearing that god-awful bright yellow sweater you’d told him to burn years ago.

“I can explain.” Robin stammers, hands coming up to tug at her shirt the way she always does when she’s nervous.

You scrunch your nose and force yourself to turn away from him. It should’ve been a no-brainer that Steve being here had something to do with her, because you don’t think you’ve ever seen the boy pick up a book willingly his entire life.

You point an accusing finger at her, “What did you do?”

Robin swallows, jaw opening and closing as she tries to find the words to defend herself. Finally, she lets out a loud huff and smacks her hands against her sides, “He needed a job! Keith fired him over at Family Video because he was apparently “stealing all the hot ladies from him”, and I told him to come here without thinking! I promise I immediately regretted it and I tried to talk him out of it but it was like he pulled the application out of thin air!”

You rub your temples in an attempt to calm your budding nerves. You didn’t want to be angry with Robin because she didn’t deserve your anger for offering her friend a job, no matter what your history with said friend is, but you couldn’t help the growing irritation in the pit of your stomach. “Why didn’t you at least tell me? Then I could’ve at least prepared myself!”

Robin stutters over her words, hands gesturing wildly, “Because I knew you’d be mad!”

“I’m not mad!”

“Mad about what?”

You’re almost surprised Steve has the audacity to join the conversation so casually, as if you were still the best of friends who talked every night.

You swallow and squeeze your hands into fists at your sides until your knuckles are a pure shade of white. Robin just stares at him with parted lips, eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uh,” She swallows, allowing herself to steal a glance at you, who has since paled significantly, “Nothing.”

Steve lets out a huh, his eyes lingering on you, who hasn’t had the courage to turn around and actually look at him, instead leaving him to stare at your back. Steve doesn’t mind though, a little bit of you is more than enough for him.

The three of you are at a stand-still, everyone waiting for one of you to make the first move, for someone to speak, to shout, scream, anything.

But you can’t move because this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in over a year. It's still smooth as butter and music to your ears. It’s the first time you’ve smelt his cologne, pine and oak but still with a hint of the ocean. It’s the first time you’ve been near him, and it hurts.

It hurts because you can’t help but wonder about how different your life would be if Steve hadn’t screwed everything up, if he hadn’t said what he said or did what he did.

The back of your throat begins to ache with an onslaught of tears fighting to be let out, but you swallow them down. You refuse to shed any more tears over him.

“What’re you doing here, Steve?” Even his name hurts to say.

“Robin, uh, she told me Mrs. Beck was hiring and, well, I needed a job..”

You finally whip around and face him, your hair following you as you do and harshly slapping against your face, but you ignore it. “That’s the only reason? I find that a little hard to believe.” You mumble the last part, eyes narrowing as you stare at him. Steve hadn’t realized how much he missed your glare.

“Yeah, it is. Why do you wanna know?” He asks with a suggestive taunt, almost as if he’s daring you to take the bait. You know how his mind works though, so you don’t fall for it.

“I just didn’t know if you finally decided you wanted to learn how to read s’all.”

Steve can’t help the smirk that grows on his face. “I was hoping you’d teach me, actually.”

You scoff, a shiver running up your spine in disgust. Of course he’d say some stupid shit like that, he always knew how to get on your nerves. “In your dreams, Harrington.”

Steve grinned, a snarky remark begging to spill from his lips, but you don’t let him. Instead, you flip him off and nearly jog into the back room, your legs shaking as you go.

Robin can’t help but feel concerned as she watches you leave, seeds of guilt already beginning to grow in her stomach. She furrowed her eyebrows and smacked Steve on the back of the head, causing him to let out a sharp yelp. “What was that for?” He grumbled, hand reaching back to nurse the spot.

“What was that for?” Robin mocked, nostrils flared as she pointed an accusing finger at Steve, “You said you were gonna try and win her back! Newsflash buddy, but making her even more angry than she already is isn’t gonna do that!”

“I know that!” Steve defends, “I know what i’m doing, okay? Just trust me.”

Robin was really beginning to regret this.

❣︎

March, 1981

By the time you and Steve started your freshman year of highschool you’d gotten involved in completely different social circles. Steve stayed with all of his popular friends, and was rapidly climbing the highschool food chain. You on the other hand, well, you were doing the opposite.

You weren’t exactly a weirdo per se, but you definitely weren’t cool enough to be associated with any of the popular kids, and that was completely fine with you.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but there is no universe where Queen is better than The Beatles. It’s just not a thing!”

“You’re just uneducated! Freddy Mercury is a musical genius!” You argue, pelting a potato chip across your window. It nearly hits him, but loses speed and falls to the grass instead.

He chuckles and leans back in his desk chair. You and Steve had both long since decided to just leave your chairs next to your windows, it only made sense since you spent hours talking each night. “I’m not saying he isn’t, but you’re forgetting about Beatlemania. Last I checked, there was never a thing like that for Queen.”

You groan and cross your arms over your chest, eyes flickering to the Queen vinyls on your shelves. “Just admit you’re wrong so we can move on, please.”

Steve is stubborn. He knows that on all levels, The Beatles are better than Queen. But you have that pleading look on your face, the one with the puppy dog eyes. The one Steve has never been able to say no to. He sighs and throws his head back, a lopsided grin on his face as he admits, “Fine, Queen is better.”

You smile gleefully and cross your legs, “Was that so hard?”

No, it wasn’t. If you looked at Steve like that and asked him to move the world, he’d do so without breaking a sweat.

“Yes, actually. It made me nauseous.”

“You’re such a baby.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t spent these last two years falling in love with Steve Harrington. How could you not when he made it so effortless? Honestly, you didn’t even notice it was happening until one day you looked at him and suddenly it was like the stars aligned in front of you.

Sometimes, you’d catch yourself staring at him for too long at school and would have to physically rip yourself away and back to whatever lesson the teacher was babbling about or whatever rant your friend was on. He was just so… distracting. Especially now that he’d joined the swim team and had begun to fill out his clothes.

But, you could never have Steve. There was too much on the line. The most obvious being your friendship, and that was something you just couldn’t risk losing. It meant too much to you. But, sometimes you still let your mind wonder. You’d let yourself dream of kisses on cheeks, of love confessions done under covers and milkshakes shared over dinner.

You’d always have to stop though, because thinking about it for too long just made you sad.

The obvious fact that nobody outside of your family and Robin knew of your friendship with the boy was also a big problem with this fantasy. You knew how Steve’s friends were. If he began dating you secretly and suddenly stopped being interested in typical, well, boy things, it’d bring up questions that Steve couldn’t answer.

So the general consensus here was that Steve Harrington was off limits for the foreseeable future.

“What're you thinking about in that big brain of yours?” He asks softly, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his face.

You swallow, embarrassed to have been caught but also unsure of how to approach the question. “Nothing. Just.. thinking about this project for school.”

“What is it? Maybe I can help.”

You snorted. Steve was a lot of things - beautiful, funny, athletic - but helpful with anything school related? Absolutely not. “I doubt that.”

“No, seriously,” He straightened in his chair a bit, hitting the backrest comfortably, “hit me.”

You chuckled awkwardly, eyes avoidant. In all actuality, there wasn’t any project, it was just an excuse you made up on the spot. But, maybe you could play this in your favor.

“Well, we read this short story about this girl who’s in love with a guy she can never have, and no matter how many solutions she comes up with in her mind he will always be off-limits from her. We’re supposed to come up with a solution for her to show that, like, nothing is impossible, I guess…” You trailed off at the end, rubbing at your arm uncomfortably.

Steve made a strange noise in the back of his throat, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyebrows knitted together. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, and sucked in your bottom lip nervously. Would he know you were lying?

“That’s a weird project.” He mumbles, completely unaware of your wide eyes. “Uh, yeah, it is.” You stammered, the confused look on Steve’s face made you realize how stupid this was, and you immediately go to discard the entire thing, “Just forget it, It was stupid anyway-”

“I’d tell her to just go for it.”

Your mouth goes dry, “What?”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He says no? And what if that guy really does like her back, what then? She’ll never know if she doesn’t tell him!”

Your stomach practically explodes in nerves, and you're unsure of what to say. Steve’s looking at you expectantly, but all you can focus on is that one short phrase. She’ll never know if she doesn’t tell him.

It was true, but was it really that simple? No - it’s not. The risks are too great, and sure, Steve makes it seem so easy, but it’s not. Nothing is easy when it comes to your feelings for him.

The one thing you were almost certain of was that Steve doesn’t love you like you love him. It was obvious in the constant stares at prettier girls, with fuller figures and whitened smiles. It was obvious in the kisses he’d share with them behind bleachers, hidden away from prying eyes. It was obvious in the way he’d gush to you about his latest crush, of how beautiful they were and how in love he was. And the funny thing? They were always the opposite of you. More outspoken and confident - not afraid to show a little skin. Something you were envious of.

“But.. What if she does know? And she can never tell him because she knows he’ll reject her and then everything between them will never be the same again?”

Steve is a little surprised by your question, and he begins to feel nervous under your piercing gaze. Why were you asking him this? Did you.. did you know? There was no way you did - he always made sure to keep his feelings hidden away anytime he was with you. He’d fight down the blush, push away the longing - all of it. In all honesty, he was starting to question if this was for a project in the first place.

At first, your project had hit a little close to home, but he didn’t let himself overthink it. But now, his mind was practically swarming with uncharted waters he’d always ignored.

But, still, he amuses the question. “Maybe their relationship will change into the way she wants. She can’t assume the guy doesn’t like her just because he doesn’t show it. Maybe it’s there, and he’s just really good at hiding it.”

You no longer enjoyed this conversation. Now it just hurts - because Steve doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you. He’s giving you hope, and that’s a dangerous thing to have. It was something you couldn’t let yourself have.

You needed to get away from this conversation and honestly just let it die out. You needed to breathe in the fresh air, finally let yourself take a full breath instead of this constricted, shallow breathing you were currently experiencing.

“Do you wanna go for a bike ride?”

Steve snorts, shoulders rising and falling as he does. “Now? It’s almost midnight and we have school tomorrow -”

“I’ll go by myself then.” You’re already slipping in your tennis shoes before Steve can even argue, throwing a jacket on to protect yourself from the cold night.

Steve nearly jumps out of his chair, brown eyes amused and a smile tugging on his lips. Usually he was the one forcing you to sneak out with him, so this was a nice change of pace.

He meets you outside, watching as you wheel your light blue bike away from the side of the house and to the driveway.

“Where are we going?” He asks, throwing a leg over his own bike and gazing at the soft smile on your face.

“Anywhere.”

That's how you both find yourselves now, wide smiles on your faces as you ride through the quiet town. You were used to the quietness of Hawkins, but not like it is now. There’s not a soul in sight, the only thing illuminating the road in front of you being the yellow street lights.

Eventually, you find a nice hilltop to stop at, and the both of you practically collapse onto the grass.

You’re panting slightly from the ride, but you don’t even care. All you can focus on is the starry sky, thousands of different constellations making themselves known to you.

Sometimes, you think Steve is like a constellation. Beautiful to look at and widely studied, but untouchable. Only a select few got to go up and be with the stars, and you weren’t one of them.

“It’s beautiful out here,” You whisper, hands intertwining on your stomach comfortably.

Steve gazes at the side of your face from where he lays next to you, hands behind his head. “Yeah,” He breathes, forcing his gaze away from you and to the stars above, “It really is.”

You’re not sure how long you’re out there with him, you just know by the time you get back home you’re exhausted.

You and Steve barely spoke a word to each other that whole time, only occasionally pointing out a star that shined brighter than the others or made a funny shape.

But, as you collapse onto your bed and drift into a dreamless sleep there’s one thing you’re sure of.

You are in love with Steve Harrington, and you think you always will be.

❣︎

June, 1986

You’ve chosen to completely ignore Steve, even when he attempts to talk to you. You’ll simply stick your nose farther into your book and walk away from him.

You’ll give him some grace though, because he never takes your rejection harshly. He simply watches you walk away with a sigh and turns to talk to Robin about something.

Robin watches you turn tail and practically run away from Steve for what feels like the thousandth time this week, and she’s had enough. “Steve.”

He turns to look at her lazily, hip resting against the counter top and arms crossed against his chest. He’d attempted to ask you what you were reading today because he noticed it was different than the one he’d seen you with for the past couple of days, but as soon as you saw him approach you shot him an icy glare and walked to the other side of the store. He could see you now, sitting in the window nook comfortably.

“I’m not sure if you’re noticed, but you’re not really making any progress here.” Robin scolds in a hushed voice. She wants you to be happy, and for the past year you’ve been anything but. She’s had to comfort you through too many crying sessions, had to stay over because you couldn’t be alone way too many times, and had to watch you close those blinds for the last time and never open them again.

Robin remembers how you were before Steve went and messed everything up, and she selfishly wants that back. Don’t get her wrong, she still loves you more than life itself, but she knows what you’re like when you’re happy, and right now this is not it.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “I know that, Robin. But she won’t talk to me.”

She scoffs, “Can you blame her? You broke her heart! Personally, I wouldn’t talk to you either after something like that.”

Steve stares at the floor in front of him, shifting his position so his back is leaning against the counter instead of his hip.

Steve hates thinking about how he treated you during your senior year. Actually, he hates to think about how he treated you nearly all of highschool. You didn’t deserve it, and you were an angel for putting up with it. But, sometimes angels get pushed too hard.

He still remembers the tears that stained your cheeks as you begged him to explain himself, remembers the hoarseness in your voice as you screamed at him to leave. But, he thinks the thing that hurt the most was watching you close those blinds for the last time.

That was when he knew it was over. Anytime you’d argued in the past you’d always kept the blinds open, it was almost like a peace offering, like your silent way of telling him you guys would be okay.

“I don’t…” He swallows, “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Robin can’t help but feel sympathetic for him. She understands why you refuse to talk to him, hell, she’d probably do the same thing. But, she also knows Steve and she understands how much he regrets his decisions back then. She knows how heavily he was influenced by the people around him and the constant pressure to be King Steve.

“You need to show her you’ve changed, not just tell her. I could tell you I had a boyfriend but once you saw me kissing a girl you’d know I wasn’t being truthful.”

Steve can’t help the snort that slips from him at her comparison. But, he knows she’s right. What good is it to sit here and preach to you that he’s a changed man if he doesn’t do anything to prove it to you?

You on the other hand couldn’t even focus on your book. You’d reread the same page twenty times in the last five minutes, and you still had no idea what was going on! Steve was too distracting - and not just because you hated him.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but sometime in the last year you’d forgotten just how attractive Steve was. The moles that dotted his neck like they’d been crafted by Aphrodite herself, and the way his eyes glimmered a honey brown whenever the sun shined on them. His lips, so pink and sculpted to fit the frame of his face. And don’t even mention his muscles or you might just faint on the spot.

You steal a glance towards him from the corner of your eye, watching as he talks with Robin about something you can’t make out. His head is hung low though, so you can assume it’s nothing good. Maybe she was lecturing him for bothering you, and if you were lucky he’d finally listen.

But, unfortunately luck never seemed to be on your side, and he’s approaching you faster than you can run away. “Y/N.” He has you cornered, your back against the window as you glare daggers at him. What the hell did Robin say?

You refuse to answer, instead choosing to go back to pretending to read your book. Steve doesn’t say anything, he just places his hands on his hips and stares down at you.

You're stubborn though, so you refuse to look at him, no matter how badly you might want to. Steve, seemingly getting the hint, just lets out a loud sigh and says, “I’m going to get food from Bennys, do you want anything?”

Fuck. You loved Bennys. But, you didn’t want Steve to let you saying yes get to his head, so you just let out a harsh no.

“You haven’t eaten since you got here four hours ago, that’s not healthy.”

“I’m not hungry.” You respond dryly. Glancing up at him through your lashes. His lips are pursed and he’s got that look on his face he always gets when he’s annoyed. He shrugs, “Suit yourself.” And then leaves without another word.

For a moment, you’re almost shocked. You’d expected him to fight with you more about it, but you’re not mad that he didn’t.

You practically shoot up and beeline for Robin, who’s already gazing at you like she’s been prepared for this. “God, I hate him!” You groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Robin snorts, hopping onto the countertop and picking at her nails, “Because he offered to buy you food?”

You shoot her a glare, “Because he’s pretending nothing happened between us.”

Robin chews on her bottom lip, glancing up from her chipped nails to a fuming you. “I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

“Since when were you his biggest defender? You were begging me to leave him not even two years ago!”

Robin winces at the memory. It was true, she used to absolutely loathe Steve with everything in her, but that was before and this was now. People change - and Steve Harrington was a prime example of that.

She stays silent, knowing there’s nothing she can say at this current moment that’ll make you feel better.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and lay your forehead onto the counter top, elbows wrapping around your head as you do. You’ve been arguing with yourself on where you stand with Robin lately. On one hand, she’d deliberately offered the one man you couldn’t bear to see a job at the one place you’d felt safe from him without even asking you first, and essentially ruined it for you forever. On the other, she was just a girl helping someone she loved get a job somewhere that wasn’t a shit hole like most of the places in town.

It just wasn’t fair that that place has to be here.

You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “I just need a second by myself. I’ll come back out if things get too busy.”

Robin just nodded, eyes glued to the floor as you walked past her and into the employee area.

Robin knows you have every right to be mad at her right now, but if risking your friendship was what it took for you to be happy, she’d do it everyday.

By the time Steve gets back the sun has already started to sink below the clouds, and there was only an hour left of your shift.

You were still in the back room, eyes puffy and red with the remnants of tears. It embarrassed you to admit, but you’d let a few tears and sniffles escape you. You were just so frustrated with your situation.

Steve walks behind the counter nonchalantly, large hands reaching into the white plastic bag and pulling out three styrofoam boxes.

Robin furrows her brows at this, only expecting two. “What’s the third one for?”

Steve’s silent for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Did you really think he was gonna let you go hungry? He knows you - knows you love Bennys like you love breathing. It’s the only reason he got it.

“Y/N.”

“But didn’t she-”

He shoots her a look that shuts her up as she realizes what he did. Her eyes crinkle as she smiles, and opens her box. “Do you want me to take it to her?”

Steve thinks for a moment about what you would want. Logically, he knows you would want Robin to bring it to you, but what would you have wanted before he screwed everything up?

“I’ve got it.”

He grabs your box in one hand and his own in the other, taking a deep breath before he pushes the door open with his hip. You're sitting there, arms crossed over your chest and nails between your teeth. A nervous habit of yours.

You look up, clearly expecting Robin, but your gaze immediately hardens once you realize it’s him. You push your chair out from under you harshly, it screeches across the floor as you do. You grab your jacket that hangs on the back of it and go to walk past him, but he blocks your path. “I brought you something to eat.”

“I said I wasn’t hungry.” You attempt to push past him, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he gives you that knowing, motherly look of his. The same one he used on Dustin Henderson when he babysat him junior and senior year. “You haven’t eaten since noon, and,” He glances at his watch, “it’s almost seven, Y/N. Pretend it’s not from me, I don’t care, just please eat.”

You're at a standstill for a moment, the both of you staring at each other. You know Steve’s right, but you hate it. It makes you feel nauseous that he knows you so well.

Finally, after much hesitation, you finally sit back down in your chair. Your arms are still crossed and you’re refusing to look at him, but Steve can breathe easy knowing he’s finally getting at least something from you.

He sits across from you and slowly slides your box over to you, which you open lazily.

You wanted to yell at him to go - to leave you alone to eat in peace - but it almost felt nice to feel his presence again. If you focused on it long enough, you could almost pretend it was still that blissful time before senior year. When everything had been perfect.

Steve watches as you open the box and inspect the food carefully. He can tell by the way your eyes widen slightly that you’re surprised by what you see.

“Is this..” You trail off, heart constricting in your chest.

He nods, “You really thought I wouldn’t remember what you like? Please, give me a little credit.” He teases.

You never even knew he had it memorized.

A ghost of a smile plays on your lips, head flooding with memories of late winter nights spent at Bennys with Steve.

You allow yourself to glance up at him, cheeks flushing when you find he’s already staring at you. As soon as his eyes meet yours he smiles, a genuine, crinkle-at-the-corner-of-the-eye smile.

You eat in silence for the rest of your shift, but Steve doesn’t care. Being with you is more than enough.

❣︎

November, 1981

Sophomore year is difficult for you.

Your grandma died just three days before Halloween, and it hit you hard. Steve was with you nearly all the time, not even saying anything, just holding you as you sobbed.

He never quite knew what to say to make you feel better because none of his own family was in his life. As far as was concerned, you were the closest thing he had to that.

Today marked a full week since your grandma passed, and you’d just gotten home from the funeral. He could see you now through his window, laying on your back unmoving in your bed, black dress still heavy on your body.

You’re not even crying, just staring at the ceiling. You’d always heard that grief presented itself in thousands of different ways, but you’d never been subjected to it yourself until now.

Memories of your grandmother and her infectious smile played on repeat in your mind, and sometimes if you focused hard enough, you could pretend she hadn’t died.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you did so, replaying a memory of her from your eleventh birthday party. You’d been crying for some reason you can’t even remember, and she’d stumbled upon you on the floor of your bathroom.

“Oh, Hunny, what happened?” She cooed, closing the door and sliding down next to you. She winced as she did, her knees popping the whole way down, but she didn’t complain. She just threw an arm over your shoulders and pulled you into her.

“I-I’m scared.” You whimpered, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Of what?”

You sniffled and looked into her loving eyes, “You’ll think it’s silly.”

She chuckled, forehead wrinkling with the movement, “No, I won’t.”

You swallowed, scratching at your arm nervously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m your grandma, I’d never laugh at you.”

You swallowed, letting your forehead hit your knees solemnly, “I don’t wanna grow up.” You admitted.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, which made you feel even worse. Getting older was natural and there was nothing you could do to stop it, but it’d hit you that you were growing out of your childhood.

You’d never be as innocent as you once had been, and at some point in your life you’ll never be mommy’s little girl again. And you hated that you just had to accept that.

Your grandma sighed, fingers drawing shapes onto your arm, “I know it’s scary growing up,” She murmured into your ear, “but it’s also good for us. We learn more as we grow, and we get to experience so many new things. Take me and your grandpa for example, we met when we were twenty five. If I'd never grown up, I never would have met him and fallen in love.”

The mention of your grandfather put a smile on your face. He was a sweet old man with a dashing mustache and a love for your grandma so strong you could feel it without even knowing him.

“I guess you’re right.” You sighed, laying your head against her side. She always knew how to make you feel better, it was like her special talent.

That’s why her death hurt so much, because you’d been talking to her less and less the older you got. It wasn’t something you did purposely, but with the move and all the new things that were happening in your life calling her had just never been at the top of your list. Now you wish it had.

You don’t even hear the knock in your door, you only notice Steve’s there when he’s scooting into bed next to you. You welcome him calmly, automatically falling into his open arms. He strokes your back comfortingly, leaving a soft kiss on your hairline. “How’re you feeling?”

You make a noise in the back of your throat, a mix between a whimper and a groan that shatters Steve’s heart. He hates seeing you hurt like this.

“That bad, huh?” He mumbles, squeezing you closer against him.

You choke out a sigh, “I just wish I would’ve called her. I had every chance too and I never did. What kind of- of granddaughter does that?” Your eyes are brimming with tears again, a sob tearing from your throat as you press your face closer into Steve’s neck. He smells like home.

He doesn’t mind that you’re soaking through his white shirt, in fact he barely even notices. “C’mon, Sweetheart. There was no way you could’ve known, and blaming yourself isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“I-I just… I just wish I would’ve been better.” You hiccuped.

Steve immediately shakes his head, “No, no,” He stands and takes your hand, gently forcing you to your feet, “You’ve gotta get outta here, no way staying in this room all day is healthy for you.”

You sniffle and glance around your bedroom. Its usual warmth feels cold and empty.

“Where would we go?” You ask, gazing at Steve as he wipes your tears with his thumbs. “Anywhere.”

That's how you ended up at Bennys. Steve had recently gotten his license so you no longer had to bike everywhere.

The cloudy sky combined with the glaring overhead lights must wash you out, but Steve’s not sure you’ve ever looked prettier. The black dress compliments you perfectly, and call him selfish, but he thinks the glossiness in your eyes accentuates them so nicely.

You solemnly drink a sprite, biting on the straw occasionally and leaving a permanent indent in the plastic.

You’d heard of Bennys, apparently it was a Hawkins staple, but you’d never been yourself before now. For how popular it apparently was, it's not very busy, just a few stragglers.

You can see the chief of police, Jim Hopper, and a few of his cop buddies in one corner, a couple in a booth across from them, and two old fishermen at the bar.

“I’ve never been here before,” You murmur, watching as Steve’s head lifts from the menu to look up at you. “I’ve only been once with Tommy and Carol,” He says their names with so much disgust it nearly surprises you, “and it was really good.”

You knew Steve wasn’t the biggest fan of his friends, which was still something you found pretty weird. Why be friends with them if you couldn’t stand them? But you also understood Steve’s situation. He had affirmed his status as King Steve at the beginning of the school year, when he’d fought Mitch Mikealson and won. Ever since then he’d gotten more cautious with being seen with you.

And, yeah, it hurts sometimes to see him pretend you didn’t exist. Before, he’d still give you the occasional wave or smile, but now he didn’t even spare you a glance. But, you’d always remind yourself it was fine, because only you got to have the real him. The soft Steve, who’s boyish charm and honeynut eyes made you melt everyday.

You let out a soft huh, glancing over the menu before finally deciding on something. A plain cheeseburger with a side of cheesy fries. How American of you.

After you’ve given the waitress your orders, you both sit in a constricting silence. Steve isn’t sure of what to say to you right now or even how to approach the obvious elephant in the room, but you could hardly even focus on that.

If there’s one thing your grandma's death has taught you, it’s that you can’t let time escape you. You’d pushed off calling your grandma for months, and then suddenly you couldn’t anymore. What happens if you put off telling Steve how you feel for him, and then suddenly you no longer could? Would you feel regret like you do now?

You think you’ve known Steve long enough now to decipher how he’d react. A soft rejection, but without a loss of friendship. You think things would continue how they normally do - maybe a bit awkwardly at first but, still, as they normally do.

Then you consider the other option, which you thought to be the less likely one. On the off chance Steve does like you back, then your entire relationship would change. Would he kiss you in front of his friends? Scream from the rooftops that you were his and he was yours? Or would he hide you away, protect his reputation from your influence?

You weren’t sure.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

You smile softly at the phrase, glancing up at him through your lashes. He's leaning onto his elbows on the counter, cheeks squished between his hands. You think he looks innocent like this, and a glimpse of his seventh grade self flashes in his eyes, a time before King Steve even existed.

“Just… thinking.” You murmur, playing with your fingers in your lap.

Steve frowns, assuming you’re talking about your grandma, and he says, “I’m really sorry, Y/N. You know I'll be here for you every step of the way, right?”

You warm at his words, stomach twisting in knots. “I know,” You breathe, “we’re best friends. We have to be there for each other.”

Steve's heart constricts at the phrase. Best friends. Was that what he’d always be to you? He wants to be so much more - he wants to sweep you off your feet, show you just how much he loves you. If real love is something teenagers can’t experience, then he’s not sure he ever wants to, because whatever it is he’s feeling for you right now is practically engulfing him whole.

“Yeah,” He smiles weakly, “Best friends.”

Your eyebrows knit at the solemn look on his face, watching as he swishes the straw in his drink with his fingertip.

“Steve-” You begin, but the waitress is approaching you with your food before you can finish. Steve’s grateful for the interruption, not sure if he’s ready to answer whatever it was you were going to ask.

He distracts himself with his food, and you do the same. You're not sure why, but something about the way Steve said best friend made you feel uneasy. Did he not think you guys were? Or did he… did he want something else?

You blink the thought away, forcing yourself not to think of it.

But… what if…

You think of your grandma, how the regret of not calling her filled your entire body until you could barely breathe. Did you want that to happen with Steve? No, you didn’t. So there was only one solution.

The moon is up by the time you get in the car, and you allow Steve to drive you to your spot.

The hilltop where you first rode your bikes to last year had become almost like a comfort place for the both of you. You went anytime either of you were upset, and you always sat in the same positions. You, with your hands laid comfortably on your stomach and him with his hands behind his head. It was basically a routine at this point.

But, tonight, it’d be different. Because you were either about to ruin your friendship with Steve forever, or start something you’d never be able to turn away from.

You’re both silent, but while Steve seems peaceful, you’re anything but. Your mind is running wild with what-ifs, and you anxiously chew on your bottom lip. Just do it, you think, just do it.

“Steve?” You mumble, placing your hands behind your back and sitting up. Steve follows your lead, an eyebrow raised as he does. “Yeah?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your knees into your chest, dress riding up until its hem is at the middle of your knees. “If I.. If I tell you something, you promise you won’t judge me? And- and nothing will happen to our friendship?”

He laughs nervously, “What’re you talking about?”

Just do it, you chant in your mind, Just do it.

You suck in a breath, “I love you. A lot. Like- more than I think should even be humanly possible, and I think I always have. It’s like- like this weight in my chest everytime I see you, you know? Because you’re you and I'm, well, I'm just me. And I tell myself there’s no way you could ever love me back but then you started acting all weird in the diner and I just- I had to know.” By the end of your rambling you’re panting softly, refusing to even look at Steve. You're too afraid of what you might see.

But Steve feels as if an angel herself has just blessed him. You love him?

You love him?

He feels too shocked to even move, heart practically beating out of his chest as he stares at you. The moonlight brings out your features so nicely, and your lips just look so- so kissable.

It’s crazy. He knows it is. But he’s waited so long, and he’s not sure how many times he can imagine the softness of your lips before he needs to feel it. So he does.

He connects his lips with yours so fast you barely even register it. It’s a soft peck, barely even a kiss really, but it’s perfect to you.

He pulls away quickly, hand on your cheek as he stares into your eyes. Only half of his face is visible in the darkness, but it’s enough for you. Because you’re plunging back in like you’ve been starved.

It’s messy, with clattering teeth and wandering hands. You find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly, and he lets you, groaning slightly at the feeling. His hands ghost of your waist nervously, and you reach down and place them comfortably on your hips.

It should be sinful how good he tastes - like strawberries eaten next to the pool on a warm summer day. “S- Steve,” You gasp between his lips, barely able to get the word out before he’s immediately diving back in.

You indulge in it for a few seconds more, before you’re gently pushing him away from you. He pulls back completely, removing his hands from your waist in a panic, “What’s - What’s wrong?” He pants.

You shake your head, assuring him it’s nothing like that. You take a breath, “What does… does this mean that you..?”

Steve has a big dopey smile on his face, tucking a peice of hair behind your ear, “That I love you?” He mumbles, “Because I do. So much. More than I think you’ll ever know.”

It’s those words that confirm what you’d thought for the past two years. Steve is your soulmate, someone you were always meant to find. Suddenly, you’re thankful for the move. Something that had once seemed life ruining has been the opposite - it brought you to your reason for living.

“Then what does this mean for us?” You question.

It’s then that Steve realizes this might not be all great like he thought it would be - because Tommy and Carol were still in the picture. He couldn’t just walk into school holding hands with you as if they hadn’t spent every waking day making fun of you. He never joined, always choosing to stay silent during their tangents, but he never stopped them either.

He swallows, studying your face. Would loving you be enough for him? Could he throw it all away, the parties, the friends, the popularity - if it meant he’d be able to be with you?

He’s not sure.

But what if he can have both? The popularity and you. He’d just have to keep your relationship a secret just like you had been doing for years, it was that simple! But, he doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you right now and get into that. So instead, he kisses you slowly again and murmurs, “We'll figure it out as we go.”

❣︎

July, 1986

It’s been two weeks since what you called The Tolerable Act. AKA, the day Steve Harrington brought you food and also made himself more tolerable.

You wouldn’t be going out of your way to talk to him, but if he approached you you no longer ran. Your responses were always short - but they were responses. Baby steps.

Today, when you walk into work Steve is already there stacking books and organizing shelves. His eyes are almost immediately drawn to you, and not just because he loves seeing you - no, this time, he notices something.

He thinks his heart drops into his stomach for a moment once he sees the guy with you. You're all smiles and giggles, playing with the hem of your lacy white shirt.

Jason Carver stands casually in the doorway, arm thrown above his head as he leans over you. Steve can’t see what he’s saying from here, but whatever it is, it’s making you blush.

Steve’s not even sure what comes over him - but he’s dropping the rest of the books he was organizing messily onto the shelf and speeding over to you before he can even think it through.

Jason notices first, his eyebrows furrowing as he eyes him. Steve gives a tight lipped smile, brown eyes darting between you and Jason.

Steve never really disliked Jason - he was a nice guy. A little pushy at times, but overall he didn’t seem too bad. But, now, watching Jason flirt with you like he knew anything about you made Steve’s stomach twist in the worst way.

Jason didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you! Steve knew it was selfish of him to expect you to be hung up on him forever like he was hung up on you, but did you have to bring Jason here?

“Harrington,” Jason said sultry smooth, bringing his arm down and stuffing his hands into his varsity jacket. He’d graduated last month and was still wearing that thing? Steve thought that was a douchey move. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Steve hummed, “Started a couple weeks ago.”

Jason smirked, “Still working at dumps like this place, huh?” He joked. Steve could see the intentions behind what he said - they were a poke at Steve still living with his parents and not making it into college. He glances at you, but you don’t say anything, instead choosing to keep your eyes on the carpet.

“Still wearing your highschool jacket in public, huh?”

Jason’s gaze hardened just barely, enough for you to not notice, but Steve did. They both just stared at each other for a few moments, almost like they were challenging each other.

“Jason -” Both boys tore their gazes away from each other and onto you, “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” You usher, silently pushing him out. Jason bent down to kiss your cheek, eyes never leaving Steve’s as he did.

Once he was gone, you turned around and tried to make your way past him to clock in, but Steve stopped you. “Jason Carver? Really?”

Your nostrils flared, eyebrows knitting together as you gave him a harsh glare. “Who I talk to isn’t any of your business anymore.”

“That guys a total asshole!”

“And you aren’t?” You retorted, “I’m not sure if you remember, but let me remind you that-”

He cuts you off with a sigh, large hand running through his hair. His shirt rode up as he did, and you had to force yourself not to look at his tanned skin. “I remember.” He mumbled, “But, at least I've tried to better myself. Jason hasn’t! And he doesn’t deserve you, you’re so much better than he ever will be. I can’t believe you don’t realize that.” He took a breath, studying your face.

Jealousy is something Steve wasn’t used to feeling when it came to you. He’d always known that you were his and he was yours, and nothing would ever change that.

But, watching Jason Carver pull all those little giggles and shy smiles out of you that he used to - it hurt more than he liked to admit. His dad would tell him to: “grow up, she's just some girl after all.”

But you aren’t. Steve doesn’t think you ever were.

“Stop doing that!” You choke out. You’re more than fed up “Stop pretending that you’ve changed and that everything is- everything is fine! You played me for years, Steve. And as soon as I'm back together again you just show up here and remind me why I-” You pause, eyes going glassy and nose turning a shade of red, “why I can’t love you anymore. And it hurts - God, it hurts - but, I won’t allow myself to fall apart like I did again. And Jason- Jason likes me. I know he does. So don’t fucking ruin this for me.”

Steve’s silent, arms crossed over his chest as he processes your outburst. He knows he deserves it and it’s something he thinks he needs to hear, but that doesn’t make it any easier. You played me for years, Steve. Did you really think that?

Still, against his better judgment, he watches you as you turn your back to him and stomp into the back room.

You finally let out the sob you were holding in as soon as you’re out of sight, back hitting the cold stone wall. You hate him. Him and his stupid, stupid face and his horrible jokes. You hate that he can make you feel so many inexplicable things with just one sentence - He doesn’t deserve you.

If Jason doesn’t deserve you, then who does?

You avoid Steve your whole shift, and it’s easy, because Steve avoids you too. Robin called out sick which meant it was just the two of you and that made things so much worse.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you every time the clock ticks closer to your date, and it sends a shiver up your spine each time. If it’s because of your nerves about seeing Jason again or your undeniable longing for Steve, you’re not sure.

Once Jason arrives, Steve watches from behind the counter as you take Jason’s hand and let him lead you to his car, a toothy grin highlighting your face.

He sighs, crossing his legs where he stands and leaning onto his forearms. He feels helpless, like he’s an onlooker in his own life, watching you pull farther and farther away from him and not being able to do anything about it.

Jason’s car pulls away, and you watch as Bookish disappears from your line of sight. It feels foreign - leaving Steve behind to go with another guy. If you’d told yourself two years ago this was what your relationship would become, you never would’ve believed it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Harrington?” Jason asks, stealing a glance at you.

You chew on your lip, cherry chapstick lingering on your tongue. “We used to be really close, but we kinda just…” You swallow and play with your fingers in your lap, “grew apart.”

Jason hums, fingertips drumming against the wheel as he drives. “You guys seemed more than close back there.”

You’re stumped. You can’t understand why Jason is so interested in this topic, which is something you really don’t want to talk about with him, and understandably so. You think up a quick excuse, “He’s just protective.”

He scoffs out a laugh, “Protective? No, it was more than that. It was like he- he loved you or something.” He says it like there’s no way that could be true. Like The Steve Harrington couldn’t ever love a girl like you.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Jason doesn’t say anything and just drives silently. He’d told you he was taking you somewhere special but didn’t specify after that - and as you watch him drive deeper and deeper into the woods you’re beginning to get nervous.

He parks next to Lovers Lake, turning in the radio and immediately shifting his seat back.

You’d heard stories of guys doing this - taking a girl out to hook up with and disguising it as a date.

He's leaning over right as you realize what this is, and you pull away quickly, head nearly hitting the window. “Jason, I thought we were going out?”

“We are. I just thought.. we could have fun first.”

You swallow. This was wrong, you knew it was. Didn’t you deserve to go on a real date like other girls do? What made you so different from them?

But… Maybe this was a real date. Maybe this was what other girls did. And if that was true, shouldn’t you indulge? You’d always been aware your relationship with Steve was different than most other highschool relationships, so maybe you were finally getting a taste of the reality.

You kiss him first, practically surging forward. It’s hard and sloppy. It’s too much. It’s wrong.

You remind yourself that this is what real girls do.

You kiss him harder, holding back the whimper that begs to escape from your throat as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and mint - nothing like Steve.

He pulls you by your hips over the center console awkwardly, your legs banging against the dashboard as you move, but he never breaks apart.

You settle on his lap, letting him push and pull you anyway he wants. He’s in no way soft - wandering hands never asking for permission as he slips them under your shirt. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong-

“Jason-” You breathe between his hungry lips, attempting to push away, but he grabs the back of your neck and forces you against him again. Your hands push at his chest hard, and he’s so shocked he lets you go.

“What’s your problem?” He pants, eyebrows knitted together.

You want to sob- because what the hell are you doing? Kissing Jason Carver in his car in the middle of nowhere? This is wrong. If this is what other girls do, then you don’t want to be like them.

“Can we-” You suck in a breath, shifting uncomfortably on his lap, “Can we just take a break? Maybe actually talk and try to get to know each other?”

He stares at you coldly for a few moments, blue eyes searching your face for something you’re not sure of. Then he’s laughing - as if you’ve said the funniest thing in the world. His chest convulses as he does, and he attempts to kiss you again but you pull away.

His laughter immediately stops and his face contorts into anger, his nostrils flared. “Are you kidding me?”

“Jason-” You attempt, but he’s pushing you off of him before you can get the word out. You land in the passenger seat uncomfortably, legs at an awkward angle but you feel too unnerved to move.

“You came onto me first!”

He was right, you had kissed him first. It was your fault he thought he’d be getting something else tonight. “I know and i’m sorry, but-”

He cuts you off with a laugh, tongue running over his teeth like a hungry animal. “I mean- there’s no way you’re being serious right now, right?” He asks, “Why the hell do you think I brought you out here? To talk? I thought you were smarter than that.”

Your eyes go wide, jaw hanging open as you process his words. Had you really been so stupid?

He points an accusing finger at you, “If you think any guy is going to want you beyond just fucking you then you’re in for a treat. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

“Jason-”

“Get out!”

So you do. You stumble a bit as your feet hit the grass, barely having any time to close the door before he’s speeding off.

The tears come before you can stop them, arms wrapping around yourself as you stare out into the lake.

The water makes the air feel cooler, so goosebumps form across your skin and cause a shiver up your spine. You don’t know how to get home from here - or to the bookshop. But there is one place you can think of.

You're not sure how long you walk, you just know by the time you reach the hill your feet hurt and your calves feel practically numb.

You collapse onto the grass with a soft groan, immediately hugging your knees to your chest. The tears had long since stopped and were replaced with occasional hiccups, eyes glassy but the tears never falling.

You stare up at the sky, finding comfort in all of the familiar constellations. Lately they’d been the only constant thing in your life, the one thing you knew would always be there and would never go away.

You hate that Steve was right more than you’d like to admit. He doesn’t deserve you, you’re so much better than he ever will be. What right did he have to say something like that to you? It makes you almost nauseous.

Steve Harrington had become something of an anomaly to you over the past year. You’d been told thousands of times that he’d changed by Robin - hell, Steve himself had been making an effort to show you that he’d never make the same mistakes he had again, but it was like you couldn’t accept it.

Your heart had subconsciously built up brick walls to protect yourself from ever being hurt like that again, and any mention of Steve Harrington threatened to tear them down.

You sigh, forehead dipping down to rest on your knees. You’re not sure how you’re going to get home, but right now it’s the last thing in your mind.

“Y/N?”

You’re head shoot’s up, neck craning to see the eyes of the person in front of you.

It doesn’t surprise you once you realize it’s Steve, because who else would be out here this late?

“Hi.” You mumble, head immediately going back to lay on your knees comfortably.

He sits down next to you cautiously, plastic bag falling next to him as he does. He subconsciously makes sure to leave enough distance between the both of you so he doesn’t scare you off. “Where’s your date?”

You close your eyes, breaths coming in shallow as you shift uncomfortably. Your head lols lazily to the side, allowing yourself to get a full view of his face. His eyebrows are raised and his arms are behind him and holding his torso up.

“Probably out being a douche somewhere.”

He chuckles, “That bad, huh?”

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Definitely wasn’t the best date ever.” Not like you had many to compare it to.

“I won’t say it even though I really want to- but just know i’m thinking it really, really hard-”

You roll your eyes, “Just say it.” You huff.

He doesn’t hesitate, “I told you so.”

You mentally conclude that Steve should not be allowed to be right ever. “What are you doing here?” You ask.

Steve’s gaze falls to the grass below, throat bobbing as he swallows. “I needed to clear my head.”

You hum in response and decide not to push it, instead letting your knees stretch in front of you as your hands fall behind you. Your eyes fall to the white Walmart bag next to him and you gesture to it with your head, “What’s in the bag?”

Steve reaches over and pulls out a six pack of cheap beer, the kind you drank when you were trying to get stupid drunk. “I wasn’t planning on having any company, so I hope six’s enough for you.”

You snort, watching as he rips one out of its packaging and hands it to you. You ignore the brush of your hands as you do.

It pops open loudly, and you immediately bring it to your lips, ignoring the burning in your throat as it slides down roughly. Steve does the same, and you both sit in a comfortable silence and drink your respective drinks.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you can’t stop looking at him. Thoughts of how pretty he is run through your mind - but so do others. Like questions of how you became strangers who knew everything about each other so quickly.

“Do you ever wonder about what things would be like if.. if we hadn’t broken up?” You question quietly, eyes lingering on the side of his face.

He doesn’t move for a moment, lips thinning out into a line. He breathes in through his nose, “Sometimes I do. But every time I remember how things are between us I have to stop, because lying to myself almost hurts more than the reality.”

Your hands tighten into fists by your side, and you force back another gulp of the warm drink. “How did we even get here?” You suddenly laugh out, “It doesn’t even feel natural.”

Steve shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Honestly? I’m not really sure. Sometimes it feels like one day I was waking up with you and then the next I wasn’t.” Well, technically that is what happened.

You're not sure if it’s the alcohol that gives you courage, but you finally admit, “Sometimes I hate you for turning us into this.” You mutter, “Sometimes I hate myself for not trying to fix it. But, sometimes I think that is how things were always going to turn out - that maybe we were never meant to be in each other's lives and we somehow screwed up Gods plans and this is our punishment.”

“I don’t think he means it as a punishment.” Steve breathes, finally letting himself look at you, “I think it’s more of a lesson. A reminder, maybe.”

You snort, “Well, I hate this lesson, and I’m ready for it to be over.”

“Me too.”

You don’t argue when Steve scoots closer to you so your legs are touching, shorts rubbing against each other awkwardly.

You and Steve share an actual conversation - one without any arguing or resistance from you. It’s a conversation like you used to have.

You don’t argue when Steve offers you a ride home, showing that his beer is still half-way full. You don’t argue when he tells you good night, in fact you bask in it.

That night when Steve goes to bed, he watches your light flick on and your shadow approach the window. You stand there for a while - contemplating he thinks - and he hopes that you do it. That you open the blinds and show him that everything would be okay again.

But you don’t. You flick the light back off, and go to bed. Leaving the blinds closed.

taglist: @stevesxwhore @billielourdslays @carinacassiopeiae

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #joe keery #joe keery x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #jason carver #stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #exes to lovers #yn #x reader #robin buckley #Spotify

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ts19009 · 6 months

Text

Seventeen Fic Rec's Part 3

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: September 22nd, 2024)

OT13

seventeen as teachers @fairyhaos

seventeen as dads headcanons @bbyobbyo

Back to School with Seventeen (Seventeen TA Collab! Take a look at our Course Options collated by your favourite writers, taught by your favourite members!) @camandemstudios

Seventeen's reaction to you asking them for a baby @j0shuasw1fey

Tales from Camp Masterlist (Thirteen friends reconnect on a camping trip, reminiscing about their times as camp counselors when they were in college.) @kwanisms

✤ Losing It. (masterpost) ✤ (A series of having virginities given to you. Sometimes they throw said virginity at you with full force, other times, they lovingly hold your hand, bat their lashes, and say some of the dumbest shit you’ve ever heard a man say in regards to getting laid for the first time. ) @ncteez

Kim Mingyu

kmg x reader: healing comes in small doses masterlist (husband! dad! kim mingyu x afab! mom!reader) @tomodachiii

Food Wars pt. 1 (You and Mingyu are rival but friendly chefs competing for a spot to be an executive chef at a new location in Madrid. This position would change your life; no matter how attractive he is, you WILL get that spot) @beomcoups

Crossing the Finish Line (Winning is the only thing that matters, except if you're raising money for a charity event with an infuriatingly good-looking swimmer.) @mr-cha-n

Statistically Speaking... (TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise) @gyuswhore

Always // oneshot (Sometimes, one man's burden is everything another man has ever wished for.) @spamgyu

When I Kissed the Teacher (science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee) @highvern

Read All About It (Anonymous Life and Sex writer, Not Carrie Bradshaw, takes on a 30-day challenge with her boyfriend, Min. How wild fans would go to find out they're none other than Kim Mingyu and his girlfriend?) @highvern

Hot Wheels [M] (Co-Workers to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Smut 18+) @milfgyu

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖶𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖧𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖧𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽 (fake marriage au!, fluff, angst, smut (18+ mdni) @wonustars

There's a snake in my pants (Crack/humour. Some fluff. Established relationship. Himbo Mingyu! [I love himbo Gyu]) @whipped-for-kpop-fics

Cross My Heart (Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.) @minisugakoobies

Like A Cowboy Part 2 of 4 (Mingyu only needs to wake up with you once to decide he'll do whatever is necessary to do it every day; even if it means letting you help him outside and figuring out how to help you inside, it's worth it.) @sluttywoozi

Let our lips lock, baby (Friends to lovers smut. Fluff. They are in LOVE okay. Birthday boy Gyu <3) @whipped-for-kpop-fics

I can do it for you (After years dealing with everything alone, you stumble upon an old wishbook from your past. And you jokingly writes down your ideal boyfriend, Mingyu. To your surprise, Mingyu magically appears in your couch.) @hoshifighting

here and now. (secret!agent!mingyu x secret!agent!reader, established relationship) @writingmeraki

Jeon Wonwoo

into the night | jeon wonwoo (when you call wonwoo late at night telling him you're stranded, he drops everything to make his way to you (and bring you home safe)) @etherealyoungk

CLOSER (f2l!wonwoo, softdom!wonwo) @hannieehaee

HER | part six (m). (wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.) @chocosvt (HOLY SHIT, THIS SERIES HAD ME CRYING. SNAPS TO THIS AMAZING WRITER!)

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 (though it didn’t bother wonwoo that his girl wasn’t a gamer like him, he was over the moon when one day she proudly declared she started gaming. one thing he forgot to ask - what kind of games she was playing.) @babyleostuff

knight in shining armor (non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader) @heartsfromia

endpoint (Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.) @highvern

heads up! stardew. they r gaming. @nonranghaes

Cookies and Cream (academic rivals to lovers, smut, heart wrenching and tooth rotting fluff (wonwoo is down bad bad)) @seokgyuu

April Shower (Wonwoo meets a lot of people through his career as a travel photographer. Not one of them has ever made him want to stay in one place, until he met you.) @sluttywoozi

HEAVEN (wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.) @sanakiras

Patterns (Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?) @highvern

Daylight (between the endless flirty banter or secret looks of longing, the line between you and your boss had always been slightly blurred. But when a night out with friends has you and your boss meeting for the first time outside of the workplace, that line starts to become nonexistent as mutual feelings are brought to light.) @moonscriptsx

✦ sugar & spice (bodyguard!wonwoo x celebrity!reader) @etherealyoungk

Hong Jisoo

New in the Suburbs – New Neighboor! Joshua @hoshifighting

distracted (husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship) @eomayas

SUMMER KISSES (joshua coming home is a pleasant surprise) @arafilez

richhusband!joshua headcannons (just some headcons, but i'm obsessed with them) @number1mingyustan

still the one (5 years after your break up, Joshua tries his best to get your attention. May it be creating a new instagram to get you to notice him, making your brother (Seungkwan) secretly invite him to his birthday party, and his latest act: begging you on his knees in front of your door to get him back. He just never gives up!) @bratzkoo

city lights series | joshua hong (M) [ongoing] (rock singer joshua, neighbours with benefits) @hannieween

best friend’s brother (This had me crying ugly tears. its my fav) (imestep, romance, angsty angst, major feels abt having a crush, lots of flirting, smut, drama, happy tears.) @chocosvt

not according to plan | hjs (fake dating, strangers to friends to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut) @the-boy-meets-evil

Expiration Date (2/2) (artist!joshua x model!fem!reader) @number1mingyustan

Birds of a Feather ( joshua hong x f reader) @onlymingyus

Timestamp! Aquamarine Au! @mysafehaneul

on second thought (where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?) @the-boy-meets-evil

Yoon Jeonghan

BITE (idol!jeonghan x hybeidol!reader, f2l, meet-cute, very unrealistic schedules for idols lol, jeonghan is a menace, a lot of will they wont they, reader plays hard to get, afab reader, small age gap implied, one mention of the word oppa as a honorific (sorry</3), reader is mentioned to be international (no specific race, just not born in korea), smut, dry humping, penetrative sex, etc.) @hannieehaee

building blocks | yjh (agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.) @the-boy-meets-evil (OBSESSED WITH THESE TA SERIES)

"lovie" (all the ways jeonghan uses your nickname) @cherryredcheol

Titty-Shirt! (18+) (pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader) @beefboyandbabygirl

love café (while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not) @chocosvt

five ways to say "i love you" - jeonghan (how jeonghan shows his love to you, through all five love languages) @p0ckykiss

Xu Minghao

Meet Me In Amsterdam (Artist!Minghao x Artist!Fem!Reader) @okiedokrie

GOODNIGHT N GO (idol!minghao x hybeidol!reader) @hannieehaee

To all the love letters I wrote but never sent (fluff, best friends to lovers) @welcometomyoasis

Birthday Gift l Xu Minghao (It's your birthday and Minghao wants to give you your present!) @jenoslutie

Lee Seokmin

through a different lens — l.sm (meet cute, strangers to something) @miniseokminnies

after dessert (just pure smut lol, but it was good XD) @xurengu0

behind the stands (Seokmin, Gryffindor's star chaser, is widely known as your rival. What everyone doesn't know is that before every game, his lips are always on yours.) @xurengu0

Beautiful Liar (mafia au, dark romance? angst, smut.) @starlightx

Epistolary Yearning (epistolary form, historical fantasy, romance | smut) @himbocoups

Nice Guys Finish First (After a first date with the sweetest man you've ever met, thanks to a mutual friend, you're more than willing to silence his doubts and show him how sexy he was to you.) @celestiababie

midnight rain | lsm (after seven years away, you finally return home. meeting seokmin again wasn't in your plans, but life wasn't willing to let you have it your way.) @wongyuuu

#joshua hong smut #joshua x y/n #kim mingyu #mingyu #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #wonwoo #wonwoo smut

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babydollmarauders · 7 months

Text

THE START OF IT ALL — JACK HUGHES

part of the el!hughes au

summary: how jack and y/n (lovie) met, through the grace of quinn

warnings: bad parental guidance, small mention of body insecurities and anxiety. (4k words)

notes: a well overdue fic! i’m so thankful to you guys for being patient with me as i navigate writing in my hectic new reality of college and working full time! <3

goosebumps trail my exposed skin, the chilling air of the practice rink nipping from my lack of sweater.

the sound of skates scraping against the ice rings in my ears, mingling with the bangs of sticks hitting against pucks and creating an oddly peaceful soundtrack for my meditation.

my feet are killing me.

capezio tights stretch across my legs, making them shimmer in the fluorescent lighting of the rink, and a black leotard hugs my body, neatly pulled together with a pink wrap skirt. ballet flats adorn my feet, my pointe shoes laying idly in my dance bag in the seat beside me as i watch the national development team practice.

it feels like so long ago that i came and watched my first practice; the one fateful day of september seeming light years away now. but in reality it was only a mere couple months ago that a group of us dance girls had decided to walk down the block and watch a practice.

Natalie and Thalia wanted to check out the guys, and me? i just didn’t want to be left out. but then watching one practice turned into watching two, and then three, and before i knew it, it became a regular occurrence. it didn’t matter anymore that the girls lost interest and no longer tagged along, in fact, i enjoyed the time spent alone.

this became my safe haven; no dance partners to critique my fouettés, no parents whispering in my ear that i’m not doing well enough in school or that i’m not practicing my dances enough or that i need to go on a diet because i don’t look as pristine or perfect in my leotard as the other girls do. just me and the sounds of several sixteen year old boys whipping pucks into the net and gliding around the ice.

as the piercing sound of a whistle slices through my peace, i know that afternoon practice has ended, my serene escape over until tomorrow.

as the team shuffles off the ice and back into their locker room, i revel in the silence for a little while, taking the moment to change from my flats to sneakers; the twenty-seven minute trek home will be a lot more terrain than the five minute one from the ballet studio to the rink, and a lot harder on my shoes.

pushing up from my seat, my hand wraps around the strap of my dance bag, slinging it over my shoulder as i slide through the rows of seats. my feet squeak against the cement steps, two at a time until i reach the exit floor.

pushing through the glass doors, i slip out into the crisp November air, ducking my head as i walk past a group of players that stand around their cars after practice, hair damp from post-practice showers. a few more players can be heard slamming the doors of their cars, obviously in much more of a rush to get home than their teammates.

it only takes five minutes of walking for me to become paranoid, a black GMC following behind me with every turn i make. my heart stutters with anxiety, my pace speeding as i attempt to shake the fear that rakes my body.

but as i speed up, so does the car, until finally the drivers window rolls down as they drive at a pace similar to my walking speed. inside is a teenage boy, a familiar face that i know i’ve seen on the ice of the usntdp rink.

“hey, you watch our practices.” it’s a statement, he knows i do, i assume a lot of them know. it’s kind of hard to miss the thirteen year old girl sitting alone in the stands every afternoon.

i stop, turning towards the boy as i nod in response.

“i always see you walking home, do you want a ride?” he asks before his eyes widen, stumbling over words, “wait, i just realized how that sounds— i’m not trying to kidnap you, i swear! you just live a few houses down, i figured i’d save you some time.”

i’m aware that my answer might be stupid and not very well thought out, but in this moment, i truthfully don’t care— the boy seems trustworthy, an odd sense of warmth radiating from him, so i nod again.

“yes, please.”

his head nods in the direction of the passengers side, unlocking the doors as he tells me to hop in; and i do so, slipping into the seat and hastily pulling the seatbelt across my body.

“i’m Quinn,” he introduces, a hand held out in front of me, “i play for the national development team.”

“i know,” i hum out, shaking his hand, “i’m y/n.”

Quinn steps lightly on the gas pedal, continuing the route to our apparently shared street.

“so, why do you come to the practices?” he questions, and though the question itself sounds a little judgy, his tone is soft, “at first i assumed maybe you were a sister, but then i’ve never seen you with any of the guys.”

i watch as the trees pass by in a blur through the window, my hands fidgeting with the strap of my dance bag that sits on the floor between my feet.

“it’s peaceful.” i confess, making him throw me a lopsided smirk mixed in with furrowed brows, “i don’t really get along with any of the girls in my ballet class, and my parents don’t get home from work until dinner time. its nice to just kill some time and listen to the sounds of the skates on the ice and the pucks hitting the net.”

Quinn hums as though he understands me, and for once, it actually feels like someone does. we’ve barely spoken to each other, we’ve only just met, but for once in my life, i feel as though someone isn’t judging me or about to tell me what i could do better.

“i get it.” he shrugs, “so, have you been a hockey fan, or are you just a little oddball and like the sounds?”

a small smile spreads across my lips, a laugh escaping at his joke, and Quinn garners an appearance of pride at making me laugh. his chest puffs out just slightly, his posture straightening and a smirk resting on his lips.

“i am,” i nod, before i realize i should clarify, “a hockey fan. i’m a hockey fan.”

it’s Quinn’s turn to chuckle now, eyes flickering towards me before they settle back on the road ahead, “but i get the feeling you are a little oddball, aren’t you? or at least maybe some other people think so.”

the vibe in the car turns stony, my body tensing.

“yeah,” i drop my eyes to my hands, finding great interest in the dirtied white color of my bag strap, “i prefer to keep to myself, you know? it feels like all everyone tells me is how i can do better. how i can perfect my dances, or how i’m so pretty but i would be so much prettier if i did this or that, or how despite straight A’s and a 4.0 GPA, there’s more i could do to get into a stupid ivy league that i don’t wanna go to-”

i suck in a deep breath, cutting off my rambles prematurely, because here i was dumping all my insecurities and problems on a boy three years my senior and who i’ve only just met.

“i’m sorry, those are some shitty people.” Quinn frowns, a hand tightening just slightly around the steering wheel.

“that was all my parents.”

“fuck,” he curses, glancing over at me quickly with wide eyes as we turn onto our street, “your parents said all that?”

i shrug, nodding my head, “it’s what a parent does, right? they criticize you to be the best you can be. the girls in dance aren’t much better.”

Quinn parks the car in front of what i assume is his billet house, turning in his seat to face me properly.

“a parent should guide you to be the best version of yourself, not criticize you until you become the person they want you to be.”

his words repeat in my head, my brows threading together as i hum in acknowledgment of his statement.

rather than truly respond, i unbuckle my seatbelt, pushing the door open as i gather my bag from the floor.

“thank you for the ride, Quinn. sorry for dumping all my problems on you.”

i don’t give him a chance to respond, hopping out of the car and slinging my bag over my shoulder as i shut the door.

i’m only one house away when i hear him yell, “hey! same time tomorrow?”

i spin around confused, finding him standing next to the car with his hockey bag slung over his own shoulder.

“what?”

“same time tomorrow! i’ll drive you home!” he smiles gently, before giving a small wave and heading into his house.

what the fuck just happened? did i just make a new friend?

***

my entire body aches, my toes in particular feeling incredibly sore due to the bruised skin that covers them, but i push through.

only a week until the spring performance and i still don’t feel that my solo is where it should be. my pointe shoes make my toes prick with pain, but over time, the pain turns into a stinging numbness.

my reflection stares back at me in the mirrored wall, a frustrated puff of air passing through my parted lips. my tutu caresses my arms as i let them fall to my sides, lowering back down to flat feet.

in the mostly empty building, i can hear the ring of the bell above the front entrance followed by muffled conversation approaching the private room i currently occupy.

i walk over to the chair that holds my things, my brows furrowing as i check the time. i still have five minutes until Quinn is due to pick me up. that gives me more than enough time to run through the solo once more.

walking over to the barre, i flex my feet a couple of times. but before i can begin to dance, i’m bombarded by the sound of conversation.

“what are we doing at a dance studio?” a male voice echoes through the building, grumbling in obvious annoyance.

“i told you, i have to pick up a friend.” i recognize that voice immediately; Quinn. my close friend of four months.

“a girlfriend?” i scrunch my nose at the other person’s question, part of me wanting to shout out that i can hear them.

“a girl that’s a friend, yeah. more like a little sister.” a heated blush rises to my cheeks, a smile spreading across my lips.

he thinks of me as a sister.

a knock sounds against the door of the private room before it creaks open, Quinn’s head popping in.

“hey, twinkle toes, you ready to go?” he smiles warmly, his eyes sparking with care as he eyes my outfit, “nice tutu.”

“you’ve seen this one before.” i giggle but it quickly dies off into a sigh as i think about how much work i still need to put into the dance, “give me one sec?”

“yeah, go for it.” he nods, “mind if i come in?”

“come on in.”

closing my eyes, i take a deep breath, tuning out the sounds of Quinn and his company entering the room. breathing out, i enter fifth position.

plié, passé relevé, back down to fifth position, my eyes open as i run through the rest of the dance, focusing on my core and watching myself in the mirror.

my sight flickers to Quinn, a smile on his face as he watches me dance, and for a moment i feel so proud of myself. but then my sights set on the boy beside him.

fluffy dirty blond hair mussed atop of his head, beauty marks dotting across his soft features, and beautiful blue eyes that watch my figure. he’s the prettiest boy i’ve ever seen.

i stutter in my steps, suddenly nervous and self conscious in front of the unfamiliar face, and before i can fix my form, i buckle under his stare; missing a step before my ankle twists, a sharp tinge of pain shooting up my leg as i stumble back down onto flat feet.

“shit.” i whimper, my facial features contorting in pain as i flex my ankle, gauging my pain level.

“are you okay?” Quinn stammers, eyes wide in concern, “what happened?”

“i’m fine,” i sigh. walking over to my bag, i pull my flats out and sit on the chair, beginning the process of taking off my pointe shoes, “i just got a little distracted.”

“distracted?” Quinn repeats, confusion plaguing his features before he looks back at his company, his lips quirking into a smirk, “y/n, this is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is y/n.”

my face heats under the heavy gaze of Jack’s blue eyes, his shoes tapping against the floor as he steps forward, extending a hand in front of me.

“hi.”

he smiles and it’s as though the whole world slowed, as though the universe was saying ‘look. look at him. perfection personified amidst your very eyes.’

“hi, it’s nice to meet you.” my hand slips into his, shaking lightly before i pull away, distracting myself by continuing my endeavors of changing my shoes.

Quinn and Jack share whispered huffs, mumbled words between the two of them as i slip my flats on, shoving my pointe shoes in my bag.

i stand now, removing my tutu and holding it carefully, leaving me in only my tights and leotard.

“i’m ready.” they both look over at me, Quinn nodding in acknowledgment before he turns and wordlessly begins walking out, leaving his brother and i to fall in line behind him.

“so how did you guys meet?” Jack asks me as we step out of the private room, his voice hushed.

“i go watch the development program practices a lot, Quinn saw me walking home and offered me a ride.”

“you like hockey?” he raises a brow as he looks over at me with a bright grin.

“mhm.” i hum, “i’ve watched it my whole life. my dad is a red wings fan.”

we exit the building, following Quinn to his car.

“good team.” Jack replies, his voice far off, eyes staring ahead as though deep in thought; and i assume that’s the end of our conversation until he speaks again, “i liked your dance. pretty.”

blood rushes to the apples of my cheeks and i bite my lip to hold back a smile, “thanks.”

i pull open the car door as Quinn unlocks it, climbing into the back seat so that Jack can sit up front with his brother. but i’m surprised when he joins me in the back, earning a look from Quinn.

it’s silent as Quinn starts the car, pulling out from the parking space and out of the lot.

“so,” Jack starts, gaining my attention once more, “you dance and you like hockey, what else should i know about you?”

i ponder the question for a moment before i look over at him, “there’s not much to tell. i’m an only child, i like taylor swift, i don’t know.”

“well what do you and your friends do for fun? do you wanna be a ballerina when you graduate?” he turns towards me, letting me know i have his full attention.

“i only have one friend.” i shrug, “Quinn. and he and i usually just hang out at his billet house or at the rink. he’s been teaching me to skate.

“as for the ballerina thing, i don’t think so. i love dancing, but i don’t want it to be my life.”

Jack hums, nodding his head in thought before his lips part again, “give me your phone.”

“what?”

“gimme your phone.” he makes a grabby hand, waiting for me to pull my phone out of my bag before i set it in his palm.

he turns it on, getting in easily with my lack of password, and quickly types something before handing it back.

“two.” he smirks.

“what?” my face punches in confusion.

“you have two friends now.” i look down at my phone, a new contact open with his number inputted in.

“okay.” i smile, not quite sure how to react to this gorgeous boy wanting to be my friend. it’s a new feeling that i’m not quite used to.

the car is silent as we pull onto Quinn and i’s street, but if i remember correctly, he’s staying at a hotel with his dad for the next couple of days.

“hey, twinkle toes.” Quinn calls out from the drivers seat.

“yeah?”

“you still coming to the game tomorrow?”

“i plan on it.” i tell him.

“alright, you’ll be sitting with my dad and Jack.” he informs me, “Jack, you good to wait for her at the entrance to take her to your guys’ seats?”

Quinn stops in front of my house, unlocking the doors.

“yeah, sure.” Jack confirms, watching as i exit the vehicle, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“see you tomorrow!” i smile. i shut the door, Quinn’s window rolling down as he calls out a goodbye, “bye, snuggles!”

i can hear Jack snort out a laugh as i walk away, a wheezed echo of “snuggles?!” coming from the back seat.

“shut it, Rowdy.” Quinn grumbles, rolling up his window before peeling away.

***

thirty minutes.

i spent thirty long minutes picking out my outfit for tonight. when i originally said i would go to Quinn’s game, i had just planned on wearing a USA Hockey sweatshirt and some leggings; but now that i’ve met Jack and know i’ll be with him? i refused to dress down so much.

descending the stairs of my house, my mother peers over the back of the couch, her hair in a tight bun and her laptop in her lap, slaving over a law case with files piled beside her.

“what are you so dressed up for?” she inquires, her glasses sitting low on the bridge of her nose.

“i have Quinn’s game tonight.” i walk around the couch to stand in front of her, my nikes shuffling along the area rug.

“i’m so proud of you.” she smiles, and for a moment i’m left to ponder where this could go, “you’re finally taking a care to how you present yourself.”

and there it is; the subtle jab. it can never be a real compliment, there’s always gonna be the underlying insult muddled in somewhere.

“are you going with friends?” she questions, her focus falling back on the open computer screen in her lap.

“kinda?” i’m not quite sure what to call Jack, he said we’re friends, but we also don’t actually know each other.

“kinda?” my mother echoes in wonder, looking back up at me as i wander into the kitchen to retrieve a water bottle.

“yeah. i met Quinn’s brother yesterday, the one a year older than me?” i start, “i’m sitting with him and their dad at the game. i don’t think i would call us friends really, but we exchanged numbers yesterday.”

my mother sighs, pushing her glasses atop of her head in order to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“does this boy play that brutal game too?”

my mind wanders back to what Quinn has told me about his family in the past, “yeah, they all do.”

“oh y/n, don’t get too wrapped up in these boys. they won’t do you any good.” she tells me, “find a nice boy, one who wants to do something substantial with his life.”

“we’re just friends, mom. it’s not like anything is gonna happen.”

“but you want it to.” she narrows her eyes, waving her finger towards me, “i can see it. mother’s intuition. don’t fall for this boy.”

who is she to tell me who i should fall for? she and dad barely even speak anymore. i wouldn’t even call what they have, love.

“it’s just going to a hockey game, mom. their dad is gonna be there too.” i sigh, “i gotta go.”

“how are you getting there?” she asks, “are they picking you up?”

“no,” i shake my head, “dad said he would drive me.”

her brows furrow, “your dad had to go into work.”

i gape at her, a blank look covering my face. i shouldn’t be shocked, this happens all the time. it’s the same reason i walk home from ballet, or why i’ve come to rely on Quinn to pick me up for school. but somehow, it still always feels like a cut to the heart.

my mother sighs, shutting her laptop and rising from her seat, “i’ll drive you. come on.”

“you would think he would try and spend more time with you. but it’s always work with that one. work then family.” she mutters, ranting to herself as she slips her shoes on, grabbing her keys from the dish on the entryway table.

i fall in line slowly behind her, dreading this car ride already; because it appears it’s one of those days. the days where my mother will do anything to appear better in my eyes than my father. including talking down about him to me in hopes to make me more upset with him than i already am.

and i was correct. the entire drive was spent with me sitting silently in the passengers seat, watching my surroundings pass by as she went on and on about all of the things my father has done wrong in the past week.

i couldn’t get out of the car quick enough, nearly breaking the car door off its hinges as i throw it open. calling out a goodbye to my mother and assuring her that yes, Quinn would be driving me home afterwards, i slam the door shut and jog towards the arena entrance.

slowing down upon the sight of the glass doors, my body lights up, butterflies flutter in my stomach as i spot Jack in the lobby just through the doors. he wears jeans and a gray hoodie, converse tied to his feet, and he looks down at his phone, glancing up every few moments.

when his eyes land on me through the clear glass, a friendly smile spreads across his lips, slipping his phone into his pocket and taking a few steps towards the door, propping it open for me.

“hey!” he chimes as i reach the entrance, “puck should drop soon! i was gonna text you to check in but, i didn’t wanna push anything.”

my heart rate picks up, my cheeks burning at the idea of seeing Jack’s name pop up on my phone, “you can text me any time.”

Jack’s smile drops into a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

“our seats are this way.” Jack begins pushing through the lingering people in our way, many not paying any attention to the people in their way as they try and navigate towards their own seats.

for a second, i’m pushed away from him, worry flooding my mind as i think of how i’ll try and find our seats if i lose him. but then he looks back at me, his eyes finding mine, and he must see the anxiety that fills my body, because it’s not a moment later that his hand finds mine.

his hand slips into mine, interlacing our fingers as he gently tugs me closer to him as he walks, a reassuring quirk to his lips, “i got you. it’s okay.”

and somehow, all my worry melts away, just like that. for some reason, i feel like he’s telling the truth; it’ll be okay.

there’s something about Jack’s presence that calms my nerves. that makes me feel okay. and it sounds utterly insane because i’ve known him for all of twenty-four hours, but i feel like i can truly trust him.

as we reach our seats, Jack sitting next to his dad with me beside him, he still never lets go of me. instead, he rests our hands on his thigh, glancing over at me to gauge my reaction before he speaks.

“you okay?”

and finally, for once, i’m telling the truth, “yeah.”

#el!hughes au #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3

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lesservillain · 7 months

Text

inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but, despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed.

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship.

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up.

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.”

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you.

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.”

Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

October 7th, 1994

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work.

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter.

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper.

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously.

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it.

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

“I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.”

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at.

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.”

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you.

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters.

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher.

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again.

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!”

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills.

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students.

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time.

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid?

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind.

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.”

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle.

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…”

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it. Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued.

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.”

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right?

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic.

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.”

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath.

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

“Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.”

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front.

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!”

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared.

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards.

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body.

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later.

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading.

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

Eddie.

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle.

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.”

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period.

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed.

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted.

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune.

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door.

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you.

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face.

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye.

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!”

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else.

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin.

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?”

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too.

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.”

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.”

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles.

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school.

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face.

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.”

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts.

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin.

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?”

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you.

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?”

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.”

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest.

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon.

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end.

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise.

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar.

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you.

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing.

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you.

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it.

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself.

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it.

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get.

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely.

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in.

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground.

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped.

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what.

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother.

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash.

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face.

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips.

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

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