Summary: Eight months ago, you swore you would never step foot in Hawkins again. When Robin begs for you to come home for spring break, you find yourself agreeing despite better judgment. You’ve missed everyone, surely you could endure one more week in Hawkins if that means you can see your friends again.
Episode 1
“You thought that you had healed, and this would be less painful. But seeing him, especially with Brenda, someone whose last name you can’t remember. A girl he never even looked at or mentioned or gave the time of day, opened every wound that had scarred since the last time the two of you spoke.”
Episode 2
“It didn’t help that you were helplessly in love with him. Once upon a time, you and Steve could hang out and get drunk in his basement or play chicken in his pool between shots. Those nights would end with you sprawled on his bedroom floor in a pair of his sweats and a hoodie. You could’ve gotten drunk on his scent alone.”
Episode 3
“The pain that came with loving Steve Harrington almost consumed you. You needed space, you needed time to grieve a relationship that never happened, to move on. So, you kept him at arm’s length. You ignored his calls here and there and made up excuses to not hang out. You weren’t sure what hurt more, being there to pick up the broken pieces of his heart or not being there at all.”
Episode 4
“Unwillingly, you made peace with death between four concrete walls, back pressed against the love of your life. You didn’t think you’d get the chance to see him one last time or give a proper goodbye. The universe always seemed to put you and Steve together when the world was falling apart, and for that, you’d forever be grateful.”
Episode 5
"His absence left a gaping hole in your chest, one you are certain no one else can fill. Steve Harrington has a home in your soul, he’s part of you, down to your very core. He’s engrained in your movements, the lilt in your voice, the way your heart beats. Being around him is agonizing. You remember the pain, the memories, and the promises he didn’t keep. Every time he’s near, you’re reminded that you loved him so much and he couldn’t love you enough. "
Episode 6
"You’ve wasted so much time these past few days being angry, instead of thankful that you had him back. You aren’t sure where the two of you lie, if the ghosts of your past are too great a divide to overcome. Staring at the clock that keeps ticking, you worry you’ll never know."
summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.
How hard could it be?
[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]
STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL
"Be my girlfriend."
The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.
You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"
Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.
"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."
You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.
Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.
"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."
Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."
Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.
"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"
Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.
"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.
"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"
"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."
He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.
"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."
Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.
"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"
He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.
"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."
You take in his words. "But you're not."
"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.
"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."
You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."
Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."
His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.
"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."
You take a moment to think it over.
"When is it?"
"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."
"Dress code?"
"Formal. Duh."
"How many people?"
"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."
Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.
You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?
Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.
You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.
It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?
Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.
Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.
Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.
"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."
You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.
He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."
You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.
Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.
He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."
Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.
"You've got a deal, mister."
Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.
"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."
Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."
You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.
"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.
Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.
His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.
He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."
"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."
—
A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.
You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.
Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.
You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.
You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.
It would take an hour, tops.
A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.
"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.
Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"
You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.
"And just what are you trying to say?"
Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.
"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."
He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."
You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.
Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.
You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.
"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.
"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."
"Different?"
"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"
His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.
You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"
Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.
"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"
You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.
You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.
His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.
You could do that.
"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"
"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."
You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.
A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.
"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."
You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.
Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.
"Think this'll do?"
Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."
You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.
"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."
Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.
"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."
Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"
Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."
Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.
"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."
Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.
"And Brandon."
"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."
"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."
Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."
You blink, perturbed. "What?"
"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."
You cringe a little. He does have a point.
"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.
You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."
Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.
"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"
You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.
"Yeah," You say.
Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.
Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"
"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.
You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.
"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"
Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."
"You lost that game."
"I still scored!"
"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."
Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."
You laugh again, soft and light.
"Who asked who?"
"I asked you." Steve says.
You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.
What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.
Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.
That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?
You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.
You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.
For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.
"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"
"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."
He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.
"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.
Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"
Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."
Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!
Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"
Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.
"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.
"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"
STEP TWO: THE ACT
Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.
Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.
You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.
"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.
He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.
You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.
"We got together the 20th—"
"—of June, last year." You finish for him.
Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."
You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"
"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."
That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.
"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.
"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."
"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."
Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.
"Thanks." He murmurs.
He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.
What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.
You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"
Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.
"They definitely did."
There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.
Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.
"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.
The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."
"Steve."
"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."
"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.
"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.
"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."
"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.
You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.
"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.
Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.
You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."
Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"
"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.
Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.
Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.
"Ready?"
Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."
You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.
He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.
A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.
As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.
Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.
Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.
Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.
Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.
Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?
“Steven.”
The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.
You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.
“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”
He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.
“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”
You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.
“No, Mom, you didn’t.”
There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.
That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.
“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”
The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.
Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.
“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”
You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.
Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.
“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”
This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.
The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.
“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.
Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.
“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”
It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.
Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.
“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”
“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?
You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.
You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.
Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.
“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.
“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”
Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.
He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.
“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.
“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.
Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.
The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.
“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”
The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.
“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”
For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.
However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.
“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.
Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.
A new voice interrupts.
“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”
You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.
He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.
The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.
“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.
Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.
Then he does the same to you.
It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.
God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.
“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.
You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.
“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”
Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.
Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.
“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.
He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.
Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”
He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.
You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.
And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.
Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.
“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”
“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”
Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.
You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.
“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”
Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.
“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”
“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.
He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.
“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.
You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.
“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.
“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”
There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.
You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.
The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.
You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.
“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.
“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.
He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”
He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.
You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.
Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.
It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.
As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.
“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.
From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.
You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.
“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”
“You think?”
You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.
If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?
"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."
Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.
"Touchy?" He provides.
You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.
The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.
And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.
You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.
How different would it really be?
Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.
Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?
The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.
Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.
Just more. More of this.
Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.
"Hm?"
"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”
Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."
Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.
"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”
The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.
Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.
The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.
“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?
He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.
“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.
How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.
“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”
“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.
“Okay," You say. "Fair."
"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"
It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.
"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."
"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."
Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.
"What about you?"
Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."
"Too late."
“Yeah, well, obviously.”
There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.
“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.
He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”
“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”
Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.
Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”
“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.
“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”
You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.
“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.
You’ve met him thrice.
Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.
Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.
“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”
Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”
Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”
Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.
Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.
You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.
You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.
“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.
Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.
“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”
There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”
Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”
“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.
“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.
A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.
“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”
Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.
“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.
You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”
He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.
“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”
The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.
Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.
Does he really think all those things about you?
Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.
He turns back to his father’s business friends.
“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”
You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.
It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.
“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”
You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.
Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”
There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.
“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.
“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”
“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”
Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”
Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.
You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”
Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.
“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”
“Eh, what’s the big difference?”
“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”
He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.
“Steve? Leaving so soon?”
The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.
“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.
“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”
Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.
Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.
Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.
“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”
He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.
“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”
He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.
“It’s like- wait, no—”
Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.
“Is he paying you?”
You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.
Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.
“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”
He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.
STEP THREE: THE KISS
You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.
You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.
And… oh.
He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.
For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.
And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.
Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.
He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.
“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”
The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.
“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”
Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.
STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH
It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.
You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.
Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.
You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.
Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.
Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.
By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.
Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.
As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.
“I'm sorry, okay?"
Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.
"What?"
"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.
"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."
You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.
"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."
Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"
His particular wording isn't lost on you.
"But you are mad." You press.
"I'm not."
You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?
"You sound mad."
Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.
"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"
“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”
Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.
"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"
“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”
That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?
Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.
His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.
"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"
He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"
He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.
A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.
"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.
"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."
"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."
He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.
"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.
"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”
There's desperation in his final plea.
A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.
A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.
"Wha... You never said anything."
It comes out a little insulted.
Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"
"I didn't think I was your type!"
Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.
"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"
"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”
Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.
“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."
"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.
He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.
"And... now?"
Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.
"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"
It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.
"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"
Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.
"Would you... want that?"
"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.
Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.
But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.
And there it is; the true revelation.
"And I don't think I want to."
The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.
He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.
How the hell did you miss it?
"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"
What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.
"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.
Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.
But you want to try.
That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.
He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.
He pauses just before your lips can touch.
Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.
Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.
You're excited.
His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.
"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."
The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.
He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.
You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.
"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.
"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"
"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.
God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.
"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.
You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.
"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"
Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.
"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."
Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.
You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.
Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.
One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.
Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.
As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.
taggin some peeps below!
@illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime
just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm
SUMMARY: drawn to his quiet intensity, you fall into a love that feels inevitable, desperate, and doomed. but the house is filled with ghosts, and tate is not just a boy—he is a tragedy, a storm you didn't see coming until it was too late.
REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.
WARNINGS: no use of y/n, messy and toxic relationship (but not really highlighted in the story), angst (i guess), and minor typographical errors.
WORD COUNT: 2k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i honestly don't know what went on with my thought process when i wrote this, i think this is not one of my best written story, it's kind of messy and a bit random for me. but i hope you guys enjoy this one!
The house was wrong from the very start.
You knew it the moment you stepped through the front door, past the stained-glass panels and the creaking wood floors that sighed beneath your weight. The air also felt heavy, like it had been trapped inside for decades, festering. You tried your best to ignore all of it. Your parents, eager for a fresh start, had brushed off your unease, fully convinced that a historic home with ‘character’ was exactly the family needed. But then soon came the voices. The shadows in the corners that flickered when you looked too closely, and the nightmares that were not really nightmares at all.
And then, there was him. Tate Langdon. Tate appeared the way ghosts always do—when you were not looking for him. The first time that you saw him, he was sitting on the floor of your bedroom, his back against the bed, legs stretched out, completely at ease in a place he did not belong. His golden curls fell into his eyes, dark and knowing, and he smiled like he had been waiting for you.
“Hey,” he said so casually, like it was all normal, Like it made sense.
You did not scream. Well you should have, but there’s something in his voice that softened the edges of your fear. Instead, you swallowed hard and took a step back towards the door.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said.
He tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “Neither should you.”
That was how it all began. It was not love at first sight, no. It was something darker, deeper, more insidious than that. It was a slow unraveling, a quiet pull in your chest that tightened every time he was near. Tate Langdon was magnetic in a way that made no sense, a storm you didn't see coming until you were already caught in it.
Tate made you feel seen. In a house that is filled with echoes and ghosts that whispered your name in the dark, he was solid. He looked at you like you mattered, like he wanted you, and so, you let him in. From there on, late night conversations on the floor of your bedroom, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. Stolen moments in the hallways, with his touch lingering just a second too long. Kisses pressed to your forehead, your jaw, lips—gentle, at first, before they become something that is desperate, that aches. It was not love. Not really. It was loneliness that was disguised as something beautiful.
Then one night, you woke up to screaming. Not yours, not your parents’, but hers. You followed the sound down the hall, heart pounding, breath catching in your throat. You saw her—Violet Harmon, another girl, another ghost, another shattered soul that is trapped inside this god forsaken house. You had heard of her through Tate, but never actually gotten to talk to her. She was crying, her voice raw with something beyond pain, with Tate standing in front of her.
Not the boy who kissed you in the quiet. Not the boy who traced your name onto fogged-up windows. This Tate was something else. A shadow, a storm. Violet shrank away from him, her body trembling, and you knew, deep inside of you, that this had happened before. You had spent enough time looking at Tate through the light that you forgot to check the darkness, his darkness. When Tate turned towards you, his face softened into something apologetic, pleading, and you knew. You knew, and it didn't matter. It was already too late.
You pulled away after that. Stopped answering when he whispered your name, stopped letting his hands find yours in the dark. You saw him for what he was, and it hurt more than it should have. Tate tried to explain, tried to promise that it was not what you thought, but his actions told another story.
“Tate, I can’t,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I can’t be part of this.”
Tate looked at you like you had ripped something out of him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you do,” you said, shaking your head. “You already have.”
Tate had never been real, not really. He was a boy made of ghosts, grief, of a past that is too heavy to carry, and you had loved him anyway—or maybe, you had loved the lie.
There are times that you want to leave. But leaving him was impossible, because Tate was a part of the house, and the house wouldn't let you go. No matter how much distance you tried to put between you, he was always there—watching, waiting, and hoping. You hate him for it, but you hated yourself more, because despite the terror, tragedy, and the weight of his mistakes, there were nights that you still wanted him. Nights when you ached for the warmth of his hands, the way he said your name like it was sacred.
You could not forgive Tate, but you could not stop loving him either, and maybe, that was the cruelest thing of all.
The house was quiet one night, but it was the kind of quiet that weighed heavy, thick like fog that you could almost choke on if you let it. Your parents had gone to bed hours ago, their bedroom door closed, and their arguments for once silenced by exhaustion. You wished that you could say the same for yourself.
You had been lying wide awake in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, watching the way the shadows from the street lamps bled in through your blinds. You kept thinking about Violet, the way she had flinched from Tate. The way Tate’s face had not changed at first—eyes red and cheeks stained with tears before he realized you were there, watching. Your hands still trembled when you thought about it, and you could still hear her crying if you listened hard enough, even though you knew she was not there anymore. Maybe she never really was.
Pressing your face into your pillow, you fought the urge to scream, cry, do anything that could potentially wake your family and force you to explain the things you had seen. You were not even sure if they would believe you, and you were not sure if you wanted them to. Knowing the truth was its own kind of prison. But that night, something gnawed at you, something tugged, and eventually, you gave in. You decide to slide out from under your sheets as quietly as you could, bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor, sending a chill up your legs. You grabbed your sweatshirt from the end of the bed, put it on, and went out of your room.
The house was dark, too dark. There was something about the murder house during the nighttime—it was as if the house became a living, breathing thing. Walls pulsed with the weight of memory, and you could hear it in the silence. The wood groaned underneath, and you winced with every step, heart pounding too fast in your chest.
Tate was sitting right outside your door. He looked small like that, smaller than you had remembered. Curled in on himself, knees bent, arms wrapped tightly around them. His fingers were white-knuckled where they gripped his sleeves, and head tipped forward slightly, blonde curls falling in front of his face. He looked like he was praying, or mourning, or maybe both.
You hesitated, stomach twisting painfully, a sick knot you could not untangle. Part of you wanted to turn around, lock yourself inside your room, and pretend that Tate was not there. Pretend that he had not been haunting the edges of your life from the moment you stepped into this house. Pretend that you had not let him in. But instead, your feet carried you forward. You sat down next to him slowly, back pressed against the wall. You didn't look at him first, you couldn't. Your eyes fixed on the opposite side of the hall, tracing the grain in the wood paneling, as if it might offer some kind of answer. Some kind of escape.
The silence stretched between you, taut and aching. You could hear his breathing, it was uneven, ragged at the edges. You could feel his presence like a heat at your side, a gravity that pulled at you no matter how much you resisted, and finally, he spoke.
“Do you hate me?”
Tate’s voice was soft. Not the kind of soft he used when he would whisper your name in the dark, this one is different. Raw. It scraped down your spine, leaving splinters in its wake. You swallowed hard, your throat burned like you had been holding back tears for days. Maybe you had, but you don’t know anymore at this point.
“I don’t know,” you said, voice cracking on the last word.
It wasn't a lie.
You wanted to hate him. God, you should have hated him. You should have hated the things he had done and the things that he was still capable of. You should have hated the way he lied to you with every soft touch, every kiss, every hollow promise. You should have hated the way he made you forget all of it when he looked at you like you were his salvation. But you couldn't, you were not sure you ever could.
You heard Tate exhale slowly, like your answer had gutted him. Maybe it had, but you did not look at him. You kept staring ahead, heart pounding so hard that it hurts. Your hands were in your lap, gripping the hem of your sweatshirt to keep them from shaking, but it was not working. Tate shifted beside you, leaning his head back against the wall. You could feel the movement, feel the way his body relaxed just slightly even though his hands were still clenched. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but didn't dare.
“I love you,” he said so quietly, you almost did not hear it, but you did.
The words hit you in the chest. You let your head fall forward, hair shielding your face, and lungs burned like you had been underwater for too long.
“Don't…” you trailed off, “don’t say that.”
“I love you.”
Tate kept saying it, over and over again, like it might make it true. Like it might fix something. You closed your eyes, nails digging into your palms. You hated him for this, for making you feel this way—not letting you walk away, for being so much a part of you now that you didn't know where he ended and you began.
“You don’t know what love is,” you said finally, voice low and trembling. “You just take things. You take and take and you ruin them.”
Tate was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was broken. “I know. But I never wanted to ruin you.”
You wanted to believe him, at least a part of you did. Maybe that was the worst part of all. You finally turned your head, finally looked at him. His eyes were glassy, bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion and something deeper—something like regret. You wondered if he even had the capacity to feel regret, if it mattered. You let your head thump back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. You could head the faint hum of the house around you, walls breathing in time with your own ragged inhalations.
“We’re already ruined,” you whispered. “Both of us.”
Tate did not argue with you. He didn't offer any soft lies or pretty promises. He just sat there in silence, hands finally inching closer until his pinky brushed against yours. It was a featherlight touch, a quiet question. You didn't move away, didn't answer him either, because there wasn't an answer, not really. You could hate him tomorrow, could leave him tomorrow, and could pretend he didn't already have a part of you that he’d never give back.
But not tonight. Tonight, you sat next to him in the dark hallway of a house that had already swallowed too much. Your fingers brushed, bodies close but not touching, and in the suffocating quiet, in the heartbeat between what was and what would never be again, you and Tate both understood—this was all that was left.
SUMMARY: you and evan decided to do a sit down interview with variety.
REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.
WARNINGS: no use of y/n in narration (but there is on a use of y/n in the later portion), established relationship, married life, mention of kids (twins), reader is also an actress, timeline may be inaccurate, pretend that princess diaries was shown in 2005, evan and reader are the same age, private relationship, and minor typographical error.
WORD COUNT: 1.9k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this has been requested. i decided to tweak and deviate a little bit with the request, and add some twist into it—to which i hope you won't mind. all of the sent request had been queued in my drafts, i just decided to post this one first bc i actually enjoyed writing this one hajfkkrkfjd. i hope you guys will like it! :)
The cameras rolled, the lighting turning into soft hues, and the familiar hum of the Variety studio filled the air. You and Evan were sitting side by side on the plush gray couch, legs casually touching, both of you all dressed up in coordinated tones—Evan in a soft navy sweater, while you were dressed in a cream colored blouse tucked in high waisted white loose wide legged pants.
It had been years since you two had done a sit down interview together, and the moment felt surreal. You were back together on screen, after WandaVision, after a time off from co-starring, and now, you are back again for a new limited series, and fans were already buzzing.
“So, this is a reunion of sorts,” the interviewer said, smiling as she looked between the two of you. “You’re both starring in a series again after many years, how did it feel working together again?”
Evan let out a soft chuckle and glanced your way, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It felt like coming home,” he said, voice gentle. “We’ve worked together so many times that it’s honestly second nature by now.”
You laughed, nodding. “It really was. It’s funny, we hadn't acted opposite each other since WandaVision, and even though it was just an episode or two together, that dynamic just clicked again.”
“Right,” the interviewer leaned in, clearly intrigued. “You and Evan play Quicksilver and Crystal—his wife, respectively. Fans loved that little arc.”
“That was a fun one,” you smiled fondly. “I remember when we got the call that Evan would be joining, I was already on set, and I literally texted him, ‘guess we’re married again.’”
“She didn't even say hi or hello,” Evan grinned. “Just straight out sent me a silly selfie of her in costume with the caption ‘Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty.’”
The room burst into laughter. “Okay, but let’s talk about something that’s become a running joke on the internet,” the interviewer said, tapping her notepad. “That Evan only says yes to roles if you're in them.”
You raised your brows, trying to suppress your smile. “Oh my god, that joke started years ago.”
Evan nodded in agreement. “It did, I think it was during AHS: Coven?”
“Yeah,” you said, “basically someone on set noticed that every season of American Horror Story we did, Evan was always my love interest. Every single one, even when it didn't make narrative sense, somehow, our characters always end up being entangled.”
“I think it also became a challenge for the writers,” Evan added. “Like, ‘how can we get these two together again without repeating themselves?’”
“And one day, it became a whole joke with the crew,” you said, laughing. “They were like, ‘oh, Evan’s only here because she’s in it.’ and I always denied it, but then I started looking back, it was kind of true, actually.”
Evan chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I like working with you.”
You nudged him gently. “Well, you decided to marry me. I hope you do.”
What you said had caught the interviewer completely off guard. “Wait, you two are married?”
You and Evan burst into laughter again, and nodded. “Yeah, we are. Ten years now.”
“And you have—?”
“Twins,” Evan said, practically glowing. “Boy and girl, they’re nine. Total troublemakers.”
“Oh my god,” the interviewer breathed, clearly reeling. “How have you kept this all under the wraps?”
You shrugged with a soft laugh. “We never really tried to hide it, we just don’t post about it. People still assumed that we were still dating,” you raised your hand, showing your hand where the wedding band was. “Surprise folks, we’re married!”
“I think fans were too distracted by whatever show we were doing together to stop and think, ‘wait a minute, why are they always together?’” Evan joked.
“It kind of started as a joke too,” you said, giggling softly as you remembered the memory. “I remember when I did The Princess Diaries back in, like, 2005, and Evan was already doing some TV work—Phil of the Future. He was just so cute, and jokingly put out the idea with my agent if Evan could be casted as Mia’s love interest.”
The interview blinked. “No way!”
“I was nineteen, it was a crush!” you giggled. “I thought, ‘he has pretty eyes, he’s perfect in being my on-screen partner.’ and then years later, here we are. American Horror Story, WandaVision. He’s casted as my love interest again. And again, and again.”
Evan smiled at you while you explained, and then looked at the camera. “She manifested the hell out of me.”
You giggled softly, throwing back your head slightly. “I guess I unconsciously did,” you smiled. “I mean, I didn't get him in The Princess Diaries, but I got him in everything else after that. Including real life, so it’s a win-win situation?”
He reached over and took your hand gently, intertwining his fingers with yours. “One thing’s for sure, I love being her love interest, on-screen or off.”
The interviewer smiled. “So, being married for a decade, twins—that’s a lot of history. What’s it like working together again after building a life off-screen?”
Evan looked over at you, gaze fond and warm. “It’s the best. We know how each other ticks, I know what kind of coffee to bring her on set, and she definitely knows how to calm me down when I get too lost in my mind.”
“It’s true,” you smiled softly at him. “We’re each other’s comfort zone, so coming back to work together feels like home.”
Evan put an arm around you, then pulled you gently towards him, giving you a kiss on the temple.
youtube comments:
user1: THEY’RE MARRIED!? I THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST DATING??????
user2: sis wanted him to be mia’s love interest in 2005. i’m SOBBING.
user3: what whAT??? THEY HAVE KIDS TOO??? NO STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH.
user4: every season of ahs, i shipped them. turns out i was RIGHT
user5: these goobers been dating and ended up marrying each other ten years ago and didn't even bothered to tell us. i’m-
user6: “guess we’re married again” stOP. this is the most cutest thing i’ve ever heard!!!
user7: so you’re telling me that crystal and quicksilver have been ACTUALLY married with twins for a fucking decade???
user8: y'all don't know how this interview cured my seasonal depression.
user9: girlie said she wanted evan to play her love interest in the princess diaries when she was nineteen, and now they’re married with kids??? what in the 2005 spellcasting it THIS
user10: you guys don’t understand, i watched them fall in love across diff seasons of ahs, and now i know it was REAL.
user11: quicksilver and crystal being married irl is the plot twist i didn't know i needed. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL.
user12: now give us a quicksilver solo movie. NOW 💥💥💥
user13: all i can say is that they are the final boss of all private hollywood couples
user14: but can evan peters fight????
user15: idk if i wanna be evan or i wanna be her
reddit posts:
r/popculturechat
u/witchforyou
HOLY SHIT EVAN PETERS IS MARRIED TO Y/N????
I just watched the new Variety Exclusive interview with Evan and y/n and my brain is MELTING. Turns out they’ve been married for TEN YEARS. WITH TWINS.
Apparently she manifested him into her life back in 2005 when she jokingly told her agent she wanted Evan to play her love interest in The Princess Diaries. Fast forward to AHS, WandaVision, and now their new series—they’ve been each other’s on-screen love interest every time and were secretly married the whole time.
You guys, I’m SPIRALING.
⇧ 1,674 | ⇩ | 💬 982
Top Comments:
u/lana_del_chaos
This is literally the plot of a wattpad fic from 2012. I wanna be mad, but I also want to cry and scream and throw them a second wedding.
u/theystilldieinthesequels
You’re telling me they were filming ahs seasons while being secretly married and raising twins??? I can’t even finish my fucking laundry.
u/skin-of-a-killer
I just want someone to look at me the way Evan looks at her in that interview. Bro looked like he was about to melt into her shoulder.
u/ahs_addict
So all those steamy scenes they did from ahs…thEY WERE MARRIED. That wasn't acting, that was a married couple flirting on the job.
u/manifestationmami
She said she unconsciously manifested it. This is my roman empire now.
u/pillowprincesstate
This is why he stopped doing big interviews for a while huh. Man was off raising twins and being in love. Meanwhile I’m still recovering from murder house.
u/theoneloyalhusband
I want Evan to ignore all his other role and only act in projects with his wife forever. That’s my love language.
u/gayforthegothgirl
Okay but can they actually drop the wedding pics now?
r/popculturechat
u/evanpeterstruther
Okay. So after my meltdown in the other thread (hi), I stayed up literally all night rewatching interviews, AHS episodes, press junkets, etc. everyone take a seat, I’ve been running only on caffeine and I have CRACKED THE TIMELINE.
Yes, I’m unwell. Yes, I regret nothing.
2005: She mentioned she wanted Evan to play her love interest for The Princess Diaries all because girlie had watched him on Phil of the Future and found him cute. That’s not a wish, that’s a mf SPELL. A SUMMONING CIRCLE. Sis was POWERFUL even back then.
2011: They met on the set of AHS murder house, and have you SEEN how bro looks at her in that season??? No one, and I mean no one acts that well unless they’re in love or in debt, and honey, Evan Peters ain’t broke. ++++ multiple cast members say in behind the scenes clips that “they’re glued to each other” between takes.
2012: They confirmed that they were already dating. (Hallelujer!)
2013-2016: She disappears from public press tours, bro’s grinning so much in interviews, she has a ring. THEY GOT MARRIED. I don’t need no certificate, I have vibes. (+++ 2016 was prolly the twins were born :’’’> purely based on mathematical facts.) This was also the year she vanished during Roanoke promos due to “scheduling conflict” lol honey, we all know that ain’t scheduling conflict, that was a BABY CONFLICT.
2017: Only Evan took lead roles in AHS Cult, and she’s only in a few episodes. She probably took time off for the twins.
2018-2020: Mother was on temporary hiatus (no new projects, she’s kinda like on idle) + beginning of the covid era, the whole world was on full reset.
2021: WandaVision era. Parents are back again on-screen. “Mrs. Maximoff, reporting for duty!” shIVERSSSSS. Now we all know why it felt so natural. ++++ Crystal and Quicksilver, honey that isn't casting, that was cosmic balance being restored. Bro looks at her like she holds the soul, because she DOES.
2022-2024: DROUGHT FAMINE DROUGHT FAMINE. Everyone assumed mom and dad had grown apart (career-wise), but in reality, mom and dad had been living that peaceful and so in love, married-with-twins life in private. (+++ post covid era, so celebs have been living more privately.)
2025: Variety Exclusive Interview. Fav year. The year we got what we all been praying for. Casually dropping the “we’ve been married for a decade” like it’s not the cultural reset of the century. Mom and dad said it like “yeah we ordered takeout,” NOT “we set the whole internet on fire.”
In conclusion, they’ve been love interests in every project they did (mainly AHS), been married with twins, and now the timeline is SECURE. THEY ARE EACH OTHER’S ROMANTIC ENDGAME IN EVERY UNIVERSE.
Summary: Eight months ago, you swore you would never step foot in Hawkins again. When Robin begs for you to come home for spring break, you find yourself agreeing despite better judgment. You’ve missed everyone, surely you could endure one more week in Hawkins if that means you can see your friends again.
Waking up in Steve Harrington’s guest room is almost just as disorienting as waking up in Nancy Wheeler’s basement. There’s a calmness in the air as you rise, listening to the birds sing and feeling the warmth of the sun that peaks through the curtains. It coats the room in such a sweet brightness that you wish you could bathe in it, push away the worries beyond your control, and bask in the thick perfume of the Harrington residence.
Standing on the plush carpet, it occurs to you, never once have you slept in this room. Sure, it was always an option, the one Mrs. Harrington certainly would’ve preferred. At a young age, the thought of being separated from each other, even for a night, was unfathomable. You’d spend hours building elaborate forts out of sheets and chairs, falling asleep with blankets tucked under your chins. When sleeping side by side was no longer permitted, Steve, a gentleman from the start, always insisted on you taking the bed. By the time you were dating, they never cared enough to notice him slip in beside you. You wonder if the mattress still dips where you used to lie.
A loud crash, followed by a string of curses, sends an echo throughout the downstairs. You rush out of the room and down the hall in haste, stopping short when you see the kitchen in complete disarray. Mixing bowls litter the counter and flour dusts the floor. Steve crouches in the middle of the chaos, picking up a lone skillet from the tile.
“Uh, good morning,” you say.
“Jesus,” he jumps, startled at your sudden appearance.
“What’s all this?” You giggle, clamping your lips shut at the look of annoyance Steve sends your way.
“It was going to be breakfast but, uh,” he groans, limbs stiff with exhaustion as he comes to a stand. “I can’t find the baking powder.”
“I think cereal will do just fine,” you smile, gathering the mess of ingredients into your arms. Wordlessly, the two of you tidy up the room, moving around each other with ease. It feels so domestic, intimate even as you sweep, careful to avoid his feet. You wonder if this is how life would’ve –should’ve– been for the past eight months. Lazy mornings spent in the refrigerator light, old habits poking into your new routines.
Here, in the dirtiness of his kitchen, you’re overcome with a feeling so strong your fingers shake. You’re so goddamn homesick, not for your house, childhood bedroom, or Hawkins, but for sharing gummy bears on the couch, dancing to old records, and holding hands under tables. You realize how much you miss your home, how much you miss Steve.
Once dishes are wiped and cabinets are closed, the two of you take a seat across from each other at the dining room table. You stare at the wood, unable to look at him while he shovels food into his mouth.
“Where are your parents?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.
“Visiting Aunt Cheryl in Maine,” he says, wiping milk from his chin.
“Weren’t invited?”
“They assumed I was working. Which I am, or supposed to be, if all this wasn’t happening again,” he explains. “But I could’ve asked off if they told me sooner. Not three days before they were supposed to leave.”
“I’m sorry.” You look at him then. What else was there to say? The trace of anger vanishes from his features as you lock eyes.
“It’s okay,” he offers a half smile. “I wouldn’t have gotten to see you if I went.” Heat creeps up your neck, eyes falling to the spoon you twirl in your fingertips. “I guess I don’t mean that. I hate that you’re here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I can leave,” you’re about to stand before he stops you.
“No, that’s not what I meant.” He pushes his bowl away, leaning forward on his elbows. “You got out, you got away, the life you always dreamed of and as soon as you’re home the world falls apart again.” You gulp, a knot settling in your stomach as he continues. “It’s just, I don’t know, every time I get sad you’re not here, I remember how awful this place is, you know? Nothing has changed. Mrs. Kenny still rents her movies every Sunday. Moria and Dale break up every month and get back together in two days. It’s always the same. Hawkins is the fucking same.” He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “Mike and Nancy will move out to California, Lucas will probably get a D1 scholarship somewhere, Dustin will grow up and have ten kids with Suzie. Max will graduate and get the hell out of town, just like you did. Robin will realize I’m a shitty friend, just like you did. One day, I’ll wake up and everyone will be gone and I’ll be here.”
“Steve,” you say, keeping your voice gentle. “You could’ve come with me. You could’ve gotten out too.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t.” His voice rises slightly, anger seeping into his tone. “I didn’t go and fucked everything up. This is my consequence. Being stuck here for the rest of my life.”
“So then don’t be. Who says you have to stay and wallow here forever? You can leave, just like me, just like everyone else can.”
“Yeah? And go where?” He laughs dryly, “Where else am I gonna go?”
“With me. Come back to me,” you want to scream. You want to lay all your cards out on the table before him, beg him to follow you across state lines, the way he promised. But he made his decision and you don’t know if he regrets it enough to change his mind. You can’t bear another rejection from Steve, not about this. So, you sit, staring at your soggy breakfast and biting your tongue.
“Did you know I called you?” He says after a few minutes. Your brows raise at the information. “I ran into your mom at the store one day and asked for your new number. It was the middle of August. The phone just rang and rang,” he recalls. “I don’t even know what I would’ve said if you answered, I didn’t think that far.” Your mom's constant bombardment of questioning clicks. He called. Your heart leaps at the news.
“I had no idea,” you whisper. He shrugs, gently pushing his chair back and clearing away the dishes with a frown tugging at his lips. You lean back in your chair with a sigh. You cross your arms around your chest as if they could be a barrier between you and all the words left unsaid.
From the corner of your eye, a photograph catches your attention. Hesitantly, you reach for it, shuffling away the discarded bills and letters for his parents. With shaky fingers, you pull open the newspaper where she rests. The girl who came into your life like a hurricane and was taken just as abruptly, leaving nothing but misery in her wake. She stares back at you, her smile frozen in time, just as beautiful as you remember.
You met Heather Holloway in the middle of May. You and five others dedicated a Saturday to mandatory training, a requirement before anyone was able to take a seat on the lifeguard tower. You knew the morning was going to be unbearable, to say the least. The water was still freezing, half of the recruits were new and immensely inexperienced, and to make it all worse, Billy was there.
Steve, who you assumed was still sleeping across town, was supposed to be there. It had become almost a tradition since you were fifteen to wear the whistle for those three hot months. When the word got around that the Hargrove boy would be an honorary member of the team, Steve couldn’t stomach it. Instead, he decided to scour the newspaper ads for another part-time job. Luckily for him, there was no shortage of openings with every store in Starcourt understaffed. He started the following week.
Since it was your third summer as a lifeguard and you spent a lifetime swimming in the Harrington pool, you could do each drill in your sleep. Your manager, Rodney, made it very clear he wouldn’t sign your certification papers if you skipped, even when you tried to slip him a five. It just felt like a complete waste of time. But, with a lease to be signed and a new life on the horizon, you couldn’t afford to lose your job before it started. So, you stood at the edge of the pool, half listening to Rodney’s instructions and picking at your nails.
Heather, a newbie, was assigned as your partner for the day. She offered a nervous smile that you tried to return as you lined up, preparing to dive. “Don’t let me drown. My life is in your hands.” She said, before plunging into the water. As instructed, she flailed and thrashed for a few seconds. At the sound of Rodney’s whistle, you dove and rescued her with ease. “I knew I had nothing to worry about,” she grinned once the two of you broke through the surface. Even though you were shivering and your teeth were chattering, you couldn’t help but laugh together.
Much to your surprise, Heather was a natural in the water. Instead of coaching her the way you had planned, you took turns leaping into the deep end, gossiping while staying afloat, and giggling while handling the CPR dummy. By the end of the day, you felt like you’d known her forever.
The two of you walked back to the locker room talking about everything and nothing at all. She spoke of the world like it was made of magic. If she asked, you would’ve sat on the curb and listened for hours. As you pulled sweatpants over your damp suit, she held out a stick of gum toward you.
“For saving my life and all,” she smiled.
“Consider us even,” You said.
Seeing Heather, you remember it all. How quickly the two of you became friends, practically overnight. At work, you were inseparable. You’d share concession snacks during lunch, smear sunscreen on places neither of you could reach, and carpool when your shifts aligned. If you think hard enough, you can still smell the scent of her that lingered in your car, even after she hopped out. Tanning lotion, chlorine, and rose shampoo. She smelt like summer and a life full of dreams. Thinking about her, seeing her again, is agonizing.
Gently, you fold the pages closed. You pretend that your regret and the memories you keep running from are tucked between the paper. You know they aren’t. They will sit on your shoulder for as long as you live, creeping out in unexpected moments, tormenting you until the end of time.
“They’re building a memorial,” Steve says somewhere behind you. You can’t turn around, too enamored with her photograph as you trace her outline, memorizing ink. “I’m not sure if it’s done, but we can stop by sometime so you can see.” You nod, quickly wiping away a tear you didn’t know was there.
“How do you do it?” You ask. “Stay here, see their houses, look those kids in the eyes?” More tears fall. Whether they’re more from sadness or crippling guilt, you don’t know. “I mean I ran away and I feel like I’m, like I’m haunted or something. And I don’t see it every day.” Steve stands next to you and places his hand in yours. “Does it ever get easier?”
“No,” he whispers. His honesty is so blunt it startles you. “Not easier, but it gets smaller, I guess.” You’re proud that he’s taken his pain and learned to live with it, envious even. That’s something you still haven’t been able to do.
“I guess we should get going,” you say, clearing your throat and drying your cheeks. You can’t risk spiraling today. For now, you swallow the grief of Heather and her death, burying it somewhere inside, hoping to keep it contained for just a few more days.
Twenty minutes later, you and Steve park along the curb of Nancy’s house. She leans against her car, checking her watch as you step into the sun. Robin’s already blabbering nonsense in her ear. The young boys situate their bikes against the garage as you make your way towards them.
“We come bearing gifts.” You hold up a bag full of chips and candy. It’s certainly not a nutritious meal, but you can’t imagine Eddie will be too picky. On the way over, you talked to Dustin on your walkie, the one he gave you before he left for Camp Know Where, and asked what Eddie prefers. He rambled off a list of items and for himself, a special request of Pringles. Thankfully, the gas station had most of it.
“He’ll be eating like a true king,” Dustin jokes, reaching in for his breakfast.
“All right. We can all fit if two sit in the back,” Nancy says, opening the trunk door.
“Shotgun!” Robin shouts immediately, beelining to the front.
“Not it!” You look at Steve who’s already rolling his eyes.
“You owe me,” he says, taking the sack from your hand and climbing in. “Henderson, get your ass back here.” Dustin’s shoulders sag but he doesn’t protest. As Lucas and Max climb in the backseat, you close the trunk door softly.
To say it’s cramped is an understatement, but you make it work. For a moment, you let yourself believe that it’s just a normal day in the middle of spring break. That you and your group of misfit friends are on your way to an exciting adventure. A picnic at the quarry, hours at the arcade, maybe the movies. When the car turns right, you’re reminded that you’re headed for Reefer Rick’s on the outskirts.
At a stoplight downtown, you glance at the woman waiting at the crosswalk. You freeze when you see Heather staring back at you. You sit up straighter as the light turns green, craning your neck to follow her as she makes her way across the street. In a few blinks, you see Tracey Molden instead. She pays you no mind, unaware of your staring. You gulp, turning back and pushing yourself further into the seat cushion as if it could swallow you whole.
“You okay?” Max asks from the middle, looking you over.
“Yeah. Just thought I saw someone.” You offer her a reassuring smile, one she thankfully buys. Even though the radio plays, you can still hear the last real conversation you had with her eight months ago. The very one that’s haunted you ever since.
You clutched the receiver between your ear and shoulder, listening to the dial tone. Impatiently, you tapped your foot, rehearsing the lines for the fourth time. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t give up a shift that summer, but you were desperate. That morning, Steve called with the news that he planned an impromptu day of festivities. So far, there wasn't a single day you had off together, your schedules the opposite. It had been a long month of only spending time together after the sun went down or in one of the booths at Scoops. You’d do anything for a day with your boyfriend, even if that meant inconveniencing Heather for a few hours.
“Hello?” She finally answered.
“Don’t hate me,” you say, cringing at the aspirated groan from the other end of the line. “I need you to take my shift today.”
“No, absolutely not,” she laughs. “After the day I had yesterday cleaning vomit, twice I might add, there’s no way in hell I’m taking your shift. I need a few days to recover.” You were afraid of that. While dropping you off the night before, she was still gagging, retelling the story in such vivid detail, that it even made you a little queasy.
“Please, Heather,” you begged. “I’ll do anything. What about a sundae next week? All the toppings you want. I won’t even take a bite!”
“Tempting,” she hummed. “No dice.” You gently banged your head against the wall. A knot formed in your stomach with an idea. One you knew would work.
“Billy will be there,” you sang. Just saying his name left distaste in your mouth. Much to your dismay, Heather had grown quite fond of Billy since orientation. You weren’t sure how. He barely gave her the attention she desired, but you suppose that’s what made it more fun. In all honesty, you were surprised nothing had transpired between the two of them. If Billy noticed her swooning, which was impossible to miss, he ignored it.
“Fine,” she grumbled after a stretch of silence.
“I am forever in your debt. You’re seriously the best!” You cheered.
“Yeah, yeah. Hang up before I change my mind.” But with the way she giggled, you knew she wasn’t too upset.
“Thank you. Love you, bye!”
You killed Heather Holloway, you know it in your bones. You think she knows it too. One of your dearest friends, packaged up and sent away like a lamb for slaughter. If it weren’t for you, Heather and her parents wouldn’t have been flayed. She’d be here in Hawkins preparing for the graduation that takes place in two months. All her ambitions, the remarkable life she would’ve led, you stole it all just by saying his name. Now, there’s nothing left of her but newspaper clippings, an empty grave, and a name being etched into stone. At least you said you loved her. You hope that now, wherever she is, she knows that has never stopped being true.
“Not to be a wimp, but can I maybe sit in the car for this visit? ‘Cause this is gonna totally and royally suck.” Robin asks over the music, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“It’ll be fine,” Nancy says, taking a curve. She’s trying her best to sound convincing.
“I just can’t stand to see those doe eyes of Eddie’s break again. I really, really can’t.”
“At least he can drink himself into feeling better.” Steve jokes between the chips he and Dustin share, raising the case of beer.
“That’s what my mom does,” Max says.
“Mine too,” you bump your elbow into hers, offering a small smile that she returns.
“Why don’t we give it a trial run? Hey, Eddie. Uh, good news first this time. We got you some Dustin-approved junk food and that six-pack you requested. Oh yeah, and we found Vecna. Only the bad news is that he’s in that other, darker, much scarier dimension, that we told you about and the gate’s closed, so we have no way of getting to him. Like he’s entirely shut off to us, so basically, you’re screwed. And, no, no, I know you were already screwed, but now you’re like doubly, triply, screwed!” Robin rambles.
“Whoa, wait, wait, wait. Maybe we don’t put it like that,” Lucas adds, trying to alleviate the tension in the air.
“We’re one step closer to finding Vecna,” Nancy nods to herself, talking it through. “That’s what we say. That’s what’s important.”
“See Robin? Positive spin can make all the difference,” Steve says, popping a Pringle into his mouth.
“Uh-huh,” Robin grumbles, no doubt rolling her eyes in the front seat.
“Oh, shit,” Nancy sighs, pulling onto a gravel road. The area is swarmed with reporters and townspeople, sections blocked off by barricades. Your stomach drops at the sight, worried that Eddie has been caught and cuffed by police. As soon as the car has stopped, you climb out, taking in the scene.
“All right?” You hear Chief Powell say over the community's raised voices.
“Come on, this way,” Nancy says, leading the group behind a news van.
“As many of you know by now, the Roane County line received a call a little after midnight.” You hear Powell begin as you huddle close to the hood. “Reporting a homicide out here on the lake.” You and Lucas share an uneasy look at the news. “Officer Callahan here and myself arrived first on the scene. We made our way to the shore of Lover’s Lake, about ten yards from that house you see behind me. Uh, it was there that we found the victim, an eighteen-year-old senior from Hawkins High, Patrick McKinney.” Max’s gaze snaps to Lucas, watching as his eyes drop to the ground. “His limbs, his body, uh, it was disfigured. There was an eyewitness on the scene. We have also identified a person of interest. Eddie Munson.” He raises a photo of Eddie into the air giving a perfect shot to the cameras. You could throw up right here in the grass. “We encourage anyone with information to please come forward.”
“Oh man,” Steve utters in disbelief. Reporters talk over one another, pushing microphones toward him. “This is not good. Really not good,” he continues. Gently, you rub soothing circles on Dustin’s shoulder as he stares at you with eyes full of fear.
“You’ve got a lot of questions, and I’m going to answer as many as I can. Two o’clock, at town hall, where anyone from the Hawkins community is welcome. But right now, I’ve got some work to do, and I appreciate your understanding.” At the close of Powell’s speech, the area grows loud with unanswered questions from the crowd. As the Chief backs away, they grow even more restless talking amongst themselves.
“Dustin, can you hear me? Wheeler?” Eddie’s voice pierces through the static in Dustin’s backpack. Frantically, the seven of you close in around the device as Dustin pushes the button to speak.
“Eddie, holy shit. Are you okay?” He asks.
“Nah, man. Pretty… Pretty goddamn far from okay.”
“Where is he?” Robin asks Dustin, leaning close to the speaker.
“Where are you?”
“Skull Rock. Uh, do you know it?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s near Cornwallis and–” Dustin starts.
“Garrett, yeah, yeah. I know it. I know where that is.” Steve whispers, thinking out loud. He pats the young boy’s shoulder and leads the way into the tree line.
“Hold tight. We’re coming, we’re coming!”
After a mile or so, you fall into step behind Max and Lucas trailing behind the rest of the group. Max glances at him every so often, as if finding the courage to speak. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge her stares. Instead, keeping focused on the path under his sneakers. She fiddles with her jacket sleeve, tugging on the fabric with an awkwardness. Your eyes are drawn to her wrist, the yellow of her watch uncovered for just a moment. She was wearing it that night. The final time you saw Heather.
The storm had blown through town hard and fast, practically out of nowhere. You barely had time to get all the kids out of the pool before lightning struck. Rain pelted the metal roof above as you flicked your wrist to check the time. You still had an hour before the pool closed, then you could be on your way to Starcourt to meet up with Steve and the others.
The doors to the locker room were yanked open with so much force you jumped. You cursed quietly under your breath. You weren’t in the mood to chase eager swimmers out of the building who hoped the downpour would pass within the next few minutes. When you turned, Max and El stared back at you.
It was a surprising sight to see, to say the least. According to the ginger, El wasn’t her biggest fan. Sure, they were friendly, but certainly not friends. Despite their boyfriends being all but conjoined by the hip, the girls barely talked, let alone hung out together.
“What’s going on?” You asked them. You directed your gaze to El and squinted at her slightly. “You’re not supposed to be here,” you stated, thinking of the rules Hopper had made very clear.
“We have a bigger problem right now,” Max said, visibly deflating at your presence. “We think something bad might’ve happened to Heather.” She answered your question before you had the chance to ask. At her words, your stomach sank. Heather didn’t pick you up that morning. Up until then, it was more annoying than anything. You had spent the whole day so irritated that you arrived late, you hadn’t thought something could’ve been wrong.
“We found this,” El said quietly. She gently held up a red fanny pack, unmistakably Heather’s. The jewels glinted under the fluorescents as she passed it to you.
“Where did you get this?” You whispered, taking it into your grasp. Delicately, you traced your fingers over the fabric.
“In my bathroom with Billy’s things,” Max said urgently. You let out a puff of air, suddenly feeling relieved. You thought that maybe she finally made her move, the one she had been planning since the beginning of June. You doubted Billy would’ve rejected her advances.
“Girls, this might not mean anything,” you began. Of course, you couldn’t pollute their minds with vulgar ideas of how this ended up in his possession. So, you bit back a laugh, thinking of a way to ease their panic.
“I know how it sounds. But I don’t think it’s that.” Max unzipped the bag and urged you to look inside. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see, but a bloody whistle surely wasn’t it. Dread clawed its way up your throat as you took in the sight. “We need to help El. She can find her with that.” She pointed to Heather’s staff photo clutched in El’s hand.
Without further question, the three of you got to work. You locked the door and assisted Max in turning on every showerhead in the room. You sent El to find a roll of duct tape from the supply closet while you searched through the lost and found for a pair of goggles. Finally, when El was ready, she sat on the floor with Heather’s photo laid before her. You and Max shared an uneasy glance from opposite benches.
“What do you see?” Max asked. You tapped your foot nervously and focused on the hands of her watch as they moved slowly.
“A door. A red door,” El answered. You knew immediately what she was talking about. You saw it every other day when picking Heather up from her house. El’s answer being something you recognized wasn’t comforting. It only made it worse. Without warning, El gasped for air and yanked off the goggles.
“What happened? El!” Max shouted, placing a hand on her shoulder. You rubbed circles on her back to try to calm her down. You could feel her hammering heart through the fabric of her shirt. She was hyperventilating, unable to respond.
“Tell me again what you saw,” you pleaded, glancing in the rearview as you sped through Hawkins.
“It was a bathtub full of ice. When I looked in, Heather was there,” she recalled quietly. “She asked me to help her. Then it was like something was pulling her under the water.” You couldn’t make any sense of it, or understand what it meant. “Is she your friend?”
“Yes,” you whispered, nauseated as you parked in front of her house. “Is this the door you saw?” You asked, despite knowing the answer. When she nodded, the three of you threw yourselves into the rain and marched up the steps.
Although you considered Heather a close friend, you had never seen the inside of her house. It was warm and inviting, filled with knickknacks and family portraits. At the sound of laughter, although not Heather’s, you turned and led the girls down the hall. You shielded them as best you could when met with her parents and Billy eating in the dining room.
“Max,” Billy greeted with a smile as he watched you round the corner.
“We didn’t mean to… barge in,” she said, coming to stand at your side. “We tried to knock, but… maybe you didn’t hear us over the storm.” She lies so effortlessly you’re almost stunned.
“I’m sorry, who is this dripping all over my living room right now?” Tom Holloway asked nobody in particular. Billy laughed like it wasn’t an appropriate question.
“I’m sorry. Janet, Tom, this is my sister Maxine.” Ignoring you and El completely, Billy stood and made his way over to Max.
“Oh!” Janet cheered. “Don’t be silly, Tom. You know this is Heather’s friend from work.”
“What on earth are you doing here?” Billy asked when in front of his sister. “Is something wrong?”
“We just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” Max answered.
“Okay? Why wouldn’t it be okay?” Something in his tone made you cringe. You knew it was for show. Pretending to be a boy perfect enough for Heather to bring home to meet her parents. It made you sick.
“Where is she?” El demanded, fully earning his attention.
“I’m sorry, where is who?”
“Well they’re a little burnt, I’m sorry–” Heather’s voice rang out, coming into view with a sheet of cookies. At the sound, all your fear dissipated. You relaxed under the stare of her family and overly enthusiastic guest.
“Heather! This is my sister Maxine. And, I’m sorry, I did not quite catch your name.” He said looking at El.
“El.”
“El,” he repeated. “Now what is it you were saying, El. You were looking for somebody?”
“Sorry!” You cut in. Billy looked at you as if just realizing you were there. “You didn’t pick me up today like we talked about. I got worried and wanted to swing by and make sure you were okay before I took them home.
“Right, I totally meant to call–” Heather began but Billy was quick to interrupt.
“Heather wasn’t feeling so hot today. So we thought we’d take the day off to nurse her back to health.” His eyes were unwavering from yours as he spoke. “But you’re feeling just fine right now, aren’t you, Heather?”
“I’m feeling so much better,” she agreed from across the room.
“I know you’ll get her home safe for me.” Billy gave a curt nod, gestured toward the living room, and led you back to the door.
Tearing your eyes away from the watch, you shove your hands into your pockets. You think about that night often, reanalyzing those last moments until your mind spins. You should’ve trusted El more, noticed Heather’s pitchy voice, and saw through Billy’s actions. No matter how big of a crush, Heather would’ve never set a place for him at the table, let alone bring him into her home, on the first day of truly talking.
You hate yourself for not pulling her into the kitchen to talk in private, to ask if she was okay. You knew better, and yet, you were too relieved she seemed alive and well to question any further. Only, she wasn’t, she might as well have been dead in the dining room.
You walk faster, catching up with Dustin and Steve. Dustin murmurs to himself and looks between his compass and map. Steve rubs his palms across his face in agitation, glaring at him from across the path. “Dude, I’m telling you, you’re taking us the wrong way,” Steve says, dropping his hands back to his sides.
“It’s north. I’m positive. I checked the map.” He responds, quickly flashing the guide.
“You do realize Skull Rock, it’s like a super popular make-out spot?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, so?”
“Yeah, well it wasn’t popular until I made it popular. All right? I practically invented it. We’re heading in the wrong direction.” Steve takes a sharp left venturing off the path.
“Steve,” Dustin calls after him. “Where are you going? Steve!” He groans.
“Stop whining. Let’s go. Come on, trust me,” Steve turns slightly, beckoning you both to follow. You do, stepping over twigs and fallen leaves to keep up.
“Practically invented it,” you repeat, earning both their attention. “You’re so full of shit,” you giggle, shaking your head.
“Are you joking? I absolutely did.”
“Because everyone wanted a piece of King Steve, right?” You tease. Steve rolls his eyes and wiggles a finger in your direction.
“If I remember correctly, you spent a lot of time with Phillip Hanning there.”
“That was one time,” you say defensively.
“More like ten,” he smirks knowing it’s a lie.
“Gross,” Dustin gags.
“Oh, just you wait, Dusty Bun,” you throw an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close. “That’ll be you in a few years.” Steve smacks his lips, exaggerating kissing noises. “Dustin and Suzie, sitting in a tree,” you chant as he pushes you off, poorly hiding his smile.
“You both are toddlers, you know that?” He laughs. Steve slows, matching pace with the two of you.
“This is nice,” Steve sighs with a shrug, knocking his elbow into yours. “I miss life when you weren’t mad at me.”
“Me too,” you smile.
“Does this mean you guys are officially friends again?” Dustin asks. His eagerness at the prospect is evident in his voice. Dramatically, you look side to side between the young boy and your long lost friend.
“Oh, I guess,” you laugh.
“That’s what I call a win!” Steve cheers, fist shooting into the sky.
“All right, all right. Don’t be a nerd about it. Be cool.” But even you’re giddy at the idea. As you head deeper into the woods, you decide that having Steve in your life as a friend is better than not having him there at all. His actions at the end of summer still hurt, but not nearly as much as his absence.
“Oh, boom!” Steve crouches working his way through the shrubbery. “Bada bing, bada boom. There she is, Henderson. Skull Rock. In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Dustin says beside you, staring ahead at the infamous site.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve talks with his hand, silencing the teen. “Even with it staring you right in the face, you can’t admit it. You just can’t admit you’re wrong, you butthead.”
A thud hits the earth behind you. “I concur,” Eddie’s voice rings out. You whip around at the sound, grinning at the leather clad boy and his mop of curls. “You, Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead.”
“Jesus, we thought you were a goner.” Dustin wraps his arms around Eddie, squeezing him tight. Eddie hesitates a beat before patting his back, rings glistening in the setting sun.
“Yeah, me too, man.” His eyes lock with yours, soft and kind as you remember. “Me too.”
“Eddie,” you breathe. You aren’t sure what comes over you. Before you can stop, you’re stepping closer and throwing your arms around his neck. It startles him, and honestly, it startles you too. You back away quickly, clearing your throat as the other’s footsteps grow closer.
“Here,” Dustin says, shrugging off his backpack. “We brought you some food.” He pulls out two bags of chips and a canteen, handing the pile to Eddie. Eddie rips open the plastic and chews handfuls at a time.
“Guess we should get you up to speed,” Nancy begins. Everyone takes turns recounting yesterday’s events while he eats. He listens intently, asking a few clarifying questions, eyes full of horror as you tell him what you know.
“We were on our way to come find you but couldn’t get through a mob of people by Lovers Lake.” You take over, filling him in on what you saw that morning. “It’s bad. Powell says that Patrick was murdered last night and,” your breath catches, unsure how to continue. “Well, you’re the prime suspect. I can’t imagine you’re the eyewitness he claims to have?” He pretends to ponder your question for a moment.
“I’d say unlikely. Jason and his goons paid me a nice little visit last night.” Eddie sighs. “I guess they found out I was staying at Rick’s somehow. I used the boat to try and get away but Jason and Patrick swam after me.” He shudders at his recollection. “It was like he was, uh, pulled under the water or by something at first.” You gulp, you can’t help but think of Heather. “Then he just shot out of the air. I don’t know if I was shocked or if the wave toppled the boat or what, but I fell in. And when I came up, uh, it was the same after that. Just like Chrissy.”
“Jesus,” Lucas mumbles. He eyes Dustin as he paces around in the dirt.
“When I got to shore, I tried calling you guys, but uh,” he says, yanking the cap off the water and taking a drink. “My walkie was busted, man. Drenched. So, uh, I did the thing that I do now, apparently.” He flashes a joyless grin, wiping his chin with his jacket sleeve. “I ran,” he chuckles.
“Do you know what time this was? The attack?” Nancy asks.
“Yeah, no, I, uh, I know exactly what time it was.” He fiddles with a clasp on his wrist. “My walkie wasn’t the only thing that got soaked.” He flashes his watch before chucking it into the air toward Nancy. She grabs it, checks the time, and nods.
“9:27.”
“Same time our flashlights went kablooey,” Robin states.
“Which means what, exactly?” Steve asks.
“That that surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick,” Nancy concludes, tossing the watch back to Eddie.
“Well, we’re one step closer. We know how Vecna attacks,” Robin nods to the semi-circle that has formed around the new member.
“And where he attacks from,” Lucas says.
“So now we just need to sneak into his lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart,” Max’s eyes are full of determination.
“If he even has a heart,” Robin chuckles.
“A stake? Is he like a vamp? Is he a vampire?” Steve looks at you while he speaks.
“Doubt it, genius,” you mumble, earning an eye roll.
“It was a metaphor,” Max says with annoyance.
“A bullet should work on him, right?” Eddie asks from the ground.
“I say we chop his head off.” You give an approving nod to Lucas’s idea.
“Yeah, I’d say all the above but we can’t do any of that until we find a way into the Upside Down.” Nancy reminds the group.
“We need El to get her powers back,” Max sighs.
“Yeah, everything was like way easier. We had this girl. She had superpowers,” Steve tries to give a grossly simplified explanation to Eddie before he cuts in.
“Superpowers. Yeah, you mentioned her.” Eddie’s eyes find Dustin who still paces a few feet away from everyone. “Hey, uh, Henderson’s not, uh, cursed, is he?”
“Cursed? No, no. He’s fine. Mental? Absolutely,” Steve nods.
“Boom!” Dustin screams, effectively making everyone jump. He shoots a finger at Steve, eyes set. “Bada, bada, boom.” Steve’s entire face scrunches in confusion. “I was right.”
“Oh Jesus, not this again.” You groan.
“Skull Rock was north.”
“Seriously. You’re serious?” Steve gapes in awe.
“Mhm.”
“This is Skull Rock, okay?” Steve gestures wildly.
“Mhm.”
“You are totally, absolutely, one hundred percent wrong. Right now.” Steve aggressively points to the ground for emphasis.
“Yes,” Dustin agrees. “And no.”
“Oh my god,” Steve rubs his hands across his face in frustration.
“This compass worked correctly when we left the Wheeler’s. It was correct when we got in the car on Kerley, but it started to slip the further east we went. Now, it’s way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn’t wrong. The compass was.” He holds it up, showing it off to the group.
“So you’re using faulty equipment. Dude, you’re still wrong.”
“Except it isn’t faulty.” He holds up a finger. “Lucas, do you remember what can affect a compass?”
“An electromagnetic field.”
“Yep.” Dustin looks back, waiting for everyone to catch up.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve skipped that class?” Robin says sarcastically, urging him to continue.
“In the presence of a stronger electromagnetic field, the needle will deflect towards that power. So either there’s some super big magnet around here, or,” he trails off.
“There’s a gate,” Lucas concludes.
“But we’re nowhere near the lab,” Nancy states.
“But what if, somehow, there’s another gate? A gate that we don’t know about. It’d have to be smaller. Way less powerful.”
“Snack-size gate,” Robin shrugs.
“How? Why?” Steve asks, trying to understand.
“No idea. All I know is that something is causing this disturbance, and the last time we’ve seen anything like it, it was a gate. And I hope it is because then we’d have a way to Vecna. And a shot at freeing Max from this curse.” Dustin says, stepping away to begin the journey.
“Where are you going? Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.” Dustin ignores Steve. “Eddie’s still a wanted man. We can’t just go for a hike in the woods.”
“This little steel capsule might be the key to saving both Max and Eddie,” Dustin says with conviction. “What say you, Eddie the banished?” Everyone’s heads turn to Eddie awaiting his answer.
“I say you’re asking me to follow you into Mordor, which, if I’m totally straight with you, I think it’s a really bad idea. But, uh, the Shire,” he looks to the clouds. You follow his gaze, unable to locate what he sees. “The Shire is burning.” Dustin bounces at the foot of the hill, smiling wide as he stares back. “So Mordor it is.” Eddie jumps down, brushing through the group to meet Dustin.
“What is Mordor?” Steve mumbles to only you.
“Lord of the Rings,” you whisper. Eddie jogs back, grabbing his walkie and the canteen.
“Get your stuff, dude. Let’s go.” Steve urges him with wild arms to follow the others.
You walk slower than the rest, watching the birds and bugs as you follow. Steve has left you to catch up and badger Dustin, still adamant that he won the argument earlier. Eddie pauses, sneakers staying planted in the leaves until you’re side by side.
“So this, uh, Upside Down place everyone keeps talking about,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “You’ve been there?” You shake your head and suck in a breath.
“Not really, no.” You wave to your friends. “Just tunnels, which was part our world too. It’s hard to explain.”
“How long have you guys been dealing with all this shit?”
“Since Will disappeared. That’s when it all started with the Demogorgon,” you explain.
“The Demogorgon?” His brows raise. “Are all of the monsters D&D characters?”
“That’s what the kids called it. Kinda looked like a really tall man without a face and razor-sharp claws. Then there were the Demodogs, which were like baby Demogorgons, not fully grown. And around the fall is when the Mind Flayer came in. It attached itself to Will somehow. Used him to spy here. His mom, Jonathan, and Nancy got it out, but it didn’t go back to the Upside Down. It just stayed in our world. Then, last summer, it used new hosts. Billy,” you start, but your breath hitches, still unable to say Heather’s name or her parents. “Anyway, it killed a bunch of people in town. It used them to become this huge spider-looking thing.”
“You said the mall the other day. That’s where it was?”
“That’s where Nancy and the others led it. Long story short, there was a Russian fortress underneath trying to open another gate. Robin cracked their secret code. Steve and I got kidnapped and tortured. Robin, Dustin, and Erica rescued us, and then we all threw fireworks at it while Hopper and Joyce turned off the machine that was opening the gate. Which killed the Mind Flayer.” Your explanation is longwinded and jumbled but you hope it’d suffice. You don’t want to talk about it more than you have to, but Eddie deserves to know the truth.
“Jesus,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. You hug your jacket tighter around yourself as the weather cools with the setting sun. “Are you not, like, scared at all?”
“Oh, I’m petrified.” You let out a chuckle but it’s humorless.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he smiles. “I mean, shit, you’ve seen me. I always thought that if it came down to it, I’d fight like hell. But fuck, dude,” he trails off, shaking his head. You know all too well what he means.
“If it makes you feel any better, I ran too.” Maybe, you didn’t flee in the moment, from the monsters, or alternate dimension. But you did run away from the aftermath, from Heather, heartbreak, and your friends. You left it all behind, unable to bear the weight of the trauma. Somehow, that’s worse. “You wanna know the one thing all of this has taught me?” He nods, practically begging you to continue. “Be afraid and do it anyway. Do it terrified. Don’t let it immobilize you.”
“Hey slowpokes,” Robin calls from up ahead before he can respond. She stands with her hands on her hips. The others are several yards from where you are. You hadn’t noticed how far the two of you had strayed. “We’re wasting daylight here.”
“Rodger that,” Eddie gives a small salute, nodding toward her as you pick up speed.
You’re starting to grow angry as the day slips away into the night. You’ve been walking for miles, your feet ache, and a thin layer of sweat coats your body despite the chill in the air. Dustin still leads the way into the unknown, reassuring the annoyed groans coming from Robin who’s just as agitated as you. Suddenly, he breaks into a sprint. He pushes through branches and out of your sight without another word. The rest of you jog after him, slowed by exhaustion.
“Dustin? Can you slow down?” Eddie asks in front of you, trudging through the trees. “Dustin?” He tries again when the boy doesn’t answer. You stumble into a clearing behind him, pushing away branches before they can hit your face.
“I think we’re getting close!” Dustin yells back for everyone to hear.
“Watch your step, big guy.” Eddie balls a handful of Dustin’s hoodie into his fist and yanks gently, saving him from toppling into the water.
“Oh, man,” Steve groans at the sight. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
“Yeah, I thought these woods were familiar,” Eddie sighs.
“Lover’s Lake,” Robin names.
“This is confounding,” Dustin gapes in awe.
“There’s a gate in Lover’s Lake?” Max asks.
“Whenever the Demogorgon attacked, it always left an opening,” Nancy says. “Maybe Vecna’s the same way.” Everyone looks between each other and back to the sight before you.
“Yeah, only one way to find out,” Steve says, unable to look away from the lake.
“Over here,” Eddie jerks his head toward the shoreline. The group follows as Steve shines a flashlight to where Eddie instructs. He yanks away a tarp revealing a small boat, only big enough for maybe four people, and even that’s pushing it. You and Robin help them drag it back to the sand, stepping away when the bow touches the water.
“Easy,” Steve demands, attempting to coax it in. Eddie lets go, sending waves crashing back into the mud. “I-I said easy.” He rolls his eyes.
“Sorry, dude,” Eddie mumbles.
“Here you go,” Steve turns, offering a hand to Robin.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna do that.” Robin ignores it and places a palm on each of their heads as a guide instead.
“Yeah, that works too,” Steve grumbles. Eddie boards quickly, turning around and outstretching his palm which you gladly take. You ignore how warm it feels in your own, how part of you wants to hold on for longer.
“Got her?” Steve whispers, making sure you get in safely.
“Of course,” Eddie smiles.
“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away.
“Hey, hey, hey, you trying to sink us?” You turn just in time to see Eddie pushing Dustin by his head back to land. “This thing holds three people tops, okay?” You move around Eddie, eye to eye with Dustin.
“You guys need to stay here with Max, okay? Keep an eye out for trouble.”
“You keep an eye out for trouble!” He raises his voice. “It’s my goddamn theory.”
“You heard her,” Robin defends. “Stay here and listen to Nance.”
“Who put her in charge?” Dustin asks, shooting a thumb over his shoulder in her general direction.
“I did,” Robin shrugs.
“You’ll get all the credit when the time comes,” you reassure, “But I’m not arguing with you right now.” Looking at him, all you can see is an eight-year-old boy refusing to listen.
“You’re not my mom.” He fires back.
“Well,” you wave your arms around the woods, annoyed. “I’ve been the next best thing for over ten years so what I say goes.” His eyes harden as he clenches down on his jaw. “I need you to stay here so you can be safe.”
“And what about you?” He yells, voice cracking. “I need you to be safe.” You soften, sucking in a breath. Even though it’s anger he hides behind, you can see his true fear.
“I’m going to be right back, I promise.” You nod with as much conviction as you can muster. “Compass, please?” You whisper, reaching out. Reluctantly, he digs into his pocket and passes it over.
“Hey, here you go,” Steve chucks a backpack into his arms. You turn and take a seat as Steve begins to push the boat forward. He hangs on to the boat as it lurches, stepping in at the last second.
“You said three!” Dustin calls.
“Sorry,” Steve whispers beside you, waving slightly as Robin and Eddie begin to row away.
“Bedtime at nine, kiddos!” Robin yells at them. You can’t help but laugh as Dustin flips her off. “Miss you already!” She stands, dramatically waving to add insult to injury. “Think Nance is mad she got stuck on babysitting duty?” She asks, sitting back down.
“Tough shit. It’s about time someone else does it.” Steve shrugs. You keep your eyes on the compass needle, watching closely for any sign of movement. Robin and Eddie continue rowing, occasionally groaning in the quiet of the night. After a few minutes, it happens.
“Oh shit,” you whisper at the compass spinning wildly in your grasp. “Okay, slow down, slow down!” Robin grunts, bringing the boat to a stop. Steve leans over, flashlight shining for everyone to see.
“Whoa,” he whispers, watching as it moves frantically.
“Guys, what’s going on?” The walkie squawks, Dustin’s voice piercing through the air. “Come on guys talk to me, what’s going on?” he asks again.
“Uh, Dustin, your–your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital, ahh.” Robin trails off. To your left, Steve kicks off his shoes and unrolls his socks.
“What the hell are you doing?” You whisper urgently.
“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this thing out.”
“And it has to be you?” Panic rises in your chest. The thought of him hurdling into the unknown makes you sick.
“Unless one of you three can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years, then,” he trails off. “It’s gotta be me. No complaints, all right?”
“Um, yes, complaints. I was the best lifeguard every year.”
“Yeah, for only three summers. Give me a break.” He rolls his eyes. “Which, by the way, I’m the reason you got that job.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me, Harrington.”
“Uh, guys?” Robin interjects. “Now’s not really the time for one of your little squabbles.”
“I’m going.” The determination in his voice takes your breath away. You finally nod, knowing there isn’t a world where you change his mind.
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I do not want to go down there.” Eddie mumbles, making you feel worse. You don’t want anyone to go. You’d do it just for the comfort of knowing none of your friends are beneath the surface. But there’s no way Steve would let that happen.
Eddie finds a discarded plastic bag and starts to wrap it around the flashlight. Steve stands from his seat, slipping out of his sweatshirt and tossing the fabric to the side. You can’t help but stare. His muscles are tense as he takes shallow breaths, looking into the murky water. He looks even more beautiful than you remember.
“Hey,” Eddie says. You look away quickly, hoping Steve didn’t notice. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Steve sighs, taking the flashlight out of Eddie’s grasp. Eddie removes a cigarette from his pocket, flicking his lighter and setting it ablaze.
“Gross.” Robin yanks the stick from his lips and sends it flying into the water.
“Hey,” you grab Steve’s hand gently. He looks back with soft eyes. “Please be careful.” He nods, squeezing your hand. When he breaks away, you can practically feel your heart in your throat. With a final breath, the boat teeters, and then he’s underwater.
The boat rocks, creaking in the silence. You stare at your watch, the seconds coming and going without any sign of Steve. Eddie bounces his leg nervously while Robin picks at her nail polish.
Come back to me. Those words hold more meaning now than they did this morning. You’ve wasted so much time these past few days being angry, instead of thankful that you had him back. You aren’t sure where the two of you lie, if the ghosts of your past are too great a divide to overcome. Staring at the clock that keeps ticking, you worry you’ll never know.
“Where are we at?” Robin asks nervously.
“Closing in on a minute.” You whisper.
“Okay,” she lets out a sigh full of anxiety.
“He’s going to be okay, Robin.” You try to force a smile but your lips can’t move. “He has to be.” You look back down as you reach the minute mark. You give up on staring, it only makes it harder. Instead, you lean your arms against the metal and let out a breath. Eddie clears his throat behind you, shifting in his seat.
Steve breaks through the surface, splashing you with water.
“Oh, Christ!” Eddie screams, throwing his body against the side of the boat at his abrupt arrival. You and Robin smile with relief the moment you see him.
“I found it,” he announces.
“You found it?” You ask in shock.
“I found it.” He gasps for air. “Yeah, found it.” Grabbing onto the rim, he rubs the water from his eyes.
“Dustin, you’re a goddamn Einstein. Steve found the gate.” Robin says into the walkie.
“It’s pretty wild. It’s more a snack-size gate than the mama gate, but still, it’s pretty damn big.” He says, pulling himself up slightly with his arms.
Suddenly, he’s yanked down. The boat jostles slightly. The three of you grab onto the metal for balance, startled. Steve looks from the water and back up, confusion written across his features. Just when you’re about to reach for Steve, he screams. Instantly, he’s pulled back under and into the darkness.
“Steve!” You wail, reaching into the water in search of his hand. Waves slap the sides from the impact.
“No, no!” Eddie yells coming behind you and Robin.
“Steve!” Robin screams, submerging both arms in and stretching as far as she can without falling in herself. “Steve!”
“What the hell was that, man?” Eddie paces in small circles as you stand, careful not to tip over the side. Robin calls your name but you can’t focus on anything but the thought of him drowning.
“Really, what happened?” Robin shouts, voice pleading.
“Jesus!”
“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself. A clarity washes over you as you stare at the bubbles he left in his wake.
You grab onto the boat, ready to throw yourself over just as Eddie yanks you back by your wrist. “Wait, wait, wait!”
“Let me go!” You beg, wrenching yourself free from his grasp.
“You’re not going in there are you?” His eyes are full of dread as he stares.
“Don’t come in after me.” You keep your tone steady. You look quickly over to Robin who looks so as though she could burst into tears at any moment. “I mean it.” They scream your name, voices hoarse but you pay them no attention. After a quick breath, you dive into the abyss.
The water is so cold it’s painful. It feels like your body is on fire as you kick further down, further away from safety. You can’t see much in the darkness, and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re looking for either. Frantically scouring the floor of the lake you see a faint glow. You swim faster towards it, limbs burning with each stroke.
Through blurry vision you see the crack in the earth, already closing itself back together. It’s slimy against your palms as you push against it, but it refuses to break. Desperately, you dig, ignoring the gunk that gets trapped under your nails. You think about the monsters that inevitably lurk on the other side, waiting for your arrival. How you’ll be trapped, weaponless at that, without a clue on how to return.
Don’t let me drown. My life is in your hands.
You couldn’t save Heather, but you have to save Steve. Without a second thought, you tear through the gate and into the Upside Down.
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au)
total word count: 39,640
summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.
content warnings: friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, angsty, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, use of pet names, eddie is a bit of an asshole, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, discusses sobriety, and also touches on topics of: unrequited love, divorce, death, grief, toxic relationships, mental health, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle? — pls read the cw's for each chapter and let me know if i missed any!
chapter one | (aka right where you left me)
chapter two | (aka dear stranger,)
chapter three | (aka some protector)
chapter four | (aka what can i say after i'm sorry?)
chapter five | (aka we can't be friends)
chapter six | (aka break my heart again)
epilogue | (aka eddie my love)
psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.
a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.
taylor swift - right where you left me | dido - thank you | iron & wine, fiona apple - all in good time | ariana grande - i wish i hated you | chappell roan - kaleidoscope | jesse - rainbow | finneas - break my heart again | tiny habits - people always change | taylor swift - dear reader | the cranberries - linger | bon iver - things behind things behind things | duran duran - come undone | cigarettes after sex - pistol | twenty one pilots - the run and go | taylor swift - my tears ricochet | david kushner - daylight | lana del rey - how to disappear | ashe - dear stranger, | lp - the one that you love | willow avalon - baby blue | role model - some protector | taylor swift - the great war | omega - pearls in her hair | lizzy mcalpine - ceilings | mark ronson ft. miley cyrus - nothing breaks like a heart | ashe - cherry trees | blossoms - what can i say after i'm sorry? | gracie abrams - i love you, i'm sorry | suki waterhouse - nostalgia | taylor swift - the bolter | ariana grande - we can’t be friends (wait for your love) | finneas - partners in crime | lana del rey ft. father john misty - let the light in | the script - the man who can’t be moved | brigitte calls me baby - eddie my love | harry styles - love of my life
as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3
Summary: Eight months ago, you swore you would never step foot in Hawkins again. When Robin begs for you to come home for spring break, you find yourself agreeing despite better judgment. You’ve missed everyone, surely you could endure one more week in Hawkins if that means you can see your friends again.
Words: 7.3k
Part: 5/9
Warnings: Language and I think that's all
A/N: Only took 2 years and a teaser to get me writing again. Enjoy :)
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
You can’t remember the last time you were at the quarry. You stand still, under leaves that kiss the stars and with the toes of your sneakers too close to the cliff’s edge. The night is quiet and the wind is warm as it blows against your arms. You suppose the silence is why you’re here, to get away from the noise in Nancy Wheeler’s basement or to avoid Steve’s wandering eye when he thinks you won’t notice. Out here, you can breathe in a moment of solitude.
Even after the news broke that the body pulled from the water was a fake, most of Hawkin’s population refused to get too close. You never would’ve guessed that your neighbors were superstitious, but everyone seemed to believe the spot had some sort of bad juju. This left the area deserted and overgrown, making it a great hideaway for times like these.
You take a seat on the ledge, gathering gravel into your palms and watching it flutter to the calm water below. Your limbs begin to relax despite jagged rocks poking into your calves. After the stress of your homecoming and the threat of a new monster, it feels nice to let the weight of it all go, even if it’s just for a little while. Alone and with nobody watching, you can pretend none of it is real. You can believe that it’s only you, the breeze, and the weeds.
Behind you, a distant voice calls your name. You jump at the sudden sound, although familiar. Reluctantly, you sigh and turn toward the visitor, knowing your cover has been blown. Steve stands motionless, hands tucked in pockets. He has an expression you can’t quite read as his eyes lock with yours.
“Steve?” You call, but he doesn’t respond. “Did you follow me out here?” Your movements are quiet as you find your footing, wiping the dust off your jeans. With no response, your gaze meets the ground as you begin to walk toward him. You’re unsure how he knew where to find you, you don’t remember telling anyone you left. “Sorry, I just needed a break,” you explain, unable to look at him. Even after everything, you know he’s full of concern, and you feel almost guilty for causing him to worry. “I’m ready. We can go back now.”
When you look up, only the whites of his eyes stare back at you.
“No!” You gasp, knees bucking at the sight. It takes all your strength to keep you from tumbling to the earth. You dash forward, taking his chin in your trembling fingers, tugging at him desperately to wake him from his trance. “Listen to me, you have to wake up,” you choke, your voice barely above a whisper. It feels like all the air has been sucked from your body. “Please, Steve, wake up!”
The world has suddenly gone silent. You look around for anything that could croak out a song. Your Walkman is most certainly buried at the bottom of your duffel, still resting on the corner of your bed where you left it two days ago. You decide the only option is to drag him to his car and blare the radio. Hopefully, the worn and loved cassette is already lodged in the player. You crane your neck to peer behind him, expecting to see it parked haphazardly on the road, but you’re met with emptiness.
Without warning, you feel him lift from the ground. “Steve!” You wail, balling his grey jacket into your fist as he begins to float into the air. You try to grab hold of anything you can grasp, yanking at the hem of his shirt, a belt loop, even his shoelaces as he passes you by. You sob as the soles of his shoes dangle right above you.
“Steve!”
You lurch upright with a loud gasp for air. You kick backward across the carpet causing the knitted blanket to slip down your legs and pool around your ankles. The familiarity of the Wheeler’s basement hits you all at once as you take in your surroundings.
“It’s all right, it’s all right, you’re safe.” Your head snaps toward the voice you never thought you’d be relieved to hear again. Steve crouches beside you with panicked eyes and a frantic hand hovering around your shoulder as if debating on offering his touch. You pull your knees to your chest, bowing your head with your eyes screwed shut trying to calm your racing heart. “Here,” he whispers, swiping Lucas’s discarded water bottle from beneath the couch and gently placing it into your hands.
After a few warm sips, your eyelids flutter open. Steve stares at you expectantly, lowering himself to sit across from you. “Sorry,” you croak, voice raspy with sleep.
“No need,” he shakes his head, eyes searching yours. “I thought you said you weren’t having nightmares.” He frowns, unable to hide the sadness in his tone.
“I said they come and go,” you correct, stretching out your legs with a sigh.
“Do you,” his voice trails off like the words are stuck on his tongue. “Do you want to talk about it?” He sounds almost pleading. When you look at him, you can only see him hanging in the air, eyes rolled back, the scuffs on his shoes just barely out of reach. Your blood runs cold.
“No, not really.” You say softly, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing I can’t handle.” You force a laugh, but he seems unconvinced. You blink away the image and instead focus on your socked feet. Across from you, he shifts uncomfortably, looking you over and trying to take you in. You hope that enough time has passed that he can no longer read you.
“Is there anything I should know?” He’s cautious like he doesn’t want to know the answer himself.
“I didn’t see a clock if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ll let you know if that changes.” You stretch your arms above your head, peace lulling you back to reality as you find your friends. Lucas stirs across the room, murmuring, still deep in sleep. Robin is sprawled across the coffee table, drooling into her elbow. You smile, happy only Steve bears witness to your nightmare. The calm moment passes as soon as it came when you scan the four corners of the room, all of which are absent of Max’s presence. “Where’s Max?” You ask, scrambling to your feet.
As if on cue, Nancy, Dustin, and Max clobber down the stairs. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, relief flooding your veins at the sight of the ginger.
“You guys need to see this,” Nancy breathes, striding toward the center of the room with papers rolled loosely in her grasp. The commotion awakes Robin, who groans slightly at the sudden noise. Lucas is already making his way over to where the group stands, his knuckles rubbing at his eyes.
“Morning sleeping beauty,” you smile down at Robin, offering her a hand.
“I ache,” she whines, wincing as her bones crack once she’s upright.
All attention lands on Nancy, stepping over pillows and blankets to lay down a drawing for everyone to see. You take in the pages that are pieced together like a puzzle. A house, more like what’s left of one, stares back. Debris floats around the collapsing structure, suspended in a red haze.
“And this is?” You question, leaning over to get a closer look.
“Victor Creel’s house,” Nancy answers.
“It’s what I saw when,” Max waves her hand in the air, unable to finish her sentence.
“We think she infiltrated his mind,” Dustin adds. “She said that he seemed surprised she was there. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
“Surprised?” Robin asks, urging Max to explain. “What’s all the red stuff?”
“It looked almost like a fog,” Max says. “Everything was different when I made it here, like I was seeing something he didn’t want me to. And there were these bodies, strung up on huge spikes. And then, pieces of a house were just floating around. Anyway, I thought it’d be easier to draw than explain. That’s when Nancy put the pieces together. Literally.” She says, gesturing toward the paper.
“And they made Victor Creel’s house?” You ask, trying to understand. Max and Nancy nod.
“Sounds like a solid lead to me,” Robin says with a nod. “So what’s the plan? Breaking and entering?” A smirk ghosts across her features at the suggestion.
“Pretty much.” Nancy shrugs. “I say we take a look around.” She waits for any sign of objection, satisfied when nobody disagrees. “Great, we’ll leave in 5.”
The seven of you file out the door and to Nancy and Steve’s awaiting cars. You yearn to be in the backseat of Wheeler’s Lincoln, watching pathetically as Robin throws herself into the passenger seat. It’s not like the ride will be filled with hushed gossip or inside jokes, but still, you wish to be part of it. You glance at Max, guilt burying deep in your stomach at the mere thought of leaving her behind. With a sigh, you tug on the door handle and get in.
Steve pulls out slowly behind Nancy, letting her lead the way. Nobody talks, unsure of what the day will hold, of what awaits behind Victor’s abandoned front door. The only sound is the muffled song leaking from Nancy’s old headphones, now being worn by Max. Lucas had the idea late last night, a way to ensure a lifeline back to reality, back to home, if she were to get caught in the spell again.
Tired of the silence, you turn to Dustin. “Have you heard anything from Eddie yet? He’s probably starving by now.”
“Not personally. Nancy said she talked to him on the walkie this morning,” he says. “He asked for a food delivery and a six-pack.” Dustin finishes with a scoff. You roll your eyes at the detail, although part of you can’t blame him.
“Course he did.” You mumble, but content with an answer.
“What’s with you guys anyway?” Dustin asks, fully earning your attention.
“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow, thrown off by the question. Max removes a headphone from her ear, suddenly interested in the conversation.
“You said you were never friends but it took no convincing that he wasn’t guilty.” He shrugs.
“Just because I wasn’t friends with the guy–” you begin but Dustin continues to ramble.
“You jump to defend him, which –hey, I appreciate because I know him and all, but the point is, you supposedly don’t.”
“Oh, so, because we weren’t friends and I don’t think Eddie Munson is a murderer there’s something up?” You laugh in disbelief.
“He clearly trusts you, like, a lot.” The way he says it makes it sound like it’s a fact.
“He does not,” you argue, cringing when the words come out an octave higher. “No more than you.”
“Maybe, but you guys talk like you know something nobody else does,” Dustin states simply. “I’m just saying, when your friend says your babysitter was the hottest girl in school, you start to pick up on some things.” Your jaw goes slack at his confession. Heat creeps up your neck as you stare at him bewildered. Max and Lucas share uncertain glances from either end of the backseat.
“He said that?” You ask, earning a hum from the young boy as a response. “I didn’t know he felt that way.” You turn back in your seat, taking in the new information. You notice Steve’s grip on the wheel has tightened from the corner of your eye. “Nothing is going on,” you answer finally. “Maybe it’s because we had a few classes together or I never called him a freak.”
“But–”
“Drop it, Henderson.”
“You brought him up,” he giggles.
“Forget I asked then,” you huff, effectively silencing him. Staring out the window and watching the trees roll by, Dustin’s words bombard your thoughts despite your attempts to forget about them entirely.
Truthfully, you’ve never let yourself think too much about Eddie, the town’s oddball who most seemed to avoid unless they wanted some of his stash. You can’t deny that he’s incredibly charming and, of course, handsome. Your mind wanders back to that Halloween night, which by now feels like a lifetime ago.
If the situation wasn’t so humiliating, you might’ve taken the time to savor your moment together. Maybe, if you weren’t so embarrassed by your drunken actions and pitiful confession, you would’ve approached him a few days later to thank him. He would’ve laughed and said, "Don’t mention it,” with kind eyes, a friendly smile, and flushed cheeks. Thinking of him now, your heart skips a beat, and you curse yourself for it.
Steve’s tires screech to a halt as he shifts the gear to park. You take a second to clear your head, tucking away the memory. You lock eyes briefly with Max in the rearview and turn to her before she can escape.
“I want someone to have eyes on you at all times, understand?” You say, cocking a brow as if to challenge her.
“Yeah, okay, mom.” She rolls her eyes but you know it’s a front. She’s just as scared of being alone as you are.
“I’m serious, Max. No wandering and exploring without someone with you. And make sure that tape is always playing.”
“I’m going to be fine.” She reassures you.
“I know that,” you shake your head dismissing her words, unable to think of any other outcome. “We just need to take precautions, that’s all.” She nods, but can’t hide the flash of fear in her eyes.
The decrepit house sits nestled in trees, boarded up to ward off visitors. It’s in desperate need of a paint job, the plants grow rampant and cling to the porch columns, and there’s no doubt a layer of grime covering every inch of the building. A pit settles in your stomach as you take it all in.
“Yeah, that’s not creepy,” Steve says, staring ahead.
At the edge of Hawkins, the area is eerily quiet. There isn’t another home for miles, which shouldn’t surprise you, a string of murders doesn’t make the most welcoming neighborhood after all. The playground across the street looks just as bad, if not worse. A swing dangles from its chain, a merry-go-round lays crooked and broken on the grass, and what’s left of a spaceship is stripped down to the poles. Everything has been left to rot in the elements.
Silently, the seven of you trek forward undeterred. Steve stands behind Dustin, unzipping his backpack to remove the only two hammers Nancy could find twenty minutes ago. He passes one to Nancy and twirls the tool in his fingers as they ascend the porch. Robin stands beside you, looping her arm through yours, and rests her head on your shoulder while you wait.
“I mean, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for in this shithole?” Steve asks, tugging the first nail from the aged wooden board that blocks the entrance. It jingles once it lands on the concrete.
“We’re not sure. We just know this house is important to Vecna.” Nancy says, positioning her hammer to assist.
“Because Max saw it in Vecna’s red soup mind world?” Steve asks, yanking again.
“Basically,” Nancy shrugs.
“Great.”
“Maybe it holds a clue to where Vecna is. Why he’s back. Why he killed the Creels. And how to stop him before he comes back for Max,” Dustin adds. Everyone nods, letting it sink in.
“We don’t think he’s in here,” Lucas begins, “Do we?” You swallow, glancing at Robin who looks just as uncertain as you.
“Guess we’ll find out,” Max answers with a shrug.
“Ready?” Steve asks Nancy who hums in response. They both step to the side and let the board come crashing down, sending a puff of dust and leaves into the air. “It’s locked,” Steve says jiggling the knob while Dustin sighs. Robin untangles your limbs and takes a few steps off the sidewalk. She raises a brick into the air to gain your attention, jerking her head towards the door. You nod, doubting anyone in town would care about the vandalism, they’d probably thank her for it. “Should I knock and see if anybody’s home?”
“No need,” Robin says, holding it for everyone to see. “I found a key.”
“Stand back.” You order the three young teens and they shuffle out of her way. Robin chucks the brick toward the stained glass, creating a hole big enough for Steve to reach through and unlock from the inside.
The door screeches open, hinges unused in what you assume has been decades. Steve lets out a low whistle as he steps through the threshold, waiting for everyone to follow. You’re last to enter, ushering the kids in.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, the only light that seeps through is from the window Robin just broke. You fight the urge to cough, dust already invading your senses as you walk around the foyer. To your right, Lucas yanks on a lamp string, as if expecting something to happen.
“Looks like someone forgot to pay their electric bill,” He states. Dustin turns on his flashlight with a smile. Robin holds her bag out to you after she grabs her own.
“Thanks,” you say, reaching in and taking yours. Steadily, the room grows brighter as the lights flicker on.
“Where’d everyone get those?” Steve asks, looking around.
“Do you need to be told everything?” Dustin quips. “You’re not a child.” There’s a beat of tense silence as the two stare each other down.
“Thank you,” Steve says, voice strained with agitation.
“Huh,” Dustin shrugs off his backpack and hands it to Steve. “Back pocket.” You step past them, venturing further into the home as Steve pokes around the bag before letting it fall to the ground with a thud.
Sweeping the area with light, you run your hand along the banister. You think of the lives that were taken here all those years ago. Sadness hangs like a cloud above you while you look at their belongings, their photos, their life. Nothing has been removed since they lived here. You have the overwhelming feeling that you’re intruding, like you’re invading someone’s most intimate space. Suddenly, you realize you are, you all are. You rub the dust away from your fingers as you try and swallow it down.
“They just left everything,” Nancy says somewhere behind you.
“I guess a triple homicide isn’t good for resale value,” Robin responds.
“Hey, guys?” Max calls from across the room, gaining your attention. “You all see that, right?” Max shines her flashlight towards the grandfather clock that stands at the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah,” Dustin and Steve confirm as everyone files over.
“Is this what you saw?” Nancy asks, gesturing towards it with her light. “In your visions?” She's looking at Max for the answer everyone already knows. Max takes in a shaky breath, nodding.
“I mean, it’s… Just a clock,” Robin notes, “Right?” She steps forward, hand outstretched, and wipes away muck from the glass. “Like a normal old clock.” She looks back at everyone.
“Why is this wizard obsessed with clocks?” Steve questions from beside you. “Maybe he’s like, a clockmaker or something?” You look at him, dumbfounded, and can practically see the gears turning in his head as he tries to make sense of it.
“I think you cracked the case, Steve,” Dustin says with a shake of his head.
“All I know is the answers are here. Somewhere.” Nancy looks around the room for a moment. “Okay, everyone split up. Robin, upstairs.” She backs away, already taking the steps two at a time.
“Go. Find clues. Make up.” Robin hisses to you and Steve, squeezing your shoulder as she passes.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Max says, tugging on Lucas’s sleeve and pulling him further into the belly of the house. Dustin quickly takes off after them, throwing you a sympathetic smile over his shoulder before he disappears.
You can’t bring yourself to move, held captive by the guilt of being somewhere you don’t belong. Everything seems so special now, offering clues to who these people were, how they lived. Every item under this roof was meticulously bought and styled by Virginia Creel, does that mean nothing? The beds where they slept, the china they ate from, the curtains they closed, all have fragments of them still lingering. You want to protect it, not rummage through it all like it’s garbage.
“You alright?” Steve asks coming closer.
“Yeah, I just,” but you can’t find the words, you aren’t even sure he’ll understand. So, you change the subject to stall. “When Dustin was eight, he went through this major Scooby Doo phase. I had made him a little mystery kit. Flashlight, magnifying glass, even homemade Scooby Snacks, the whole nine yards. He refused to leave his house without it.” You smile at the memory. Steve’s brows twitch with confusion but indulges in the story. “Once, we were halfway to school and he had this huge meltdown because he had left it. He was crying, stomping his feet, I mean, the kid was inconsolable.”
“What’d you do?”
“Went back, of course.” You chuckle. “The way he looked at me, like the world was ending, I couldn’t send him to school like that. So we were both late.” You shrug. Thinking about how little he was makes your heart hurt. You wish that was the only issue he ever had to face, that you could’ve somehow protected him from everything that came after. “It’s just cute that he still carries all his stuff around. Like all this shit hasn’t changed him completely, he’s still that little boy.”
“I’m lucky he carries extras these days.” He laughs, waving the flashlight in the air. Your smile falters when you look around the room, reminded of the stakes at large.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” you sigh. “Upstairs? The numbers even out better that way.”
“Works for me,” he agrees, taking the lead. Each stair creaks underneath your weight as you climb. You watch Steve from behind, following him into a bedroom. You notice his tense shoulders and the way he has his lip sucked between his teeth. “Hey, uh,” he begins, “Could you maybe, uh, clarify what sort of clues we’re supposed to be looking for here?”
“Honestly?” You come to a stop, flipping through old magazines that are scattered across a vanity. “No idea. I’m hoping for a diary, maybe a scrapbook? Something of that sort,” you answer, yet find no luck.
You pull an old chair away from the wall and take a seat, trying not to think about the ring of dust it’ll leave on the back of your pants. You tug open a drawer, combing through old compacts and dried lipsticks. Behind you, Steve lifts the mattress, fanning the air with a quiet cough. Finding nothing, he lowers it and takes a seat, the old springs groaning beneath him.
“You can trust me with your secrets,” he whispers. Your head snaps toward him, unsure if you heard his words correctly. He glances your way, holding your gaze.
“What did you say?” You demand with squinted eyes.
“That’s what you said to Eddie the other night. I’m just trying to figure out what it means.” He lifts his feet to rest against the bottom of the old bedframe, tucking his hands between his knees. His demeanor is calm, expression blank as he moves.
“Why would you think it means anything?” You ask, unsure what he’s trying to get at.
“Dustin’s right about the way you guys talk. Like knowing something nobody else does, or whatever,” he shrugs. “I don’t know, you said me, not us and that’s what got him to talk. That’s what I’m stuck on.” You look away, fingers tapping against the chair cushion. “Did you guys sleep together, or something?” He sounds desperate to know the answer.
“What?” You let out a loud laugh. “No, nothing like that.” Steve raises an eyebrow, signaling for you to continue. You click your tongue, absentmindedly tracing the woodgrain of the tabletop, no longer able to look at him. “He took me home the night of the Halloween party. I had a really terrible night, was shit-faced drunk, and he took care of me. Okay? That’s it.” Steve’s brows furrow together as he combs through old memories. “I just, I don’t know. I feel like I owe him one, I guess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, leaning forward.
“You didn’t ask?” You shrug simply. “Any time we talked about that night it was always about you and Nancy.” He looks away then, suddenly more interested in his shoes.
“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly.
“Hey,” you say, maneuvering so you’re in his line of sight. “You didn’t know. It’s okay, really. You were going through a lot of shit, I mean, we all were.” You wave your hand vaguely around the room. “I just didn’t want to add to that.” His eyes soften as you nod. “It’s all good, cross my heart.” The two of you share a fond smile at your words, the meaning worth so much more than just a promise. You don’t remember when you started saying the phrase, probably between the ages of six or seven, whispered like something sacred. You turn back around, opening another drawer to dig through. He stands, finding his way over to a bookshelf and plucking out a novel and random.
“What was it?” He asks, fanning through the pages.
“Hm?”
“What was your secret?” You freeze for a moment, clearing your throat as you pretend to be occupied.
“That I was in love with you,” your voice is barely above a whisper. You stand, placing the chair back where you found it. “He was the first person I told,” you say, turning on your heel and to the room across the hall.
Even though the windows are boarded, you can tell the sun has started to dip below the horizon. You make your way towards the closet, throwing open the door. You rake through jackets and folded slacks, shoving your hand into each of the pockets. Steve enters a few moments later, opening the dresser, and sifting through its contents.
“For the record,” he calls, “I also thought you were the hottest girl in school.” You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that stretches across your lips.
“Gee, thanks,” you laugh. “So, you and Dustin. Trouble in paradise?” You ask, crouching to reach for a discarded hatbox hidden in the corner.
“God,” he groans. “He just knows exactly what to say to push every last one of my buttons.” He crosses the room and leans against the doorway.
“He has a way with words, that’s for sure.” You giggle, popping open the lid only to see a handful of ties. You sigh, pushing it away and off to the side. “I’d happily take him off your hands if Robin wasn’t forcing us together every second she got.” You say, voice lowered to be sure she couldn’t hear you from the other room.
“Yeah, dude, what is with her?” He asks, folding his arms in front of him. “Before you got here, she was telling me not to talk to you and that I should keep my distance to not make things weird.” His confession makes your chest ache.
“To be fair, nobody expected any of this to happen,” you say in her defense. “But I think part of her misses how things were.”
“Well, she’s not the only one.” He glances to the side, eyes squinting slightly as he walks away. You turn back to the mess you made, reaching for clothes strewn on the floor. You catch yourself smiling as you fold fleece and put garments back on their rightful hangers. It feels nice talking to him again, swapping secrets and sharing stories the way you used to.
When you come out of the closet you find him reaching into the floorboards, flashlight shining on something you can’t make out. “Find something?” You ask, standing on your tiptoes but fail to get a glimpse over his shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, you make your way into the hall, straining to hear where Nancy and Robin have gone.
You jump at the sound of shattering glass. Whipping around, you see Steve frantically scurrying backward, batting wildly at his arms and head. He plummets into you, nearly knocking you both to the ground.
“Jesus, what’s wrong?” You ask, heart racing. You place a hand on his back to steady him.
“There was a spider,” he pants, still swatting. “It’s a black widow.” He turns suddenly, grabbing the doorknob and yanking it shut. “Don’t go back in there.”
“Got it,” you say, suppressing a giggle. Only then do you notice the whips of a spiderweb tangled in his hair. “Hang on,” you say bringing your fingertips to the strands. His body bristles at your touch that’s now unfamiliar to his skin. You swallow, ignoring the sting that comes with such simple actions. Last summer, this would’ve been nothing, this would’ve been second nature. Now, the two of you are lightyears away while standing only a foot apart. Your body wilts, feeling the ghosts of you, of Steve, of everything you shared, settle around you.
“Something? Shit, okay.” He stares at his reflection in the hallway mirror, eyes crazed at his disheveled state.
“Shh, stop moving for a second, I almost have it.” You let out a soft giggle, trying to hide your unease.
“If there’s a spider nesting in there, you’re never gonna find it till it lays eggs and all the babies spill out.” Robin chirps, coming around the corner.
“Not helping, Robin,” you sigh.
“What’s wrong with you?” Steve snaps, only earning a vicious laugh from the girl. “Robin, seriously.” You don’t have to be looking at him to know he’s rolling his eyes. “She’s got problems.”
“Don’t we all?” You ask, still untangling knots from web. He breathes out a humorless laugh as you run your fingers through his hair, shaking away the debris.
“Do you,” he begins softly, twisting his sneaker in the hardwood, debating his words. “Is there a world where we could ever be friends again? Start over?” The question is so quiet you almost miss it.
His absence left a gaping hole in your chest, one you are certain no one else can fill. Steve Harrington has a home in your soul, he’s part of you, down to your very core. He’s engrained in your movements, the lilt in your voice, the way your heart beats. Being around him is agonizing. You remember the pain, the memories, and the promises he didn’t keep. Every time he’s near, you’re reminded that you loved him so much and he couldn’t love you enough.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, blinking away thought.
“Maybe after we find Vecna, kill him, save the world and stuff, maybe we can all go out or something. You know, me, you, Robin. Eddie, when we clear his name?” His body goes rigid as he offers the idea, his nerves practically radiating off his skin. You glance down the hall at Robin, who tries to hide her smile as she pretends not to listen. “Could we start there?”
“Yeah,” you smile, plucking out the last bit of cobweb. “We can start there.” You pat his shoulder, a signal that you’re finished. “All gone.” You whisper as he turns to face you fully.
“Great, thanks.” He looks away, suddenly aware of how close you two stand, and lets out an awkward chuckle. “Well, great um,” you watch his lips purse together. “Guess we should uh, get back to the investigation.”
“Sure,” you nod, following him back towards the stairs. From down below, you can hear the three teens moving around the rooms on quick feet.
“Guys?” Lucas calls over his shoulder. “Guys!” You and Steve move faster to the living room with Nancy and Robin following close behind. You come to a halt under a chandelier covered in grime, its light pulsing.
“It’s like the Christmas lights,” Nancy states. Nobody can take their eyes off of the sight.
“The Christmas lights?” Robin asks.
“Yeah, when Will was in the Upside Down, the lights… came to life,” Nancy whispers back.
“He used them to talk to Joyce,” you say, “That’s how she found him.”
“Vecna’s here,” Lucas starts, “In this house. Just on the other side.” And then the lights go out. Everyone shares a worried look.
“I think he just left the room.” Under normal circumstances that would be considered a typical, sarcastic remark from Robin, but you believe she’s right.
“Did he hear us?” Max questions, looking around.
“Can he see us?” Steve asks, meeting her eyes.
“Headphones,” Lucas demands. You can’t ignore the shake in her hands as Max puts them back around her ears.
“Wait, wait,” Nancy says, “Everyone, turn off your flashlights and spread out.” Immediately, you understand her thought process. You click the light off, stepping away from the circle with an arm stretched out. Dustin moves with you, following your actions.
“We’re not gonna be able to see if we turn off our flashlights,” Steve stammers. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, realizing nobody is listening.
You wander aimlessly, eyes strained on the bulb that won’t blink. You dodge decaying furniture and crooked rugs with quiet footsteps. You can hear Dustin nearby, he hasn’t moved too far out of your sight. It feels good to know he still trusts you for protection, still believes that you’re a safe space.
“I got him!” Robin screams from another room. “Got him!” She calls again while everyone rushes towards her. “I got him.” Her flashlight is raised in the air, ignited just for a second before it sputters out. “I, I had him.”
“Oh, whoa,” Steve says suddenly, staring at his light beam that nearly flickers off. “Oh, I think he’s moving.” He says, arm forward and walking away in an effort to keep the light on. “He’s moving. He’s moving!” You trail behind Steve and back up the stairs. “Shit.” He mumbles, light fading out at the top. “I lost him.”
“No, you didn’t,” Max says, pushing through the group. She pulls open a door where the glow of light can faintly be seen from beyond.
“It’s an attic,” Robin sings, full of nerves. “Of course, it’s an attic.” You squeeze her hand as you follow Max and Steve further up the second staircase.
“Hold up, guys,” Dustin says below, tone thick with worry. “What if he’s leading us into a trap?” Nobody responds, too focused on getting to the top. “Guys?” He begs. “Shit, shit, shit,” he says on every step.
A single lightbulb flickers in the center of the room. You sigh with relief at the emptiness that surrounds you, moving slowly towards the bulb. “Flashlights,” Dustin says, tearing your attention away. Looking down, you see everyone’s ablaze. Squeezing between Robin and Nancy, you lean in first, setting your flashlight under the buzzing lightbulb, while everyone follows your lead.
“Okay, what’s happening?” Steve asks, staring at the glowing circle. Slowly, the room grows brighter, bathed in so much light you have to squint. One by one, glass starts to burst. Everyone yelps, turning away quickly to shield your eyes as the flashlights explode. Then suddenly, you’re left in nothing but the darkness.
“Well,” Dustin gasps after a minute of silence. “I’m guessing that’s not a good sign.”
“What did he do?” Robin asks nobody in particular.
“Do you feel all right?” You look at Max across from you.
“I feel fine.” She nods, answering honestly.
“We need to get out of here,” Steve decides, already pushing his way toward the door. Nobody moves, still too stunned. “Now.” He yells.
It’s like the daze lifts from your body, suddenly hyper-aware of where you are, of what lurks right below you on the other side. It’s hard to move quickly with the amount of people trudging down the stairs, but eventually, you make it to the entrance.
“Can he get here?” Lucas asks.
“I don’t want to stick around to find out, Sinclair,” Steve responds, barreling out the front door.
The air is significantly cooler now and the moon is hidden behind clouds. You can see each puff of breath as you reach Steve’s car. Robin throws herself against his trunk with a groan. “Never thought I’d be so happy to see this car.” She breathes, pressing a quick kiss to the metal.
“Dramatic,” you laugh as she flips you off.
“Can you get her home?” Nancy asks Steve gesturing toward you. She takes the keys out of her pocket when she reaches the sidewalk. “I can get everyone else. She’s just closest to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucas barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Are we really not going to talk about what we just saw?” He flings his arms toward the house in frustration.
“We don’t even know what that was.” Nancy bites back. “Do you want to stand out here in the cold and chitchat?”
“Unbelievable,” Lucas shakes his head but relents, getting into her car without another word. Nancy purses her lips at the sight but chooses to let it go. She ushers at everyone else to get in, which they do without complaint.
“Meet back at my place tomorrow morning. We’ll bring food to Eddie and figure it all out then. Get some rest.” She says to the two of you, leaving no room for argument before getting into her car.
There’s a pleasant silence in the air as Steve turns onto the main road. When you’re alone, there’s no expectation of conversation. It’s always been this way, neither of you possessed the urge to fill the quiet with nonsense small talk to one another. Even when you were young and grew tired of playing pretend, you’d spend hours together without uttering a word, comforted knowing that the other was beside you.
“Oh shit,” you murmur, passing under streetlights that bring you closer to home. He hums, an acknowledgment that he’s listening. “My mom. She doesn’t work nights anymore.” Despite her no longer working the night shift for months, it completely slipped your mind. Being surrounded by the others, it’s been easy to forget about your life so far away, almost like it doesn’t exist. You fell back into the role of Dustin’s old babysitter, Robin’s best friend, and Nancy’s acquaintance so easily, like you were seventeen again. The glaring reminder that everything has changed is Steve and a parked Chevrolet in the driveway.
“You can stay at my place,” he offers.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” It’s not the end of the world to wake your mother. You’re just not ready to answer her questions, which you know will all be about Steve. “I’ll just climb through the window. Might be kinda fun.” You’re lying and he knows it.
“Really, it’s no problem.”
“Robin’s not looking. You don’t have to pretend to care about me.” He recoils slightly, stung by your words.
“I’m not pretending.” His voice is so soft you nearly apologize. “Besides, with everything going on, it’d be nice to know I’m not alone.” He says shyly.
“Okay,” you agree against better judgment. “Only if you’re sure.”
You regret the decision as soon as he parks. The house stands just as it did eight months ago. It’s daunting, approaching the front door of a house that knows you no longer belong there. You want to turn back around, climb back into his car, and demand to be taken home. Before you get the chance, he beckons you inside.
You take in the warmth, the smell, and the art, lingering in the foyer. Everything is so familiar, unchanged, and untouched, like you’re staring into a time capsule. You wonder if this is how he felt the other morning, standing in your living room and soaking the memories back in.
“The guest bedroom should be made up. I’d take you there, but,” he gestures at you awkwardly.
“I’m sure I won’t get lost,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Right. I’ll, uh, get you some clean clothes.” He nods to himself before moving around you and up to his room.
Cautiously, you turn the corner, breath hitching as you stare down the hallway decorated in frames still filled with you. You aren’t sure how he does it, living here and passing photos of you daily. You would’ve torn them down, shattered the glass, and swept away any reminder of him into the garage. You look away, unable to bear the sight any longer.
You take a seat on the pristinely made bed, running a hand along the comforter. You wonder if Steve will tell his mother about this, you being here. If she’d have the same reaction as your mom would. Your mother would be overjoyed. She’d act like the world can spin correctly again. You can’t help but feel like this has been a colossal mistake.
“Found these.” He enters with a soft knock, tearing you away from your thoughts. Wordlessly, you take the clothes and hold them in your lap gently.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” You hate how weak your voice sounds when you ask.
“What do you mean?” The bed dips beside you under his weight.
“I’ve been nothing but a total bitch to you since the second I got here. I don’t deserve anything you’ve done for me the past few days. Tonight especially.” When you look at him, his eyes are already searching yours. “I thought you hated me.”
“I did, still do sometimes.” He admits quietly. “For leaving, for not saying goodbye, for getting a boyfriend so quick. It just felt like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter. But then I saw you at the game and, I don’t know, I didn’t care about all of that anymore.” He shakes his head lost in thought. “Look, I know I majorly fucked up. I never thought you’d speak to me again and so this,” he gestures between the two of you, “This means everything to me. You could say you hate me right now and I’d just be happy to hear your voice.”
“I’d never be able to hate you, Steve.” You say honestly. It’s true, you realize, even when he hurt you most, he is so much more than your worst heartbreak. Steve is the warmth of summer, chlorine skin, and melted popsicles in the sun. He’s campfires and pitched tents under autumn’s stars. He’s candy cane swords and long days of sledding in the bite of winter. He’s the picked flowers and afternoons indoors when it rained in the spring. How could you possibly hate that? Hate him?
“I’ll let you get some sleep.” He offers a crooked smile, clapping his hands to his knees. “Sweet dreams.” And then he’s gone.
You stare at the ceiling, rest refusing to take hold. You throw off the sheets and start to pace unable to lie still any longer. You tug on the frayed hem, choking on the scent from his sweater that’s unequivocally Steve. You let out a muffled sigh and grab the doorknob.
Ten steps down the hall, up the stairs, and around the corner is where he’d be. Maybe his door would already be open, waiting for you. You can say, ‘I’m scared to sleep alone.’ and he’d let you crawl into the bed beside him. You can almost feel his arms wrapping around you, the softness of his skin pressed against your cheek. You can hear his footsteps circling above, you wonder if he’s contemplating the same thing.
But you’re no longer seventeen. You’re not dating, not in love, not his best friend. You’re a stranger in his home, a guest. You release the knob and settle back between his mother’s linens, blinking away tears. You’ve never wanted to leave somewhere more in your life. What truly startles you though, is how much you want to stay.
Dude it is SO FUN and EXCITING to see a reoccurring reader. If you've commented a handful of times on an author's work, I guarantee that they recognize you. You can't imagine how many times I've excitedly informed my friends "the person with the funny cat image commented!" "- anon is back!!!!" and the friends've recognized who I was talking about because I talk about my commenters so often LOL. We love you all!!!
Never mention a possible pregnancy/abortion to anyone, especially not through a social media app messaging service such as messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram DMs, Snapchat, etc.
Delete all period tracking apps and to start tracking using a planner or physical calendar
Book appointments for a form of birth control if possible, or to always carry condoms for yourself and other
Look into sterilization options if that is the route you want to go down (here is a list of 1000 doctors willing to sterilize you without a fight)
Protect your fellow person, protect the women in your life, the queer people, the disabled people, everyone will be affected by this
Form communities. Tell your people that you love them. Protect one another. Check in on one another. None of us are alone.
if you're feeling powerless right now—and god knows I am—here's a reminder you can donate to the National Network of Abortion Funds, the Trans Law Center, Gaza Soup Kitchen, the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, and hundreds of other charities that will work to mitigate the damage that has been and will continue to be inflicted
life continues. we still have the capacity to do good, important work. that matters
