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underoossss · 2 years

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babe, baby, beautiful – s.h

pairing: steve harrington x reader

warnings: language, miscommunications, idiots (pining) to idiots (lovers)

an: lets do this again shall we? this wasn’t showing up in the tags, so i deleted and reposted it today im sorry (i also changed the title from ive meant it all to this). So mamma mia here we go again. Have some wholesome hurt/comfort best friends to lovers to brighten your day/night. I love pining idiots and love confessions so here you are!

Masterlist

✫✫✫✫

The bell over the deli’s front door rings at 1pm, and after a glance at the car parked outside, you know exactly who it is. Steve on his lunch break ––or just any break if you’re being honest–– coming to visit you like he always does. You giggle at the idea that pops into your mind, hoping your best friend is distracted enough for it to work.

“Hey, that’s a nice updog you got there.” You say when Steve comes into the store, using your most casual and nonchalant tone. Though you try not to stare, you can’t help yourself when you look him over briefly. He’s wearing that pair of light washed jeans you don’t let yourself think about, and a light blue polo with a t-shirt underneath. His hair––like always––is perfectly styled, some of it falling over the right side of his forehead. With a shake of your head, you clear your thoughts, focusing instead on Steve’s response.

“What’s u—” Steve starts to say then pauses and rolls his eyes, pointing one finger at you. “No! I’m not falling for it this time.”

“Hah! but you almost did!” You say between laughs; vowing to catch him unaware some other time. “I’ll get you to slip, eventually.”

“You can try babe, but you’ll fail.” He says with confidence then smiles at you; his eyes explore your face for a moment before he spots the book on the counter. “Slow morning today?”

“A bit, yeah. But I don’t mind.” You shrug and bookmark your very-much-loved copy of Persuasion. “How’s FV today?”

Steve looks over the many knick-knacks displayed on the counter as he speaks. “Packed. We got some new movies today, so it’s been busy.”

“‘Your kids’ visit you yet?” You ask while you put your book away. “They were here at noon, those little gremlins.”

Steve chuckles, “No surprise there, they like hanging out here more than at the store with me, now.”

“There’s no food at your place, Stevie. But in here…” You gesture at your surroundings with your hand. “I’ll get in trouble for feeding them eventually.”

“How many today?” Steve asks you, he smiles fondly, knowing the angsty teenagers you call your friends can win you over easily.

“3 Subs.” Your voice is a whisper when you answer Steve’s question. “I told them that if I’m found out I’ll tell my boss they stole them. Let them deal with the police.”

You chuckle, knowing you’re only bluffing. With everything that has happened to the kids in this town, you’re sure you’ll try to protect them as much as you can. From the look that Steve gives you ––amused? Fond? –– you know he can tell you’re not serious either.

“Dustin’s going to fix my radio too.” You tell Steve. “It keeps making my cassettes sound funny.”

“Well.” Steve shrugs, faking seriousness. “I’ll back you up with the police if you need; get you out of any trouble.”

You hum and raise a questioning eyebrow. “And how exactly are you gonna do that?”

“I’ll convince them, naturally. I can be very charming.” He says, and you can’t help the laugh that leaves you.

“Of course, you will, Stevie.” You smile, leaning your forearms on the counter once more. Your eyes scan his brown ones and take in the playfulness that lies there; it makes your smile grow.

“I don’t think you believe me, babe.” He shakes his head, mock hurt.

“I do! The Harrington charm works every time.” You say seriously, until you giggle once more. It does work though, you’re very much charmed by him. You fell in love with him after all. Steve rolls his eyes at you with fondness, and your stomach flips. Clearing your throat, you speak again. “We’re still on for tonight right, the group dinner?”

“Yeah, you wanted to try that new burger place at the mall.” Steve nods then scratches the back of his neck. “Eight, right?” His eyes look at yours for confirmation.

“Yup.” You smile, moving one of your arms so you can rest your chin on your palm. You can’t keep the joy out of your tone when you speak again. It had been a week since you last saw all your friends together ––no counting any short visits–– and since you had been able to hang out with Steve for longer than your lunch breaks. “I’m excited.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks you, smiling back like he is thinking the same thing ––he complained briefly last week that choosing to work overtime would keep you from enjoying summer weekends. His forearm settles on the counter, close to your hand as he pushes his weight on it and looks at you. His eyes grow fond and suddenly it’s like they capture yours in a trance. Cedar brown irises shine beautifully as he smiles; you can see the flecks of golden brown in them, a tiny detail that only appears with the right light. You feel your fingers flutter where they rest near Steve’s arm, itching to hold his hand and let it cover yours, but you can’t.

That would make things weird, right?

You nod your head at his question, mentally reminding yourself not to let your heart out on your sleeve, but your brain seems to be asleep. Steve’s eyes, which haven’t left your face and only seem to grow more intense, shift to your lips—pupils dilating and eclipsing the beautiful brown you were observing. When did his face come so close to yours? Steve’s cheeks blush a second later and your face like it’s on fire. It takes all in you to keep from breathing in sharply at the thought that pops up in your mind. Does he… is he thinking about kissing you? No, that’s you projecting onto him. But then his fingers move, like they have the same impulse as yours, and brush your arm gently, almost imperceptibly; it sends a jolt through your body.

You’re giving yourself away! Your mind yells at the same time your heart argues He might like you, he’s acting differently.

You jump, from the electric and burning touch as well as the store’s bell sudden ringing. A new customer steps into the store, disintegrating any moment, however unusual, that happened between you. You clear your suddenly dry throat and dart your eyes from the customer to Steve.

“I should—” You motion to the expecting client and Steve nods. Your face is still burning, and you bite your lip anxiously while your mind races over what could have happened had the client not arrived.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, and your eyes follow the movement, staring involuntarily at the way his arm flexes. His eyebrows furrow as if deep in thought, he looks at you briefly then. “Yeah, of course babe. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll um… see you.”

“Sure, Stevie. See you tonight.” You hope he doesn’t hear the disappointment in your voice, the way you wish he didn’t have to go back to work.

With that, Steve goes out the door and to his car once more. You watch as he reverses back into the main road and disappears. After a shake of your head to clear your head, you address the new customer, take his order, and set to helping him checkout. But even as you work your mind spins in incessant circles of wistful thinking. Steve looked at you differently, his eyes had shone with different emotions, too many to identify correctly. He looked at your lips and blushed when you’d noticed. Is it possible that… no, of course not. There’s no way he could be into you. You were his best friend, nothing more. But then again so was he, and you’d fallen for him anyways. Is it possible that he reciprocates your feelings?

✫✫✫✫

Later that day, you pull into the mall’s parking lot past 7:30pm. Robin sits on the passenger seat of your car, her combat boots up on the dashboard. She asked you for a ride earlier, and since your houses are very close by, you happily agreed. The two of you remove your seatbelts, and slide out of the car, locking the doors behind you. The summer night is humid, and you feel almost suffocated in the button-down shirt that covers your shoulders and arms. But the mall would be blasting cold air though, the AC turned up to the max, so there was really no way you’d only be wearing the pale-yellow tank top you have underneath your shirt. You check your pockets for your keys and the cash you brought with you, an unshakable habit ever since you got locked out of your car that one time during the winter. Robin talks while she walks next to you, her mind going over the possibility of a vegetarian option at the restaurant.

“I know it’s a burger place, but veggie burgers exist! And I know I will be that person who asks for the vegetarian option but… I don’t do it to shame you guys! I just don’t think the world needs the extra cruelty towards the cow where my burger would’ve come from. Or the water depletion! I just hope it’s actually like 100% veggie burger, and not some mixture of veggies and meat.” She goes on, about some frozen veggie burgers she got at the supermarket once, that were not all veggies.

You chuckle and bump your shoulder against hers. “I’ll make sure to ask them if it’s all veggie.”

“And make sure they show you the packaging, they can lie to us!” Robin insists and it makes you laugh as you approach the mall’s entrance.

Eddie Munson is waiting by the main door when he spots you. “What’s Buckley saying that’s got you laughing, sweetums.” He asks when he reaches the two of you.

“Hi Eds.” You say, smiling once your laughter fades. You accept the hug he gives you and Robin does as well.

“She’s delighted by all my trust issues, Munson.” Robin says and shakes her head before she looks at you, “Isn’t that right?”

“Of course not.” You shake your head. “I’m just imagining the waiter’s face when you ask for a veggie burger.”

Robin chuckles, a playful smile on her face. “You’re right.”

“Shall we, ladies?” Eddie motions towards the door. “Don’t know about you, but I’m ready for some of that freezing A/C inside.”

“I swear these temperature changes are going to get us sick one of these days.” You shake your head but walk along with your friends. “Did Steve say what time he’ll get here? I told him eight o’clock but—”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Robin says with a teasing tone. “You’re trying to sound nonchalant.”

You raise your chin higher, “I’m always nonchalant.”

“Keep dreaming. When it comes to Steve you never are.” Robin scoffs, but not meanly, she just likes to tease you about your feelings for him and how inconvenient they are as he is your best friend.

“Cut her some slack, Buckley. That’s how young love is.” Eddie says, but he’s chuckling too.

“Come on, Baskin Robins, don’t gang up on me with Eddie,” You decide to tease her right back, with an annoying nickname at least. “I asked a genuine question.”

“Dunno.” Robin says, “He didn’t tell me when he dropped me off after work.”

“I thought Harrington would be with you guys.” Eddie mentions as the three of you step on the escalators. You take one step and Robin shares one with Eddie. The two of them stand behind you, so you turn sideways to address them.

“I haven’t talked to him since this morning.” You say, shrugging even as your stomach flips at the unusual interaction you’d had with him. You picture it in your mind; the two of you leaning against the deli’s counter, him in front of you. He’d stood closer than before, his face close to yours while you chuckled. He’d looked into your eyes, then moved his gaze to your lips. Your heart had hammered against your chest so loudly you wondered if Steve heard it.

“It’s almost eight, so he should be here soon.” Robin proposes with a shrug.

“Yeah.” You nod, then look at Eddie with a smile. “How was Hellfire today?”

“Same as usual.” Eddie tells you. “We have a killer campaign next week.” He goes on to tell you about it, and you listen to him even while you turn briefly to step off the escalators. He’s mentioning something Mike and Dustin had come up with at a club meeting and how he’d let them plan the next campaign.

You were about to tell him how the kids were growing on him but the scene in front of you makes you pause. There, on the other side of the second floor is Steve, but he isn’t alone. There’s a girl next to him, holding his arm as they walk in the direction to the restaurant. You can only see her profile, while she looks at him, and she is beautiful. Her blonde hair bounces perfectly with each step she takes, and the pink lipstick she’s wearing suits her complexion perfectly. They way she looks at him is all too familiar as well, it’s a way you’ve looked at him on many occasions ––and a look you’ve worked hard to conceal from him. But where the girl looks at him like he’s too attractive to be real ––he is–– you look at him like he’s your favourite person to ever exist, like there’s no one you will love like you love him.

You stop dead on your tracks, looking away from Steve’s walking form. Your eyes look around to try and find somewhere to hide. A second later you see a thick pillar to your right and you make a beeline towards it —it’s embarrassing really, how you have to hide, but you don’t to want be spotted. Not when your insides feel like they’re collapsing on themselves. But the way you looked at me this morning, you wonder to yourself, did I imagine it? Of course, you did; you’ve known all along Steve can’t and will never be yours. The only one who wasn’t in on the secret was your heart.

Your friends are quick to follow you, crouching next to you in your hiding place. Their gaze follows yours and you can see out of your periphery that they share a concerned look. Steve looks so handsome as always, in that white t-shirt and burgundy vest; his hair is perfect, the grin on his face is lovely. All of it makes your heart ache, even more so when you look at the girl by his side again. His probable date, the one he chose. I wish you were mine instead, you think. I wish… I only saw you as a friend.

You try to speak and open your mouth to, once, twice, but no sound comes out. The only sound you do hear though, is that of your heart as it breaks. You knew this day would come, you’ve tried to prepare for it, so how is it that you’re not ready? Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to control the way your lip trembles and your hand begins to shake. Nausea bubbles in your stomach and you feel an ache within your chest, though you don’t know how —it’s suddenly hollow and devastated. You swallow hard and manage to find your voice. “I need to leave. Y–you guys should go get burgers anyway —let me know how they are.”

Robin and Eddie start to say your name, but you shake your head, wiping at your eyes before your tears fall. “Look at that, the allergies are acting up. Eddie you can give robin a ride home, right?”

Eddie nods, but his eyes are full of concern. He brings his hand to your shoulder and keeps his voice soft when he speaks. “Yeah, buttercup; but we don’t have to stay, we can go with you.”

Robin nods earnestly, struggling to keep her voice down. She starts rambling, insisting on coming with you. “You’re not okay, come on let’s get you home. We don’t need the burgers; we’ll all make excuses. You don’t have to be alone right now, I-I honestly didn’t know he would….”

“No, please guys, I’m okay.” You try to reassure them, the need to flee the mall growing with each minute. The sting of unshed tears becomes more intense. “Tell Steve I ate a bad sandwich at work and got sick. Or anything! I just can’t be here right now. I’m sorry.”

You offer them a poor excuse for a smile before you turn around to leave the mall. After making sure Steve went the opposite way from the front door, you walk to the escalators again, descending them like you would a normal staircase ––there’s no time to way for it to take you to the main floor, you need to leave. It feels like you’re on autopilot from then on, you walk to your car and drive home in silence. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly while your heart continues to pound in your chest, this time completely differently than it had in the morning. The autopilot you were in shuts down once you park in your driveway, and at once the numbness ends as your resolve to be strong crumbles. Your feelings overflow, they burst from the tiny box you squeezed them into a long time ago, and it’s a matter of seconds for the tears to follow. Once the first one falls, the rest don’t hold back, and just like that you find yourself crying in your car. Your head falls to the steering wheel and your shoulders shake with a sob when the memory from earlier floods your mind again.

You see the two of them and how good they looked together; how happy she was. Would Steve kiss her goodnight? Would she get to feel his touch as they kissed? It all hurts you even more, yet the only one to blame for being in this mess is you. How could you think you had a chance. You’re Steve’s best friend, just that, and you will remain that indefinitely. It hadn’t bothered you before, until a couple years ago romantic feelings bloomed and grew each time you fell more in love with him. Why did you have to fall in love? Why didn’t you ignore your feelings back then to save you the pain of a broken heart you’re experiencing now?

With a few deep breaths you try to compose yourself, wiping at your eyes and the tears that fell on the wheel during your pity party. You can’t stay in your car all night, so you gather your things and make your way to the front door. You discard your shoes once you’re inside and the door is locked behind you. Then, figuring that chocolate can probably trick you into feeling better, you go to the kitchen where you grab a tub of ice cream from the freezer and a spoon.

You sit on the floor, your back to the fridge as you scoop a spoonful of chocolate ice cream and eat it absentmindedly. You feel tired and jealous, but also angry and hollow. This was going to happen, you remind yourself ––no daydreaming or wistful thinking was going to change the outcome. Steve was never going to choose you, romantically anyways. How are you going to face him again, hear him talk about his date and pretend that you’re happy when you know you’re not. When you know that it’s killing you that you’re not and will never be his.

Even the decadent chocolate flavour turns bitter after a few spoonfuls, your thoughts stripping it off its comforting sweetness. With a sigh, you stand up and drop the spoon on the sink then put the ice cream back in the freezer, determined to go upstairs and shower; you’ll cry yourself to sleep soon after. Yes, that’s a good plan. You empty your pockets and leave everything on your dresser —your keys, and the money you didn’t use. In the bathroom, you start the shower and let the water warm up as you undress and put a shower cap on. You don’t have the strength or willingness to wash your hair tonight, besides, the sooner you’re in bed the better. The warm water soothes you, as does the vanilla scented body wash you always use. You put all your focus on getting yourself clean, trying to leave no room in your mind to think about your feelings.

By the time you’re out of the shower and slip into your sleeping shirt and shorts, you feel proud of yourself because you hadn’t cried anymore. But the small triumph only lasts until you’re done brushing your teeth because just then the phone starts to ring downstairs. You rinse your mouth before going back downstairs and to the kitchen, thankful for your deep-sleeper parents when you see its 10:30 on the microwave’s clock.

“Hello?” You answer the phone, wondering who’s calling.

“Hey, babe.” Steve voice says on the other side of the line, and you the minute to hear his voice your non-crying streak is broken. Your throat feels tight, and your vision blurs; flashes of what you saw at the mall come back to you like an unkind reminder. You want to hang up, you have to make up any excuse because Steve can’t hear you cry.

“Hi,” You murmur as your fingers fidget with the phone’s curly cord. You tangle and untangle your finger in it, anything to calm you down.

“Robin said you’re sick, how are you feeling?”

If only you knew.

“I’m…not great,” You say, and it isn’t a lie, he just doesn’t know why. “I’m throwing up my guts.” You continue, trying to stop your voice from wavering and pressing your lips together as you take a deep breath. I’m also crying my eyes out you think, but you don’t tell him.

“Must have been a really bad sandwich,” Steve says–– you can picture him scratching his chin as he speaks, his eyebrows furrowed. “This morning you were fine. I called Henderson and he’s not sick.”

You shake your head, of all the times he chooses to be perceptive… Yeah, this morning seems like an eternity ago. When I thought you returned my feelings, but you went out on a possible date, and it broke my heart.

“I ate a different sub.” You say. “And with my luck it probably had poison in it. Maybe it was the lettuce.” You fake a chuckle, knowing the lie is sealed tight now. The kids hate veggies, that’s why you never put them in their sandwiches. If you say you put some in yours then it’s more believable that you got sick, and they didn’t.

You clear your throat, needing to spare yourself any more pain. “I… um, feel very tired though so I should go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, probably nodding his head even though you can’t see him. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, beautiful. Drink lots of water, ok?”

Your heart tightens at the pet name ––one of many that started meaning something different to you a while ago––and his concern. In another world, one where you aren’t in love with him, you know he would be comforting you through your heartbreak. But that isn’t the world you live in. Here, you deal with it alone because silly you fell in love with your best friend.

“Yeah, thanks Stevie. Night.” You hang up and squeeze your eyes shut as you lean against the wall, letting your tears finally fall to the kitchen floor.

The sudden knock on the front door makes you look up, and you barely have time to wonder who it is when you hear Robin’s voice calling your name. “Open up! I can see the lights on!” She says from the other side.

Though you’re tired —and surprised— you make your way to the front door and open it to find Robin and Eddie standing there. They look at you with both worry and sympathy when they see your red-rimmed and puffy eyes. It’s enough to make you tear up again.

“I hate everything.” You mumble and they step inside to envelop you in a three-person hug. “What are you guys doing here?”

Robin scoffs softly, “You honestly think we wouldn’t check up on you?”

You can only shrug when they step back, that’s exactly what you thought earlier. “I guess not.”

“We didn’t want you to be alone.” Eddie says, his lips forming a frown.

“Thank you… I appreciate that.” You tell them, though you feel guilty that your currently emotional state made them come see you. “Come in, make yourselves comfortable.”

The three of you move to the living room, where you lie face down on the couch, knowing you don’t have to pretend to be okay with your friends. Eddie sits on the coffee table and Robin goes to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“How were those burgers?” You ask though your voice is muffled by the couch. “Steve just called. Thank you for covering for me.”

“The burgers were… interesting.” Eddie says, “We were going to bring you one but Robin said you would throw it up.”

You shake your head, sitting up briefly when you hear Robin approach. “You can rip the band aid off. I just heard his voice and lied to him, so what’s some more pain?”

Robin hands you the glass of water which you accept and take a few sips from. Eddie takes the glass from you when you’re done, and you collapse on the couch again, facing the ceiling this time.

“He came to the restaurant with her, sat down with us for a bit.” Eddie begins and his leg bounces anxiously as his hands fidget, like he’s unsure he should be telling you more, “He asked about you, and got worried when we told him you got sick.”

“They didn’t stay long.” Robin says from where she now sits on the floor next to you.

“Was she, his date?” You ask, looking for some confirmation of your assumptions.

Robin nods and takes your hand in hers. “Yeah, it was a date.” She whispers.

You nod in understanding, eyes fixed on the ceiling as tears gather in your eyes. So it is confirmed then, you think dejectedly, I read too much into what happened in the morning. I fooled myself into thinking he was into me. One of your tears rolls down your cheek and hides in your hair.

“Shit, sweetums.” Eddie says, sounding upset by your current state. “Come on, don’t cry.”

You chuckle morosely, “I can’t help it, Eddie. I feel like my heart went through a paper shredder.”

“I thought Harrington was into you, buttercup, I was almost certain of it.” Eddie shakes his head; you feel his eyes still on your face. “Robin too.”

“Yeah, I never thought he’d bring a date to dinner. Considering you invited him.” Robin is shaking her head while she pulls on a thread sticking out of the carpeted floor.

“We were all wrong then.” You say, closing your eyes, “Me for believing I wouldn’t care or be affected if Steve dated someone, and you guys for thinking he saw me as anything other than a friend.”

There’s a minute of silence between the three of you as you shake your head at your own foolishness and stare at the ceiling. “He called me, just as you guys arrived. Had to hang up quickly so he wouldn’t hear me cry.”

Robin’s hand falls on your shoulder and squeezes it in comfort. You think about how you had to lie to Steve, how you didn’t even let him say good night. It makes you tear up again. “This is pathetic. Why is it affecting me so much?” You say, voice muffled as you cover your face with your hands.

“Hey, come on it’s not pathetic.” Eddie says, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “You just got a big heart, so your feelings are stronger. Nothing wrong with it.”

You turn your head to look at him, feeling guilty for needing comfort but also grateful for it. “Real good that’s done.” You chuckle without any joy, “I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Robin chides, moving to sit on the couch, urging you to rest your head on her lap.

“Thank you.” You tell Robin, and then Eddie. “I’ll be okay, eventually.”

“How?” Robin asks, shaking her head at you, as she runs a hand over your head.

“I just need to sort out my feelings for Steve; put them back on the box they were in before.” You explain, trying to convince them and yourself at the same time.

“And when Harrington goes on another date?” Eddie echoes your conscience beside you which makes you turn to look at him again.

You bring your gaze back to the ceiling when you feel yourself tear up once more. Will your heart survive something like this once again? What if you see him kissing someone else. What pain will that cause?

Eddie places his hand over yours, his rings cold against your skin. “You’re crying just at the thought of it, buttercup.”

You cover your face with your hands again as the tears continue to come, falling down your cheeks in earnest. “I need to get over these feelings. I need to forget that I ever fell in love with him.” You shake your head. “I need to get away, clear my head.”

“And go where?” Eddie asks, doubt and concern lacing his tone.

“Your aunt’s” Robin says a second later and two pairs of eyes turn to look at her. “She’s always asking you to visit, you can go there.”

Robin is right, Aunt Maggie is always asking when you’ll visit her again. She has a lovely farm with a light blue painted house. It’s been a while since you last drove there and you’d be lying if you say you didn’t miss her. Two birds, one stone.

“Wheres that?” Eddie asks, his hands now playing with his hair anxiously.

“Ohio, a little out of Columbus.” You rub at your eyes, “I can drive, it’s less than 4 hours away.”

“So that’s it, you’re leaving?” Eddie looks at you like you’ve lost your mind and you shrug. Maybe you have, but there’s no denying you need to figure out how to move forward after tonight. Doing so 4 hours away from Hawkins and without having to actively ignore Steve seems like the best alternative.

“I’m off work until Wednesday next week, it works.” You tell your friends, sitting up on the couch. You look at Robin, thankful for her memory. “I’ll call Aunt Margaret in the morning.”

“I don’t want you to, but…” Robin sighs, slouching where she sits. “When do you think you’ll leave?” Though you can see she’s trying to act casual, you know she’s nervous for you; worried.

“Probably Sunday?” You run a hand over your head, “I need to pack.”

“You don’t have to leave.” Eddie is shaking his head, opposing your idea.

“Eds, I just need to be with my thoughts for a while, see what I’m going to do. Otherwise, I won’t stop hurting, and all the crying is going to dehydrate me, and I’ll end up dead.”

Or your heart will give out. Your eyes tear up again, like they’re not done crying. Not yet. “Fuck, not again.”

“I just want you to be okay. I’ve never seen you cry, sweetums. Ever. Tonight has been shocking to say the least.” Though you can’t see him, you can hear the frown Eddie has on his face as he speaks.

Robin puts her hand on your knee, patting it twice. “We just want you to smile again, for real. Like you did earlier tonight.”

“Well, I was going to eat some fries and a burger, and I thought the guy I love might like me back.” You chuckle and wipe your tears again, uselessly. “I will be okay, I feel absolutely empty right now, but I will be better. A change of scenery will help me.” You hope.

“So, Sunday?” The two of them ask you.

“Sunday.” You nod and swallow hard, deciding to give them both a smile instead of more crying.

“I hope you’re right about this.” Robin mumbles.

“Me too.” You say, hoping things will work out.

✫✫✫✫

Sunday morning eventually arrives, and you wake up early in the morning to make sure you have everything you need for the next 3 days. You pack a couple snacks and some water bottles for the road, take your car to fill up the gas tank, and pack anything else you might need. Robin arrives at 10am, Eddie at 10:15, to load your things in your car and say goodbye before you leave.

“How did Steve take it?” Robin asks you. The three of you sit on your front door’s steps, waiting for Steve to arrive. It didn’t feel right in your heart to leave without saying goodbye to him, so you called him last night.

You sigh, “He was very confused, you know how he is. He asked a bunch of questions, but I told him I’d explain today.”

“Explain, huh?” Eddie says with a chuckle next to you.

“You know what I mean, Munson.” You roll your eyes and bump his shoulder with yours. “The necessary information only.”

Just then you hear a car approach in the distance and recognize it as it comes closer to you house. Steve speeds to your driveway, barely putting his car on park before he’s sliding out of it and walking towards you. A frown pulls down at his lips, there’s a crease between his brows as he furrows them and his hair is a dishevelled from running his finger through it —it still works for him, it always does. Damn you for always looking so good Steve, you think as you see the way the blue polo he’s wearing fits him.

You stand to greet him, offering a small wave when he stops in front of you. “Hey.”

“Babe, what? You’re leaving?” Steve is shaking his head when he steps closer to you, brows still furrowed in question.

“Aunt Maggie called me, Steve, she asked me to visit.” You explain. Your hands fidget with each other in front of you. “You know she lives alone, maybe she needs some company.”

“So this time you just accepted her invitation?” Steve sounds confused, like you’re not making any sense and you know you probably aren’t, but you nod anyway.

“Yeah…”

Steve brings his hand up, close to your face and rubs the skin of your under eye softly with his thumb—his frown deepens. “You haven’t been sleeping well?”

When you can only shrug—speechless from his touch— Steve sighs. “Why are you really leaving, beautiful?”

There he goes again with the pet names, making your heart race, and confusing it at the same time. He is so caring, and worries so much you wish you could tell him the truth; that it wouldn’t make you lose him. “There are some things I need to figure out.” You say when you look at the floor then back at him. You don’t want to lie to him, so a vague truth would have to do.

“You can talk to me, you know that. You can tell me anything.” Steve says softly, his eyes pleading you to talk to him or maybe to stay? You’re not sure.

Not this, you think, I can’t tell you this. “I hope I can, Stevie. Eventually.”

You step closer and hug him wishing for nothing more than to comfort him. The minute you’re in his arms you curse your body for fitting so perfectly against his, and the way it relaxes under his touch. You melt against him for a second, your mind spiraling further. You’re the only one for me, can’t you see? Can’t you tell how perfect this feels? But you’ll never see me as the one for you. Steve’s arms are a reassuring weight on your shoulder, and the way he hunches to cocoon you in his chest makes you sigh softly; softly enough he doesn’t hear you.

“Call me, yeah? I don’t know your aunt’s number.” Steve mumbles above your ear. it tickles you but you dare not move from his embrace. Not yet.

“Robin has it. I’ll call you though, to tell you I arrived okay.” You nod, knowing he feels the movement.

“And drive with caution.” He says next, his tone serious before his voice becomes softer. “ I could have driven you.”

“It’s like an 8 hour round trip Steve, I’d never ask that of you.” You shake your head against his shoulder, involuntarily breathing him in.

Steve reluctantly nods, still frowning you imagine but you don’t blame him. Even without your romantic feelings involved, it would make you sad to leave town for a while. This separation from him though necessary is killing you on the inside. “Just be careful, okay? I’ll miss you.”

You nod against his shoulder again. “I’ll miss you too..” You step back, putting some distance between you and looking into his eyes one more time. I’ll miss everything about you, you want to say.

“Let me check your car, make sure it’s alright for the road.” Steve is still frowning as he scratches his cheek anxiously. “Won’t take long.”

“Thank you, Stevie.” You muster your most convincing smile while your heart aches at his concern. He nods, and walks back to the driveway.

Robin’s arms envelop you a second later, squeezing you tightly. You return her fierce embrace with one of your own, sighing at the thought of leaving her behind. “Sorry to leave you with all the boys.” You tell her.

Robin takes a step back. “Please come back, okay? And call me when you get to aunt Maggie’s ‘cause then I’ll know you’re safe and sound. Don’t forget, or else I will end up hitchhiking to Ohio just to make sure you’re safe and with so many weirdos out there who knows where I’ll end up.” Robin starts to ramble, her eyes serious and her hands clutching your shoulders to get her message across.

You nod your head, smiling at her concern and creative mind. “I will call you, just please don’t hitchhike alright? Ask someone to drive you if you need to check that I’m not dead.”

Robin nods, her short hair bouncing lightly on her head. “I’ll miss you.”

“I will too.” You give her another hug before you move over to hug Eddie, who stands next to her.

Eddie’s leather jacket is cool to the touch, but it doesn’t take away any warmth from his hug. “You’ll be alright buttercup. Things might seem shitty right now, but it’ll get better.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” You say, voice small as you step back and look at him, grateful for his words and his support. “For everything. You’re a good friend.”

He dismisses the compliment with a wave of his hand, smiling softly at you. “You need anything, call us. We’ll get to you as fast as we can. Right, Harrington?” His eyes move to your car, and you turn around to find Steve there closing the hood.

You walk to him and stand next to the driver’s side. “Is it good to go?”

Steve nods, staring at the floor and then looking into your eyes again. “Come back, okay babe? I sure hope you find me here when you do, and that I haven’t crashed myself into a car because the kids drove me crazy while you were gone.”

You laugh at his joke and his own laughter follows soon after. Your eyes light up at the smile on his face, the way his eyes squint against the sun and wrinkle in the corners with his smile. You adore him, you are seriously fucked. “I’ll be back here on Wednesday, Stevie.” You smile at him, forgetting about everything for a second and kissing his cheek. “Don’t crash your car.”

With that, you slide into the driver’s seat, start the car, and drive away.

Steve stands in the driveway and stares after your car as it becomes smaller in the distance, until it turns a corner and disappears from view. It doesn’t feel right, fuck, it’s not right. Why did everything decide go to shit all of a sudden?

“You know Harrington, I did not take you for a blind man.” Eddie says to him, rubbing his chin before he shakes his head.

Steve puts his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean, Munson?” He’s lost, he’s been so confused since Friday. What had happened?

“Nothing,” Eddie puts his hands up. “I just think it’s sad that you’re so lucky, but you fail to see it.” Eddie gives him a small smile, then goes to his car as Steve stands there feeling more confused than before.

“Munson! Eddie! Come on what’s that supposed to mean?” Steve calls after him, but Eddie doesn’t turn around.

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” Is all Eddie says before getting into his car and driving away.

Steve turns, looking at Robin with pleading eyes. If there’s something he’s missing, which he’s sure he is, she must know it. “Robs?” He asks. “‘You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Robin flicks his nose, then chuckles. “You should go home, dingus. Sit on it for a while, it’ll come to you.” She turns around and starts to walk along the sidewalk back to her place, leaving Steve to think over her words.

It’ll come to you. What will?

✫✫✫✫

It, in fact, did not come to him. Not on Sunday, and definitely not on Monday, especially with Robin’s refusal to help him out. No clues, no explanations, nothing. Steve’s hair is in a permanent state of disarray from constantly running his fingers through it. You were gone, and though you had talked to him briefly on the phone it just wasn’t enough. Steve feels like he’s going to lose his mind. You’ve been acting weird since the weekend, dodging dinner with what he thinks is a lie about being sick, then randomly leaving to Ohio. There was also the fact that your eyes looked sad, the last time he saw you, your smile only coming through when he joked right before you left. It had filled his chest with joy, but then you drove away and everything inside him deflated. He feels like a walking carcass, a shadow, a lost pet walking down the streets. Had he done something to upset you? Would you ever tell him what?

“You’ve been checking that list out for more than an hour, you know that right?” Robin speaks up from where she sits, reading a magazine with her boots propped up on the counter.

Family video is empty around him, like it always is on Tuesdays, and Steve looks down at the inventory list he’s holding. Every box is checked already, but he zoned out thinking about you and now he looks like an idiot standing by the drama aisle. How fitting.

“Shit.” Steve sighs, walking to place the list on the counter. He rests his head there, squeezing his eyes shut. There are too many questions swirling in his mind; it feels like he’s going crazy ––so he starts to pace. “What if she doesn’t come back Robin!”

“Why wouldn’t she?” She asks vaguely, and Steve knows she’s only half listening to him. “She has a shift at the deli on Thursday.”

“She left last minute, something must have happened. And it has to do with me, because she didn’t tell me until the last minute! I’m her best friend, I’m always the first to know.” Steve runs a hand through his hair again, and stares at the carpeted floor while he walks the whole length of the counter and back. “Then there’s you and Munson being so mysterious about all this, not telling me anything.”

“Steve.” Robin sighs, “I don’t think there’s a point in me telling you, I think you already know what happened, but your mind doesn’t process it yet.”

“I don’t know!” Steve throws his hands up in exasperation at the same time the front door opens. Dustin, Max, and Lucas storm inside, determined looks on their faces.

“Where is she?” Dustin demands, foregoing all manners as he looks from Steve to Robin.

“Who?” Robin asks, not looking up from her magazine.

“You know who!” Dustin says, rolling his eyes. “She’s not been at the Deli for two days.”

“And she won’t answer the phone at home. Her parents said she’s away. Where?” Max asks, furrowing her eyes when she looks at Steve. “Did you do something?”

“No! I’m as lost as all of you are.” Steve rolls his eyes. “She’s been acting weird since Friday.”

“She seemed fine to me.” Lucas shrugs, the crosses his arms over his chest. “She gave us some sandwiches, then we talked for a while. Everything was normal.”

“Yeah, well she bailed on dinner with us because she got sick from eating a sandwich.” Steve shakes his head, looking away from the accusatory looks the teenagers were giving him.

“From a sandwich?” Max says, a confused look crossing her features. “Can’t be, she ate half of mine and I’m fine.”

Steve’s head turns to the redhead so fast, he’s sure he risked whiplash. “What?”

“I told you.” Dustin says with an eye roll. “None of us were sick on Friday.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me she shared a sandwich with Max!” Steve points a finger at him, then sighs and rests his hands on his hips. “So, she just bailed? Didn’t go to the mall? She told me she was excited.”

“You didn’t see her there?” Lucas asks.

“No, Eddie drove Robin that night, she wasn’t around.” Steve shakes his head, then looks at the teens in front of him suspiciously. “What do you know?”

“Eddie couldn’t have driven Robin; he ran out of D&D and then drove to the mall. He said he was running late.” Dustin explains, his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and Steve knows he’s trying to figure the puzzle out. “So, she must have driven Robin, but why did she leave?”

“Why did she lie?” Steve wonders aloud.

“Maybe she changed her mind.” Lucas supplies and Max shakes her head.

“That’s not it.” Max mumbles, at the same time Robin speaks up.

“Maybe she saw something she didn’t like.”

“I knew it! You know something!” Steve says, turning to face Robin at the same moment she lowers her magazine.

Her gaze is serious, “Think about it, Steve. What did you do on Friday.”

All teenagers turn to him, expectant looks on their faces to hear what Steve has to say.

Steve’s face transforms into a grimace. “I went on a bad date with someone.”

“What?!” Dustin, Max, and Lucas, yell at the same time.

The outrage in their eyes makes Steve put his hands up. “What do you mean ‘what?!’”

Max pretends to think, then speaks up. “Um, aren’t you like completely gone for Y/N?”

“Why would you go on a date with someone else?” Dustin shakes his head.

Steve scratches the back of his neck and looks down at the floor. He almost messed up on Friday afternoon, when he went to the deli to see you. You had looked just so fucking pretty ––like you always do–– with your hair styled in that way that makes Steve crazy and that pink lip-gloss on your lips. It was like you were trying to drive him out of his mind that day, and Steve being the idiot he is, had slipped. He’d leaned too close to you, he let his eyes shift down to your lips and fucking blushed when you caught him staring. He’d given into the impulse of touching your hand and was pretty sure he would have kissed you had a customer not arrived. He felt so stupid, the one thing he told himself not to do ––let you find out he’s in love with you–– and he went ahead and almost blew it. You had smiled so prettily at him, and it took everything in him to put distance between the two of you. So, after leaving the deli, flustered and in a rush, Steve looked for a date to bring to dinner that night. Anything to get the feelings that had surfaced in check, and to cover up his slip in front of you.

“So I would be forced to think about someone else but her! So she wouldn’t figure out I like her!” Steve shakes his head, disliking the way everyone is looking at him like he’s a blind man. Just like Munson said on Sunday.

“It all makes sense now.” Dustin nods, and everyone agrees. Everyone but Steve.

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “What? It doesn’t.”

Robin groans and puts her magazine down. “How would you feel if it had been you in her place, Steve?”

Steve looks down to the floor again, thinking about it. He thinks about you on a date with someone else, some dude who would get to hold your hand and make you laugh. It immediately hurts something inside of him, and he clenches his fists by his sides. “That makes no sense, it would suck, but only because I have feelings for her.”

Max is going to say something, but Robin holds her hand up and speaks first. Her eyes are trained on Steve. “He’ll realize it, give him a minute.”

Steve thinks about the way you lied about being sick and avoided dinner on Friday, those are things he would do too, if he is being honest. He thinks about the possibility of you having feelings for him, about his love not being unrequited and it all makes sense. Your avoidance, the way you looked so sad on Sunday. He’d hurt you, and now you thought he was in love with someone else. Your heart. Steve winces as he thinks about how you must have felt, your heart, so kind and so big, it must have hurt that night. It might even still hurt right now. All because of him.

“So she…” Steve mumbles, speechless at the thought.

“YES STEVE!” Everyone yells at him, and that is enough to jump-start his heart and his mind. It spurs him into action.

“Shit! Shit!” Steve says, patting his pockets for his keys. “I have to go, I gotta go see her and–– and I’ll figure out the rest on the way.”

“We’re coming with you!” Robin jumps up from her seat, a look of triumph on her face. “Told you you’d figure it out.”

“Keith, we gotta go!” Steve yells over his shoulder, running to the door and flipping the store’s sign to close. “Take it out of my paycheck!”

Everyone squeezes into Steve’s car, with barely any time to put their seat belts on before Steve reverses out of his parking spot and speeds out of the lot. He sees everything with new eyes. Hope flourishing on his chest. He needs flowers, and he needs to think over what he’ll say. He’s got 4 hours, more than enough time.

✫✫✫✫

The days you spent at Aunt Maggie’s house had been everything but uneventful. She had welcomed you with open arms and showed you the new things she’d changed around the house since your last visit. From then on you had kept busy, thankful for the distractions, working on the garden, watering the many flowers planted around the property, driving to town and running errands for your aunt. Then there was Saturn, Aunt Maggie’s golden retriever, who had done wonders to your mood the moment you arrived. But still, your feelings and thoughts always found a way to creep up on you. You thought and missed Steve, constantly, unable to tune him out like you hoped, and every phone call with him cemented the fact that you can’t go on lying to him. He is still your best friend, and even though you’re going to lose him you came to the decision to tell him the truth. You’ll tell him that you’re in love with him once you’re back in Hawkins. You figure, that if you’re going to end up hurt either way ––pining while he dates someone else or alone after you confess your feelings–– you might as well get hurt from telling the truth.

You are just about done baking some cookies, taking them out of the oven and setting them on the counter to cool, when you hear a car approaching the house. The gravel road crunches under its weigh, and you look out the window to see if Aunt Maggie was back from her book club. But it isn’t her car that’s approaching, it’s Steve’s. Tiny pieces of dirt fly everywhere as the tires move on the small and secluded path to the house. The sun that’s still shinning, though lower on the sky, glints on the windshield and conceals who’s inside. You try to keep your emotions in check, but your stomach flips traitorously at the thought of it being Steve.

Saturn barks next to you, propping his paws on the kitchen counter to look out the window. A second later he dashes to the front door, and barks to let you know he wants to go out. You take your apron off, and walk to the living room, lingering by the front door for a moment as you wonder what the hell is going on. Your aunt’s dog runs outside the moment you open the door, surprising Max, Lucas and Dustin when they open the back door. Robin is next to slide out of the car, opening the passenger door and running to where you stand.

“Hey stranger.” She smiles, her arms hugging you tightly as you chuckle. You hug her back, smiling widely at the sight of your friend.

“Hey yourself.” You say. “What are you––?”

“YN!” The three teenagers run to you. They shove Robin out of the way before they hug you and though you try, you can’t make out a single word they’re saying. It could be gibberish, or something serious but you can’t focus on any of it because Steve steps out of his car in that moment.

“There are cookies on the kitchen counter.” You tell the three of them after your hug, and it’s enough to get them running inside the house.

Steve walks around his car and stands there, in the sun, holding a small bouquet of colourful flowers. His face is serious, save for a small smile he sends your way, and with just one look you can tell something is different. But you don’t know what.

“Hi.” He says when you walk towards him, eyes shining in a new way that confuses you even more.

“Hi, Stevie.” You smile, then tilt your head slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Steve offers you the flowers with a shrug and when you take them from him, his hand holds your wrist gently. “I came to see you, I have to tell you something.”

You look at his hand when it lets go of you, and swallow hard. “I––I do too.” You say, taking a deep breath and looking into his eyes. How is it that he got prettier in just 3 days.

Steve starts to speak but you speak up first, needing to tell him the truth once and for all ––before you chicken out. “I love you Steve. I––I have feelings for you, so many that I can’t hide them anymore. I saw you on Friday at the mall when you were out on a date and it… well it broke my heart.” You shake your head, looking away and to the side.

You gather courage with another deep breath and look at him again. “I didn’t know how to face you without you finding out about my feelings, so I lied about being sick. I’m sorry for lying, I hated it, I hated being away from you too. But I decided to let you know how I felt, regardless of the consequences. I understand if this makes things between us weird.”

Steve shakes his head, holding you free hand. “Babe––”

“Please don’t call me that if you don’t mean it like it means to me, Stevie.” Tears have gathered in your eyes, and you brush them away quickly. “I can’t take it.”

He takes a step closer to you, making the distance between the two of you smaller. You breathe in sharply at the proximity, only to become breathless a second later. “Babe, baby, beautiful, gorgeous, sweetheart.” Steve whispers to you, his eyes adoring and melting you on the spot. “I mean them all, I’ve meant all of them.” Steve confesses and brings his hands up to cradle your face, his smile is almost shy as he speaks.

At your stunned silence Steve continues, growing more confident. “I love you, I’ve loved you for so long. I only went on a date because I almost kissed you that morning and tried to get over you. And I failed because it’s impossible to get over you.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you because I never thought you’d feel the same way, you’re way too good for me.”

“No, I’m not.” You shake your head, tears blur your vision for a whole different reason this time. “You deserve everything, Steve.”

“I just need you, only you, babygirl.” His thumb rubs your cheek softly, it makes you close your eyes. “You were gone 3 days and it was hell…I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Stevie.” You whisper. You feel speechless as you stare up at him in wonder and in love, struck with the truth and the relief that you don’t have to give each other up after all. “We’ve been so wrong.”

Steve only nods, understanding the look in your eyes like he’s thinking the same thing. “Gotta make it right.”

You look at his lips then back at his eyes, feeling your face burn when Steve smiles at you.

His pupils dilate as he takes you in, his eyes feeling like a caress everywhere he looks. “I’m yours, baby.” He says softly, “You can kiss me.”

You settle your hands on his shoulders and you lean in, feeling electricity go through your whole body when Steve’s lips touch yours. Every breath on your body leaves you at one, every thought disappears from your mind, and it only leaves room for you to focus on the person in front of you. Your best friend, who’s lips fit so perfectly with yours, you’re not sure how the two of you took so long to take this next step. Because you were both idiots, your mind supplies. You tune it out and wrap your arms around Steve’s neck, pressing your chests together in the process and bringing you even closer. One of Steve’s hands that cradled your cheek moves to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, and you can’t help the sigh that leaves you. Goosebumps rise on your skin when you feel his tongue brush your bottom lip, his hand tangle in your hair, his teeth lightly catching one of your lips between them. It’s perfect, it overwhelms your senses, it makes you want to stay in this moment forever. You wonder briefly, if this is all a dream but shut that thought down immediately. There’s no way you could conjure up a dream this perfect, a dream that feels so right.

You smile, then laugh when the joy you feel is impossible to hold back, and Steve pulls back with a matching smile of his own. “There it is my girl’s smile. ‘Was going fucking crazy not seeing it for more than a day.” He says.

Your smile brightens, your heart soars inside your chest at how right it all feels. “I missed you, Stevie.”

Steve’s hands drift down to your waist and bring you closer to him; his eyes dark from your kiss softening after a moment. “I missed you more, come back home yeah?”

“I will.” You nod, matching Steve’s shining smile. You hold back a giggle, an idea popping up in your mind just like it did last Friday. “I just have one question.”

“Sure babe.” Steve leans down, his lips placing a couple of barely-there kisses on your cheeks. “Anything.”

“Did you see that updog on the way here?”

“What’s updog?” He asks distracted, lips against your skin.

“Nothing, what’s up with you?” You giggle, and soon start laughing at the look of absolute defeat on Steve’s face. “Told you I’d make you fall for it eventually.”

“Oh come on, I was distracted! You tricked me.”

You cackle as he tries to deny the fact that he fell for your prank and Steve’s eyes squint with determination. His fingers flutter on your waist and you squirm out of his reach, knowing what’s on his mind. There’s no way you’ll let him tickle you. Steve laughs when you start running away to the open field next to the house. He runs after you, following your own laughter, his heart so full it could burst.

You look over your shoulder and smile. “I love you!” You tell him, just because you can, and can’t help but thank fate for this turn of events when Steve yells back:

“I love you.”

tagging some very nice people: @magnitude101999 @steveslittlesunflower @avengersbabe13 @vulgarfuckinvirgo @k1ngeddie

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic

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ghosttotheparty · 1 year

Text

a place where i belong

also on ao3 // 13k words cw: verbal abuse; gaslighting; family angst; smut/nsfw

He’s in the kitchen when he hears it. Standing by the sink and downing a painkiller, shoes on, jacket on, car keys in hand. He pauses when he hears it, hypervigilant as always, freezing without swallowing the gulp of water, the pill floating in his mouth for a moment as he realizes.

A car pulls into the driveway.

He swallows, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, and he sets the glass in the sink.

He’d forgotten they were coming back today. It’s been on the calendar, marked with a vague, innocuous red dot that he’d begun to look past, to look through, to ignore without meaning to. He’s been too focused on everything else, on his own messy handwriting reading Lucas basketball - 3pm and kids theater - noon and Max physical therapy - 1pm. His weekly hours are jotted down on a piece of paper that’s stuck to the wall next to the calendar, updated every Saturday evening. Robin’s handwriting is just as bad as his, but he’s gotten better at reading it, the same way she’s gotten better at reading his.

Steve rests his back against the counter by the sink, taking a breath, steeling himself. He crosses his arms, clutching his keys in his hand so tightly the teeth bite into his palm. He looks at the ground. Follows the lines between the tiles with his eyes like he’s mapping out a maze. Or an escape.

He hears the front door open. Hears some shuffling, some muttering, the clunking of suitcases coming through the entryway.

And then he hears, “Steven, your car is filthy, when was the last time you had it washed?”

His eyes get stuck on a tile, at the corner of it. The tiles used to be a pristine, shining, sparkling white. When Steve was a little boy, they were always sparkling. Glistening. Always freshly mopped, scrubbed, waxed. They don’t look like that anymore. They’re dull now, still white but just barely grey. The one Steve is looking at has a crack in it. It’s a tiny crack, thin as a hair, branching off from the corner, but he sees it from where he’s standing.

“A few weeks ago,” he says, even though he knows it’s been months. “I don’t know.”

The house has aged with him, he thinks. His parents stopped making sure the floors were being taken care of when they started leaving. They stopped making sure the chimney was cleaned, the pool was cleaned, the walls were sturdy. Steve gave up on keeping everything in order when he started high school. When he started to question whether or not they were coming back at all instead of what day they’d show up.

Steve stares at the tile. Traces the crack in it.

“Steven, I paid good money for that car, I expect you to take care of it.”

He nods at the floor.

Quiet.

Good.

He hates when they come home. It’s like the house gets a little colder, like the echoes of the kids’ laughter get sucked out the windows. Like the last burning embers in the fireplace have turned to ash.

It doesn’t happen often, them coming home. But when it does…

“Goodness, this floor is filthy. We need to get these tiles replaced.”

He blends into the walls. Turns to mist that they look right through. Fades back into the little boy he used to be, too small to look into his father’s eyes or to reach the liquor cabinet, quiet and well-behaved and good.

They keep talking. He doesn’t hear his name. He keeps looking at the floor. He decides he likes the crack in that tile. He kind of wishes they were all like that. It took almost twenty years for that crack to appear, that tiny, thin crack. He wonders how many tiles there are in the whole room, wants to multiply that number by twenty. See if he’ll still be alive when they’re all like this one, damaged so subtly he has to look for it. He imagines it, the tiles grey and dusty with age, cracks spreading across them like a spiderweb across the floor. In his head, it’s beautiful.

And then he remembers that they want to replace them now. Because they’re not as shiny as they used to be.

Steve doesn’t feel very shiny. He doesn’t think he’s ever been shiny.

They’re still talking. Steve exhales.

His eyes find a scuff on his shoe. He blinks at it, trying to remember where it came from, and for an awful, awful second he thinks it’s from gym class, from basketball practice, from fucking around in alleyways, before he remembers.

He thinks it’s from the Upside Down. From running, hiding, fighting.

The keys bite into his palm, and he loosens his grip, inhaling sharply as his brain registers the pain. He looks at his hand, holding his fingers open to make sure he isn’t bleeding. He isn’t. His skin is red, indents from the teeth of the keys sharp in his skin, in the creases of his palms.

Fuck.

He looks at the clock across the room, and for a moment he wants to just leave silently, to walk right past them to the front door. But he doesn’t.

“Uh,” he says, quietly enough that he isn’t really interrupting them. They both look at him, turning their heads a little but still glancing at him out of the sides of their eyes, and he finally looks at them. Sees them. They look older than he thought they did, lines around their eyes and mouths and on their foreheads. His father’s hair is mostly grey now, his mother's still dark red. It looks fake, just like the pearls around her neck. “I need to… go.”

“Go where?”

“To— To pick up some kids.” He stutters. He hates stuttering. “And take them home, I— I told their parents I’d get them home by six.”

Walter sneers.

“Why are you driving children around?” he asks. But he isn’t really asking anything at all. He’s just… commenting. Like he always it. Your grades are shit. Your car is dirty. Why are you driving children around?

“I’m their babysitter,” Steve says. He used to hate that word. It felt so demeaning. He remembers his babysitters from when he was little, teenagers that only took the job for the money instead of for Steve, teenagers that would spend hours in the living room smoking or nursing beers and watching movies while Steve played by himself upstairs or in the corner.

But he doesn’t mind it now. Being the babysitter. Driving the kids around. Making sure they’re okay, they’re safe and healthy and happy. Even though he tells them to shut up, he likes hearing their laughter and relentless bickering from the backseat. Even though he calls them little shits, he thinks he loves them.

“Babysitter,” Walter repeats dryly. He’s making that face again. He’s always making that face at Steve. Like he smells, like he’s a stain on the carpet. Like he’s a dirty floor tile. Walter sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “We’re going to need to discuss your career plans, Steven, you can’t go on with your life babysitting.”

Steve stares at him blankly. He won’t meet Steve’s eye.

He’s wearing a suit. He’s always wearing a suit. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him in anything else.

And now, come to think of it, Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him.

It’s been months that they’ve been away. Months since they’ve stepped through the front door into the boring entryway, through the boring hallway, into the boring kitchen. With no greeting, no Hi, Steve, how’ve you been? No We missed you, how are your friends? What happened with the earthquakes and the serial killer? Are you okay?

Nothing.

A comment about the dirt on Steve’s car, and the dull floor tiles, and Steve’s future career. He wonders if they even know what color his eyes are.

“Right,” he says finally, his hand clenching around the keys again. “Well, I’d love to have that conversation with you, but I really need to go, so…”

“We just got home,” Catherine says sharply, looking at him from where she’s sitting at the table, unbuckling her high heels. “You haven’t seen us in months, Steven, and this is how you greet us?”

Steve looks at her. At her hair. It’s stiff with hairspray, piled up on top of her head in fake curls. Her makeup is creasing in her wrinkles, and her lipstick is faded around the center of her lips. Steve blinks.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here right now,” he says carefully. “And I already told the kids’ parents I’d have them home by six, it should only take a few minutes.” He pauses, looking at her but feeling Walter’s eyes on him. Like he’s analyzing him, looking for faults. He can’t see the scars under Steve’s shirt. “I can’t just leave them there,” he says, pausing, thinking about how worried the kids would be. How they’d blow up the walkies trying to contact him, calling Eddie and Robin and even Nancy to ask if they know where he is, if they’ve heard from him. But he knows Walter would just laugh. “I’m responsible for them,” he finishes.

And he starts toward the door.

“When did you turn into such a little adult?” Catherine says lightly behind him, teasing. Careless.

He stops walking, fist tightening on the keys again. He’s facing the doorway, and the room is quiet except for the soft shuffling of her shoe on the ground as she undoes the buckle. And he feels like his whole body is aching and sore, because he was nine.

The first time they left him home alone. It was just a few days while they went to Indianapolis, but he remembers how quiet the house was. How he suddenly missed the smell of cigarettes and weed, how he missed the indistinct chatter of the television, of his babysitters’ voices muffled through the walls while they talked to their friends on the phone. He sat on the stairs for a while after hearing their car pull out of the driveway. Like he was waiting.

He realized after a few hours that without a babysitter, he could go outside. It was his first time outside without supervision.

He just tried to catch the fireflies.

Steve turns around and looks at them. They’re both looking back at him, eyebrows raised curiously at the way he stopped short, at the way he froze.

“Probably when I turned into an actual adult,” he says, his voice quieter than he intends.

Walter scoffs.

Steve feels like he just plunged into Lovers’ Lake again. Ice cold all over, in the dark. Eyes straining to see what’s ahead of him.

“You’re an adult when you finish high school, Steven. You’re a child.”

Steve blinks.

His gaze shifts over to him, to that fucking expression, at the earnestness in his eyes. The fucking ignorance. And Steve, inexplicably, laughs.

It’s a short laugh, but it’s almost hysterical, and he really just doesn’t know how the fuck else to react, to respond. They’re looking right at him. And they can’t see the age in his eyes, in his height, his face. They don’t even know him. He’s a stranger in their house.

They’re strangers too.

“I’m an adult, Dad,” Steve says dryly after the laugh, still half-smiling, even as the expression on Walter’s face deepens. Condescending, and mean, and judging, and even with the grey hair and the wrinkles, he’s the same man that Steve used to look up at as a child. “I graduated high school,” Steve says before Walter can say anything. “Two years ago.”

Walter blinks, making a face and looking at Catherine, who just raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“You were in Italy,” Steve says, trying as hard as he can to remain light, nonchalant, to keep his voice soft and sweet and quiet and good. “I sent you an invitation to the ceremony.”

“Oh, Steven, you know we never check our main when we’re abroad,” Catherine says lightly.

Steve looks at her. The faux kindness in her eyes. The smile gracing her red lips. Like it’s Steve's fault. Like he’s a child.

He hates her.

“Right,” he says softly, nodding slowly, looking away. “Silly me.”

“So you think finishing high school makes you a grown-up?” Walter says, amused. Steve looks at him.

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“...Steven, you have no idea what it means to be an adult.”

Steve looks at him. At his face. The condescending shine in his eye, like he’s talking to a kid, like Steve isn’t his height. (Maybe taller. He’s too far away to tell right now.)

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger.

Steve nods. Puts his keys down.

“I’ll be back in a second.”

The phone is in the living room, near the doorway, and he closes his eyes as he picks it up, taking a deep breath before he dials the number he memorized within a day of learning it.

“Munsons.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Uh, would it be cool if you picked the kids up from the arcade for me?”

“The arcade…” Eddie repeats, his voice more distant like he’s leaning away from the phone. “Weren’t you getting them today? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies easily. But Eddie’s always able to know when he’s lying. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Every time Steve lies that he’s fine, that No, my head doesn’t hurt, and I didn’t have a nightmare, I just wanted to get some water, and I feel fine. Eddie just… looks at him.

“Steve.”

And Steve always breaks. Lets the brick wall between them crumble to dust.

“Uh.” He pauses, glancing down the hall. He feels like they’re listening. “My parents came back a minute ago. We’re talking.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. “Is everything okay? Do you need backup?”

Steve smiles into the phone, closing his eyes as his stomach flutters.

“No, just… It’ll be fine. We’re just talking.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the little shits, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course, Stevie.” Steve’s stomach flutters again. “Good luck with your parents.”

“Thanks.”

They hang up. Steve presses his face to the wall for a moment, taking a slow breath before he exhales.

He goes back to the kitchen.

Leans against the counter by his keys. Crosses his arms and looks at the floor. Finds the cracked tile and stares at it.

It feels farther away now. Like he’s gotten taller.

“You don’t think I know what it means to be an adult,” he says.

“No, Steven,” Walter says lightly. Jovially. Condescendingly. “I think you’ve lived a very sheltered life. You haven’t seen the world, or experienced anything that could push you into adulthood. But that’s okay,” he adds like it’s reassuring. “You’re fortunate, you know.”

Steve's jaw twitches. He grinds his teeth. Stares at the tile, then the scuff on his shoe.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Steve asks quietly.

Walter scoffs again.

The sound grates at the inside of Steve’s skull, and his stomach twists. His lungs feel constricted, like they’re too tight.

“What do you think?” Walter asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle it sounds like he’s talking to a five-year-old, humoring him, playing along. Steve lifts his head and levels a gaze on him.

And across the kitchen, in the soft late afternoon sunlight, Steve looks at his wrinkles and his grey hair and his goddamn suit, and he’s just a man. And Steve wonders how the fuck he used to look up to this man, how the fuck he used to think he was anything more than this.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” Steve says softly.

Walter’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head in shock as Catherine lets out an Excuse me!

Steve nods, staring, and staring, and staring, and he can’t look away.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he says again. “I think I have been… through hell. And you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here,” Steve snaps, his voice a little louder. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight, and he thinks he is taller than his father. His stomach twists again. “You wanna know when I became a little adult, Mom?”

She stares at him, eyes wide.

“I became a little adult when you left me home alone to fend for myself,” he says forcefully. “When I was a child. And I should have been off playing with my friends, and memorizing multiplication tables, and getting my knees scraped on the pavement.” His heart is pounding now, and he can barely hear himself over it. “I wasn’t doing any of that. I was learning how to fucking cook, because there was no one else to do that for me. I was learning how to reset the heat in the house, and I was growing up when I shouldn’t have been.”

“So you’ve been through hell because you had to learn how to use the stove,” Walter says dryly. Steve looks at him.

“God, you really have no idea who I am, Dad.”

“I’m your father,” Walter says, an amused smile teasing his lips.

“Is that what you call yourself?” Steve asks. “Is that what you tell people? That you’re a father? Because, I…” He scoffs and shakes his head, and maybe he’s more like his father than he’d hoped he’d be, but he doesn’t care right now. “I gotta tell you, man, that’s gonna be really misleading when people hear that.”

“You don’t think I’m your father,” Walter says. He’s starting to get angry, and a part of Steve feels vindicated. Good.

“No,” Steve breathes.

“How on Earth is he not?” Catherine interrupts, and Steve had almost forgotten that she’s even here, looking up at them from the chair she’s sitting in. “You have his DNA.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So we’re related. Biologically.” He looks back at Walter, and they’re closer than he thought they were, but he can't tell how close they really are. Concussions and trauma do wonders to one’s depth perception. “You didn’t raise me.”

“I didn’t raise you?” Walter says, his cheeks flushing red. Something in Steve cheers.

“No,” Steve says calmly. “You left me alone with teenagers that didn’t know shit about how to take care of children, and you left me home alone. By myself. In the middle of the fucking woods.”

“You weren’t that young, Steve—”

“I was nine.” He looks at Catherine, silencing her. “I remember.” He looks back at Walter. Their eyes meet. They have the same eye color. Steve hates it. “Fathers know their children,” he says. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” Walter snaps. “You’re my son, Steven, how could I not—”

“How old am I?”

The room falls quiet.

Steve stares back as Walter looks at him. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own breaths. The water tapping in the sink. A bird chirping outside.

And he nods.

“You don’t know me,” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re still our son,” Catherine says haughtily.

“...When’s my birthday?” he asks. When they’re silent, he says, “What am I allergic to? What’s my favorite color? Who’s my best friend?”

“The Hagan kid,” Walter says, like it’s an accomplishment, answering one question incorrectly.

“I haven’t talked to Tommy Hagan in three years,” Steve says. “And you didn’t know that.”

Walter huffs and rolls his eyes.

“How was I supposed to know that?” he mutters. “Look, Steven, this…” He gestures aimlessly at Steve, making a face. “Your favorite color, your friend’s name, they don’t matter.” He laughs lightly, dismissively. “You wanna be treated like an adult, but these are the things you care about, Steven, they’re irrelevant.”

“It doesn’t matter that they’re irrelevant, Dad,” Steve snaps, his voice louder. “It matters that you don’t care. I’m your kid, you should care about the things I like, and— and about my friends, and about my fucking birthday.”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Walter says, his eyes darkening with anger, and Steve aches.

When he was six, he was watching Looney Tunes on the television on a Saturday morning. He laughed a little too loud, and he was sent to his room for the rest of the day. Because his father needed quiet to focus on his work. Walter’s always hated hearing Steve speak, so Steve has kept quiet. Seen and not heard. Fading in the background, hiding in plain sight. But Steve is fucking sick of being looked through. Ignored.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. “No, I’m gonna raise my voice at you. Because I’m pissed, and because you never had a problem raising your voice at me.”

“You were a child—”

“So that made it fine? To yell at me? To tell me to keep my fucking mouth shut? That’s all fine to tell a child?” He stares at Walter. “You wanna talk about the shit that actually matters, fine. Let’s talk about the shit that actually matters.”

He’s shaking now, breathing hard and trembling with twenty years of anger that's boiling and spilling over his edges.

“You guys know about Hawkins,” he says, crossing his arms and looking at the floor, avoiding their gazes as he takes a breath.

“About Hawkins,” Walter repeats.

“Hawkins, yeah,” Steve says. “The shitshow that is my hometown, you know all the shit that’s happened here, right? The missing kids, the— the fires, the lab.”

“Of course we know everything about this town, Steven,” Catherine says curtly. “We’ve lived here twenty years.”

“You really haven’t,” Steve says lightly. “But that’s fine. You know about everything.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You know the girl that went missing?” he asks, looking up at them. “Barbara. And the whole conspiracy with the lab and the chemical spill and everything.”

“Yes,” Walter says. “We heard about all of that.”

They’re both staring at him curiously now, quiet while he looks back.

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I was involved in all of that.” He watches their confusion deepen the wrinkles on their faces. “She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. She went missing from here, from—” He gestures out the window, toward the pool that’s covered with a blue tarp. The water is probably swimming with dead leaves.

“You know anything about Billy Hargrove?”

Catherine blinks.

“The… The boy that passed away in the fire,” she says slowly, remembering. “At the mall.”

The fire.

“The boy,” he mutters to himself before he bites his lip, pausing. “Yeah. The year before he ate shit, he almost fucking killed me.”

They both blink at him, blank.

“And he tried to kill me,” he continues, “because I stopped him from killing a thirteen-year-old.” He takes a shuddering breath, uncrossing his arms, looking at them, and his vision wavers as he remembers it, as he remembers the glass smashing over his head, the floor against his back, Billy’s laughter. The kids’ shouting. “He beat… the shit out of me. Gave me a grade four concussion.”

He looks back at forth between them, waiting for a reaction, but they keep staring. Catherine’s eyes are wide, but Walter just looks angry. Like Steve is wasting his time.

“It took me three weeks to recover from it,” he says. “And you were in fucking Spain.”

His voice shakes.

“The mall fire,” he continues before they can say anything. “You know about it. Fourth of July, thirty dead.”

“Yes,” Catherine says softly.

“Take a wild fucking guess where I was.”

Silence.

Until Catherine’s voice says quietly, “...The mall.”

“Inside,” Steve says softly, looking at her intently. “With my friends, with the kids I babysit— and it wasn’t just a— a fucking fire.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t tell you what really happened, because I signed a goddamn nondisclosure agreement—”

“Steven, what—”

“But I can tell you,” he interrupts loudly. “That I got the shit beaten out of me again.”

A flash of light. A fist cracking against his face. An ache in his ribs, a sharp pain in the side of his neck. His own voice, rough from screaming, broken and pleading.

“Another grade four concussion. The medics asked for my home number so one of you could come to pick me up,” he says, his throat tightening, his eyes stinging. “And I had to tell him that you were in Chicago for a fucking business trip.” His breath shudders, and his vision blurs, and his hands are trembling as he gestures aimlessly, pointing to nothing. “I was driven home by a fucking government agent, because you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You heard about the kids in town that were murdered?” he says, his voice breaking, tears sparking his eyes. “The kids that were fucking… broken?”

“...Of course we heard about them.”

Steve exhales shakily.

“...There was a serial killer loose in town,” he says, fingers curling into fists. “And you never even called.”

“We were working,” Walter snaps.

“You’re always fucking working,” Steve says strongly. “I got used to you not being around, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier. You weren’t here when I had concussions, when I couldn’t fucking see, or when my hearing started going, you weren’t here when I could barely move because my injuries were infected, you were never fucking here.”

“Oh, Lord,” Walter says, rolling his eyes and scoffing, glancing at Catherine. Steve’s stomach twists, and he can’t see clearly. Everything is too bright, swimming in his tears. “How were we supposed to know you were hurt?”

Hurt.

He makes it sound so… little. Like Steve had a papercut. Like he needed a band-aid and a kiss on his forehead to feel better.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dad,” Steve says adamantly. “Obviously you wouldn’t fucking know, that’s not the problem— The problem is that you weren’t here for any of it, for anything I’ve gone through, and even when you knew what the fuck was happening in this town you couldn’t even be bothered to call, to— to make sure I was okay.”

“You said you’re an adult, didn’t you?”

Steve exhales.

He doesn’t feel like an adult right now.

He feels like a child. Like he’s five years old, searching for his parents’ attention, their affection, anything. Like they’re looking past him, through him, ignoring him in the hopes that he finally shuts up.

Seen and not heard.

“You said you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Walter says. “Let’s say you really did— You have to be eighteen for contracts to be legally binding. So you’re an adult.” Walter looks into his eyes, like he’s sizing him up. “You shouldn’t need mommy and daddy to take care of you.”

Steve’s lip quivers. He blinks tears back. And he’s stuck here. A kindergartener in the body of a twenty-year-old, the way he was thirty when he was twelve. Unmoving.

Walter scoffs again, looking at Steve trying not to cry.

“Are you done with your little temper tantrum?” he asks dryly, turning slightly. “It was a long trip back, I’d like to take a shower and rest.”

And Steve longs to tell them. About the monsters, the dark, the flickering and flashing lights. About the Upside Down. To show them the scars that cover his skin.

“You weren’t here when I was a child, either,” Steve says, stopping him before he can leave, and Walter turns with a heavy sigh, giving Steve a bored look. Steve’s fists tighten. His nails bite into his palms.

“Steven,” Catherine says, standing from the table like she’s bored too. “That’s quite enough.”

“You weren’t here when I was injured,” Steve says shakily, his vision blurring again. “You weren’t here when I was concussed, and when I couldn’t see, and you weren’t here when I turned twenty, or when I graduated high school, and you weren’t here when I learned how to ride a bike, or how to swim, and you weren’t here when I got my first A, and you weren’t here for parent-teacher conferences— I went by myself,” he adds roughly, gesturing at himself, hitting his own chest.

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here when I had nightmares or when I got sick, I took care of myself.”

“It made you strong—”

“I was a child!”

He’s never raised his voice at them like this. Never yelled. But he’s crying now, tears falling freely down his cheeks as they stare like he’s grown another head, and he can’t help it.

“I didn’t need to be strong,” he shouts. “I needed to be loved, and I fucking wasn’t.”

“How…” Catherin huffs, her face red, and Steve looks at her, taking a hiccuping breath. “You think we didn’t love you,” she says. “But we provided a roof over your head, and—”

“A roof wasn’t enough,” he says, holding back a sob. “I used to— I used to wait after school, fucking waiting for you to come get me, to— to drive me home, I used to watch all the other kids with their moms and dads, I used to watch them laugh, and smile, and hug them, and I fucking waited for you. I waited until nighttime once, and you never fucking came.”

“Steven, that’s just irresponsible,” Walter says, and Steve hiccups.

“I was nine,” he says. “I waited for you, all I fucking wanted was my parents to drive me to school, and you were off in fucking Paris or wherever the hell you were. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike, and I had to take myself, because you weren’t here—”

“I have responsibilities—”

“I was your responsibility,” Steve finally screams. “I was your son.”

He takes a gasping breath as they stare at him again, and he wipes his face so roughly it hurts.

“I missed you,” he chokes. “I needed you.”

“You clearly didn’t need us that much,” Walter says, huffing, gesturing at him. His wedding band sparkling in the sun and Steve wants to melt it. “If you’re doing just fine now.”

“I’m not,” Steve says before he can stop himself.

He’s never said it before. That he’s not fine. Even when he was concussed, when Robin was concerned, he insisted he was okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad, Robbie, don’t worry. And he went home. Turned off the lights. Covered the windows. Laid in bed. Cried.

It’s some cruel, cruel irony that these are the first people to know.

“I’m so fucking far from fine,” Steve says. He covers his face for a moment, and for a brief second, he wishes he was bruised, purple and blue and bloody. He doesn’t know why. Maybe so they could fucking see it. So they’d believe him.

“...The first time my best friend said I love you to me, I laughed.” He looks at them, and he suddenly wants to crumple to the floor, to lean against the wall, to go to bed. Exhausted. “I never fucking heard it from you guys. Never heard it from my girlfriend. I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what it fucking meant.”

He looks at them across the room. They’re both near the doorway of the kitchen, both turned slightly toward each other like they’re leaving, hesitating to watch Steve. Like he’s putting on a performance, like he’s pretending.

“You really fucked me up,” he says weakly, tiredly.

They’re quiet for a moment. And he doesn’t know what he expects. An apology. We’re sorry, Steve, we’ll be better parents from now on. We’ll be present in your life.

“I really don’t like the language you’ve been using today, Steven,” Catherine says. Ignoring him. The tears on his face. “It’s really no way to speak to your parents.”

But he supposes he should have seen this coming. The deflection.

He looks away, blinking tears back and exhaling, but before he can say anything, a car pulls into the driveway. He turns to look out the window, wiping his face as he catches the end of Eddie’s van before it’s hidden from view, and in spite of it all, he smiles.

That was quick.

He should have anticipated Eddie coming over as soon as he could. He probably sped on the way here.

“Who…” Walter starts, but he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open. The doorknob hits the wall with a muffled bang, and a moment later, Eddie appears behind in the entry to the kitchen.

Walter and Catherine part, looking him up and down, looking, scandalized, at the rips in his jeans, the swords on his t-shirt that form an upside down star, at his hair. And he isn’t even wearing a jacket or any jewellery, and Steve’s stomach flutters with the realization that Eddie really didn’t waste any time.

Eddie’s eyes find Steve, and he crosses the room, pushing past Walter.

“Are you okay?” he asks Steve quickly, his eyes scanning over his face, his body, lingering on the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” Steve says softly, wiping his face again, and Eddie’s eyes follow the movement. Steve thinks he must be holding himself back; usually after nightmares, he wipes Steve’s tears for him, the same way Steve wipes his. “No, I just…”

Eddie exhales, looking into Steve’s eyes, looking for a lie. He’s out of breath, like he ran here instead of drove, and Steve smiles weakly. Until Walter interrupts.

“Who the hell do you think you are,” he says forcefully, and Eddie and Steve turn to look at him. “Coming into my house.”

Eddie looks back and forth between Walter and Catherine like he’s trying to memorize them both, scanning their clothing the way they scanned his. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pursed, and even though from here Steve can’t really see him, there’s a warm pit in his stomach, because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he came for Steve, and he’s stepping forward a little bit like Walter is going to try to lay a hand on Steve, and Steve’s never felt so fucking safe before, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, and—

Catherine gasps. Steps back with a slight stumble even though she’s not wearing her high-heels anymore. Clutches at her pearls.

“You’re that boy,” she says, touching Walter’s arm and pulling. “That Hellfire boy, you—”

“Eddie didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts, his stomach dropping, but Walter recognizes him too, and he turns red, glancing at Steve and then looking back at Eddie.

“Get out of my house,” he says, his voice too loud, and Steve feels so fucking small, and he hates feeling small.

But Walter starts toward Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, and Steve remembers suddenly that he isn’t small anymore.

He steps in front of Eddie, knocking Walter’s hand aside before he presses his fingertips to his chest, pushing him back gently. Walter stares, wide-eyed, red-faced.

“You lay a finger on him,” Steve says too calmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Walter blinks, shock coloring his face darker before he laughs, but it’s a forced laugh, and Steve’s never been more serious in his life, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his heart pounding, and Walter doesn’t seem to know that Steve will do whatever the fuck he needs to for Eddie.

“You think you can kill me, Steven?” Steve looks into his eyes.

He’s smaller than Steve. Not by much, but when Steve lifts his chin, he has to look down at him to hold eye contact.

“We just had a whole conversation about how little you know me,” he says quietly. “Do you really wanna fucking test me?”

He hears Eddie exhale behind him, but he doesn’t look away, staring into Walter’s eyes, challenging him, and his hands almost itch. He hasn’t had any fights in a good long while.

Walter looks past him, breaking eye contact, staring Eddie down now, but his eyes flicker like he’s looking across Eddie’s face, analyzing him. Steve knows what he’s looking at. The scar on his cheek, the mangled skin. Steve loves that scar. It had to be stitched together, but it makes Steve think of the constellation Cassiopeia, almost W-shaped. He longs to trace it someday. To thank it.

Walter backs up finally, and Steve exhales, watching him go back across the room to stand with Catherine, who’s still watching, wide-eyed, a hand on her chest over her heart.

“Sickening, Steven,” Walter says, shaking his head and glaring at Eddie. “Really. I thought I raised you to associate yourself with better—”

“You didn’t raise me,” Steve interrupts. “Stop… acting like you were some fantastic fucking father that a fucking stand-up job of raising a son, you didn’t do shit.” He stares, breathing hard, his back tingling with some sort of anticipation. “I did. Not you.”

“So you think you’re so independent?” Walter says with that awful fucking laugh again.

“I had to be,” Steve says softly. Eddie is closer now, still behind Steve, but less like Steve is protecting him, and more like Eddie is here. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

Walter looks at him. At Eddie. He’s holding the back of a chair, exasperated, and he shakes his head.

“Never thought I’d be so disappointed in my own son.”

Steve looks away, hesitating.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so kind.

“...Can you go upstairs and pack me a bag?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie touches the small of his back gently as he passes by toward the entryway, where he passes Walter and Catherine with a faux polite nod that’s so on brand for Eddie that Steve wants to smile.

Walter glares at Steve while Eddie goes upstairs, and Steve can hear him breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw him this angry.

And then Walter is standing up straight abruptly, muttering something about fucking trash in my house under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, and Steve’s stomach drops as he follows, his vision blurring as his blood courses in his veins, fingers twitching. But instead of going up the stairs, Walters passes by them, headed toward the master bedroom, and Steve stops, watching. He scoffs when he realizes where he’s headed, and he leans against the wall. He hears a thump upstairs.

“Steven, you really…” Catherine shakes her head in disappointment. She’s got her arms crossed, twisting the plastic pearls of her necklace. “This is all very disrespectful.”

Steve looks down at her.

“...You think you deserve my respect?” he asks quietly. She looks at him like she’s alarmed. “You think I care if you think you do?”

He looks away before she can respond.

Eddie is coming down the top steps just as Walter appears again.

Steve looks up at Eddie.

He’s carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, carrying the nail bat in one of his hands, and he raises an eyebrow as Walter yells at Steve from across the room.

“Where is it?”

“Nowhere you’ll find it,” Steve says lightly, lifting a hand to catch the bat as Eddie tosses it to him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Walter is huffing, and puffing, and it’s kind of ridiculous now.

“What’s he looking for?”

“Gun.”

“Ah.” Eddie is almost smiling. The gun is in the back of his van, taken for target practice when Nancy taught Robin how to shoot.

Steve turns back into the kitchen to grab his keys, swinging the bat. It scratches the tile floor. When he turns back around, Walter and Catherine are staring at it, at the rusted nails and the blood-stained wood.

“What the hell…”

Steve swings it again, moving his keys so he’s holding the one for his car between his fingers.

“You don’t know me.”

Eddie is by the door with the duffel bag when Steve gets to the hallway, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. The light is dimmer now. The sun’s starting to go down.

“Come to my place, yeah?” Eddie says softly, touching Steve’s arm gently, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his jacket before he squeezes. His eyes are shining earnestly, and Steve’s chest aches. He nods.

They both step out onto the porch. It’s cold out, the air biting at Steve’s face, but it feels refreshing, like inside the house was stuffy and claustrophobic, like he’d been trapped under a blanket for too long. Eddie goes to the van, tossing the duffel bag in as he gives Steve one more look.

“Is there anything else we don’t know about you?” Walter says behind Steve, who turns to look at him again.

Walter’s eyes are lingering on Steve’s arm, like he can see Eddie’s handprint on it, and then he looks into Steve’s eyes, shining with disgust and judgement and hatred, and Steve

doesn’t

fucking

care.

“You’ll never get to know,” he says quietly.

And he leaves.

He’s vaguely aware of Catherine saying something, her voice high-pitched and wavering, and Walter shouting something about the car, but Steve ignores them, blank and empty as he gets into the car and pulls out of the driveway. He glances at the house in the rearview mirror as he leaves. It occurs to him that with the location of it, hidden by trees, away from town, Steve could live in Hawkins all his life and never have to look at the house again.

He smiles.

Eddie and Wayne live in an apartment in town now. It’s two floors above a cafe that opened a little after Starcourt, and sometimes when Steve is going to the door, he smells coffee and baking pastries. It’s nice.

He doesn’t smell it at this time of night, though.

He and Eddie arrive around the same time, and they’re quiet as Steve parks next to the van, grabs the bat and silently follows Eddie to the door. Eddie leads him in, up the narrow stairs, and they’re quiet as he unlocks the apartment, as they step inside and kick their shoes off. Steve leaves the bat resting against the wall by the door in Eddie’s room, and Eddie tosses him his bag.

Steve looks into it, rummages through the bunched-up, hastily-packed underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters. His fingers brush cold cans that he recognizes as his hairspray, and he smiles, his stomach fluttering because Eddie remembered where they were.

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. He’s leaning against his dresser. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily.

“Steve,” Eddie says again, almost whispering.

“I am, Eddie,” Steve says, looking up at him, his hands falling still on top of the bag. Eddie’s eyes are shining with concern, and his arms are crossed. “I really…” He trails off, looking at the ground.

It’s hardwood, the wood faded and creaky, and there are a few gaps between the floorboard. He can see the nails in them, shining in the dim light of Eddie’s room, and it makes Steve think about the tiles in the kitchen at his parents’ house. Faded and dull and cracked because they’ve been walked on. Used.

“I feel great,” he says, looking back at Eddie, half-smiling.

Eddie’s expression softens.

“Just tired,” Steve adds, looking away. “I haven’t… cried. In a while.”

“You wanna lay down?”

Steve hesitates.

“...Can I borrow a sweater?”

Eddie smiles.

“‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve likes it when he calls him that.

It makes him feel little, but not in the way his parents make him feel. Not little like a little boy, like he has to stay quiet, stay still, like he can’t ask for a second serving of dinner or turn the volume of the television up past three in case he pisses them off.

Little like Eddie will take care of him.

Which he does, even though he has no idea how it really affects Steve, how it makes butterflies erupt in his belly every time he touches him, every time he calls him Stevie. He has no idea how hard Steve is crushing on him, and a part of Steve hates him for it. For how sweet he is, how kind.

Because there are nights he’ll call after a nightmare and Steve will look out at the moon while he listens to him cry, while he listens to Eddie tell him he called because in the dream he lost Steve, because he needed to make sure he was okay.

Because Eddie touches him in ways no one else does, in ways no one else ever has. In ways Steve wouldn’t ever let anyone.

He blushes every time he remembers that night, the night he’d spent after staying up too late watching movies with Eddie. He’d had a gruesome nightmare, but as soon as his eyes opened he couldn’t remember what had happened. But Eddie was there, tentatively touching his hand, eyes wide awake, saying Stevie. Stevie. I’m right here. You’re okay. And Steve had just cried, reaching out to Eddie, who took him in his arms.

He held Steve until he stopped crying. And then he kept holding him. Steve had pushed his face into Eddie’s chest, gripping his shirt, listening intently to Eddie’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but it still helped.

And then Eddie pushed a hand into Steve's hair.

Steve was already falling asleep, and he had let out a soft hum. Eddie pulled his hand away, apologizing.

Sorry, I know you don’t like your hair being touched.

And even half-asleep, Steve spoke.

Only you. Please.

Eddie pushed his hand back into his hair gently. Steve hummed. Eddie’s fingers twisted around the strands carefully as his other hand slid up Steve’s back, and Steve just fucking melted. He let out a whine that he could barely hear, and Eddie’s fingers curled into a fist, gripping his hair in a tightening fist until it almost hurt, and Steve groaned.

Too hard?

Mm. Feels good.

Eddie kept doing it until Steve fell asleep, pulling his hair, squeezing his fist in it, tugging until Steve’s scalp ached dully, and when Steve woke up, Eddie was still asleep, his hand still in Steve’s hair. And then it was normal, every time they slept in the same bed or sat too close on the sofa during movie nights, Eddie’s fingers would find Steve’s hair again.

They both change. Eddie tosses Steve some sweatpants along with the sweater, and Steve smiles, glancing up at Eddie as he changes, facing away from Steve. He’s paler than Steve, and Steve kind of wants to see what their skin would look like side-by-side, pressing close. His scars are mesmerizing. Steve wants to trace them with his fingertips, with his lips and tongue.

Eddie beckons to Steve when they’re climbing into his bed, and Steve sighs. They move into their normal position, Eddie leaning against the wall, Steve between his legs, back to his chest.

He feels little again.

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly, and Steve lets his head fall back to his shoulder, sighing. He slides his hands over Eddie’s forearms. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and the fabric is soft. Steve plays with one of the folds, looking around the room, and he realizes they haven’t communicated at all about how long Steve is staying here.

His bag is on the floor by the dresser. It blends right in with Eddie’s dark clothes littered around the floor and hanging out of his drawers, with the dark rug that Eddie bought when he moved in.

Steve’s eyes trail across the wall, across the sliding doors of the wardrobe that are partially open, the interior hidden in shadows. At the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry that’s pinned up, the Judas Priest poster on the back of the door. The photos and magazine pages and posters that are covering the old, faded wallpaper. Eddie’s lamps have a golden glow, and it makes everything look warm. Steve loves it here.

“How long am I staying here?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie snorts, arms tightening, burying his face in Steve’s neck.

“Forever?” he says. “I hope?”

Steve’s stomach flutters.

“You want me to stay forever?”

“Mm.”

Steve exhales when Eddie’s hand finds his, and he watches, spreading his fingers to lace with Eddie’s. His hand is a little cold.

“Sounds nice,” he says quietly. Eddie hums. He sets his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“You still feel okay?” he asks softly, his voice soft and breathy next to Steve’s ear.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He feels so okay. Here in Eddie’s room, in his clothes, in his arms. “I feel good.”

One of Eddie’s arms reaches across his chest like he’s keeping him secure, and he rubs Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes a breath, unlacing their fingers to trace the back of Eddie’s hand.

“It was kind of, like. A lot of stuff.”

“Tell me, Stevie.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“They, uhm. Came back and just… started telling me my car was dirty, started saying the— the kitchen floor was dirty, that they should get the tiles replaced. They didn’t even say hi.”

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes.

“And when I tried to leave, I had to, like, explain I had to pick up the kids, and Dad started, just, berating me for babysitting, and Mom made this… comment. That I was acting like an adult. And when I said I am one, Dad…” He exhales, pressing closer to Eddie, whose arms tighten. “Said I’d be an adult when I graduated high school.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before,

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t— they don’t even know how old I am.”

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, squeezing him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve ignores the butterflies that erupt in his stomach.

“It’s…”

“You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“...It’s not fine.”

“‘S right.”

“I tried… I tried telling them, like— showing them how they just don’t know me, but they just— everything I fucking said, they just… Tried to make it so it wasn’t their fault. Pretended it was no big deal, even though— even though it is, I…”

“It is,” Eddie murmurs softly. “It matters to you, they never treated you right, Stevie.”

Steve exhales shakily, relaxing against him again.

“They’re so fucking condescending,” he says after a moment, his voice softer. Eddie rubs his arm gently, reassuringly. “He always does this thing, where, like… If I point something out, or I— I do something, he pulls this bullshit, and he’ll say, like, Oh, let’s say that’s true, as though I don’t fucking know, like I didn’t just fucking tell him.”

Eddie lifts a hand and reaches to touch his hair, running his fingers through it gently.

“He said I’d be an adult when I graduate high school, and then as soon as I told him I did, and I am, suddenly I actually know nothing about adulthood and I haven’t experienced the world, and I’m— Whose fucking fault is that? They never took me along on any of their fucking trips, they left me in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.”

Eddie plays with his hair, listening to him talk. His fingers are so gentle.

“He said I was having a temper tantrum,” Steve says, looking across the room. Eddie’s hand tightens, tugging gently. “I just… They make me feel like— like such a child. And it’s bullshit, because how can I feel so fucking little when they never treated me like I was little when I was?” he rambles. “They acted like I was a grown man when I was a kid, they acted like I knew how to live my life, but they were never there to show me how. And now I am grown, but they tell me I’m disrespectful, and that I’m having a tantrum, and…”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly.

Steve inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and he exhales after holding it for a moment, relaxing against Eddie again, who murmurs a soft, “There you go.”

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie asks quietly. Steve nods, holding his forearm with both hands as his fingers drag through his hair slowly. “...You did everything fucking right, Stevie.”

“...You think?”

“Jesus, yeah. They’ve never treated you the way you deserve, Steve, you have every fuckin’ right to stand up for yourself, to— to tell them to go fuck themselves.”

Steve exhales again, a feeling settling in his chest.

“I hate them,” he says quietly.

“Me too.”

“And I hate that fucking house.”

“You’re here now.”

Eddie tightens his fist in his hair, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes.

“Love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

Eddie says that a lot. Every time they say goodbye, every time Steve does something stupid, every time either of them has a nightmare.

It was a nightmare that prompted it the first time. Eddie had slept over at Steve’s, and Steve woke up to Eddie crying in his sleep, his body shaking as he cried into the pillow, whimpering and clutching at the blanket. Steve woke him up carefully, touching his face, his hands, his arms, squeezing as gently as possible, whispering his name. Eddie woke after a minute, his eyes finding Steve in the dim moonlight, and before Steve could even say anything, he was reaching out for him, sobbing and pressing his face into Steve’s chest as Steve pulled him into a hug. He whispered it when he stopped crying, as they were rocking back and forth, as Stee combed the tangles out of his hair.

I love you, Stevie.

And Steve’s world flipped inside out, and he was in pain, every cell in his body on fire, because he was hearing it, because Eddie told him, and because only Robin had ever said it to him like that, all three words, carefully annunciated, intentionally said. And also because Steve knew how he meant it.

I love you too, Eddie.

“Why’d you come?” Steve asks. “After taking the kids home?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Eddie says. “...Had a feeling.”

“...Thank you,” Steve whispers.

Eddie takes a breath, tugging again before he turns his face and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple.

He’s never done that before.

Steve feels almost sick with butterflies, and he can feel his face flushing with heat, but he can’t suppress his smile. Eddie looks at him for a moment, and then he does it again, slowly. Deliberately.

Steve exhales, letting himself feel it, Eddie’s lips on his skin, his breath warm and close. Eddie’s hand tightens again, his fist squeezing in Steve’s hair before he lets go.

And then Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, slowly and softly, and then again, and again, slowly moving down toward Steve’s jaw. Steve tilts his head, his eyes closed, and he’s scared to open them, scared he might wake up.

Eddie’s lips press under his jaw, sucking a soft kiss into his skin, and when he pulls away, his lips brush Steve’s skin as he murmurs, “So fuckin’ proud of you.”

And Steve whimpers.

He’s gripping Eddie’s arm tightly, and he feels like he might start crying, but Eddie just kisses him again, moving down to the side of his neck, gently pulling his hair out of the way.

Steve bites his lip to hold in another sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to it, to Eddie’s lips on his skin, to Eddie’s soft, slow breathing, as he feels Eddie’s fingers tug at his hair. He feels fucking weightless, like he’s floating in the air, like nothing in the world exists right now except for them.

“So proud,” Eddie breathes against his neck, kissing him again.

“Did I do good?”

Steve wants to jump out the fucking window.

His voice comes out weak and breathy, quiet and so fucking desperate that he flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his eyes like he’s going to look for an escape, to leave even though he just got here, but Eddie…

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he whispers without hesitation. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales sharply, his head falling back as Eddie kisses his neck again. It’s wet this time, and Steve keens at the thought of Eddie’s open mouth against him, of his tongue and his teeth and his spit.

“Eddie,” Steve whines breathlessly, squeezing his arm.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quickly, his hand pausing in Steve’s hair.

“Don’t stop,” Steve says weakly. Eddie hums softly, his hand tightening, and Steve lets out a soft noise before Eddie kisses a slow line up the side of his neck until he finds his earlobe, where he pauses, kissing it before he sucks it between his lips as gently as possible. “Eddie.”

“Alright?”

“Mm. Feel so good.”

Eddie hums quietly, and Steve keens as he nibbles at the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping gently, tenderly. His arm tightens around Steve’s torso, his other hand squeezing in his hair so hard that it hurts, and one of Steve’s hands finds Eddie’s leg next to him, gripping just above his knee desperately.

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, like he just knows how overwhelmed Steve is, how his whole body is flooding with this feeling.

“You got me,” Steve repeats absently, head lolling back onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“‘S right, Stevie.”

He kisses his neck again, harder, more confidently, his teeth and tongue on Steve’s skin, and Steve fucking hopes he leaves marks in his path. He wants evidence of this, proof that it wasn’t all in Steve’s head like some fucked up wet dream.

Eddie tugs on his hair, moving his hand to the back of his head before twisting his fingers in it tightly. Steve lets out a broken noise, biting his lip to muffle it.

“Eddie—”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes.

“I…”

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, kissing his jaw gently. “Tell me.”

“Need more,” Steve says weakly, his face hot with embarrassment.

“More what?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve wants to be annoyed, to roll his eyes and tell Eddie not to make him say it, but he can’t, because his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his limbs feel heavy, and he feels fucking high, just because of Eddie’s mouth on him, because of Eddie’s sweet words.

“You,” he chokes. “Please, Eddie, I need you, please—”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhales, tugging Steve’s hair so his head tilts before he leans down and kisses his neck, his lips brushing his skin as he speaks. “I need you too, Stevie.”

Steve stifles a whine, pressing his lips together as Eddie sits up a little, leaning closer to kiss his neck, and he’s almost kissing his throat now as Steve’s head falls back, and Steve reaches up to his head, pushing his fingers into Eddie’s curls messily.

“Eddie, please,” he says softly. “More.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, breathing hard against Steve’s neck. “Turn around, come here.”

Steve turns, aching when he has to leave Eddie’s chest, and he tries to keep his balance on Eddie’s soft mattress that’s covered in blankets. Their legs tangle, and Steve has to take a moment to sort them out, and Eddie giggles softly, reaching to push Steve’s hair out of his face. Steve smiles hopelessly, moving forward.

Eddie pulls at his legs, tugging him so their legs are wrapped around each other, so their chests almost press, so their faces are close. Eddie looks wrecked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shining like he’s going to cry, and Steve knows he can’t look much better. He exhales, reaching up to trace his scar. It stretches when Eddie smiles. Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head to let him.

His hands slide up from Steve’s legs to his hips, his waist, pressing and firm and gentle on Steve’s sides. Steve slides his hands to hold his face, leaning close enough that their noses nudge together.

Eddie exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide to Steve’s back, pulling him closer as he murmurs.

“So fucking proud of you, Stevie, I can’t even tell you,” he says softly, nudging their noses together again. “No fucking words.”

Steve’s body flushes with heat, and he melts, his hands slipping to Eddie’s neck. He can feel the scars under his fingertips.

He tilts his head, his eyes stinging as Eddie keeps talking, keeping whispering and murmuring about how proud he is.

No one’s ever told Steve that they’re proud of him. He’s never heard it before.

But Eddie says it so earnestly, like he’s fucking reverent, and Steve listens.

And then Eddie is kissing him between words, his lips gentle and a little chapped against Steve’s, and Steve feels like he’s going to fall over with it all, his lips parted because he can barely kiss back. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, whispering to him.

“So proud of you, Stevie, you did so fucking good. So brave.”

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s head again, his fingers pushing into his curls, and he sighs, listening and listening and listening and absorbing the feeling of Eddie’s lips pressing to his softly.

His hands tighten in his hair after a moment, and he pulls Eddie in, shutting him up with a hard, lingering kiss. Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, his fingers pressing into the scarred skin, and Steve’s whole body aches. They part with a slick sound and a gasp, but Steve pulls him back in before he can say anything, tugging his hair.

Eddie kisses him back desperately, clutching at his back, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, and Steve thinks he might be dying. It feels so fucking good, and the way Eddie is touching him…

His fingers dig into the knit of the sweater he’s wearing, holding him close as his legs tighten around him, and after a moment, one of his hands slides around Steve’s side, up over his chest slowly until it reaches his neck. It feels like he’s being so careful, gentle like Steve is delicate, and Steve’s never wanted to feel delicate before, but he’s basking in Eddie’s touch like it’s sunlight. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, and their chests are almost touching as Eddie nibbles his lip the way he did with his ear earlier.

It feels kind of silly, really, in the grand scheme of things.

That they’d survive the end of the world, stop the end of the world, live through horrors beyond comprehension, and Eddie is proud of him for yelling at his parents. And now they’re making out, kissing each other stupid in Eddie’s bedroom, surrounded by his posters and blankets and the glow of his cracked lamps.

But Steve can’t think of a single place he’d rather be.

Eddie is holding the side of his face now, his fingers gentle on his skin, and Steve holds in a groan when Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, his chest tightening.

Eddie pulls away and they both gasp for air.

“Baby,” Eddie breathes.

“God, yeah.”

“Was that okay?” Eddie asks quietly, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek, and Steve closes his eyes as they start to sting. He doesn’t want to cry right now.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, almost choking the word out. “It was so okay, Eddie, I… Please.”

Eddie kisses him again. Pulls away to breathe, resting their foreheads together.

“Want you,” Steve says softly, whispering.

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he can’t take it back.

Especially when Eddie is kissing him like this, like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’s drowning and Steve is air. Steve’s arms tighten around his neck, and he’s shivering, chills spreading over his skull, down his spine, as he listens to the soft breathy hums Eddie is letting out as he listens to the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues. Eddie licks into his mouth, licks his lips and his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and Steve lets him, even though their lips and chins are wet now, slick with each other’s spit, and it’s a little gross. Steve doesn’t fucking care. It feels good.

He lets out a whine, letting his jaw drop for Eddie to suck on his tongue for a moment, and his cheeks flush with heat. Eddie smiles against his mouth, kissing him again.

“You still want more?” Eddie murmurs, caressing his cheek. Steve exhales, nodding.

“Please.”

Eddie presses wet kisses over his jaw, down his neck, and Steve melts, his head falling back to give him room. He shivers, tightening, when Eddie’s lips find his throat, pausing to suck on his skin lightly before he continues, kissing across the scars on his neck.

His scars are lighter than Eddie’s. Shallower. A metallic, faded pink that only stands out against his skin when he tans.

His parents didn’t notice them.

Or the scar on his chin, which Steve forgets about himself a lot of the time. It’s from that night at Starcourt. He used to stare at it in the mirror, hating it, hating himself. It’s faded so much it’s barely noticeable, but everyone knows it’s there. Steve knows it’s there.

Eddie knows it’s there.

He kisses it when he finishes with Steve’s neck, holding Steve’s face in place as he presses kiss after kiss after kiss to it, softly and tenderly, and Steve wonders if he looks at this scar the way Steve looks at his scar.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie presses his thumb to his lower lip, pulling it free before he kisses him gently.

“Do you wanna take your sweater off?” he asks quietly, whispering. Steve nods.

“You too,” he whispers, opening his eyes and meeting Eddie’s gaze. He looks so… tender. His eyes are shining at Steve, and he’s almost smiling, just barely, and his face is so relaxed, more at peace than Steve thinks he’s ever seen him while awake. “Please.”

Eddie nods, kissing him again before pulling his hands away from his face, and he reaches for the hem of the sweater Steve is wearing.

They have to separate for him to pull it up over Steve’s head, and Steve shivers when it’s off, the air in the room colder than he expected. Eddie tosses the sweater aside, his eyes skimming over Steve’s body, and he feels shy suddenly, overcome with the desire to hide his chest, his scars, the soft rolls of his belly.

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt off, and Steve watches, crossing his arms over his stomach as he looks at Eddie’s pale skin, at the scars that mark his sides, his chest. The art that’s inked into his skin. One of the tattoos is almost gone, the bare edges of it rough around the skin graft on his chest.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says softly, like he’s scared of disturbing the quiet air. He reaches for Steve’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re hiding his stomach, and he leans in to kiss him, pulling his hands to touch Eddie. “Wanna see you.”

Steve kisses him back, squeezing his eyes shut, and he slides his hands across Eddie’s chest to touch his neck. Eddie hums, pulling his mouth away to look at him, and Steve blushes as Eddie’s eyes scan his chest, his arms, his belly.

“So fucking gorgeous, baby,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth.

Steve whines.

He pulls Eddie into another desperate kiss, and he shifts onto his knees, leaning over him, holding Eddie’s jaw so he tilts his head back.

“You too,” he says breathlessly, into Eddie’s mouth. “So fucking pretty, Eddie, you’re so beautiful it fucking hurts.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, and he wraps his arms around Steve’s legs, holding him as they kiss, and it’s messy and sloppy and desperate, and Steve feels like Eddie is touching him everywhere, his callused hands rubbing away every bad feeling Steve’s ever had. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s, and Eddie’s hands tighten, squeezing his thighs.

He slowly shifts onto his knees too, moving up so they’re face to face, and he hugs Steve’s waist, pulling him against himself. Steve groans softly, stifling it, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again before he slides his hands over his shoulders.

And they can’t keep their hands off each other, palms and fingers sliding and pressing and touching. Eddie’s hand pushes into Steve’s hair, tugging sharply as he sucks on his lip, as his other hand slides across his back, gentle on his scars, and then he’s running his hands over Steve’s waist and chest and reaching down to his thighs, murmuring beautiful into Steve’s mouth, and Steve believes him.

They kiss until Steve’s mouth is sore, until his legs are tired from kneeling like this, until his chin is wet again, and Eddie is smiling against his mouth, still fucking talking, still telling Steve how proud he is, how good Steve was.

He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve’s head falls back.

“God, baby,” Eddie breathes, panting as he kisses his neck again, and his tongue slips over Steve’s skin. “You’re so fucking good, shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, pushing his hand into his hair and pulling. “I need— Fuck, I need you, baby, Eddie, please, I—”

Eddie lowers so he’s kneeling, and he pulls at Steve’s thighs again, pulling him so he’s straddling his hips. Steve wraps his arms around him, letting out a sharp breath as he lowers, as Eddie licks a line up his neck. Eddie’s hand runs over Steve’s stomach until it reaches his sweatpants, and he touches him over them, gently pressing against his dick. Steve chokes, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his other hand running up his back and holding the base of his skull. Steve nods. “Baby, I need words, please.”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “‘S okay, it’s so okay, please, just… I need you .”

Eddie does it again, pressing and squeezing, and Steve is so hard it almost hurts, but Eddie is so tender with him, rubbing his back as Steve clings to him. They’re both breathing hard, and Steve is biting his lip to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Eddie whispers.

“Can I take it out?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Yeah. Please.”

He holds his breath.

Eddie’s hands are warm. And gentle. Eddie pulls away just enough to glance down to look, carefully tucking Steve’s sweatpants out of the way, and he’s smiling. Steve tugs at his hair, making him tilt his head back so he can kiss him so hard their teeth clash. Eddie is still smiling, his hand moving slowly, carefully.

When they part, Steve is gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut so hard he might get a headache, and Eddie notices, reaching up and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb.

“Breathe for me,” Eddie whispers. Steve exhales slowly, looking at him, watching as he nods, and lowers his head. A moment later, he’s letting a line of spit drip out of his mouth to Steve’s dick and Steve groans quietly, pulling him back into a hug as Eddie slides his hand to spread it. Eddie’s other hand presses to Steve’s back securely, holding him close.

“Do you like it?” he asks softly.

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s so high-pitched, weak and shaky and breathless and so vulnerable he wants to hate it, but he also doesn’t care, because Eddie is holding him like this, touching him and letting him tremble. “I like it, I like it so much, Eddie.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs.

And fuck.

Eddie moves his hand slowly, and after a moment he shifts so he’s sitting, and they’re back to how they were before, their legs wrapped around each other. Steve keeps his arms around his neck, hiding his face. Eddie slides his other hand into his hair.

“You want me to pull?”

“God, yes,” Steve chokes. “Please.”

And Eddie definitely noticed how it made him feel just a moment ago, because—

“Good boy.”

Steve can hear his smile.

His hand tightens, his fist squeezing in it, and it’s a slow, dull ache that grows on Steve’s scalp. He stifles a groan, pressing his lips together.

“Stop doing that,” Eddie says breathlessly, his hand loosening, and Steve exhales with relief, his mouth falling open. A moment later he processes Eddie’s words, and he hums in confusion.

“Keeping yourself quiet,” Eddie says. “Stop, I wanna hear you.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, his eyes blearily finding the Slayer poster above Eddie’s bed. His vision is blurry, and he feels like he’s cross-faded, out of his damn mind with the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him.

“You don’t want me to be quiet,” he mumbles absently. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

“No,” Eddie says softly, twisting his hand. Steve’es eyes close again. “I don’t want you to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby.” He moves his hand a little faster, tightening his fist, and Steve lets out a whine, burying his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Louder,” Eddie says, moving his hand faster, his other hand tugging Steve’s hair sharply.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps before he moans weakly.

“Louder,” Eddie whispers, his hand tightening in his hair. Steve lets out a sob.

“Eddie.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to kiss his jaw, and it sounds almost condescending, but it wraps around Steve like a blanket. “Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

So he isn’t.

His mouth stays open, panting against Eddie’s neck and shoulder, letting out soft moans and whines and whimpers and Eddie’s name as Eddie pulls at his hair again, his other hand jerking Steve off, alternating between rapid and fast and slow and tender, squeezing and tugging and drawing it out.

“I love how you sound,” Eddie murmurs after Steve lets out a sob. “So fucking pretty, baby, God.”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers.

“I got you, honey, ’s okay.” He scratches Steve’s scalp, pulling his hair.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and he pulls at Steve’s hair sharply, tugging him away from where he’s resting his head, and he kisses him. Steve kisses back after a moment, almost lightheaded, and he clutches at him, at his hair, his arm.

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie pants when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Steve lets out a long groan, squeezing Eddie’s wrist.

“Eddie, I—”

“You can come,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

He kisses Steve’s cheek, murmuring as Steve buries his face in his neck again, moaning as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, and Steve is crying into his neck, sobbing as his body floods with heat, as he comes.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers, fingers still working, jerking Steve until he finally slows down. “Did so good, Stevie.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s hand finally stops, and he lets go, his other hand running through Steve’s hair comfortingly as Steve catches his breath. He tucks Steve back in his sweatpants carefully, patting his crotch when he’s done, and Steve snorts.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly when Steve is breathing slowly. Steve hums. “That good, huh?”

“Mm. No one’s ever wanted to hear me before.”

“No?” Eddie says, running his hand over Steve’s back, tracing his spine. “But you sound so good.”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Steve mumbles. “One girl commented that I was noisy and it just… made me self-conscious, I guess.”

Eddie hums softly, sliding his hand up to hold the back of his neck, and it feels protective, possessive, and Steve could die happy here.

“I like hearing you,” Eddie says. “Don’t ever want you to be quiet.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck before he kisses him gently under his jaw. “Can I get you off?”

“Mm. Yeah. ‘S not gonna take much, though, I almost came just listening to you.”

Steve giggles, lifting his head and reaching for the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants as their eyes meet. He pushes his hand under them, watching Eddie’s expression shift, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part, watching his shoulders slump. He’s still holding the back of Steve’s neck, and his hand tightens.

“Can I take it out?” Steve whispers.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Go ‘head.”

Steve does, licking his lips, and Eddie pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and spits on his palm before reaching down again, touching him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing lightly. “Fuck.”

“You always this easy?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie hums.

“Only when I have the… hottest boy in the world touching my dick.”

Steve giggles, sliding his hand up and down slowly, listening to Eddie breathing heavily. He’s having fun. He’s never had fun like this during sex. It’s always felt like something to just do, to get done, to make his partner feel good. But even as he focuses on Eddie, he can’t stop smiling, watching his own hand on Eddie’s dick, listening to the soft moans and hums Eddie lets out. Eddie’s other hand finds Steve’s thigh and squeezes tightly, gripping so hard Steve wonders if he’ll leave bruises under his fingertips. He kind of hopes he does.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps after a while. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve kisses him. Messily, desperately.

“Come for me.”

Eddie grunts, his hand slipping to hold the base of Steve’s head, and he pants, breathing hard against Steve’s cheek as Steve watches, almost mesmerized by the come dripping over his fingers, his knuckles.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes as Eddie comes down, his grip on Steve’s leg and head relaxing. “You’re so…”

Eddie hums softly.

“So…”

“I don’t know,” Steve says quietly, pulling his hand away as Eddie softens, and he tucks him back into his sweatpants, imitating him with the gentle pat. Eddie laughs. He has a beautiful laugh.

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” Eddie says.

“You are,” Steve says, looking into his eyes. He smiles, and Eddie tilts his head curiously. “In a good way,” he adds. “I like it.”

Eddie smiles bashfully, his cheeks pink, and Steve nudges their noses together, closing his eyes.

“...Are you gonna talk about it?” Eddie says after a few moments. Steve exhales, swallowing.

His hands are in his lap, and he looks at them, at the come on his hand.

“...I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Eddie touches Steve’s chin, gently prompting him to lift his head. He’s smiling when Steve looks at him, and he leans in to kiss him softly, chastely. Familiarly.

“Cool,” he says, his lips brushing Steve’s. “Same.”

And Steve laughs.

Eddie kisses him again, smiling against Steve’s smile, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, keeping his dirty hand in the air as his other hand pushes into Eddie’s curls. Eddie’s hands slide across Steve’s back.

Steve pulls away.

“You are getting come all over my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve snorts. “What do you think about a shower to clean you up?”

“Ah, that was your master plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, my goal was to get you naked by getting you mostly naked.”

“Pure genius, Eddie.”

“I know…”

Steve follows him to the bathroom after they get clothes. (Eddie just gives him more of his own)

It feels nice when Eddie washes his hair. Even though he forms it into a mohawk with the soap. He’s grinning as he does it, his eyes sparkling, amused, and Steve lets him. It also feels nice when Eddie washes his body, which he does without saying anything, scrubbing him gently, tenderly, washing the soap away with the showerhead and pressing kisses to his wet skin. Steve does the same to him. It feels nice to do this, to help him even though he doesn’t really need it.

Steve kneels to do his legs, and as he does, he kisses his scars. Eddie holds a hand out, blocking the water from hitting Steve’s face. And Steve somehow falls in love all over again.

The tile wall is cold as Eddie pushes him against it to kiss him, but he doesn’t mind.

They separate to dry themselves off, and Steve stops him when he starts to scrub his hair dry with the towel. He scolds him lightly, pulling close and taking over, scrunching the ends and drying it gently, noting that he wants to get some product for him. Eddie just gazes at him silently, his hands on Steve’s hips.

“I love you,” he whispers when Steve hangs the towels.

Steve hugs him, and Eddie hugs him so tightly that he lifts him up a little bit, his toes touching the ground.

“I love you too.”

Over his shoulder, Steve can see them in the reflection of the mirror. It’s fogged over from the shower steam, but he can see the shape of them, their dark clothing in the bright light of the bathroom, and Steve sighs.

They go back to bed, arms around each other as they find their places again, Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie kisses his neck. Steve closes his eyes.

“So what do you say about forever?” Eddie asks quietly as Steve is starting to drift off. He hums, turning to tuck his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, holding him gently.

“Forever sounds nice.”

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