𓂃⋆.˚ ( jjk ) you can't handle the way megumi looks at you !
masterlists
“stop.”
his brows twitch lightly at the unprovoked command, but his eyes don’t avert from your tense expression.
you gesture exasperatedly in his general direction, then in yours. “you’re looking at me like you’re gonna feed me to your dogs, megumi.”
he huffs out an amused sound but is still unwaveringly confused. “i’m looking at you very normally, y/n. you make me sound… unwelcoming.”
“you say that but…” you trail off and dump your purse by the couch. he’s looking at you through heavy lidded eyes, his posture relaxed - almost slouched - and his legs spread. the hand in his lap grips his phone lazily while the other arm is crossed on his chest, hand resting near his armpit.
he notices the way your nose twitches and feels the warmth of your skin when you step closer and allow him to clasp your hand in his, tender thumb running along the back of your palm. you notice his small smile consequential of his epiphany - you’re… well, shy.
maybe not shy, just sensitive under his gaze and ministrations. especially when he’s tilting his head just so and playing with your fingers. the leg closest to you nudges you closer by your achilles heel and you purse your lips but comply.
“stop looking at me like that,” you repeat, sitting beside him on the couch and letting yourself slump into his side.
desc - hawkins high started a new progam - speak up ! - a system where students can anonymously talk to each other to get help on projects and school work. when you eventually check it out, the first thing you see on there is a note from farrahfawcettspray asking for help on the chemistry homework. and, being the kind soul you are, you respond to them.
val speaks - WOOO after some pondering i ended up rlly loving this one guys i hope u do too ++ i also j realised there were a couple ppls that were on my taglist that i wasn't tagging so im so very sorry for that but its updated properly now!!
word count: 8.2k
the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.
you hated homework.
not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.
especially with that stupid new program.
speak up!
even the name sounded fake cheerful.
principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.
“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”
translation?
people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.
at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.
tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.
you did too, honestly.
because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?
apparently a lot of people.
you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.
still, it worked.
eventually.
you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.
the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.
you almost backed out immediately.
this was dumb.
you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.
but, you kinda understood the idea.
there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.
plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.
with a small sigh, you clicked register username.
after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:
uptowngirl
creative? no.
but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.
once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.
and wow.
people were actually using this thing.
messages filled the page.
can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?
need help studying for bio test.
is anyone good at essay editing?
you blinked.
okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.
your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.
farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.
you laughed quietly to yourself.
there was no way that was a guy, right?
you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.
for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.
before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:
uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?
you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.
instead one came instantly.
farrahfawcettspray: Please
you smiled despite yourself.
dramatic.
you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.
uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first
farrahfawcettspray: What equation
you stared.
uptowngirl: the one on the page?
farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ
a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.
honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.
finally another message popped up.
farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl
you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.
uptowngirl: no problem farrah
a response came immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that
you grinned.
uptowngirl: goodnight farrah
you logged off before they could answer.
shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.
you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.
-
the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.
“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”
you groaned. “only once.”
“oh my god.”
“shut up.”
“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”
you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”
that got another round of laughter from the table.
still, you found yourself smiling too.
the whole thing was kinda funny.
by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.
hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.
your house wasn’t exactly close.
but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.
the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.
you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.
your heartbeat jumped instantly.
you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.
a familiar bmw rolled beside you.
of course.
steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.
you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.
keep walking, ignore them. easy.
the car crawled beside you anyway.
“hey!” tommy called.
you kept walking.
“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”
carol smacked the back of his head immediately.
“god, tommy.”
“ow-”
from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.
you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.
there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.
“bitch!”
the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.
you sighed heavily.
god, you hated those people.
tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.
and steve harrington?
honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.
every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.
definitely not your type, not even close.
by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.
the house was empty.
your parents were both working late again.
you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.
you weren’t really hungry.
your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.
math first.
then english.
then maybe death.
after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.
the screen was dark.
you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.
the machine groaned loudly in protest.
“c’mon” you muttered.
eventually the screen flickered to life.
you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.
the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.
1 new message from farrahfawcettspray
your eyebrows lifted.
you clicked it.
farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz
you laughed before typing back.
uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem
three dots appeared almost immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.
uptowngirl: you survived though
farrahfawcettspray: Barely
you smiled a little without meaning to.
there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.
just words on a screen.
another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?
uptowngirl: obviously
farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?
you snorted softly.
hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.
uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh
you grinned at the screen.
maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.
-
somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.
you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.
and there usually was.
sometimes it was something dramatic like:
farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.
or-
farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.
other times it was just:
farrahfawcettspray: You there?
simple.
stupidly simple.
but somehow it always made you smile.
you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.
and apparently he did too.
you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.
that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.
uptowngirl: serious question
farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh
uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy
there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.
farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account
you stared at the screen.
huh.
that actually made sense. kind of.
uptowngirl: still weird
farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song
fair point.
you didn’t learn much else about him after that.
not big things, anyway.
he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.
mostly though, your conversations were random.
complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.
without naming names, obviously.
farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week
uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like
farrahfawcettspray: Death
or
uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today
farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me
uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me
you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.
it was weird.
because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.
you mentally ran through people at school constantly.
who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?
who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?
who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?
that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.
uptowngirl: you are literally a child
farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg
uptowngirl: from under the bed??
farrahfawcettspray: YES
uptowngirl: you’re insane
but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.
they were too personal, too strange.
you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:
yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.
or
that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.
it didn’t work like that.
maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.
just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.
still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.
didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.
but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.
you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.
you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”
you knew him.
just not who he actually was.
just not who he…
was.
yeah.
oops.
-
one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.
between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.
not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.
your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.
almost immediately, your brain went:
check the computer.
which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.
the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.
you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.
your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.
farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today
then, sent hours later:
farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd
you smiled automatically.
god.
you typed back quickly.
uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night
uptowngirl: what happened??
the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.
farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open
uptowngirl: okay?
farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed
you burst out laughing alone in your room.
actually laughing.
uptowngirl: you’re lying
farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this
uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN
uptowngirl: no they can’t
farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed
uptowngirl: maybe it walked in
farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??
uptowngirl: good point
farrahfawcettspray: Thank you
for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.
eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.
god, he was stupid.
the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.
and immediately after that came another thought.
was he?
you frowned slightly at the screen.
because really you didn’t know.
you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.
you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.
feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.
-
more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.
somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.
you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.
sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.
because what even was he?
some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?
it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.
still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.
and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.
not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.
tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.
farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?
you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.
uptowngirl: why
farrahfawcettspray: Curious
uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious
farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion
you snorted.
another time
uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?
farrahfawcettspray: Nice try
you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
it became a game after a while.
you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.
but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?
what if you disappointed him?
or worse what if he disappointed you?
it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.
-
today had felt normal at first.
cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.
“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”
the entire school groaned collectively.
you slumped back in your seat.
“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.
the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.
“i’ll keep this brief” he started.
already a lie.
you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.
“the speak up! program-”
your head lifted.
“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”
your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you muttered under your breath.
around you, barely anyone reacted.
a few students laughed.
someone yelled “finally.”
principal higgins kept rambling.
“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”
your friends looked entirely unbothered.
“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.
“seriously who even used it?”
you forced out a little laugh along with them.
but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?
would he even want to?
“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.
four weeks.
shit.
-
that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.
you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.
the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.
the second you logged in, you opened your messages.
then typed quickly:
uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that
you leaned back slightly.
uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down
farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing
uptowngirl: exactly
then after a second:
uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore
he replied immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago
you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.
the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.
that was it.
when it’s over, it’s over.
simple.
or at least that’s what you told yourselves.
and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.
-
the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.
tommy.
carol.
steve.
you tried ignoring them.
really, you did.
but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”
carol snorted immediately.
you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.
your expression soured.
same old shit.
steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.
still, he laughed.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking.
honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.
-
that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.
without names, obviously.
uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve
there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.
farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?
you blinked slightly at the screen.
that felt random.
uptowngirl: how so
another pause.
farrahfawcettspray: Like in general
your brows furrowed.
uptowngirl: not all the time
uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly
there was a moment before the reply came through.
farrahfawcettspray: Oh
you sat up a little straighter.
uptowngirl: is it all your friends?
farrahfawcettspray: Kinda
you frowned.
uptowngirl: then make new ones
almost instantly:
farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy
you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.
he was right, you guessed.
maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.
you knew people like that.
still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.
-
a week passed.
three weeks left.
three weeks until the website disappeared.
three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.
you tried not to think about it too much.
failed miserably.
that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?
your heartbeat stumbled slightly.
you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.
uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over
uptowngirl: why does it matter?
his response came faster than usual.
farrahfawcettspray: Screw that
you swallowed.
uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?
another pause.
longer this time.
then
farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?
you froze.
because honestly?
you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.
what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?
what if meeting ruined whatever this was?
you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:
uptowngirl: i don’t know
for once, he didn’t joke.
didn’t tease you.
just
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.
then another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?
you frowned slightly.
uptowngirl: how
there was a pause before his answer came through.
farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?
your stomach tightened immediately.
uptowngirl: yeah
farrahfawcettspray: We meet then
your eyes widened slightly.
farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing
farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something
farrahfawcettspray: So we know
your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.
you read the messages twice. three times.
farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever
farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives
farrahfawcettspray: Deal?
you stared at the screen.
your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.
this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.
all at once.
but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?
slowly, you typed back
uptowngirl: okay
almost immediately:
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
your heart thudded harder against your ribs.
in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.
-
the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.
every day dragged.
every night disappeared.
it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.
you were stressed constantly.
your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.
still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.
it was prom.
well.
not prom itself, the reveal.
you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.
because holy shit.
you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.
what if he saw you and regretted everything?
what if you did?
what if it got awkward instantly?
what if one of you didn’t show up at all?
you tried not to think about it.
failed miserably.
honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.
and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.
somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.
him begging for academic help.
farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out
you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.
uptowngirl: dramatic
farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future
uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared
you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.
you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.
-
when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.
after that, the teasing started.
mostly from him.
farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?
uptowngirl: not even slightly
farrahfawcettspray: Liar
uptowngirl: you wish
farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint
you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.
uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah
he immediately sent back:
farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.
still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
you were nervous. terribly so.
thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.
you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.
for awhile, things felt normal again.
easy.
you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.
it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.
at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.
-
a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.
simple, easy. less terrifying that way.
at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.
at 8:05, you’d follow after him.
that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.
you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.
-
then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.
your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.
which, honestly?
you kinda did.
the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.
almost.
prom itself was exactly what you expected.
too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.
still, it was fun enough.
you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.
then suddenly 7:58.
your stomach dropped.
7:59.
holy shit.
8:00.
you immediately looked toward the doors.
five minutes, five minutes until you met him.
for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.
but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.
probably.
another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.
seriously.
you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.
but then what?
go home? never talk to him again?
the website would probably be deleted tonight.
this was it.
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.
“you okay?”
“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”
“want me to come outside with you?”
“no!”
they blinked at your immediate response.
you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”
it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.
the walk toward the field felt endless.
seriously endless.
you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.
your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?
your heartbeat got faster with every step.
then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.
just the back of them.
but honestly?
anyone would recognize that hair.
steve harrington.
your entire body stopped.
what.
the.
fuck.
your brain completely blanked.
there was absolutely no way. no actual way.
you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.
his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.
you both stared at each other in complete shock.
then at the exact same time:
“you’re-”
you both stopped.
silence.
then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.
steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.
and honestly?
you couldn’t stop staring.
because somehow it made sense now.
the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.
oh my god.
you squinted at him suddenly.
“you don’t have a sister.”
his face immediately changed.
“…what?”
“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”
steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.
“yeah, okay, i lied.”
you stared then barked out a laugh.
“you use farrah fawcett spray?”
he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”
you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.
“okay, okay!”
his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.
god.
of course it was him.
steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.
then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.
“so…” he said slowly.
you looked back at him.
he pointed vaguely.
“uptown girl.”
you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.
you nodded once.
“…yeah.”
he huffed out another laugh.
for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.
you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.
still, eventually it got easier.
little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.
then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”
steve raised an eyebrow.
“someone like me?”
“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”
he scoffed softly, glancing away.
“fair.”
you smiled slightly.
then he looked back at you.
“didn’t expect you either.”
you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”
he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.
it made you laugh.
then suddenly he smirked.
“who says you won’t?”
you stared at him flatly.
he laughed quietly at your expression.
god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.
after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.
“i should probably head inside.”
steve nodded a little.
“yeah.”
“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”
you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.
“…friend” you finished quietly.
his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.
“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”
you started turning back toward the school.
then
“wait.”
you looked back.
steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.
“can this not be… like, the end?”
you blinked.
“huh?”
“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”
something warm twisted in your chest.
you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.
“do you have paper?”
he blinked at you.
“…obviously not.”
you rolled your eyes.
“do you at least have a pen?”
“maybe in my car.”
you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”
he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.
once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.
“ha” he said proudly.
you snorted before grabbing his wrist.
he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.
then realisation hit his face.
“oh.”
before writing anything, you paused dramatically.
“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”
steve smiled slightly.
“i’ll see what i can do-”
you gave him a look immediately.
“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”
“thank you.”
carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.
when you finished, you stepped back slightly.
then quietly, before leaving, you said
“you’re better than them, steve.”
his expression shifted immediately.
you smiled softly.
“much better.”
for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.
this one felt real.
you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.
and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.
-
walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.
the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.
which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.
one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.
“okay. what happened.”
you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”
“bullshit.”
“seriously.”
another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”
you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”
“then why do you look like that?”
“like what?”
“like you’re in love.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.
because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.
god.
if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.
yet here you were.
the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.
you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.
sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
-
somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.
the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.
actual alcohol this time.
which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.
still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.
eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.
the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.
“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.
then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.
steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.
you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.
he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.
you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.
when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.
“hey.”
“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”
“nothing.”
you stared at him.
“steve.”
“i’m serious.”
“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”
his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.
you sat beside him immediately.
for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.
then finally steve spoke quietly.
“i hope you’re right.”
you frowned slightly. “about what?”
he rubbed his palms together once before muttering
“about me being better than my friends.”
your expression softened instantly.
“what happened?”
he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”
you stayed quiet, letting him continue.
after a second he sighed again.
“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”
you immediately knew who “they” meant.
tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.
“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”
he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.
“i told them to stop.”
you looked at him carefully. “and?”
“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”
your jaw tightened immediately.
steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.
“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”
you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.
“so i left.”
he gestured vaguely around them.
“and here we are.”
you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.
you nudged his shoulder gently.
“they’ll probably get over it.”
steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”
that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.
“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”
you tilted your head. “then stop.”
“stop what?”
“being friends with them.”
he immediately gave you a look.
“you’ve literally said this before.”
“because i’m right.”
“i can’t just drop them.”
“why not?”
he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”
you snorted softly.
“weird for who?”
“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”
you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”
steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.
then silence settled again.
but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”
steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.
“c’mon, harrington.”
his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.
“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.
immediately your nose scrunched.
“gross.”
he laughed quietly.
“then i’ll come in.”
you nodded once.
“okay.”
you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that
-
break started almost immediately after prom.
suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.
and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.
at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.
which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.
sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.
you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.
you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.
sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.
one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.
it absolutely did not.
another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.
“how are you alive?”
then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”
you blinked against the phone.
“…out?”
“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”
your stomach flipped immediately.
“maybe the drive-in?”
there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.
“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”
he picked you up the next evening at six.
honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.
you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.
that made you smile more than it probably should have.
because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly
“i think i like being just steve better.”
you looked over at him softly.
then he smirked slightly.
“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”
you burst out laughing immediately.
god, you loved him.
well. not loved. probably, maybe.
okay maybe a little.
because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.
you and steve started hanging out constantly.
drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.
once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”
his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.
you’d never seen steve happier.
he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.
he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.
and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.
on your side?
you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.
absolutely not.
you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.
-
surprisingly, it did.
it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.
you already had plans with steve that night.
nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.
normal.
but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.
he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.
then he pulled into his driveway.
you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.
he still looked nervous.
your stomach tightened.
“steve?”
he swallowed once before speaking.
“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”
your expression softened immediately.
he laughed awkwardly under his breath.
“which is funny considering how we started.”
you smiled.
but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.
“and i want you to know i really like you.”
you stared at him.
“like really like you.”
he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”
your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.
“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”
“steve.”
he stopped immediately.
you laughed softly.
“i like you too.”
his eyes widened.
“…you do?”
you laughed harder now.
“obviously.”
the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.
he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.
“c’mon then.”
then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said
“close your eyes.”
you blinked. “what?”
“just trust me.”
laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.
he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.
eventually he stopped.
“okay.”
you opened your eyes and immediately melted.
the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.
“steve…”
he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.
“it’s cute” you said honestly.
“yeah yeah.”
you grinned harder.
the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.
mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.
after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.
you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
immediately his eyes opened.
before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.
and then he kissed you.
properly.
finally.
and god it was everything.
his lips were impossibly soft.
the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.
when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.
then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.
quietly, he murmured:
“i’m glad you decided to help me.”
you snorted softly against him.
“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”
he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.
eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.
and after that, everything naturally fell into place.
steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.
sometimes your people.
your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.
but steve around you was different.
and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.
desc - hawkins high started a new progam - speak up ! - a system where students can anonymously talk to each other to get help on projects and school work. when you eventually check it out, the first thing you see on there is a note from farrahfawcettspray asking for help on the chemistry homework. and, being the kind soul you are, you respond to them.
val speaks - WOOO after some pondering i ended up rlly loving this one guys i hope u do too ++ i also j realised there were a couple ppls that were on my taglist that i wasn't tagging so im so very sorry for that but its updated properly now!!
word count: 8.2k
the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.
you hated homework.
not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.
especially with that stupid new program.
speak up!
even the name sounded fake cheerful.
principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.
“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”
translation?
people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.
at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.
tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.
you did too, honestly.
because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?
apparently a lot of people.
you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.
still, it worked.
eventually.
you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.
the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.
you almost backed out immediately.
this was dumb.
you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.
but, you kinda understood the idea.
there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.
plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.
with a small sigh, you clicked register username.
after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:
uptowngirl
creative? no.
but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.
once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.
and wow.
people were actually using this thing.
messages filled the page.
can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?
need help studying for bio test.
is anyone good at essay editing?
you blinked.
okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.
your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.
farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.
you laughed quietly to yourself.
there was no way that was a guy, right?
you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.
for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.
before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:
uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?
you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.
instead one came instantly.
farrahfawcettspray: Please
you smiled despite yourself.
dramatic.
you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.
uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first
farrahfawcettspray: What equation
you stared.
uptowngirl: the one on the page?
farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ
a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.
honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.
finally another message popped up.
farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl
you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.
uptowngirl: no problem farrah
a response came immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that
you grinned.
uptowngirl: goodnight farrah
you logged off before they could answer.
shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.
you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.
-
the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.
“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”
you groaned. “only once.”
“oh my god.”
“shut up.”
“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”
you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”
that got another round of laughter from the table.
still, you found yourself smiling too.
the whole thing was kinda funny.
by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.
hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.
your house wasn’t exactly close.
but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.
the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.
you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.
your heartbeat jumped instantly.
you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.
a familiar bmw rolled beside you.
of course.
steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.
you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.
keep walking, ignore them. easy.
the car crawled beside you anyway.
“hey!” tommy called.
you kept walking.
“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”
carol smacked the back of his head immediately.
“god, tommy.”
“ow-”
from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.
you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.
there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.
“bitch!”
the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.
you sighed heavily.
god, you hated those people.
tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.
and steve harrington?
honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.
every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.
definitely not your type, not even close.
by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.
the house was empty.
your parents were both working late again.
you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.
you weren’t really hungry.
your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.
math first.
then english.
then maybe death.
after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.
the screen was dark.
you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.
the machine groaned loudly in protest.
“c’mon” you muttered.
eventually the screen flickered to life.
you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.
the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.
1 new message from farrahfawcettspray
your eyebrows lifted.
you clicked it.
farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz
you laughed before typing back.
uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem
three dots appeared almost immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.
uptowngirl: you survived though
farrahfawcettspray: Barely
you smiled a little without meaning to.
there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.
just words on a screen.
another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?
uptowngirl: obviously
farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?
you snorted softly.
hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.
uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh
you grinned at the screen.
maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.
-
somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.
you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.
and there usually was.
sometimes it was something dramatic like:
farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.
or-
farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.
other times it was just:
farrahfawcettspray: You there?
simple.
stupidly simple.
but somehow it always made you smile.
you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.
and apparently he did too.
you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.
that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.
uptowngirl: serious question
farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh
uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy
there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.
farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account
you stared at the screen.
huh.
that actually made sense. kind of.
uptowngirl: still weird
farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song
fair point.
you didn’t learn much else about him after that.
not big things, anyway.
he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.
mostly though, your conversations were random.
complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.
without naming names, obviously.
farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week
uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like
farrahfawcettspray: Death
or
uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today
farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me
uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me
you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.
it was weird.
because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.
you mentally ran through people at school constantly.
who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?
who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?
who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?
that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.
uptowngirl: you are literally a child
farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg
uptowngirl: from under the bed??
farrahfawcettspray: YES
uptowngirl: you’re insane
but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.
they were too personal, too strange.
you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:
yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.
or
that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.
it didn’t work like that.
maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.
just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.
still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.
didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.
but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.
you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.
you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”
you knew him.
just not who he actually was.
just not who he…
was.
yeah.
oops.
-
one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.
between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.
not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.
your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.
almost immediately, your brain went:
check the computer.
which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.
the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.
you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.
your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.
farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today
then, sent hours later:
farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd
you smiled automatically.
god.
you typed back quickly.
uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night
uptowngirl: what happened??
the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.
farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open
uptowngirl: okay?
farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed
you burst out laughing alone in your room.
actually laughing.
uptowngirl: you’re lying
farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this
uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN
uptowngirl: no they can’t
farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed
uptowngirl: maybe it walked in
farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??
uptowngirl: good point
farrahfawcettspray: Thank you
for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.
eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.
god, he was stupid.
the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.
and immediately after that came another thought.
was he?
you frowned slightly at the screen.
because really you didn’t know.
you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.
you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.
feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.
-
more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.
somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.
you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.
sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.
because what even was he?
some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?
it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.
still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.
and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.
not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.
tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.
farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?
you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.
uptowngirl: why
farrahfawcettspray: Curious
uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious
farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion
you snorted.
another time
uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?
farrahfawcettspray: Nice try
you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
it became a game after a while.
you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.
but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?
what if you disappointed him?
or worse what if he disappointed you?
it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.
-
today had felt normal at first.
cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.
“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”
the entire school groaned collectively.
you slumped back in your seat.
“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.
the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.
“i’ll keep this brief” he started.
already a lie.
you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.
“the speak up! program-”
your head lifted.
“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”
your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you muttered under your breath.
around you, barely anyone reacted.
a few students laughed.
someone yelled “finally.”
principal higgins kept rambling.
“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”
your friends looked entirely unbothered.
“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.
“seriously who even used it?”
you forced out a little laugh along with them.
but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?
would he even want to?
“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.
four weeks.
shit.
-
that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.
you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.
the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.
the second you logged in, you opened your messages.
then typed quickly:
uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that
you leaned back slightly.
uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down
farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing
uptowngirl: exactly
then after a second:
uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore
he replied immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago
you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.
the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.
that was it.
when it’s over, it’s over.
simple.
or at least that’s what you told yourselves.
and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.
-
the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.
tommy.
carol.
steve.
you tried ignoring them.
really, you did.
but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”
carol snorted immediately.
you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.
your expression soured.
same old shit.
steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.
still, he laughed.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking.
honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.
-
that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.
without names, obviously.
uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve
there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.
farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?
you blinked slightly at the screen.
that felt random.
uptowngirl: how so
another pause.
farrahfawcettspray: Like in general
your brows furrowed.
uptowngirl: not all the time
uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly
there was a moment before the reply came through.
farrahfawcettspray: Oh
you sat up a little straighter.
uptowngirl: is it all your friends?
farrahfawcettspray: Kinda
you frowned.
uptowngirl: then make new ones
almost instantly:
farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy
you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.
he was right, you guessed.
maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.
you knew people like that.
still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.
-
a week passed.
three weeks left.
three weeks until the website disappeared.
three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.
you tried not to think about it too much.
failed miserably.
that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?
your heartbeat stumbled slightly.
you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.
uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over
uptowngirl: why does it matter?
his response came faster than usual.
farrahfawcettspray: Screw that
you swallowed.
uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?
another pause.
longer this time.
then
farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?
you froze.
because honestly?
you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.
what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?
what if meeting ruined whatever this was?
you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:
uptowngirl: i don’t know
for once, he didn’t joke.
didn’t tease you.
just
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.
then another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?
you frowned slightly.
uptowngirl: how
there was a pause before his answer came through.
farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?
your stomach tightened immediately.
uptowngirl: yeah
farrahfawcettspray: We meet then
your eyes widened slightly.
farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing
farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something
farrahfawcettspray: So we know
your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.
you read the messages twice. three times.
farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever
farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives
farrahfawcettspray: Deal?
you stared at the screen.
your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.
this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.
all at once.
but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?
slowly, you typed back
uptowngirl: okay
almost immediately:
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
your heart thudded harder against your ribs.
in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.
-
the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.
every day dragged.
every night disappeared.
it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.
you were stressed constantly.
your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.
still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.
it was prom.
well.
not prom itself, the reveal.
you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.
because holy shit.
you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.
what if he saw you and regretted everything?
what if you did?
what if it got awkward instantly?
what if one of you didn’t show up at all?
you tried not to think about it.
failed miserably.
honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.
and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.
somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.
him begging for academic help.
farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out
you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.
uptowngirl: dramatic
farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future
uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared
you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.
you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.
-
when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.
after that, the teasing started.
mostly from him.
farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?
uptowngirl: not even slightly
farrahfawcettspray: Liar
uptowngirl: you wish
farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint
you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.
uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah
he immediately sent back:
farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.
still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
you were nervous. terribly so.
thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.
you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.
for awhile, things felt normal again.
easy.
you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.
it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.
at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.
-
a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.
simple, easy. less terrifying that way.
at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.
at 8:05, you’d follow after him.
that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.
you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.
-
then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.
your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.
which, honestly?
you kinda did.
the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.
almost.
prom itself was exactly what you expected.
too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.
still, it was fun enough.
you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.
then suddenly 7:58.
your stomach dropped.
7:59.
holy shit.
8:00.
you immediately looked toward the doors.
five minutes, five minutes until you met him.
for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.
but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.
probably.
another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.
seriously.
you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.
but then what?
go home? never talk to him again?
the website would probably be deleted tonight.
this was it.
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.
“you okay?”
“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”
“want me to come outside with you?”
“no!”
they blinked at your immediate response.
you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”
it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.
the walk toward the field felt endless.
seriously endless.
you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.
your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?
your heartbeat got faster with every step.
then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.
just the back of them.
but honestly?
anyone would recognize that hair.
steve harrington.
your entire body stopped.
what.
the.
fuck.
your brain completely blanked.
there was absolutely no way. no actual way.
you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.
his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.
you both stared at each other in complete shock.
then at the exact same time:
“you’re-”
you both stopped.
silence.
then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.
steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.
and honestly?
you couldn’t stop staring.
because somehow it made sense now.
the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.
oh my god.
you squinted at him suddenly.
“you don’t have a sister.”
his face immediately changed.
“…what?”
“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”
steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.
“yeah, okay, i lied.”
you stared then barked out a laugh.
“you use farrah fawcett spray?”
he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”
you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.
“okay, okay!”
his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.
god.
of course it was him.
steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.
then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.
“so…” he said slowly.
you looked back at him.
he pointed vaguely.
“uptown girl.”
you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.
you nodded once.
“…yeah.”
he huffed out another laugh.
for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.
you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.
still, eventually it got easier.
little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.
then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”
steve raised an eyebrow.
“someone like me?”
“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”
he scoffed softly, glancing away.
“fair.”
you smiled slightly.
then he looked back at you.
“didn’t expect you either.”
you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”
he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.
it made you laugh.
then suddenly he smirked.
“who says you won’t?”
you stared at him flatly.
he laughed quietly at your expression.
god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.
after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.
“i should probably head inside.”
steve nodded a little.
“yeah.”
“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”
you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.
“…friend” you finished quietly.
his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.
“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”
you started turning back toward the school.
then
“wait.”
you looked back.
steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.
“can this not be… like, the end?”
you blinked.
“huh?”
“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”
something warm twisted in your chest.
you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.
“do you have paper?”
he blinked at you.
“…obviously not.”
you rolled your eyes.
“do you at least have a pen?”
“maybe in my car.”
you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”
he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.
once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.
“ha” he said proudly.
you snorted before grabbing his wrist.
he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.
then realisation hit his face.
“oh.”
before writing anything, you paused dramatically.
“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”
steve smiled slightly.
“i’ll see what i can do-”
you gave him a look immediately.
“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”
“thank you.”
carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.
when you finished, you stepped back slightly.
then quietly, before leaving, you said
“you’re better than them, steve.”
his expression shifted immediately.
you smiled softly.
“much better.”
for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.
this one felt real.
you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.
and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.
-
walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.
the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.
which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.
one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.
“okay. what happened.”
you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”
“bullshit.”
“seriously.”
another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”
you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”
“then why do you look like that?”
“like what?”
“like you’re in love.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.
because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.
god.
if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.
yet here you were.
the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.
you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.
sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
-
somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.
the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.
actual alcohol this time.
which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.
still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.
eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.
the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.
“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.
then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.
steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.
you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.
he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.
you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.
when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.
“hey.”
“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”
“nothing.”
you stared at him.
“steve.”
“i’m serious.”
“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”
his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.
you sat beside him immediately.
for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.
then finally steve spoke quietly.
“i hope you’re right.”
you frowned slightly. “about what?”
he rubbed his palms together once before muttering
“about me being better than my friends.”
your expression softened instantly.
“what happened?”
he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”
you stayed quiet, letting him continue.
after a second he sighed again.
“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”
you immediately knew who “they” meant.
tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.
“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”
he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.
“i told them to stop.”
you looked at him carefully. “and?”
“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”
your jaw tightened immediately.
steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.
“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”
you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.
“so i left.”
he gestured vaguely around them.
“and here we are.”
you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.
you nudged his shoulder gently.
“they’ll probably get over it.”
steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”
that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.
“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”
you tilted your head. “then stop.”
“stop what?”
“being friends with them.”
he immediately gave you a look.
“you’ve literally said this before.”
“because i’m right.”
“i can’t just drop them.”
“why not?”
he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”
you snorted softly.
“weird for who?”
“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”
you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”
steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.
then silence settled again.
but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”
steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.
“c’mon, harrington.”
his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.
“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.
immediately your nose scrunched.
“gross.”
he laughed quietly.
“then i’ll come in.”
you nodded once.
“okay.”
you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that
-
break started almost immediately after prom.
suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.
and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.
at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.
which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.
sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.
you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.
you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.
sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.
one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.
it absolutely did not.
another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.
“how are you alive?”
then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”
you blinked against the phone.
“…out?”
“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”
your stomach flipped immediately.
“maybe the drive-in?”
there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.
“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”
he picked you up the next evening at six.
honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.
you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.
that made you smile more than it probably should have.
because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly
“i think i like being just steve better.”
you looked over at him softly.
then he smirked slightly.
“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”
you burst out laughing immediately.
god, you loved him.
well. not loved. probably, maybe.
okay maybe a little.
because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.
you and steve started hanging out constantly.
drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.
once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”
his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.
you’d never seen steve happier.
he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.
he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.
and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.
on your side?
you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.
absolutely not.
you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.
-
surprisingly, it did.
it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.
you already had plans with steve that night.
nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.
normal.
but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.
he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.
then he pulled into his driveway.
you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.
he still looked nervous.
your stomach tightened.
“steve?”
he swallowed once before speaking.
“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”
your expression softened immediately.
he laughed awkwardly under his breath.
“which is funny considering how we started.”
you smiled.
but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.
“and i want you to know i really like you.”
you stared at him.
“like really like you.”
he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”
your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.
“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”
“steve.”
he stopped immediately.
you laughed softly.
“i like you too.”
his eyes widened.
“…you do?”
you laughed harder now.
“obviously.”
the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.
he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.
“c’mon then.”
then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said
“close your eyes.”
you blinked. “what?”
“just trust me.”
laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.
he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.
eventually he stopped.
“okay.”
you opened your eyes and immediately melted.
the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.
“steve…”
he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.
“it’s cute” you said honestly.
“yeah yeah.”
you grinned harder.
the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.
mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.
after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.
you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
immediately his eyes opened.
before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.
and then he kissed you.
properly.
finally.
and god it was everything.
his lips were impossibly soft.
the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.
when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.
then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.
quietly, he murmured:
“i’m glad you decided to help me.”
you snorted softly against him.
“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”
he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.
eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.
and after that, everything naturally fell into place.
steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.
sometimes your people.
your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.
but steve around you was different.
and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.
- the kids know what love is because they've seen it through you and steve. based of this request
- cw: family trauma, minimum mentiones of fights and the hargrove men and papa (yuck.) found family vibes
2k+ words
For a group of six kids, they really had terrible odds when it came to love. Almost unfair odds, really.
Only Lucas had grown up watching a love story survive.
Not perfect, but real. His parents still danced together in the kitchen sometimes. Still looked at each other like partners instead of burdens. Still chose each other every day in a way the others had never really seen before.
The rest of them learned early that love left. That it screamed and hurt, or disappeares.
Max Mayfield still missed California sometimes.
Not because Hawkins was awful, at least not anymore. Hawkins had become home in its own strange, haunted way.
But California had been before.
Before Neil Hargrove. Before fear becoming something that lived permanently in her chest. Before she learned to listen for footsteps and slamming doors and changing tones.
There had been a time where her mom laughed more. Where dinner didn’t feel tense. Where love hadn’t looked dangerous.
The Hargrove men ruined that.
Billy inherited Neil’s rage like it was something carved into his bones, and Max grew up watching what happened when love became ownership instead of care. It permanently altered the way she viewed family. Because in Max’s experience, love was something that eventually turned mean.
Will Byers lost two fathers.
The first one emotionally long before he physically disappeared.
Lonnie Byers had never understood him. Never protected him. Will spent most of his childhood trying to take up as little space as possible around his own dad.
Then came Bob.
Sweet, gentle Bob Newby who made their house feel warm again for a little while.
Bob who smiled easily, listened, tried. Bob who made Joyce laugh in a way Will hadn’t heard in years.
And then Bob died too.
So eventually Will stopped believing father figures stayed.
Now the closest thing he had to one was Jonathan. His exhausted older brother trying to become a man too quickly because life demanded it from him.
Dustin Henderson remembered his dad more than people expected him to.
People assumed he was too young, but Dustin remembered everything.
He remembered sitting on his father’s shoulders at the fair when he was five. Remembered family movie nights. And worst of all he remembered the leaving.
The suitcase by the door and his mother crying quietly in the kitchen for weeks afterward. The way the house suddenly became smaller and emptier all at once.
Dustin learned young that people could promise forever and still walk away.
Mike Wheeler grew up in a house filled with passive silence. His parents weren’t explosive.
Sometimes he thought that was worse. Every conversation between them sounding tired.
Karen Wheeler fought out of frustration, desperate for someone to actually see her, while Ted Wheeler responded like a man waiting for the argument to end so he could go back to his recliner and television.
There was no cruelty loud enough to point at. Just indifference.
And Mike learned that marriage could become two people surviving beside each other instead of loving each other.
And then there was Eleven.
El had been raised by a man who called himself Papa while treating children like experiments.
Love, to her, had always come with conditions.
Obedience.
Isolation.
Pain.
Performance.
Dr. Brenner taught her that affection was something earned through usefulness. That protection meant control. That caring for someone meant owning them.
Even after finding Hopper, even after finally having a home, pieces of that fear stayed lodged inside her. And Hopper loved hard—sometimes too hard.
His protectiveness wrapped around El so tightly it sometimes felt difficult to breathe inside it.
She understood why. But understanding didn’t stop the suffocation.
Given everything they’d lived through, you would think the kids would grow up cynical. That they’d decide marriage was pointless. Because what was the point? You either lost the people you loved or they abandoned you. Or they hurt you until loving them felt unbearable.
So why bother?
Why give someone the power to destroy you?
Except… love did have a point.
And somehow, impossibly, the thing that taught them that was you and Steve.
Not because your relationship was perfect. But because it was healthy. And none of them had ever truly seen that before.
Lucas realized it first.
Or at least he realized it the clearest.
It happened after a fight with Max. A bad one.
Not screaming—Max rarely screamed when she was genuinely hurt. That was the problem. She just shut down. Went cold. Looked at him like she was already preparing herself to leave before he could leave first.
Lucas hated that look.
So he showed up at Steve’s house one evening while Steve was outside cleaning pool leaves.
Steve glanced up. “You look miserable.”
“I need girl advice.”
Steve dropped the skimmer immediately. “Oh, this is serious.”
Lucas rolled his eyes but sat on the edge of the pool anyway.
“I messed up.”
“What’d you do?”
“I forgot something important.”
Steve winced. “Anniversary?”
“Worse.”
Steve looked horrified. “How is there worse than anniversary?”
“Something about her mom.”
“Oh,” Steve said immediately, expression softening. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
Lucas sighed heavily. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Steve sat beside him quietly for a second. “You don’t fix it by defending yourself.”
Lucas frowned. “What?”
“You listen first. Like really listen. Don’t argue about intention when she’s trying to explain impact, you know,” Steve mentioned with shrug, like it was common sense to him.
Lucas stared at him.
Because no adult man had ever said something like that to him before.
Steve let out a sigh seeing as he wasn't following. “Sometimes people don’t need you to be right. They need you to care that they’re hurting.”
“And Y/N taught you that?”
Steve snorted. “Repeatedly.”
Lucas laughed despite himself.
Then Steve nudged his shoulder.
“If you love her, act like it when things are hard too. Anybody can love someone when it’s easy.”
Lucas carried that sentence with him for years.
Max had realized accidentally.
One evening she’d gone downstairs looking for water while staying over at your place.
Then she heard your voices in the kitchen.
Immediately she froze.
Instinct.
Years of listening carefully for danger.
You and Steve were arguing quietly about bills.
Max’s stomach tightened automatically, already bracing herself for sharp words and blame and the kind of tension that made your chest feel too tight. Something she understood too well.
Instead she heard you say softly, “you don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Steve.”
Steve exhaled shakily. “I know, I just— I like taking care of you.”
“And who takes care of you?”
Silence.
Then quieter, “you do.”
Max stood there in the hallway for a long time afterward. Because nobody had ever spoken like that in her house.
Not gently.
Not during a fight.
Not with concern instead of cruelty.
It genuinely unsettled her at first—the realization that conflict didn’t have to become violence.
That loving someone could mean trying to understand them instead of win against them.
Will noticed it in the smallest ways. Of course he did. Will noticed everything.
One rainy afternoon, the kids were all crowded inside Steve’s house after plans got ruined by a storm. Thunder rattled the windows while Dustin complained dramatically about boredom.
You weren’t there yet. Still at work. But Steve glanced outside once and immediately stood up.
Will watched him quietly.
Steve grabbed blankets from the hallway closet, tossed popcorn in the microwave, then started setting up the VCR in the living room.
Dustin blinked. “What’re you doing?”
“Movie night.”
“You hate rainy movie nights.”
“I do not.”
“You literally said they make you sleepy and depressed.”
Steve ignored him.
Then Will understood.
You loved rain.
Loved movies during storms specifically. Said rain made everything feel softer somehow.
Steve remembered without you even being there.
Will watched him dim the lights before casually saying you had rough shift today. And something in Will’s chest ached unexpectedly. Because Steve paid attention.
Not performatively, but naturally.
Like caring about you had become instinct.
Will had spent most of his life watching people miss each other completely. But you and Steve saw each other constantly.
Mike realized it late at night.
The Wheeler basement was loud that evening, everyone spread around after another near-disaster.
Eventually exhaustion took over.
At some point during the movie, you fell asleep curled against Steve on the couch.
Mike barely noticed until the credits rolled and Steve carefully shifted underneath you.
Not annoyed.
Just gentle.
He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stirred slightly.
Steve immediately whispered in your ear. “Go back to sleep, baby. I got you.”
And you did.
Trusted him enough to instantly relax again.
Mike watched Steve carry you upstairs slowly so he wouldn’t wake you.
And suddenly he thought about his own parents. About how his mom would’ve loudly shaken Ted awake instead. About how Ted would complain. About how affection in his house always seemed inconvenient.
But Steve looked at caring for you like it was an honor.
That realization stayed with Mike long after everyone else fell asleep.
El always knew. She was observant like that.
Always watching.
Always learning.
And there was no way she couldn’t notice the calmness surrounding you and Steve when the rest of the world constantly felt like it was moving too fast.
One afternoon she and Max had wanted to go to the arcade alone.
Steve immediately said no.
“Absolutely not.”
El crossed her arms instantly. “Why?”
“Because last time you two disappeared for six hours and nearly got arrested.”
“That was one time.”
“Yeah, it was one very long two month ago.”
You tried not to laugh while making coffee.
El expected the conversation to become a fight.
That’s what she knew. That's what Hopper would do.
Instead Steve crouched slightly to meet her eye level.
“I know you’re smart,” he said gently. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then why no?”
“Because something bad happens to you guys constantly and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
El frowned slightly.
Steve sighed. “I’m not trying to control you, El. I just… worry.”
You stepped beside him carefully.
“He wants you safe,” you explained softly. “He's not trying to limit you”
El looked between you both.
No anger or manipulation behind your words.
Just pure honesty.
Finally Steve added “if I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight at all.”
That made El smile a little. And for maybe the first time in her life, protectiveness didn’t feel suffocating.
It felt like love.
Without realizing it, you and Steve became something sacred to the kids.
A safe place.
The place they escaped to after bad nights at home. The people they called when things hurt too much. The proof that love could survive softness.
That it could be patient and kind.
The kids even started measuring relationships by you two without even meaning to.
One afternoon at lunch Lucas said casually that “if my future relationship isn’t like Steve and Y/N’s, I don’t want it.”
Max immediately threw a tater tot at his forehead.
But she didn’t disagree.
None of them did.
By summer, the Harrington pool unofficially became theirs again.
One Saturday afternoon the kids invited themselves over without warning. Not that you minded. Or weren't used to it.
You stepped outside carrying lemonade only to find complete chaos.
Dustin doing cannonballs (after being banned from backflips). Lucas and Max arguing over the singular pool floatie they had yet to pop. Mike was pretending not to splash El while very obviously splashing El. Will floating peacefully near the deep end with his eyes closed.
And Steve.
Steve standing in the middle of it all laughing so hard he could barely breathe after Dustin slid off the floatie Lucas finally managed steal from Max.
You leaned against the patio doorway watching them.
Your people.
Your strange little family stitched together through trauma and monsters and survival.
Steve looked over eventually, smiling immediately when he saw you.
That smile never changed after all these years. Still soft and certain.
“Babe,” he called. “Tell Dustin he’s banned from doing backflips.”
“I landed it!”
“You landed near it,” Steve argued.
It seemed as the world had finally decided to be gentle with all of you for once. As the sun dipped lower the kids laughed louder.
Somewhere between the pool water, the fading sunlight, and the warmth of everyone gathered together, the kids finally understood something they’d spent years trying to learn:
Love was never the thing that ruined people.
The absence of it was.
likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
what is it with the hendersons? — steve harrington
pairings: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader
summary: with eddie munson in hiding and hawkins spiraling, dustin starts acting strangely protective and very jealous about you and steve. because sometimes the real conflict isn’t the monsters, it’s a jealous little brother.
warnings: drugs mentioned, situation ship final boss, not proofread!
wc: 2.2k
a/n: you can read this on its own, but if you want a bit of context, you can check out here. english isn’t my first language so let me know any mistakes!
my steve harrington masterlist!/ part two? kind of
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
hawkins was a mess. again.
if you’re wondering, chasing your brother’s drug-dealer friend was not a smart decision, especially considering the police and literally the rest of hawkins were after him for the alleged murder of chrissy cunningham. but your brother is stubborn, so he dragged everyone along.
after finding the address of some super random, middle-of-nowhere house at steve and robin’s job, you all came to the conclusion that eddie was probably hiding there. and, unsurprisingly, dustin absolutely forced everyone to come.
“okay, well that’s settled. i guess he’s not here.” steve says after dustin rings the doorbell about a thousand times.
“eddie! it’s dustin!” your brother yells like he’s expecting an answer. “look, we just wanna talk, okay? no cops, i swear, we just wanna help.” dustin keeps banging on the door like a maniac.
“great, yeah. make sure everyone knows you’re here. maybe give them our names while you’re at it, idiot.” you lightly smack the back of his neck. “he’s clearly not there, okay?” there was no way the police were taking you in over this stupidity.
“hey, guys?” max calls out, pointing at a small shed next to the house.
“are we supposed to go in there?” you say, incredulous. how do you always end up in situations like this?
and you did. of course you went in.
“hello? is anyone home?” robin slowly opens the shed door and everyone follows her inside.
“what a dump,” steve says, looking around.
“obviously. it’s a shed.” you say, deadpan, watching him turn off his flashlight and grab a wooden oar. “steve, what are you doing?” you ask, confused.
“he might be in here.” he starts hitting some bags with his new weapon.
“then take the tarp off.” your brother next to you looks seriously alarmed.
“if you’re so brave, you take the tarp off.” steve shoots back.
god, what is this? are they in first grade?
“no one is taking anything off.” you scold them. “give me that.” you snatch the oar from steve.
“no, wait!” he tries to grab it back. “i need that, okay?”
“what could you possibly need an oar for?” you try to pull it away from him. at this point, you’d probably use it on him yourself.
“considering the fact that everyone in this room has nearly died a hundred times, personally, i don’t find it funny in the slightest—” he doesn’t even get to finish.
someone bursts out from under the tarp, jumping steve and slamming into him, sending you falling backward. “whoa!” dustin starts yelling like crazy.
“wait, wait, wait!” steve tries to reason with who is apparently eddie, but (as always, steve has zero survival instinct) he gets slammed against the wall, eddie threatening to slit his throat with a broken bottle.
“whoa, whoa, whoa, eddie, no!” dustin yells as you slowly get up from the floor. “it’s me. it’s dustin. this is steve. he’s not gonna hurt you, right, steve?”
“i will.” you aim your revolver firmly at eddie, the same revolver you’d kept in your car since ’83, when you found out there were monsters under hawkins.
“hey, no! wait!” dustin yells at you.
please. you weren’t actually going to shoot anyone. you weren’t even sure it was loaded. of course, eddie didn’t know that.
“drop it. now.” you stay firm. there was no way eddie munson was about to shove a bottle into steve’s jugular, right? …right?
“what are you doing here?” eddie looks like he’s shaking, and honestly you don’t know why. fear? adrenaline? oh my god, what if he’s high?
“we were looking for you.” dustin tells him, extending his hands toward eddie like that’ll calm him down. “we’re here to help,” robin finishes.
“eddie, we’re on your side.” wow, dustin. that definitely helps.
“and we definitely won’t be if you stab him with that, okay?” you step even closer. “drop it. i’m not asking.” you make yourself clear.
eddie stares at steve. or the broken bottle in his hand. who knows. but he lets it go.
which finally lets you put your gun away.
“jesus christ—” you hear robin say, like she can finally breathe again.
“you okay?” you walk up to steve slowly and rest a hand on his shoulder.
“yeah, yeah. i’ve been worse.” he says, touching his neck. “have you ever pointed a gun at someone?” he asks, a small smile on his face.
“god, no! i didn’t even know if it was loaded, i was about to panic!” you whisper harshly, teeth clenched.
“you did great. thanks.” he says, genuinely.
“yeah, sure.” maybe you stared at him a little too long, because suddenly you felt that pull again, like a wave calling you in, like at any second it could just grab you and drown you. so you broke eye contact. focus. there was a deeply traumatized guy talking to your brother right now.
after eddie explained everything he’d seen, and after you all explained that yes, he wasn’t crazy and yes, that kind of thing absolutely happened in hawkins, you promised you’d come back the next day with a plan to get him out of this. or at least try. optimism, right?
“i can’t believe eddie the freak munson threatened you with a bottle.” max laughs as you all get into the van to leave.
“don’t call him that.” dustin says it automatically, like muscle memory. he’s probably defended eddie so many times he doesn’t even think about it anymore. max doesn’t reply.
“let’s add that to the list of messed-up things that happen to me when i get involved in this stuff.” steve says, putting the van in reverse. to be fair, steve was a pretty good driver. if anyone asked.
“i can’t believe you did that!” robin says excitedly. “it was amazing. for a second i thought you were actually gonna shoot him.” she practically bounces in her seat behind you.
“i didn’t even know if it was loaded.” you laugh softly while buckling your seatbelt in the passenger seat.
“and? that doesn’t make it any less iconic! also, it was eddie munson! on what planet would i ever see you interacting with him?” robin is fully obsessed with the idea. she loves when worlds collide, like when she almost lost her mind watching e.t. and the alien recognized yoda from the star wars universe.
“i’ve talked to him before.” you say.
“what? when?” robin sounds genuinely shocked.
“yeah, when?” apparently this is news to dustin too.
“in high school. at the homecoming dance.” you definitely know where this is going.
“yeah, eddie offered her drugs.” steve continues the story, conveniently leaving out the part where you admitted you actually tried some.
“why do you know this?” dustin asks steve, offended. “why does he know this?” now he turns to you.
“why are you making such a big deal out of it? who cares? i told him.” you roll your eyes. this was not that serious.
“you told him?” his face is pure drama. “you told him?” like you just said the funniest joke he’s ever heard.
“god, dustin, what is wrong with you? it doesn’t matter!” max snaps, annoyed enough to pull her headband headphones off.
“it’s not that deep, man.” steve tries to calm things down.
“you shut up, no one’s talking to you.” dustin rolls his eyes. “yes, it is deep. why does he know and i don’t? i’m supposed to know this stuff, especially if it involves eddie! especially because i’m your brother!” he points at you.
“i’m gonna ignore you, okay? okay.” you roll your eyes and turn to stare out the window. there was no way you were about to fight over this nonsense. nothing dustin was saying made any sense.
dustin lets out a sarcastic laugh. “oh, so there’s definitely something going on between you two, right? now steve knows all these things about your life, huh? unbelievable!”
okay. maybe there was a way you’d fight.
“how do those things even connect!?” yeah, now you were mad.
“because he knows things i don’t!” dustin snaps back.
“what the hell is wrong with you!?” you turn fully toward him, ready to go.
the thing is, you two were way too similar. you know, both physics nerds, both obsessed with chocolate pudding, both reading an unhealthy number of books per week. but the problem was… you were too similar. including the endless stubbornness and the absolute refusal to ever lose. like, ever.
which is probably why this argument had already been going on for five minutes. and counting.
“hey, guys, stop.” you hear steve say, pretty far off, completely irrelevant to your fight.
“i just don’t get why you’d even talk about that! there’s nothing there! you don’t know anything!” you yell, furious.
“guys, hey! stop!” steve’s voice gets closer.
“well apparently i don’t know a lot of things, huh?” dustin laughs sarcastically.
“are you even listening to yourself!?” you shout.
“guys! shut the fuck up!” okay, now he yelled. that finally snaps you and dustin out of your argument bubble. “what is wrong with you two? seriously!” he scolds both of you. and somehow, yeah, you do feel scolded. like when your mom used to take away your dolls because you wouldn’t come down for dinner.
“whatever.” you and your brother say at the same time, crossing your arms and sinking back into your seats.
“see what you caused, steve?” robin rolls her eyes.
“w- what?” steve looks at her through the rearview mirror, genuinely confused.
after dropping robin and max off at their houses, you finally pull up to yours. hunting down missing people was way more exhausting than anyone would think.
“see you later, man.” steve turns to say goodbye to dustin, but dustin gets out and slams the door without even looking at him.
“god, what’s his problem?” steve whispers, rolling his eyes.
you just sigh. “i— i’m sorry, okay?” you close your eyes and sink into the seat. even then, you can feel him looking at you.
“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. it’s adolescence, you know how they get.” he brushes it off easily.
you let out a small laugh. “not for that. for the… you know, the fight.” honestly, you feel a little embarrassed.
“oh, that? don’t worry about it either, okay? it doesn’t matter.” and once again, with a smile, he makes it seem like nothing.
he always does that. you never really understood it. how nothing ever seemed like a problem to him. how he lived so calmly. like he had infinite patience.
“listen… i think lately… i don’t know, he’s kind of jealous?” you try to explain.
“jealous?” he scoffs, like the idea is impossible.
“he’s my only brother. i’ve basically only ever had eyes for him my whole life, because it’s not like i’ve had a lot of friends. especially not guy friends. and you know… you and i got kind of… close these past few years. i think he’s scared you’ll replace him or something.” you explain what you think is going on.
and again, he looks understanding. always understanding. “like anyone could ever do that.” he smiles at you.
“i know…” you smile back. “but i don’t think he sees it that way.”
he looks out the window, a small smile forming, then turns back to you. “you and i got close?”
“shut up. seriously, shut up.” you roll your eyes while laughing. and for a moment, you share a few laughs.
“listen, i’ll fix it, okay?” he says, looking at you with confidence.
you look at him, confused. “fix… what exactly?”
“the dustin thing. i’ll handle it, don’t worry.” he rests his hand on your thigh and gives it a small squeeze, reassuring.
and all you can do is stare at him. his soft, brown, puppy-like eyes. the confidence behind them. how you’ve never felt alone since he walked into your life. everything his eyes seem to promise. and damn, what a promise.
you honestly had no idea what this thing between you and steve even was. it’s not like you’d kissed or confessed your love or anything dramatic like that. but there was something there. something you both knew about. something so delicate and precious that neither of you dared to touch it. maybe out of fear. maybe out of hope. either way, it stayed untouched. right there.
untouched sounds beautiful. even if it means living with uncertainty.
“thanks.” you finally say.
“no, thank you. you know, for saving my life.” he smiles.
“i don’t think he would’ve actually hurt you.” you laugh.
his hand still hasn’t left your leg. “you never know. thank god you were there with your deadly weapon.”
“alright, harrington, stop making fun of me.” you roll your eyes.
“i’m not!” yeah. he totally was.
you look at him, a little dazed, for a couple more seconds. “good night.” you lean in and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “thanks again.” then you get out of the car fast enough that he doesn’t even get the chance to form a sentence. exactly like dustin did earlier.
steve just sighs, a strange tingle lingering on his cheek.
said i’m the love of your life (about a million times), steve harrington
steve harrington x fem!reader (7.6k words)
in which steve is trying really hard to become your boyfriend, but you keep rejecting him over and over — yet it doesn’t seem like you hate the idea of him. but that’s okay, because steve’s never been one to give up so easily.
or 3 times you reject steve and the one time you don’t.
warnings: reader is crazy oblivious, angsty with happy ending, jealousy, vecna’s curse (reader), kissing, yearning, dustin being a sap for most part, robin is lovely, slow burn, anxiety and depression, friends to lovers, shit ending
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
You sit on the comfy old couch on the Wheeler’s basement, left corner pretty much already belonging to you from the amount of time you come over. It would be weird in any other circumstance, except it’s all because of the little gremlins that you’re supposed to call teenagers that are spread out all over the room.
Dustin is sitting by the other end of the couch, munching contently on some chocolate in a way that almost makes you smile. Mike and Will are both on the floor, sitting snugly against the armchair to Dustin’s left. And Lucas lays stomach down in the middle of the basement, not paying much attention to the movie and seemingly more focused on the fashion magazine in front of him.
You’re smart enough not to question why he’s suddenly so interested in gap’s summer collection. You can assume why, as his mood is gloomier than ever due to having a silly fight with max again.
It’s not something to get worried about though, he’s a pretty sappy romantic kid and you’re sure he’ll get her back in no time.
The door opening sounds through the basement, steps following down the stairs as Steve comes into view.
He throws the bag of popcorn to the two boys by the armchair, ignoring Mike’s complaints as they land right on his face.
“A diet coke for the lady.” He hands the can to you smoothly, though your gaze stays focused on the movie.
“Mhm.” It’s enough of a thank you to him, knowing you too well to disturb your focused moment.
Fishing out the bag of peanuts from his pocket, he throws himself rather loudly to the spot on the couch beside you, smiling at your annoyed tap on his leg for him to be quiet.
Without saying a word, he opens the packet on his hands, picking out peanuts one by one and cracking the shells open before handing them to you.
“Aren’t you gonna eat some too?” You say after a moment of realizing they’re appearing on your hand way too fast for you to be sharing.
“No, i’m good.” He affirms, so gentle it makes you momentarily glance at him.
Except seems to have the same idea as you, eyes focused on your face as if he’d been staring for at least a little while. It makes you grow all hot, though you blame it on the july weather.
Shaking out a confused nod, you turn back to the tv. Refusing to ask why he’s doing this. You really don’t want to know the answer.
It’s not that Steve’s not a nice guy, he’s always been kind to you for all you know. But then again you never really interacted with him back in school.
He’s just been extra nice for the last couple of months, and you would love it. You would. Except to you he pretty much seems to be obsessing over getting someone to date. And you don’t want to be one of them, not when he’s doing it all to get over someone.
Besides, Nancy is a really nice girl and the last thing you want is to get yourself into some kind of rivalry with her. That’s not you.
While you’re distracted you don’t notice Lucas approaching Dustin, whispering something to him while pointing at the magazine from before.
“Will you two let us watch the movie? Jeese.” Steve grumps, throwing you a ‘are they serious?’ look, although you know he doesn’t really care.
“Yeah so, about that- we gotta go!” Dustin suddenly jumps up from the couch, excited in a rather suspicious way.
“What?” You frown.
“We’re so sorry but i just found like the perfect gift for Max and it’s on sale! I need to go get it before someone gets their grabby hands on it.” Lucas points to the golden necklace on the catalogue.
It is pretty, you can’t deny that.
“Ok well, you two don’t take long cause the sun’s setting soon.” It’s a bit weird to be sounding like one of their moms, but you’ve gotten used to it.
“Us four, actually.” Dustin cuts in, pointing to Mike and Will you look like they are just as confused as you.
“That must be some heavy necklace for you to need four of you to carry it.” Steve answers amusedly, as if he knows exactly what the boy is doing.
Damn them and their way of communicating. Sometimes you really believe they were separated in birth, even with the age difference.
“Dude, you seriously are so out of touch. We need an extra opinion in case there’s no necklaces left.” It’s some stupid excuse, but you’re too tired and hot to retaliate.
“Just don’t take long. Your parents will all kill us if they knew we let you out till late.” You give in easily, finding yourself to be way more accepting than Steve.
“Be back before 8 or i’ll come get you!” Steve exclaims as the teenagers start running up the stairs.
“Yes, mom!” Dustin yells sarcastically.
Steve huffs beside you, not moving even a bit even with the extra space on the couch now.
“Could’ve at least called me Dad. Mom.” He scoffs the end of the phrase out.
“Oh no, you’re definitely mom.” You giggle, more bubbling out of your chest at his faux offensed face.
“Am not!” He squeaks.
“You sure are very motherly towards them. Sound exactly like my Mrs. Wheeler scolding at them.” You poke his bicep jokingly.
He rolls his eyes, though a little smile is at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t for the next few seconds and you don’t wait to turn back to the tv.
“Does that mean you’re like the dad?” You freeze at his silly question.
Because he doesn’t mean for it to be silly and you don’t even have to process it to know it. He sure as hell doesn’t mean it in a ‘friendly divorced parents’ way.
“What?” You blurt, scraping your nails against the can on your hands anxiously.
He notices your demeanor, almost frowning but pulling the happy mask before his eyebrows get to pinch together.
“Like- cause i’m mom and all.” He laughs awkwardly. “We’re like their parents at the point with how much we babysit.”
“Right. Of course.” You smile tightly.
Your heart soars at the way he seems upset due to your dry tone. It almost makes you want to tell him that it’s okay, that you don’t mind it, that you wish you were actually a couple.
“I mean- i did feel like a dad with you bringing me a drink while i watch tv. You’d make a pretty good housewife.” Your eyes gleam when your comment lightens his smile.
“Look at us breaking stereotypes.” Steve muses, pretty teeth impossible not to look at when he smiles just for you.
You can only smile too, head leaning slightly back against the couch as your body feels suddenly aware that he’s close to you. Enough that your legs touch and your shoulders brush with every slight movement.
“I would make a nice housewife.” He affirms to himself, voice filled with ego.
“Yeah, don’t let it get to your pretty head.” You mock.
“You think i’m pretty?” He whispers, almost like a secret.
The air you’re about to let out catches on your throat, chest heavy in the worst best way. He’s so gorgeous - the most.
And you really want to feel it naturally, what he’s trying to give you. But you can’t. Because there’s always that little voice at the back of your head, like a string that makes you trip every time you try to go through the door that leads to him.
So you pull back, turning from his searching eyes and desperately trying to find something to say to make this less awkward.
“Oh look, Leia and Han are about to kiss for the first time.” Great. That so makes it better.
“Yeah.” Steve croaks after a moment.
It makes you want to dig into the couch, hide yourself inside the cushions until everything is okay. It makes it worse that he feels more hurt than angry at the rejection.
“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” He gets up, almost skipping steps as he goes up the stairs.
There’s a bathroom in the basement.
“Steve-“
“I’ll be right back.”
You dig your nails into the palms of your hands, feeling like a jerk and definitely lonely and weirdly not because of the empty basement. It’s for the best.
You’re tiring, he’d get tired. You’d tire him, is what you tell yourself to make it seem like a good decision.
He only comes back to tell you he’s picking the kids up, not quite looking you in the eye but acting like normal all over again. Almost as if he still wants to be overly nice to you. Still opens the car door for you. Still puts on your favorite radio station.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
“I just really have a feeling that he likes someone.” Robin rambles while organizing the mountain of tapes on their correct shelves.
“Steve?” You ask, shuddering a bit at the thought.
“Yeah, i mean- he hasn’t told me about any recent date. But then again i might have just made him think i don’t care about those.” She looks slightly apologetic as she says.
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that.” You reassure, rubbing her arm comfortably as you come closer to help sort.
Robin hums, putting on the expression she has when she’s trying to remember something.
“He did tell me about this girl. I didn’t think much of it at first but now that i’m thinking, he hasn’t mentioned anyone after that.” You try to process her words, trying to hide the way your stomach drops.
“And like he didn’t wanna reveal her identity. But he said it was someone he’s know for a long time, that he thought he finally found his person.” She goes on before adding, “‘said she’s different from other girls.” She scrunches her nose at the phrase.
“Oh yuck.” You laugh with her, forgetting the problem in question for a moment.
“So original of him, right?” Robin bumps her hip with yours.
“Please tell him to never confess to her by saying that.” You smile through it.
Then it hits you. Someone he’s known for a long time. He thinks she’s the one. Nancy.
“Actually, i was thinking you could talk to him.” She puts out, raising her eyebrows in question.
“Me?” You’re more confused than ever. Why would you need to speak to him? He can like whoever he wants to like. None of your business.
“As much as i want to find out who it is, i don’t think i’ll get it out of him. He acts all weird whenever i talk about it. And you’re his best friend, too. Maybe you could help him out.” She explains, though it seems like she’s holding back.
You’re Steve’s best friend. Did he say that? You hope he did.
It’s not a good idea that he might still be in love with Nancy. She’s got a boyfriend and they’re happy together.
“I guess that makes sense.” You agree, “Nancy would probably be upset if he tried something right now.”
“What?” Robin practically gasps.
“He seems like he wants to make a move, doesn’t he?”
“No, no, no- that’s not-“ Her eyes widen as she speaks, but the bell makes a loud noise as the store’s door opens, interrupting her mid sentence.
Steve smiles widely at you both, “I’m back!” As if you can’t see him right there.
It makes you smile a bit more, more so when he looks right at you. “You’re here. Hi.” He sounds rather excited about it.
“Yeah, Robin said i should keep you company since you’re covering for her.” You tell him.
“That’s nice of you, thank you.” He says.
“‘Course, it’s nothing.” You wave him off, sticking your hand into your pocket as you forget what to do with your hands.
“Okayyy…” Robin drags the word, leaving some kind of suggestion in the air. “That’s my cue to head out for a date with my lovely lady.” She bows dramatically.
“Yeah, okay. Brag.” Steve teases, though you see it in his smile that he loves that she’s happy.
“Bye, Rob. Have so much fun.” You receive a happy thumbs up before she’s out the door.
You smile to yourself, sorting through the tapes as you feel Steve come to stand beside you and let out a big breath before getting to work. Dramatic.
“Had fun with Buckley?” He asks, glancing at you with his soft deer eyes.
“I sure did. She’s much less boring than you.” You tease.
He brings his hand to his chest, “Oh wow, you wound me.” While giving you his best pout and it make it even harder for you to keep the friendly act going. “You totally love my company.”
“You’re okay.” You give in, refusing to look him in the eye as you know it’d crack your smile in one second. He notices.
“Did you have lunch?” He blurts randomly, as if remembering something.
“Uh- not yet, no.” You look at him amusedly.
“I brought you that sandwich you like, the one with the pretty wrapping. Cause, you know, i went there for lunch and i thought it would be nice.” He confesses nervously.
“Thanks, Steve.” You give in the urge to squeeze his bicep, your usual and mutual understanding thank you.
You let the comfortable silence fill the store, empty of customers due to it being lunch time.
Thoughts gear through your head, trying to put whatever you’re about to say in the right words so they don’t come out in a way that makes you look like a jerk.
Why couldn’t Robing be the one to speak to him? God, you feel like a mom having the conversation with her kid for the first time.
“So, there’s something i kinda need to talk to you about.” You start, words uneasy.
Steve nods slowly, as if processing. “‘Kay.” He urges you to go on.
“Robin tells me you like someone.” And fuck, you probably weren’t supposed to tell him she said that. Some good start you just picked for yourself.
“She does?” His expression seems to flicker with panic for a moment, before he practically shakes out of it and changes it into a confused one.
“Yeah, and i know it’s really none of my business but as your friend-“
“Best friend.” He corrects naturally.
“As your best friend,” The words feel nice to say, coming out too easy for the conversation you’re trying to have. “i feel like i have this duty to tell you when i think you’re gonna make a stupid decision. You know?”
Now he looks actually confused, eyebrows pinched together and thoughtless look. “Sure?”
“This to say that i understand you’re still on her,” It feels impossible to let her name out. “But i don’t think it’s a good idea to do something about it, quite unfair if i can be honest with you.”
“Wait, what?” He practically squeaks, dropping the tapes back in the cart. You try to understand why he’s avoiding it, but there’s no reason that comes to mind.
“Nancy.” You decide to be direct.
“Nancy? I’m not following, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls out his tongue easily and it leaves you in absolute despair.
“You’re thinking on making a move, are you not?” You try to have him catch up.
“No! I don’t know why Robin told you that, i really don’t. But i’m not doing anything with Nancy, there’s nothing with Nancy. Seriously.” He seems truthful enough as he speaks and you hate yourself for not fully believing him.
“But you like someone?”
He hesitates, “I do.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry for assuming, Robin didn’t actually say it was Nancy.” You give him a guilty quirk of the lips.
“That’s okay.” He reassures, sweet as always.
Steve shuffles on his feet, opening his mouth a few times as if he’s about to say something a but never seeming to muster the courage. You give him time.
“This girl-“ He cuts himself off, words coming out in a harsh breath, “she’s amazing. The most amazing girl i’ve ever met. And even though i have known her for a good while, i’ve looked at her with different eyes for the last few months.”
Your breath catches, you start to understand his words. Hate and love is what you have for them, no in between.
“She’s a breath of fresh air, although i do seem to be out of breath whenever she’s around. She’s the best with the kids, probably more caring than me. Has really good taste in music and movies - i wouldn’t have gotten this job if she didn’t make me decorate the name to every Star Wars movie.” He laughs but it seems more like relieved sigh.
You feel stuck to the ground, eyes wide and motionless. You don’t encourage him to go on, but he takes your silence.
“And most of all she makes me not care about what others think. Makes me wanna be a good person and nothing else.” He finishes, carefully leaning closer without stepping towards you.
You didn’t think this would happen like this, thrown right on your face like some splash of freezing water that leaves you freezing on the spot.
He’s lovely, his words are everything you’ve ever wanted to hear. But you’re filled with dread, because you know what’s about to come and you’re going to reject it.
“What do you say?”
It’s complicated, you’re not sure why you want to say no. You don’t fully believe him for one. It’s not fair to make him have someone who has doubts by his side.
“No.” You state, simply.
“What?” He asks, straightening up immediately and drily gulping.
You laugh, but it’s really more cause you don’t know what to say. “There’s no way you actually think we’d work.”
“Why not?” He sounds defensive, “I do think that, i think about it everyday.” His voice is more hurt than anything now.
“Steve, this is crazy. We’re best friends. No way.” You shake your head.
“Did you just hear all that i said? I don’t wanna be your best friend - at least not just that.” He exasperates, searching for your eyes when you refuse to look at him.
“Now, this was the kind of stupid decisions i was talking about a moment ago.” You scoff.
You’re trying to play it cool, but it’s like he sees right through it. He reaches for your hand, loosely enough that you can let go of it if you want.
“It’s not a stupid decision. If anything, it’s the best decision in think i’ve made in a while.” His thumb brushes your knuckles.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, eyes feeling with tears at the confrontation.
He frowns, “Tell me you don’t like me.”
“What?”
“Tell me you don’t like me back and i’ll leave you alone.” He asserts, focused on making it work.
“Steve, that’s not the point.” You say desperately, “I’m not your usual, you’re interested by this idea of me because we’re close and you want someone.”
“Wow, that’s what you think of me?” He looks truly offended now.
You purse your lips, feeling unfair for acting like this. “No, i’m sorry.”
“But we’re so different, truly different. And i don’t think there’s anything you can do right now to change my mind.” You want to reach out and pull him into a hug, but it really wouldn’t be a good idea right now.
“Sweetheart-“
You’re saved by the door opening, two clients coming in. Steve looks the most disappointed. But not angry, and that’s always a relief.
“I’m just- gonna get onto that sandwich while you take care of that.” You look apologetically at him, smiling at him to try amend the situation.
“Yeah- sure.” He rubs his temple for a second before turning away from you.
You’re certainly a jerk after that. But it’s only a few days later when he starts acting normal again, sweet as usual towards you and keeping you close as his best friend.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
A weird shiver runs across your back as you enter the abandoned house, even more when the big group turns into just you and Steve. The idea of the group being separated turns your stomach.
The flashlight on your hand doesn’t feel enough to light your path through the somber hallways, headache tingling on your temples as you try to find anything useful.
It’s not that things have been weird with Steve, which they have, but they’ve been weird with everyone. You lack the energy to try and even have a conversation with anyone. If you were to be honest, you’re not even sure why you’re here because your mind is all but up to having ideas that will actually help find Vecna.
It started a few weeks ago. The ultimate feeling of emptiness, like everything and everyone is moving and you’re stuck on the same spot. All the things happening in Hawkins don’t help your case either. Eddie being accused of being a murderer, sweet Chrissy’s death, Max almost being sentenced to that end too.
You don’t feel like you have a major thing ruining your life and making you miserable, but you feel sad even without it. And that leaves you to wallow in self pity and to think you aren’t anything but selfish. There are people who are in real danger around you and all you can think about is your unreasonable sadness.
The conversation at Radio family was a few months ago, not that you feel the need to track it. You thought you could pull yourself together after it, told yourself all you needed was time to get over it.
But all you can think about when he’s kind to you, when he brings you food, when his hand brushes your arm while he’s standing next to you — is that he actually mistakes it for real feelings for you. And the worst of it all is that you find yourself enjoying it, the idea of him loving you. Selfishly you wish he’s still confused, hoping he sometimes thinks about you at night like you think about him.
You feel his stare burn into the back of your skull as you walk slightly ahead of him, avoiding to walk beside him and having to make small talk.
The old wood board floor cracks under your shoes, filling the awkward silence that creates a barrier between the both of you. You stop in front of some type of wardrobe with glass door, pointing inside with your flashlight to get a look at what’s inside.
Steve keeps his distance, seemingly looking at the rest of the furniture in the room. “Someone sure liked bugs.” His face is scrunched when you turn to see, light pointed at a few glass jars with dead bugs inside it.
Your stomach turns at the sight, displeased but acknowledging hum ripping through your throat.
A small smile forms on his lips, “Scared?” He wiggles one of the jars, though the way he keeps it away from his body tells you he’s terrified.
In another occasion you think you would’ve made fun of him, teasing him relentlessly for being scared of dead bugs inside a jar.
“No, just gross.” You settle for answering, shrugging your shoulders without much emotion.
“Right.” He sighs, setting the jar down slowly before brushing his hands against his jeans. He stands a bit awkwardly, even more clueless than you about what to look for.
Your head aches all around, pressuring your eyes and temples.
You hear Steve hum to himself, a slight bored look as he seems to do it almost without noticing. He flicks the ruffles on a curtain with his fingers, immediately regretting it as dust spreads in the air and right on his fingers. You find yourself stifling a smile against your palm, realizing now you might have missed his antics a bit too much.
Palming his pocket, Steve pulls out a pack of gum that you know he carries around with him. You watch him awkwardly play with it after fishing one out for himself, taking a step towards you in false confidence after a second.
“Want some?” His arm reaches out to signal for you to take one, not leaving you much option but to accept it. Not that you could get yourself to anyway.
“Sure.” You reach to grab it, cursing when your fingers hit the it with too much force and it tumbles out of his hold.
Both of you bend to pick it up at the same time, but you’re the one who regrets it immediately. You don’t know if it’s because of the way his fingers graze yours or because of the hot liquid that starts running down your nose.
You flinch away immediately, head knocking against his forehead with force and making you stumble back with a pained groan.
“Fuck- i’m sorry!” He exclaims, a groan escaping his lips too as he reaches to touch his forehead with his fingers.
The hit makes your headache even stronger, eyes closed in attempt to make it go away. Although you’ve know for a while that it won’t. That’s also been going on for a few weeks, paired with nightmares that leave you sweaty and terrified to ever sleep again. It feels impossible to ever have a good dream again, not when your living life feels like a nightmare itself.
“Are you okay?” Steve’s panicked voice reaches your ears over the high stinging noise of your own head, eyes trying to get a good look at your face that you’ve turned away from him.
“‘M fine.” You try to dismiss, lifting a hand that helps nothing with keeping him away.
“Hey, don’t do that.” You know he means pulling away, grabbing you by the arm and gently pulling you to face him when you don’t necessarily go against it. “You’re bleeding.”
You’re reminded by why exactly you stood up so fast, and as if on cue the blood running from your nose touches your lips. He looks alarmed at the sight, eyes wide with worry and hands around your biceps with the most featherlight touch — you almost think you might be imagining him touching you.
“Here-“ Steve moves without thinking, stretching the fabric of his shirt sleeve so it covers his whole hand and bringing it to your nose.
His shirt will probably be stained forever, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it the least, cleaning the area around your nose like it’s his second nature to be attentive. He taps your skin with care, covered thumb brushing your lips to wipe the blood and lingering for a second too long.
Your hand rests on his arm as if it’s a natural instinct, watching the way his throat bobs when he accidentally pulls your lips open with a rather clumsy wipe and you grip his shirt lightly. “Sorry…” He mumbles, not needing to speak at a proper tone when standing so close, “for that and for hurting you.”
“Hurting me?” You throw him a confused look.
“Dunno if you remember but i hit you so hard your nose started bleeding just a second ago.” He tries to tease, smile tugging at his lips.
“I hit you.” You reason, huffing at the way he’s so sweet about it. Ready to take the blame when it’s not supposed to be his. “And-“ It was already bleeding before i hit you, is what you wish but step back from saying.
You don’t want him to think this is just like other people, the ones who get headaches and nosebleeds and visions and then get cursed and bones snapped to death. You can’t possibly be going through that — can’t believe you’re going through that.
“And it’s fine, anyway.” You settle for saying, brushing the possibilities off.
Steve hums, brows pulled into a frown that tells you he doesn’t necessarily believe you. But he doesn’t pressure you and you feel guilty for making him feel like he can’t do it just a little, like a best friend would out of worry. You’re quite sure all the pushing away and closing yourself off from him have taken a tool on making him think he can’t ask you about things.
You become too aware of how close he’s standing to you and how he takes in your features with soft eyes like he hasn’t been able to take a look at you in ages. Subconsciously, you tug his arm away and look at your feet.
He’s hit with how intimate the moment might have looked, arm dropping to his side as his mouth moves exasperatedly trying to find the right words. “I wasn’t trying anything, i swear.”
You know he wasn’t, Steve would never. Not after you told him not to, that’s not who he is. You just couldn’t handle it.
The gears in your head move as you try to keep yourself together, “Let’s just keep looking, Steve. Please.” You practically begging, eyes looking at his face for once.
“Of course.” He relents easily.
You’re taking steps away from his as soon as the words leave his mouth, flashlight on again as you suddenly find the celling so interesting. A simple excuse to have you look up and stop the tears from fully forming and falling down your face. Because why would you even cry?
The background noise of Steve’s presence suddenly disappears, you’re too embarrassed to look back and make sure he’s there.
The same shiver from earlier leads its way up your spine and forms a cold sweat. A clock ticks from the corner of the room, making your turn towards it with a gasp. That wasn’t there before.
And Steve, who was there just a moment ago, isn’t anymore. A panicked whimper pulls through your mouth, heart beating so hard against your ribcage you think it might crack a rib.
Cracking bones. You can already see it. Your own body getting the future it’s destined to have.
A hand finds your shoulder with a shake, pulling you out of what you can’t call a daze — because it feels more like a living nightmare. Steve calls your name, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
You breathe in with force, ignoring the sweat that’s starting to drip down your back. “Yeah, i’m good.”
It gets harder to lie by the minute. You pretend to observe the empty corner of wall that just had a clock stuck in it.
He sighs from his spot behind you, “You can speak to me. You know that, right? Because i’m your friend, i want to be your friend.” He tries, as if he’s been holding back from speaking the whole time, “And i worry, so much it hurts. I’m sorry that i acted so impulsively before — but i’m not sorry for feeling it.” Not sorry for loving you.
“I know i can.” You nod, “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to make it weird, there’s just so much going on.” But you leave out everything else.
Steve waits for you to say something else, but it doesn’t come. You do your best at throwing him a warm smile, “This place just creeps me out, that’s all.”
He agrees, “That’s putting it lightly.”
You bounce slightly on your feet, not sure on what to say. It’s turned into this when you’re around him, awkward conversations and things left unsaid.
“C’mon, we should get some ice for your nose. I’m sure they’ve done enough searching for today.” He motions for the door with his head.
“Yep.” You walk ahead, once again ahead of him. It would make it harder to have his arm around your shoulder like it once was normal.
The imminent future makes it impossible to think of it as enjoyable. Him loving you means getting left without you, because your headache is stronger than ever, your nosebleeds are more intense and you think you’ve just had what all the victims had before they died — a vision.
Steve watches you refuse to walk beside him, finger coming to touch the spot on his shirt that’s stained with your blood.
☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩
It happens fast, too fast. One moment you’re with your friends, setting up a trap with Robin while Steve and Dustin bicker on the back about something you’re too tired to pick up on. The next, just as you reach down to pick up a tool, everything feels darker.
They all look at you wrong. Even Dustin, who’s ever so sweet to you, has his eyes set on you with an uncharacteristic angry expression.
At first you believe it, as if your mind has been telling you to wait for the moment they all call you out for your bullshit. Warning you that they have every reason to turn against you.
When Steve speaks you think your heart might beat out of your chest, harsh words slicing you like a knife against your back. Yet his voice doesn’t seem his, a rough undertone and malice that isn’t Steve’s — not even when he’s mad.
You feel stupid once you realize what’s happening, recognizing the cloudy sky that erupts with red thunder that Max has told you about. So you run ignoring the calls from your friends, because you know they aren’t real.
The day that you’ve known was coming is finally here, the dread on your stomach turning into the drop of it at the knowledge of what’s going to happen next. And the worst part is that it’s only now that you feel guilty for not telling anyone. About the headaches, about the nosebleed, about the nightmares.
A droplet of sweat makes it’s way down your forehead as you move as fast as your feet allow you to, thinking about how confused everyone probably is. Because how could they have known?
You hate the choice you made of not allowing yourself to process it. You wish you would’ve told your friends how much they matter to you, how it’s not their fault that you feel miserable. You think about telling Steve that you were just so scared of exactly the situation what you’ve come to be in that you couldn’t allow yourself to love him at your fullest.
It’s not like you know why you didn’t tell them. Was it because you were scared? Or was it really just knowledge of what you were designed to go through?
The anxiety building in your chest makes it harder to breathe, slowing you down in the process.
You feel helpless and alone, trapped in a part of your mind with your worst nightmares. A vine wraps around your ankle and yanks you with force to the ground, elbows erupting with pain as soon as you hit it.
But it doesn’t compare to what you feel once you spot him, the creature that you’ve all been looking for a long time but that you wish was nowhere in sight now.
You claw at the death grip of the vines around your ankles, clumsily making an effort to regain your blood circulation as a sob escapes your mouth. Tears fall down your eyes and across your cheeks at the sight of them not budging.
He calls your name, to which you shake your head with a shaky breath and try your hardest to ignore. Even when you feel yourself slide through the ground as the vines pull you towards him.
You can’t run from what’s been planned for you. It sounds through your head like a reminder, leaving a ringing on your ears.
The last thing you want to do now is give up, not without getting to tell everyone everything you want to say. You refuse to leave like this.
And it’s like some force seems to hear you, a familiar melody sweeping through somewhere around you. It’s your favorite song, the one you’ve heard countless times on your walkman and that you take the liberty to turn up the sound of the radio when in Steve’s car.
It brings a warm feeling in contrast to the cold that surrounds you.
Distracted, the grip on your leg loosens. With a swift movement, you slide the vines off of you and scramble to your feet. This time it feels freeing when you run, towards the sound and the image of your friends.
They’re right there, so close. You can see them looking up at your floating figure, voices panicked as they call for you.
So you fight against your sore ankles until they reach their limit and you’re falling again, but this time you have arms around you as you reach the ground.
You’re breathing heavily when you come back to reality, frantically looking around to make sure you made it. Steve has his arms secured around you as he situates you between his legs with his chest pressed to your back, his voice cracking once he says your name.
“You’re okay— i’ve got you. It’s okay, baby. I promise.” His mouth is close to your ear as he speaks, reassuring you over his own worries. “I’m right here, not letting you go anywhere.”
A sob bubbles out of your throat and you grip onto the arms around you, probably a bit too tight — to which he doesn’t complain. Your chest heaves with struggle to breathe, tears clouding your vision as they fall down your face.
You feel him press a hand to your chest, “Can you take deep breaths for me?” The touch grounds you as you nod in agreement. “Come on. There you go, honey.”
His heart beats at an erratic pace against your back, you can tell he’s trying his hardest to be calm for you. “Steve.” Your voice is hoarse, fingers shakily grabbing his that are still pressed to your chest.
“Yes, ‘m right here.” His voice breaks mid sentence, tone desperate.
“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, breathing starting to feel like an easier task.
“No don’t say that,” You can picture him shaking his head even without seeing him. “Look at me.” Steve turns you in his arms, never letting go of you.
“This is not your fault, okay?” He’s cupping your face with gentle hands, eyes red and teary as his lips turn into the saddest pout you’ve seen. It almost gets you to smile.
He brushes your tears away, “Does anything hurt? Tell me, baby.” Eyes inspect at your face.
You shake your head with a sniff, wincing slightly as the cold wind hits your arms. “No.”
“Here.” He’s quick to take off his jacket, draping it around your shoulder and helping the sleeves into your arms. “All good.” His smile is forced but a good way of lightening the mood.
Not satisfied yet, Steve pulls you into his arms once again for a proper hug now. He ignores then way your knee pushes into his thigh a bit too hard, pressing you as close as possible with his nose buried in your hair. You slump your weight onto him, hands sprawled on his back as you press an impulsive but small kiss to his neck.
He sighs, “Oh my god.” The whisper comes out before he can stop it, more to himself than anything else as he finally relaxes. As if still in disbelief of the whole situation that just hit him like a truck.
You stay in his arms for a moment longer, only letting go when Robin and Dustin come back from filling the others in through the walkie.
“Thank god you’re okay.” Robin smiles with worry all over her face, pulling you into a bear hug that Dustin joins into. She drapes an arm over your shoulders as you walk to the car, sharing the worry of leaving you alone.
Steve stops you before you get on the backseat, hand to your bicep protectively. “Stay at my house?” You don’t have it in you to deny.
“We’re going too.” Dustin quips as if it’s a given.
For once, Steve doesn’t answer with a remark.
He helps you in even when you protest, pulling your seatbelt on. For the whole ride there your head rests on Robin’s shoulder, sharing occasional glances with Steve as he looks at you through the rear view mirror.
Once you arrive at his house, it’s not long before the others show up. They elaborate plans, ones that you feel too exhausted to pay attention to but try your hardest to. You notice the way they keep a close eye on you, not letting you be alone in any occasion.
And as they settle on his living room, Steve grants you some privacy as he pulls you into his bedroom. The offer of a shower is something you can’t deny, fresh clothes that belong to him awaiting for you after.
You leave the bathroom with your hair still wet, dripping on his shirt on your torso. He’s right there, laying out blankets on the floor beside the bed.
“Hey, do you feel better?” He’s worried and looking at you with wide eyes.
You shrug, “Shower felt good.”
Steve nods, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t. “I hope it’s okay that i sleep here— i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone.” He shifts awkwardly as he speaks.
“It’s okay.” You smile, slightly endeared.
It’s not that you think you’re going to get much sleep. But being alone right now is the last thing you want. You’re not even sure if you’re out of the woods yet.
Settling inside the covers of his bed, you hear him sit on the floor against the bed over the blankets. You don’t think he intends to sleep at all.
You try to sleep, you really do. But the fact that he’s right there after months of not allowing yourself to be close to him is killing you. So you move without thinking, finding yourself taking a seat beside him without saying a word.
He doesn’t budge, contemplating.
“I love you.” Steve cuts through the silence, frowning as if it pains him to.
Air gets caught in your throat, “What?”
“You told me i just needed someone. Maybe i do. But that someone is you, and i’m more sure of it now than ever.” Guilt forms in your stomach at your harsh words from before. He remembers. Word by word.
“You don’t love me, Steve.” You start with a shake of your head. “Not that way. Because it would never work.”
“Why not?” He exasperates sadly.
You don’t answer, turning your head away once you feel the tears build up.
“Stop doing that.” He’s gentle even when frustrated. “Why do you do it? You tell me you don’t want it yet i see the way it hurts you to say it.” A hand slips to your cheek, angling towards him.
“Because— you have this idea. Your whole suburban dream. I can’t give you that, it’s not me.” You brush your eye with frustration.
He gulps the lump in his throat away, “Don’t you get it? I want whatever you want. Whatever you want. I will do it. Because it wouldn’t make sense otherwise, not to me. I would do anything you want me to do, sweetheart.”
You feel tired of hiding it, the need you feel to have something with him. Tired of pretending you don’t want it as if something is holding you back from it. Your own mind, your own insecurities, your own doing.
So you don’t stop yourself this time. Your lips press to his in a long waited kiss, fingers grabbing his shirt by the chest. Steve hums in surprise but doesn’t pull away, hands coming to hold your face in a ghost gentle touch.
His heart beats fast against your hand, his nose bumping against yours when you smile against his lips.
“I love you, Steve.” You allow yourself to say.
“I know.” He references, smug smile full of affection. His face is still leaning towards yours, giving you a good look at his shiny eyes.
There’s no doubt he does too.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, “For the things i said. And for pulling away.”
“Don’t be.” He reassures. “Didn’t deserve to have you just— whenever i wanted to. I shouldn’t have expected you to just take it. I needed you to know for sure that i love you. And if that meant i had to fight and wait, i’d do it. I did. I’d do it again. I love you.”
Steve’s thumb brushes against the pulse on your neck, leaving you space to lean against him.
“You’re still my best friend.” You mumble, head slumping on his shoulder.
“Don’t want it any other way.” A kiss to your head, then a pause. “We’re gonna get through this. You’re gonna be okay.”
You believe him through the doubt, humming against his collarbone.
“Sleep. I’m right here, baby.” The smooch he presses on your forehead is comforting, his hands pulling you down to lay against the blankets.
You fall asleep with your ear pressed to his chest, hand laying on his stomach as he hugs you close.
Steve doesn’t sleep, eyes wide through the whole night as you rest against him.
|| desc - steve is well and truly in love with you, he always has been, but you couldn't seem less interested in his eyes. this leads him to think you must just be immune to his charm (impossible) or fine being single. truth is you're neither of those things, your simply oblivious, as is he too apparently.
val speaks - get it get it i did a spin on 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' haa so funny basically just excited for this album 😋😋 enjoy babas !! ++ this is another steve fic without much of the actual stranger things plot (as in the upside down) bc i loved the one i did like that the other day he he
basically a childhood friends to lovers even tho they've secretly always been lovers slowburn w some cluelessness 😁
word count: 8.3k
the first thing anyone ever knew about steve harrington was that he was loud.
not loud in volume, though he could be, especially when he laughed so hard milk came out of his nose at age eight because you told him the punchline to a joke wrong on purpose, but loud in presence.
even as a little boy, steve had always seemed to fill every room he walked into, every backyard he ran through, every sidewalk he skidded his bike tires across. he was all scraped knees and crooked grins, wild hair that never sat flat no matter how much water he slapped on it, and a habit of speaking before he thought, then somehow charming his way out of whatever trouble that got him into.
and somehow, from the very beginning, wherever steve was, you were too.
your mothers liked to joke that before either of you could even walk, you’d already claimed each other. two little babies in matching sun hats sitting in paddling pools in neighbouring gardens, grabbing at each other’s hands with sticky fingers and refusing to settle unless you were side by side. apparently, steve used to cry when your parents took you inside for naps, little fists clenched, cheeks red, angry at the universe for daring to separate him from his favourite person.
some things never really changed.
you grew up attached at the hip in the kind of way people only are when history roots itself so deep between them that pulling apart would feel like tearing skin.
you learned to ride bikes together, both of you wobbling dangerously down your street while your dads shouted instructions that neither of you listened to.
steve crashed first, straight into a hedge, and you laughed so hard you tipped over too. he came out with leaves in his hair and a branch caught in his shirt collar, grinning like an idiot, and before he even checked his own scraped elbow, he was kneeling beside you asking if you were okay.
that was steve.
always checking for you first.
there were summers spent so thoroughly tangled together they blurred into one endless golden memory.
afternoons in his parents’ pool until your fingers wrinkled and your skin smelled permanently of chlorine, competitions to see who could hold their breath longest underwater, cannonball contests that ended with his mother yelling because water splashed onto her expensive outdoor furniture.
nights where you slept over so often that both houses stopped asking questions, your toothbrush permanently living in the bathroom connected to steve’s bedroom, one of his old shirts becoming your designated pyjama top.
you built blanket forts in his room and swore they were castles. you made secret handshakes that changed every month. you whispered under covers with flashlights when thunderstorms rolled in, talking about stupid things and serious things and everything in between.
you saw every side of each other.
the ugly sides too.
you saw steve cry the first time his dad called him a disappointment.
you saw him go quiet after, quieter than should’ve been possible for a boy like him, shoulders tense and eyes glassy as he sat on your bedroom floor staring at nothing.
you sat beside him and said nothing at all, just leaned your shoulder against his until he leaned back.
that became your thing.
when his parents fought, he came to your house.
when his father got cruel, he came to your house.
when business trips left that giant empty house colder than winter, he stayed at your house, eating dinner at your table and laughing with your parents like he belonged there, because he did.
your mother kissed the top of his head when he looked especially worn down, your father taught him how to fix things in the garage.
your home became the place he exhaled and you became the person he always looked for first.
always.
through bad haircuts and braces and acne and awkward limbs that grew too fast for your bodies to catch up, you stayed constant.
until high school came and suddenly, painfully, neither of you were awkward anymore.
you grew into yourself quietly, like spring unfolding. pretty in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but stole it anyway.
soft eyes that noticed everything. a laugh that was rarer now, but warm enough to make people chase it. intelligence that shone bright and effortless. kindness that lived in every small thing you did. helping someone pick up dropped books, remembering birthdays nobody else did, always offering your notes to the kids who missed class.
you were beautiful in the sort of way people didn’t fully understand until they looked twice.
steve understood immediately.
and steve, god, steve grew into himself like he’d been handcrafted for trouble.
broad shoulders. soft brown eyes hidden behind ridiculous lashes. hair that somehow always looked perfect. that stupid smile capable of making half the female population of hawkins forget their own names.
and steve knew it.
or at least, his ego did.
king steve, they called him.
captain of popularity.
girls hanging off his arm, boys desperate for his approval, parties every weekend. loud music, expensive beer stolen from his parents’ liquor cabinet, people packed into his house hoping to breathe the same air as him.
he played the part beautifully.
cocky grin, easy charm, careless laughter, pretty girls, empty conversations. but there were things everyone noticed that nobody understood.
how steve only went to parties if you were invited too, even when you almost never came. how he always looked around rooms like he was searching for someone. how if anybody talked badly about you, even as a joke, his entire face changed. how he got mean.
how no girl, no matter how gorgeous, ever lasted long.
how every relationship seemed flimsy compared to the quiet girl who sat beside him in class helping him pass english, who rolled her eyes at his jokes but smiled anyway, who knew where he kept spare house keys and which scar on his knee came from which childhood disaster.
what nobody knew was that steve harrington loved you so badly it ached.
it lived in him like breathing. natural, constant, unavoidable. it was in the way he memorised everything about you.
how you tucked your hair behind your ear when concentrating. how you chewed on pen caps while studying. how you always gave him the marshmallows from your hot chocolate because you hated them and he loved them. how your nose scrunched when you laughed for real. how you never noticed when boys stared because you were too busy living inside your own head.
it killed him a little, that obliviousness.
because steve flirted constantly.
he tested waters in stupid ways.
telling you about girls he hooked up with, watching your face for any crack in your expression.
there never was one.
just your soft, distracted little hums. sometimes a wrinkled nose if the girl sounded awful. sometimes advice.
advice.
jesus christ.
he’d stare at you, really stare, eyes warm and helpless and completely gone for you, and you’d blink back like he was just steve.
just your steve.
your best friend.
meanwhile, he was halfway to insanity.
what steve never saw were all the quiet ways you loved him back.
how you kept every note he’d ever scribbled you. how no boy ever compared, which was why you’d only dated twice and barely liked either of them. how every time he brought a girl around, something sharp and sour twisted in your chest. how you knew the exact shade of hazel his eyes turned in sunlight.
how you sometimes laid awake at night, staring at your ceiling, replaying the way he smiled at you that day or how his hand rested warm on your back guiding you through crowds.
how your mother’s teasing words looped endlessly in your head.
you and stevie were made for each other.
you’d laugh it off, call her crazy, then spend hours wondering if maybe she wasn’t. wondering if steve could ever look at you and see more.
wondering what it would feel like if he kissed you. wondering if kissing steve would ruin everything, or finally make sense of everything that already existed between you.
and every morning after, you’d wake up and slip right back into your place beside him like those thoughts had never happened at all.
best friends.
always.
completely blind to the fact that the boy beside you was one heartbeat away from loving you out loud.
and equally blind to the fact that you already loved him too.
-
life carried on the way it always had.
which was strange, really, considering there was this constant thing sitting between you and steve. neither of you touched it, neither of you spoke it aloud, but it lived there all the same. tucked into glances that lingered too long, into hugs that held just a second more than necessary, into the easy way your lives folded around each other like they were built to fit.
more days turned into more weeks, more weeks into more months, and everything stayed beautifully, painfully normal.
you still sat with him while he copied your homework answers in that messy handwriting of his, tongue poking slightly into his cheek in concentration like he was actually trying, even though half the time he was writing complete nonsense because he was too busy talking to focus.
you still spent lunches together. sometimes alone, sometimes with your few close friends, sometimes with whatever crowd steve had orbiting him that week, but even in a room full of people, his attention always drifted back to you.
always.
you were still the first number he called. still the person he showed up for without asking. still the person he looked for in every crowded room.
and he was still yours in all the ways that mattered, without ever actually being yours at all.
one night after dinner at your house, your mother insisting steve stay because she’d made too much food, as if she hadn’t been cooking with him in mind from the start, the two of you found yourselves in your bedroom, exactly where you always ended up.
lying on the floor.
side by side.
staring at the ceiling.
it was a strange little ritual you’d created years ago, one that somehow stuck. whenever something weighed heavy on either of you, whenever thoughts got too loud or life got too complicated, you ended up here. flat on your backs, shoulders nearly touching, eyes aimed upward like answers might be written in the cracks of your ceiling paint.
this was where the real conversations happened.
not the casual chatter, not gossip, not jokes, this was where truths lived. the ugly ones, the tender ones, the ones neither of you gave anybody else.
steve let out a long breath beside you, one hand resting on his stomach, the other tucked behind his head.
“he’s doing it again.”
you turned your head slightly toward him.
“your dad?”
he laughed once, humourless.
“who else?”
his jaw tightened, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“he’s on this whole thing about how i need to start learning the business now, so when he retires i can just… step in.” his voice hardened around the words. “like it’s some fucking honour.”
you stayed quiet.
you’d learned years ago that steve needed space to unravel before he needed comfort.
“he talks about it like he’s handing me a kingdom,” he muttered. “when really he’s handing me a prison sentence.”
your chest tightened.
because underneath the bitterness, underneath the anger, you heard what steve wasn’t saying.
he was scared, scared of becoming him. scared of looking in the mirror one day and seeing his father staring back.
steve scrubbed a hand over his face.
“i swear to god, i’d rather work in some shitty grocery store for the rest of my life than do what he does.”
that made you smile softly.
not because it was funny, though the dramatic way he said it was very steve, but because you knew him.
you knew this wasn’t about business being boring this was about morality. about goodness. about the way steve, despite all his pretending and ego and polished king-of-hawkins image, had the softest heart of anybody you knew.
he wanted to be kind, gentle. different. nothing like the man who’d raised him.
you reached your hand out between you, your pinky brushing lightly against his.
“what do you actually want?” you asked quietly.
“what?”
“after high school.” you looked back up at the ceiling. “college. life. what do you want, stevie?”
the room went quiet for a second, then two. then he laughed softly under his breath. not a happy laugh, the sad kind.
the self-deprecating kind.
“college?” he scoffed. “c’mon.”
you frowned instantly.
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“act like you’re stupid.”
he turned his head to look at you then, brown eyes soft in the dim lamp light.
“i’m not exactly ivy league material.”
“you’re smarter than you think.”
“i’m really not.”
“you are.”
there was firmness in your voice now, the kind that always made him listen.
“you just don’t try because somewhere along the line, somebody convinced you there was no point.”
his expression shifted. small, almost wounded, because you always saw right through him.
always.
you kept going, softer now.
“you’re smart, steve. genuinely smart. not even just academically, you read people better than anyone i know. you remember everything that matters. you’re creative. funny. emotionally intelligent, even if you pretend you aren’t.” you nudged his shoulder gently. “and if i have to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that, i will.”
steve stared at you and god, there was that look again. that look that made your stomach turn over.
warm, completely devastating. then, because he was steve, he ruined the moment on purpose.
“well,” he sighed dramatically, “in that case, i’ll just follow you wherever you go.”
you snorted.
“oh yeah?”
“absolutely.” he folded his hands over his chest. “be your little house wife.”
that made you laugh properly.
bright and sudden.
the kind of laugh that always made him smile like he’d won something.
“house wife?”
“yeah.”
“you?”
“i’d be incredible at it.”
“you can’t cook.”
“i can make toast.”
“you burn toast.”
“crispy toast.”
you laughed harder and soon he was laughing too, that big, warm laugh that filled your whole room.
then the laughter settled into something softer. comfortable quiet. and somewhere in that quiet, the strange truth of it hung there,
every version of the future either of you had ever imagined always included the other. always.
sometimes you were neighbours with houses connected by a garden gate. sometimes coworkers. sometimes roommates in a big city. sometimes pen pals, a ridiculous idea born from sixteen-year-old steve drunkenly declaring he was moving to italy after eating pasta he called religious.
you still teased him for that.
but every dream, every joke, every passing thought about what came next, included us.
never 'me'. never 'you'. always us.
neither of you spoke about the deeper version of that dream.
the one with shared mornings. shared beds. children with messy hair and stubborn attitudes. a home that belonged equally to both of you.
but somewhere, buried deep, you’d both imagined it.
more than once.
steve swallowed hard against that thought.
then casually, too casually, he asked,
“how come you’re still single?”
you turned your head.
“you’re single too.”
a slow smirk spread across his mouth.
“yeah, but i haven’t always been.”
you rolled your eyes.
“neither have i.”
“middle school boyfriends don’t count.”
you laughed.
“according to who?”
“according to me.”
you shook your head, smiling, then shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and that answer sat strangely warm in steve’s chest.
because maybe, maybe you liked being single. maybe there was nobody. maybe it wasn’t that you didn’t want him specifically.
weirdly, that hurt less.
he smiled faintly, staring back up at the ceiling.
then you asked quietly,
“why haven’t you settled down with anyone?”
his chest tightened because there were a thousand truths he could say. because i’m in love with my best friend. because nobody feels like you. because every girl i kiss isn’t you.
instead, he shrugged.
“i don’t know.”
and selfishly, your heart liked that answer far more than the possibility of him loving somebody else.
silence settled again.
then steve spoke, voice quieter than before, serious,
“promise me something.”
“anything.”
he turned his head toward you.
there was vulnerability there, raw and boyish and achingly honest.
“don’t forget me.”
your brows pulled together instantly.
“steve-”
“i mean it.” he swallowed. “when all this ends. when college happens, life happens… if we end up in different places…” his voice got softer. “don’t forget about me.”
your whole chest ached because forgetting steve harrington would be like forgetting your own name.
impossible.
you reached across the floor and took his hand fully. fingers threading together like second nature. like instinct. like home.
you squeezed once.
“never” you whispered.
and steve squeezed back, holding your hand in the dark like it was something precious.
something worth keeping.
“promise?”
you smiled softly.
“i promise.”
neither of you realised then just how much that promise would come to mean.
-
by the time prom season rolled around, steve was losing his goddamn mind.
he sat at the edge of his bed one night, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the carpet while every thought in his head somehow circled back to you.
which, admittedly, wasn’t unusual. most roads in steve’s mind led to you, had for years.
but this was different, this was bigger.
this was prom.
the last school dance.
the final stupid, sweaty gymnasium decorated with cheap streamers and glitter and songs that would probably suck and punch that tasted vaguely like chemicals.
and steve wanted one thing.
just one.
you.
not in the way he’d had you before. showing up together because that’s what you always did, wandering in side by side because steve bringing you was as natural as breathing, dancing stupidly together in between him getting dragged off by friends and you laughing at him from the sidelines.
not as best friends.
not as what everyone already assumed you were.
he wanted to take you, really take you.
wanted to stand on your doorstep with flowers and nerves and sweaty palms. wanted to tell you you looked beautiful and mean it so hard it hurt. wanted to dance with his hands on your waist and know it meant something different.
wanted one night where he could pretend, or maybe, if he got lucky, not pretend at all.
so he came up with a plan.
a stupid plan. a deeply embarrassing plan. a plan that, in hindsight, made him want to throw himself directly into traffic.
he was going to make it obvious.
not say it, because apparently despite being steve harrington, king of confidence, he became a complete coward when it came to you, but obvious enough.
obvious enough that if you smiled a little wider than usual, blushed even slightly, acted flustered in any way he’d ask you.
simple. easy. foolproof.
except it was none of those things.
because monday morning, the second he pulled into your driveway, he already started acting insane.
normally, steve would pull up, lean dramatically on the horn once, and wait while you came out rolling your eyes.
his logic always being, your house is right there, you can hear the horn when i get in the car.
instead, that morning, he got out. walked to your front door. and knocked. actually knocked.
when you opened it, bag over your shoulder, hair still slightly messy from rushing around getting ready, he nearly forgot every coherent thought in his head.
you blinked at him then squinted suspiciously.
“…why are you at my door?”
he immediately panicked internally.
say something cool.
say something normal.
“felt like it.”
idiot.
your eyes narrowed further, mouth twitching like you were fighting a smile.
“okay…”
you kept looking at him funny all the way to the car, and honestly, fair enough.
but then he made it worse.
because when you reached the passenger side, he darted ahead and opened your door for you.
you stopped dead.
“what are you doing?”
steve leaned against the open door casually, like he wasn’t having a full body crisis.
“being nice?”
you laughed softly, confused and amused all at once.
“you are nice.”
“being nicer.”
you stared at him for a second then shook your head, smiling to yourself as you got in. that smile hit him like a truck.
holy shit.
was that wider than normal? was that flirty? was that polite?
what did that mean-
and thus began the longest week of steve harrington’s life.
because once he started, he couldn’t stop.
every class you didn’t share, he was waiting outside when the bell rang.
leaning against lockers trying to look casual, heart kicking up every time your face lit up when you saw him.
he carried your books.
your bag.
once, your stupid heavy history textbook that you always complained about.
he held doors open.
walked you to every class.
blew off tommy and half his friend group every lunch just to sit with you.
actually did his half of your joint assignment, not copied, not barely attempted, actually did it, and when you looked at him like he’d grown another head, he just shrugged like it was no big deal while internally screaming notice me.
he bought you lunch monday.
again on wednesday.
again on thursday.
sat in the library with you after school willingly.
willingly. the library.
for hours.
and every single thing you did made his brain short circuit.
because you just accepted it. completely. you didn’t question him much, didn’t pull away, didn’t act weird, didn’t reject any of it. you simply smiled that sweet little smile and let him fuss over you.
let him carry your things. let him buy your lunch. let him walk you around school like you were something precious.
and worst of all you looked happy about it. which should’ve been good. right? that should’ve been good.
except now steve was spiralling because what the hell did happy mean?
did you know what he was doing? were you oblivious? were you pitying him? were you just enjoying the attention?
meanwhile, you were living in your own version of insanity.
because steve had always made you feel special.
always.
from childhood to now, there had never been a moment where you doubted your place in his life.
but this?
this was different. this was soft, intentional. sweet in ways that made your stomach flip.
it felt suspiciously like being courted. like being wanted. like being his girl.
and god you liked it. liked it so much it scared you. so no, you didn’t question it. because if you asked, what if it stopped? what if he laughed and said he was just messing around? what if this tenderness disappeared?
so instead, you quietly soaked it in.
let yourself pretend just for a little while. let yourself imagine this was what loving steve openly might feel like.
which meant steve’s giant, ridiculous plan was failing spectacularly for one very simple reason-
the both of you were idiots.
by friday, steve was at breaking point.
he sat in his last class barely hearing a word the teacher said, knee bouncing under the desk.
what the hell was happening? surely by now, if you liked him, you would’ve said something. asked him what all this meant. given him something obvious back.
right?
unless you didn’t like him. unless you just thought he was being nice. unless this was normal to you because he’d always treated you well and you saw no difference.
jesus christ.
he’d spent an entire week acting like a lovesick freak and somehow ended up more confused than when he started.
the final bell rang and steve made a decision.
enough.
no more weird signals, no more spiralling, no more stupid plans.
he was asking you tonight.
flat out.
whatever happened, happened because he was absolutely not surviving another week of this.
what steve didn’t know was that at that exact same moment, sitting in class chewing the end of your pen and smiling stupidly to yourself remembering how he tucked your hair behind your ear at lunch you were thinking,
please don’t stop whatever this is.
please let me keep having this version of you.
even if it’s not real.
even if it’s only for a little while.
-
steve waited outside your last class.
again.
at this point, it had become routine. somewhere in his ridiculous attempt at flirting came a habit he’d accidentally fallen in love with.
there was just something about it.
the way your face always softened the second you spotted him leaning against the lockers. the little smile you never seemed able to hold back. the way you automatically walked toward him, like your feet knew where they belonged before your brain caught up.
it made something warm settle in his chest every single time.
so yes, even if his original reasons for waiting outside your classes had been pathetic and embarrassingly romantic, now he did it simply because he liked it.
liked being the person you looked for, liked walking beside you through crowded halls, liked carrying your books even when you insisted they “weren’t heavy.”
liked the feeling of everyone seeing you together.
he liked it far too much.
that friday, though, he was restless.
you noticed almost immediately.
the way his fingers tapped against his leg. the way his jaw kept tightening. the way he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, only to close it again.
still, you didn’t ask.
if there was one thing years of knowing steve harrington had taught you, it was that when he was ready to talk, he would.
until then, you let silence be comfortable.
and it always was with him.
the drive home was dipped in golden evening light, quiet except for the radio humming softly in the background and the occasional sound of steve drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel.
when he took a corner too fast his hand instinctively shot out, catching your thigh for a second to steady you.
warm, solid, gone too quickly.
neither of you said anything but your stomach flipped anyway.
when he pulled up between your houses, you reached for the door handle-
“wait.”
your hand froze.
you turned back.
steve looked terrified, actually terrified.
your heart immediately started hammering.
oh my god.
oh my god.
was he-
this was it. this had to be it.
the weird week, the sweet gestures, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he’d been hovering close like he couldn’t help himself-
this was him asking you to prom.
your whole body went warm.
steve swallowed hard. right. just say it.
say prom.
“do you wanna go prom-”
your breath caught.
his heart launched into his throat.
“-dress shopping with me?”
silence.
steve internally punched himself in the face.
coward. absolute coward.
you blinked.
then laughed softly, trying to ignore how quickly hope had risen and crashed in your chest.
“are you getting a dress this year too, stevie?”
he huffed a little laugh, looking down, shaking his head.
“no, i mean…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “y’know, i’ll drive us to the city. we can get all fancy and buy expensive shit we probably don’t need. get ice cream on the way home.”
he looked up at you then.
hopeful. boyish.
impossibly handsome.
you smiled, a real one.
“that sounds nice.”
his shoulders loosened instantly.
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
you opened the door, stepping out, then turned back with a grin.
“it’s a date.”
and walked away.
steve sat frozen in his car.
date.
date?
did you mean date date?
or date as in phrase?
people said that all the time.
right?
right??
he smacked his forehead gently against the steering wheel.
meanwhile, halfway to your front door, you were spiralling too.
why would you say it’s a date? why would you say that?
that sounds romantic. that sounds intentional. he’s going to think you meant it romantically.
except he doesn’t like you.
probably.
so now you sound insane.
great.
perfect.
wonderful.
still, somehow, both of you went to bed smiling because stupid was easier when it felt this good.
-
nice and early the next morning, steve was at your door.
knocking.
again.
except this time when you opened it, you were very much not ready.
hair wild, sleep still heavy in your eyes, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder, soft pyjama shorts, bare legs and sleepy confusion.
steve forgot how breathing worked.
you frowned at him.
“why are you here?”
his brain completely short circuited.
“…shopping.”
you groaned.
“shit.”
you looked over your shoulder at the clock and winced.
“i overslept.”
steve finally recovered enough to shrug casually.
“i’ll wait.”
he walked past you like he belonged there, because he did, headed straight to your room, kicked off his shoes, and threw himself face down onto your bed.
dramatically, arms spread, muffled voice immediately rambling into your duvet.
“had the weirdest dream last night.”
you stood at your mirror trying to brush your hair while pulling on jeans.
“what?”
more muffled nonsense.
something about a shark. your third grade teacher. a ferrari. possibly italy.
you laughed.
“i understood none of that.”
he lifted his face slightly, cheek squished against your pillow.
“it made sense in dream logic.”
“sure.”
then face planted again, continuing to ramble while you got ready, his voice muffled into your blankets.
it was domestic in a way neither of you thought too hard about.
easy, dangerously easy.
soon enough, you were in the car headed toward the city.
the windows down, music loud. summer warmth creeping in. you stopped at a roadside place for breakfast sandwiches, then got back on the road. where steve immediately became unbearable.
“bite.”
you looked at him.
“…what?”
“feed me.”
“you have hands.”
“i’m driving. i need to concentrate.”
you stared.
he opened his mouth expectantly.
“bite.”
your eyes narrowed, he looked ridiculous.
you hated how cute it was.
with a sigh, you held the sandwich up for him. he leaned over dramatically, taking a huge bite, cheeks full like a chipmunk.
you laughed despite yourself.
“you’re such an idiot.”
secretly, steve loved the little annoyed crease between your brows. loved making you roll your eyes. loved that you always indulged him anyway.
shopping somehow started with your dress.
steve had expected torture. hours of standing around, fabric talk, waiting, boredom.
instead he got to watch you try on dresses, which was apparently heaven. every single dress had him losing his mind quietly.
blue. green. white. sparkly. simple. dramatic.
even the absolutely hideous monstrosity he tossed into your pile as a joke, some bright orange ruffled nightmare, looked unfairly cute because you came out striking poses and making ridiculous model faces until he laughed so hard he nearly cried.
“that one?” you asked, spinning.
“burn it.”
you grinned.
but then you stepped out wearing soft baby pink.
simple, elegant, gentle, completely you, and steve forgot how to speak.
you looked beautiful.
not pretty, not cute, beautiful. the kind that hurt to look at because it made wanting feel too big inside his chest.
you smiled shyly at your reflection.
“i kinda love this one.”
steve could only nod.
because if he opened his mouth, he’d probably propose.
when you disappeared back into the changing room after trying on the final dress, leaving the pink dress hanging outside, steve moved instantly.
straight to the register.
money down.
done.
easy.
when the cashier smiled warmly and said, “that’s sweet- paying for your girlfriend’s prom dress”
steve didn’t even think, didn’t correct her, just smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the word slipped out naturally like truth. he walked back holding the dress bag proudly. when you emerged and saw it, your face scrunched instantly.
“steve harrington-”
“don’t start.”
“i told you i was buying it-”
he shrugged, smiling.
“it’s our last prom, princess. gotta treat you right.”
princess. that stupid nickname. it hit you exactly where it always did.
that awful lovely feeling.
but you’d become very good at hiding it so you only rolled your eyes.
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and generous.”
“annoyingly generous.”
“you love me.”
you smiled softly.
“yeah.”
the quiet honesty of it made his chest tighten because you meant it one way and he heard it another.
then he grinned, standing.
“c’mon.”
you looped your arm through his without thinking.
“your turn.”
shopping for steve’s suit was, thankfully, much quicker.
mostly because he cared significantly less than you did.
he tried on maybe three jackets, two pairs of trousers, one shirt, then stood in front of the mirror shrugging like, yeah, this one’s fine, while you looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“fine?” you repeated.
steve adjusted the collar lazily. “yeah.”
“fine is your final prom outfit?”
he looked down at himself.
navy suit. clean lines, fitted enough to make his shoulders look unfairly broad. white shirt, sleeves rolled halfway while he changed ties.
hair slightly messy from pulling shirts over his head.
beautiful, unfortunately.
he shrugged again.
“looks good enough.”
you stared.
“good enough” you echoed flatly.
his grin only widened “mhm.”
but then, then he did something so stupidly sweet that your entire brain briefly stopped functioning.
the woman helping fit him asked what colour tie he wanted, before she could even list options, steve answered immediately.
“baby pink.”
you blinked.
he looked over at you casually.
“to match your dress.”
simple, matter-of-fact. like it was obvious. like there was never another option.
to match your dress.
your heart practically punched through your ribs because it was little things. always little things with steve. the details, the quiet thoughtfulness, the instinctive way he always included you in everything.
the way matching your dress mattered to him.
not because it was prom, not because it was fashion, but because it was yours.
you stood there smiling like an idiot while he tried on ties, your mind spiralling somewhere far, far away.
and honestly?
you barely paid attention to anything else after that.
just him.
his hands fixing his cuffs, his soft smile when he caught you staring, the way he kept glancing toward you for approval.
god.
you were in trouble. deep trouble.
when you guys got in the car both taking a deep breath, pausing before the long drive home, you stopped him.
“steve?”
his hand froze on the key.
“yeah?”
your heart hammered.
this was insane, absolutely insane but suddenly you couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep wondering. couldn’t keep pretending every soft thing between you didn’t mean something.
so you looked at him and did exactly what he’d been trying to do all week.
“do you wanna go to prom with me?”
steve blinked.
once.
twice.
“…what?”
you smiled nervously.
“prom.”
he laughed softly, confused.
“we always go together.”
you swallowed then forced yourself to say it.
“i mean… properly with me, steve.”
his entire body went still, heart pounding so hard he could hear it.
“what?”
god.
he looked so confused, so beautiful.
and suddenly courage, reckless, terrifying courage, grabbed hold of you. you leaned forward and kissed him.
soft, quick.
the second your lips touched his, your whole body lit up like lightning.
then panic immediately followed.
oh god.
what did you just do?
you pulled back instantly, mouth already opening to explain, apologise, ramble, but steve’s hand came up, cupping your cheek.
warm, gentle, and he pulled you right back in.
kissed you properly.
like he’d been starving. like he knew exactly what your lips would feel like because he’d imagined it a thousand times, but somehow it was still better.
so much better.
you could actually feel him melt, his whole body softened into it and then, that little sound.
a quiet sigh against your mouth.
soft, content, completely helpless. it shot straight into your chest. your new favourite sound. absolutely.
when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard, smiling in complete disbelief.
then he said-
“i hate you.”
your eyes flew open.
“…what?”
he laughed breathlessly.
“i have been waiting my whole life for you to show literally any sign that you liked me.” he pulled back enough to look at you, eyes wide with mock offence. “and the one week i actually decide to try and something about it, you beat me to it.”
you burst out laughing then he did too, forehead dropping back against yours. then suddenly he leaned back fully, staring at you like you were insane.
“no, seriously- what?”
you blinked.
“what?”
“why now?”
you shrugged, cheeks warm.
“i’ve always liked you, stevie.”
steve’s jaw actually dropped.
“what?”
you laughed.
“i’ve always liked you.”
“then why didn’t you say anything?!”
you gave him a look.
“why didn’t you?”
he stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“because you never acted like you wanted me back. ever.”
you frowned.
“maybe you’re oblivious.”
steve scoffed so hard it was almost offensive then gave you the most irritated look imaginable.
“i do not wanna hear you call anybody oblivious. you are the most oblivious person alive.”
you gasped.
“no i’m not.”
“yes, you are.”
“i’m cautious.”
“cautious of what?”
you went quieter then.
honest.
“reading too far into things.” your fingers picked at your sleeve. “you could’ve just been being nice, y’know? i didn’t wanna lose you.”
steve’s whole face softened instantly.
his hand found yours.
squeezed.
“in no world do you lose me, idiot.”
your eyes rolled automatically, mostly because if you looked at him too long you might cry.
then, lighter, you said,
“been waiting your whole life?” you smiled. “dramatic ass.”
he laughed then shook his head.
“no, i’m serious.”
“right.”
“i am.”
“okay, sure-”
before you could argue, he grabbed your face again and kissed you hard. full of grin and relief and years of built-up wanting.
when he pulled back, he was smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
“and yeah,” he murmured. “i’ll go to prom with you.”
he winked.
“it’s a date.”
you groaned, laughing.
“that line was awful.”
“worked the first time.”
you shoved his shoulder.
he caught your hand, kissed your knuckles and then finally started the car.
the drive home was spent sharing ice cream, stealing kisses at red lights, and smiling so much both your faces hurt.
and when he parked between your houses that evening for the first time going home next door didn’t feel like enough.
because now, finally, you knew exactly where home was.
and it was sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at you like he’d found his whole world.
-
the week leading up to prom was, quite possibly, the happiest either of you had ever been.
which was saying something, considering you and steve had spent your whole lives making happiness out of ordinary things.
bike rides and late-night talks. pool days and movie nights. studying together, even when steve mostly just distracted you.
shared dinners. inside jokes.
the quiet comfort of simply existing side by side.
you had already built a life around each other long before romance ever entered the picture.
but now there was kissing. and, quite frankly, that improved everything.
the strange thing was, almost nothing about your relationship changed, and somehow, everything changed.
you still woke up most mornings to the sound of steve’s car horn, or, more recently, to the sound of him knocking on your front door because apparently now he liked seeing your sleepy face. you still rode to school together, still shared lunches, still studied in the library after classes, still spent evenings draped across each other’s bedroom floors talking about life until one of you fell asleep mid-conversation.
you were still you.
he was still steve.
best friends in every way that mattered.
except now, when he saw you, his face immediately softened into the most helpless smile. except now, his hand naturally found yours every chance it got. except now, when he dropped you off at home, you kissed him goodnight. except now, when he made you laugh, he looked at your mouth afterwards like he couldn’t help himself.
except now, he kissed you whenever the urge struck him, which was often.
very often.
because steve had apparently been suppressing years of affection, and now that he was allowed to touch you the way he’d always wanted he simply never stopped.
a kiss on your forehead when he saw you in the morning. a kiss on your cheek while waiting in line for lunch. a kiss against your temple while you studied.
a quick peck when he passed you in the hallway. a longer one when nobody was looking.
soft kisses, laughing kisses, hungry kisses that left you breathless, lazy kisses that happened just because you were standing close.
sometimes he’d stop mid-sentence, stare at you for a second, then kiss you like he’d just remembered he could.
when you’d laugh and ask what that was for, he’d just grin.
“been wanting to for years.”
as if that explained everything. as if that wasn’t enough to make your heart explode every single time.
steve, somehow, became even sweeter.
which you honestly hadn’t thought possible.
he was constantly touching you in little ways. fingers brushing yours, hand on the small of your back, absentmindedly tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder while reading over your work even though he wasn’t actually reading any of it.
he looked at you like you were his favourite thing on earth, like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.
truthfully, he couldn’t.
steve had spent years loving you quietly, years convincing himself he was okay with just having you however he could get you.
best friend. neighbour. constant companion.
he had told himself that was enough.
it hadn’t been, not really.
and now he got to kiss you. hold your hand. hear you call him yours in little casual ways that made his brain completely short circuit.
my stevie.
mine.
god.
he’d never been happier.
and you felt exactly the same.
you weren’t even officially dating yet. somehow, neither of you had actually labelled whatever this was, but it didn’t matter.
you were his.
he was yours.
everyone knew it.
that was enough.
for now.
then prom night arrived.
you spent the afternoon at your friend’s house with your three closest girlfriends, all of you crowded around mirrors with makeup scattered everywhere, hairspray thick in the air, music playing too loudly in the background while laughter bounced off the walls.
it was chaos, beautiful chaos.
and, naturally, your friends spent most of it teasing you mercilessly.
“finally,” one of them said dramatically while curling your hair. “do you understand how painful it’s been watching you two circle each other for years?”
another snorted from where she was doing eyeliner.
“literally years.”
“it was embarrassing,” the third added. “for everyone involved.”
you laughed, shaking your head.
“we were not that obvious.”
three deadpan looks met your reflection in the mirror.
then all together-
“you were.”
one of them groaned dramatically.
“he looked at you like you hung the moon.”
you covered your face.
“okay, stop.”
they only laughed harder but beneath the teasing was genuine relief. everyone who loved you had been waiting for this, waiting for you both to finally stop being idiots, waiting for the inevitable.
because to everyone else you and steve had always been a love story waiting to happen.
later, after hugs and promises to meet at prom, you headed home to get dressed.
and when you finally stepped into your baby pink dress, the same one steve secretly bought for you, you stared at yourself for a long moment.
soft curls framing your face, makeup gentle and glowing, the pink bringing warmth to your skin.
for once, nerves hit.
not because of prom.
because of steve.
because you wanted him to look at you and feel what you always felt when you looked at him.
then, a knock at the door.
your stomach flipped instantly.
you carefully made your way downstairs, hand lightly gripping the banister so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet and halfway down, you froze.
your mother had already opened the door.
steve was standing inside.
flowers in hand, pink flowers, the exact shade of your dress, suit fitted perfectly, tie matching you exactly like he’d planned, hair done but still somehow perfectly messy, looking so unfairly handsome it almost knocked the breath from your lungs.
then he looked up and froze. completely.
his whole body went still, flowers slackening slightly in his hand. mouth parting, eyes wide.
you nearly froze too but you also nearly missed a step, so survival instincts forced you forward.
when you reached him, smiling shyly, steve still looked stunned.
then softly, so softly,
“you look so beautiful."
his voice full of awe.
you felt your cheeks warm.
“you look handsome.”
that snapped him into a grin.
your mother immediately started gushing.
“oh, look at you two-”
your father, already prepared, handed her the old camera.
same tradition every dance, same photo spot every year.
except this year felt different, this year felt important.
steve’s hand settled naturally on your waist.
firm, warm, possessive in the gentlest way. you tucked into his side and both of you smiled brighter than you ever had before.
click.
perfect.
the second you stepped outside and the front door shut behind you steve kissed you. immediately. like he physically couldn’t help it.
you laughed softly against his mouth when he pulled away.
“what was that for?”
he shrugged, smiling.
“sorry. i feel like i have to all the time now.”
you blinked.
he looked adorably sheepish.
“i waited too long before.”
your whole chest melted.
you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“good job i don’t mind.”
his smile widened impossibly.
the drive there was perfect. madonna played loudly, steve complained-
“this song again?”
-while secretly singing every word.
badly. using one hand as a fake microphone. you laughed until your stomach hurt and when he caught you looking at him with that soft smile he winked.
god.
you were doomed.
prom itself was… nice.
crowded, hot, loud. friends dragged you apart almost immediately, his crowd calling him over, yours pulling you in. reluctantly, you separated. but only briefly. because, like always, you found your way back to each other.
effortlessly, like magnets, just in time for the slow dance.
his hands found your waist, yours looped around his neck. you swayed together beneath dim lights, forehead resting lightly against his, smiling softly at nothing and everything.
it was perfect, too perfect, too short. because when the song ended, steve frowned.
“that’s bullshit.”
you laughed.
“what?”
“not enough dancing.”
before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the crowd.
out the doors, into the parking lot.
you were laughing the whole time.
“stevie- what are you doing?”
he just laughed breathlessly.
“trust me.”
he dragged you to his car, opened the door, turned the radio on, shoved in a cassette, then david bowie filled the warm night air.
steve dramatically bowed.
held out his hand.
“may i have this dance?”
you laughed so hard your cheeks hurt then placed your hand in his.
under stars, in a mostly empty parking lot, next to his car, you slow danced.
giggling, stepping on each other’s feet, swaying dramatically, kissing halfway through because neither of you could help yourselves.
it was perfect. better than prom itself.
afterwards, breathless and smiling, you both looked toward the building, then at each other and silently agreed-
fuck prom.
ice cream was mandatory, then home.
summer air still warm enough that sitting in his back garden felt perfect.
until suddenly steve gasped, shot upright and ran to the pool, crouching beside it staring in dramatically.
you followed quickly.
“what? what?”
he waved urgently.
“come look.”
you leaned closer and he shoved you in. cold water swallowed you whole. when you surfaced gasping, steve was doubled over laughing.
that little bitch.
fine.
game on.
you frowned dramatically.
“ow- steve-”
his laughter stopped instantly.
“…what?”
you grabbed your arm.
“i think i hurt it-”
panic overtook his face.
“shit- how?”
he reached down and his hand out.
the sweetest idiot alive.
you grabbed it and yanked.
he crashed in beside you with a loud splash. when he surfaced, hair plastered down, face full of betrayal, you were laughing hysterically.
he looked annoyed for exactly two seconds before pulling you into him, arms wrapping around your waist holding you close in the water.
laughing softly now too.
then he kissed you.
forehead resting against yours after, smiling wide.
then quietly, like truth he’d been carrying forever,
“i love you.”
your eyes opened.
you smiled.
“i love you too.”
his face softened so completely it almost broke you.
then he hugged you hard like he never wanted to let go.
later, dripping wet, climbing out of the pool steve paused. looked at you seriously, then “that means you’re my girlfriend now, by the way.”
you smiled.
nodded.
“okay.”
he frowned jokingly.
“…okay?”
you blinked.
“what?”
he shoved wet hair back.
“i always thought you were perfectly happy being single.”
you smiled softly.
shrugged.
“maybe i was just waiting for you.”
he rolled his eyes immediately, tugging you into his side as he walked you both inside.
pairings: steve harrington x fem! reader (billys sister)
summary: the school finds out that you and steve have been dating and if the school knows... billy knows and that's not good.
warnings: toxic family dynamics, rumors, verbal degradation, physical fight, choking, accidental hit, bruising, panic, guilt, emotional distress, hurt/comfort, protective steve, billy being billy.. (billy is a warning himself)
notes: give me someone else to write for!! 🤣 my mind keeps going back to steve harrington or joe keery characters in general... lowercase intended!! lightly proofread!
wc: 2.4k
pt2
you sat on the edge of steve’s bed, watching him pace the length of the room. "he’s going to kill me," steve muttered, running a hand through his hair
"he’s actually going to cave my chest in this time," steve continued, his voice hitting a frantic pitch as he spun on his heel to face you.
the panic hadn't come out of nowhere, it had started this morning the second you stepped onto campus, you walked towards your locker... people weren't just looking, they were staring, their whispers filling your ears.
the rumor mill had been working overtime. someone had seen steve’s car parked a few houses down from yours one too many times, or maybe they spotted you two at the Quarry. It didn't matter how it got out, all that mattered was that by third period, the whole school knew. And if the school knew, billy knew.
you found steve leaned against his locker, his face pale. he wasn't even pretending to look at his books. when he saw you, his jaw tightened, and he pushed off the metal, intercepting you before you could reach your own locker.
"he’s in the gym," steve said, his voice low and strained. he didn't say hello. he didn't ask how you were. "tommy H. told him. i saw them talking by the showers. billy didn't even say anything... he just walked out. that’s worse, babe. the silence is way worse."
"steve, look at me," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs.
"i'm looking," he said, his eyes darting to the end of the hall as if expecting a blue Camaro to come crashing through the brickwork. "and i’m thinking i should have listened to you. i should have been more careful. now he’s going to take it out on you, or max, or-"
"he's not going to touch me," you interrupted, grabbing his arm. "he's angry, but he knows where the line is. it’s you i'm worried about."
steve let out a dry, humorless laugh, finally meeting your gaze. the fear was there, but beneath it, that protective instinct.
"let him come," steve muttered, though he looked like he might be sick. "i’m tired of looking over my shoulder. if he wants to go again, we’ll go again."
"we don't know for sure that he’s heard yet, okay?... let's just calm down." you sighed.
"i can take a punch. i’ve had plenty of practice."
which was how you found yourself now, still watching him pace around his room.
"steve, breathe," you said, reaching out to catch his hand as he swung past you again, but he was too keyed up to stay still. he pulled away, his palms flat against his cheeks as he resumed his pace across the rug.
"i'm breathing! i'm breathing and i’m contemplating which hospital has the shortest wait time for a shattered ribcage," he said, his voice cracking as he looked through the blinds at the darkening street.
you stood up from the edge of the bed, taking a few slow steps toward him, "steve," you murmured, closing the distance until you were standing just behind him, "steve," you murmured again.
"he’s my brother, steve. i know him. he lives on fear, and right now, you’re giving him a five course meal."
steve let out a shaky breath and finally turned around, you reached up and placed your palms flat against his chest, right over his heart.
he looked down at you, his hair even messier. "i’m not scared for me," he lied, though the shaking in his hands gave him away. he reached out, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of your jeans just to keep himself grounded. "okay, fine, i’m a little scared for me. but i’m mostly terrified that this is the part where he drags you away. and i’m just… i’m not ready to go back to not having you."
"you're not going to lose me," you said, you stepped into the small gap between you, closing the distance until the heat of his body was the only thing you could feel. "billy can throw a punch, steve, but he can’t dictate who I choose to be with."
his grip on your belt loops tightening for a second before he let go to cup your face. his palms were still slightly damp, his skin warm against yours. "he’s going to try, though. you know he is. he’s going to make it his mission to make my life a living hell until i cave. he thinks he’s protecting you, or protecting his 'territory'.. whatever twisted logic he’s got going on."
he searched your eyes, his thumb tracing a slow, nervous path across your lower lip, you reached up, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down.
when his lips finally met yours, It was desperate, steve groaned softly, one of his hands moving from your face and to your hip, pulling you flush against him as if he were trying to merge you together.
he kissed you like he was memorizing the taste of you, when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead stayed pressed against yours. his breathing was still heavy, but the panic was gone.
he gave you a small, genuine smile, the one that reached his eyes "still a dead man," he joked, his voice dropping to that familiar, cocky pitch. "but definitely a lucky one."
𓂃₊ ⊹
you and steve were hunched over a shared textbook. he wasn't even pretending to study, his leg was bouncing a mile a minute, the thud thud thud of his sneaker against the carpet could be heard.
billy didn't say a word at first. he just pulled out the chair directly across from steve and sat down, backward, resting his chin on his crossed arms.
"you're a hard man to track down today, harrington," billy said, his voice a low. “busy playing house with my sister?”
steve sat up straight, his hand sliding over yours, you glanced up, rolling your eyes. "we're studying, billy. leave it alone." you said.
"studying," billy repeated, the word tasting like a joke in his mouth. he leaned forward, the smell of leather and smoke rolling off him. he looked at you, a slow, grin curling his lips. "is that what we're calling it now? 'studying' the local failure?"
"back off," you snapped, but the sound of your voice only seemed to entertain him.
billy’s gaze snapped back to steve. he reached out and grabbed the edge of the heavy textbook, slowly dragging it toward him until it fell off the table and hit the floor with a loud, echoing bang. the librarian cleared her throat in the distance, but no one moved.
"pick it up," steve said.
billy’s grin didn't falter, he let out a soft, huffing sound... like a half laugh, half scoff and leaned even further over the table, his shadow stretching across the open pages of your notebook. "what was that, harrington?"
"i said pick it up," steve repeated, he finally let go of your hand, but only to plant both palms flat on the table, leaning in until he was eye to eye with billy. "you want to act like a psycho at home? fine. but we’re in a library. Have a little class for once in your life."
"class," billy laughed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "that’s rich coming from a guy who’s one bad semester away from pumping gas for the rest of his life."
"shut up, billy," steve spat, his voice cracking. "just for once, shut the hell up."
billy’s eyes lit up, he’d found the nerve. he reached out, not to shove, but to mockingly flick the bridge of steve’s nose.
steve didn't think, he lunged. he grabbed billy by the collar of his denim jacket and slammed him back against the heavy oak table.
"steve, no!" you cried, jumping up as chairs screeched and toppled over.
the library erupted. billy let out a bark of a laugh, his hands flying up to wrap around steve’s throat, they crashed into a nearby bookshelf, sending a cascade of encyclopedias raining down on them.
steve swung a wild, desperate punch that caught billy in the jaw, but billy didn't even flinch, he just surged forward, pinning steve against the shelves with a sickening thud.
"stop it! both of you!" you rushed forward, grabbing the back of billy’s jacket, trying to haul him off. "billy, let him go! you’re going to kill him!"
"i told you!" billy roared, his voice a frantic. "i told you what would happen!" billy was seeing red, his teeth bared in a snarl as he raised a fist to hammer into steve’s ribs.
you didn't think about the physics of it, you just threw yourself into the narrow space between them, your hands reaching out to shove at billy’s chest.
"billy, stop!"
it happened in a fraction of a second. billy was already in mid swing, he didn't see you. he didn't realize it was you until the heavy crack of his knuckles meeting your cheekbone echoed through the quiet room.
the force of it sent you stumbling sideways, your hip hitting the corner of a table before you crumpled to the floor.
the silence that followed was deafening.
billy froze, his hand still suspended in the air, his chest heaving the look on his face was replaced with a sickening look of horror as he stared down at you.
steve, slumped against the shelves and gasping for air, he looked over and let out a strangled sound of pure agony.
"no," billy whispered, his voice small and stripped of all its bravado. he took a step fprward.
"don't touch her!" steve roared, scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees to get to you first. he hovered over you, his hands trembling as they reached for your face, his own lip bleeding.
"i’m here, i’ve got you," steve choked out, his voice cracking. he didn't grab you, he was too afraid of hurting you more. instead, he just hovered, his fingertips barely grazing your hair. "can you look at me? baby, please, just look at me."
he took another stumbling step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively. "i didn't mean to... "
"i said stay back!" steve snapped, his head whipping around.
"it's okay," you whispered, your voice sounding small and distant even to your own ears. "steve, it’s okay."
"it’s not," steve insisted, his voice thick with a sob he was trying to swallow. he finally reached out, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek with the most delicate touch he could manage. "it’s not okay. i’m so sorry. i shouldn't have... i should have just walked away."
"i'm fine, steve," you managed to say again, though the room was spinning slightly. you reached up, covering his hand with yours.
without another word, billy turned and bolted. The heavy library doors swung shut behind him with a dull thud.
"he’s gone," steve murmured into the space between you. "he's gone."
he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression a mix devotion and guilt. he moved his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you into the crook of his neck.
Synopsis: To keep your relationship a secret from Steve, you keep it a secret from everyone. But as the dominoes begin to fall, it's only a matter of time until the last one tips over.
cw: swearing, kissing, hugging, established relationship, secret relationship, fem!reader, harrington!reader, protective older brother Steve, some sassy Mike, some miscommunication, mentions of sex, mentions of violence, reader has hair, reader has arm hair, reader wears a tank top, reader wears lip gloss, use of Y/N (im sorry i really tried in the first half but then i just gave up 😭), canon divergence, hellfire is back (for the plot), the beamer survived (for the plot)
wc: 8.5k
You and Michael Wheeler were in a casual relationship.
Not casual in the sense that you don’t care much about each other and are also seeing other people, but in the sense that you guys just…went with the flow. There wasn’t any sort of plan or structure necessary. You really liked Mike. Mike really liked you. And that’s all either of you needed.
But…there was one rule: Nobody could know.
It had started off as just Steve couldn’t know—you didn’t even want to think about how mad your brother would be if he knew you were going out with a boy, and of all boys in Hawkins, Mike Wheeler. It also didn’t help that Mike’s sister was his ex, so. That was really great.
But shortly after you’d told this to your boyfriend, made it your relationship’s only official rule, you both realized that if Steve couldn’t know, then neither could Robin. Or Dustin. And by extension, Will, El, Lucas, or Max.
So you amended the rule—Nobody. Could. Know.
It was actually much easier than anticipated to follow, for the first six months. You and Mike had never once spoken before you were swept into the whole ‘alternate dimension with monsters that would kill you’ thing, but became fast friends after. Nobody was ever surprised when you and Mike hung out together alone or leaned on each other or whispered about stupid inside jokes. That’s just what friends did.
But ‘friends’ didn’t sneak into each other’s windows at night, or stay up for hours talking on the phone about anything that came to mind. They didn’t lay on the floor with each other, hands intertwined, just basking in the other's presence. And friends certainly didn't make plans to study together but then spend two hours making out instead.
It's a miracle Steve hasn't caught you.
When you push Mike's window open, a cold gust of wind hits your face, making your teeth chatter and the hairs on your arms stand up.
Mike gazes up at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, chin in his hands. "Are you sure you're good to get home alone? It's late."
"I'll be fine, Mike, it's a short walk," you tell him, swinging a leg through the window, firmly gripping the pane when your foot slides a little on the windowsill, still wet from the earlier rain. "See you tomorrow?"
Mike nods and leans up to kiss you. You return it happily, loving it so much that it takes a droplet from the roof falling on your forehead to make you remember you're supposed to be leaving.
With a final wave goodbye, you swing your other leg out your boyfriend's window, carefully climbing down the crevices of his house's outer wall, sighing in relief when you feel the softness his lawn under your shoes.
You turn, still tip-toeing, towards the sidewalk, and as you get to the pavement and drop your guard, you're nearly blinded by the flash of high-beam headlights. You raise your arm to shield your eyes, lowering it once you see the brights fading. Continuing your walk, you hear the car's door open and shut behind you, and the sound of boots against asphalt. Then a voice, calling your name. You recognize it.
Nancy Wheeler.
Your pace picks up. Her voice gets more insistent, then it gets closer. Closer and closer until you feel a hand on your shoulder, turning you around to face her.
"What are you doing out so late? Does Steve know you're here?" Your eyes dart to the ground. "I'm taking that as a no," she says, looking around the block.
You watch her face, fear rising as you clock the exact moment she registers Mike's open window, settling as you practically see the gears turning in her head, putting the puzzle together.
"Wait," she murmurs. Then her voice rises. "You...and my brother?" You don't reply, looking back down. "What? You're going out with him? Why? Since when?" When your mouth still stays shut, she sighs. "Come on. I'll drive you home. It's dangerous out this late—does Mike not know that? Okay, I have a lot of questions about this. And I expect answers."
As you sit quietly in Nancy's passenger seat, you can't tell if she sounds more like a journalist or a concerned mother.
"How long has this been going on for?"
"Are you comfortable in the relationship? Is Mike?"
"Does Steve know?"
"This isn't a bond-of-trauma thing, right?"
"Are you having sex? If you are, you're using protection, right?"
That one gets a reaction from you.
"Wha—ew, why do you want to know that, we're talking about your brother!"
"Exactly," she nods matter-of-factly. "I have zero intention of becoming an aunt right now, and I also don't want to attend Mike's funeral if you guys get into that situation because your brother will murder him. Now, answer my question."
"We're not," you mutter, earning a satisfied "good" from Nancy.
"Speaking of Steve," she says, "does he know about this?"
You have this sudden urge to kick Nancy from the car and drive it a million miles away to change your name and start a new life.
"You already asked that."
"You didn't answer. You haven't answered any of my questions, and I told you I expect answers."
"Sucks to be you, I guess." The glare she gives you elicits a sound that's a mixture of a laugh and a cry for help. "Fine," you mutter. "Steve doesn't know." Nancy nods. "And please don't tell him, or Jonathan, or Will, or Joyce. Or your mom. Or Holly. Or Robin—"
"Calm down," she laughs. You give her a look this time, because does she not realize how serious this is? "I won't tell anyone. You have my word."
Your expression softens. "Thanks, Nancy."
You look at your lips in the glitter-framed mirror on the inside of your locker door, opening a shiny pink gloss to swipe over them.
Conveniently, however, your boyfriend decides to mess up your application by shaking your shoulder hard.
"Jesus—Mike, what the hell?" You turn to face him, brow furrowing when you see the expression on his face.
"Do you know anything about why Nancy pulled me aside before breakfast this morning and told me never to let my girlfriend walk home alone ever again?" His brown eyes are wide, searching yours for any sort of information about what compromised the two of you to his sister.
"...Maybe?"
"What? Y/N, what happened?"
"Okay, so..." You grimace, pursing your lips. "When I was leaving last night, she parked outside your house right as I came out. She asked what I was doing there, and I swear I said nothing, but it didn't take long for her to put two and two together. And then she gave me a ride home."
Mike buries his face in his hands, muffling a groan.
"But she promised not to tell anyone!" You reassure him, pulling his hands from his face and clasping them in your own. "That's good, right?"
"She has blackmail now," he mutters, leaning closer into you. "My life is over."
"It's not over," you say, quickly looking around yourself before letting go of his hands to pull him even closer, your arms around his neck. "I trust Nancy. I think we're still in the clear."
"...You really think so?"
"Yeah."
"I don't trust her, but..." His shoulders lose some of their tension, and he melts into your hug. "...I trust you. So. Okay. Yup. We're good."
Spoiler alert: One of you should've found some wood to knock on.
After a moment, Mike pulls back from you, reaching out to cup your jaw.
"Can I kiss you real quick?"
You smile. "Is there anyone here who can't see?"
Mike looks ahead and to the side. "Nope."
"Then go for it."
He leans in. You lean in. You meet in the middle. It's school, so you can't get as lost in it as you were last night (more lost in it than you could get last year, though—perks of being a senior), but it's still nice, one of your hands moving up to twirl one of the curls at the nape of his neck around your finger, the other one settling on his shoulder.
Then you pull apart for air, fighting back this bright, schoolgirl smile that's starting to creep its way up on your face.
"You have lip gloss on you," you whisper, noticing a smudge of shiny pink right on the corner of Mike's lip, wiping it off with your thumb. "And you should get to class."
"I'll walk you to yours first," he says, closing your locker door and turning around, immediately coming face-to-face with someone that isn't you.
Pencil case and notebook in hand, long brown hair tied back, big brown eyes wide and more shocked than you've ever seen them in the four years you've known her.
El.
"What's going on—"
"We can explain!" You and Mike speak in unison, stepping further apart from each other.
"We, uh, were just talking—"
El interrupts this time. "You were kissing."
"We're not—we weren't kissing, I..." You mentally scramble for anything that could cover up what El had seen. "I was, uhm, giving Mike mouth-to-mouth because, he was passing out, from, er—low iron. Low iron. We've gotta get more spinach in this boy, am I right?"
Her eyes narrow. "You're lying."
You glance nervously at Mike. "I'm not lying," you mumble.
"Why are you lying?" El clearly doesn't believe you. "We don't lie to each other, Y/N. Friends don't—"
"Yeah," you sigh. "I know. Look, El, I...can we talk about this at lunch? Please?"
"Okay," she nods. "Lunch." She's walking away to her next class before you can say another word.
You wouldn't be able to tell anyone what your math teacher had said about derivatives that lasted twenty-five minutes.
You wouldn't be able to give anyone answers to the worksheet that still lay blank on your desk after thirty.
You were, however, absolutely sure of the fact that class ended in three...two...one...
The bell rings shrill and loud, the normally startling sound almost a comfort to you as you jump up from your seat, scooping all your stuff up into your arms and stepping out of your chair, through the door and to the lunchroom faster than the Flash.
You drop all your stuff at your and Mike's usual table, and it slams hard onto the surface. He's not there yet, but Dustin and Lucas are, arguing over something you're going to assume is sci-fi/fantasy related, only breaking out of their debate once they hear the crash of your things.
"Hi," you greet them, sitting down next to Lucas and tapping the edge of the table with your fingernails. "Where's Mike? And El—sorry, Jane?"
They look at each other for a whole four seconds, then at you like you're some slimy alien species they want to discover by poking at with a probe.
"Are you...okay?" Lucas asks.
"Never better," you shrug. "Now, where's Jane and Mike?"
"You sound urgent," says Dustin, looking back at one of the hallways leading into the lunchroom. "They're probably just still in class."
"I need to talk to them," you say.
"About what?" The boys inquire in unison.
"None of your business. Hi, Max!" Your expression brightens upon seeing your friend, sliding next to Lucas' other side with a lunch tray in hand.
"Hey, Harrington," she smiles, then looks around the table. "Where's Jane? And Wheeler?"
Dustin and Lucas turn to her. Then to you. Then back to her. "Are you in on Y/N's thing?"
Max lifts a brow. "What thing?"
One of your favorite things about Max had just become your absolute favorite. She was a beyond excellent liar, which was something people kept in mind regardless of whether she was lying.
The boys do the eye-contact thing again, both unsure whether or not she's telling the truth, which thankfully, as Mike and El come into the cafeteria, starts another argument that distracts them from you standing up and dragging the two up and away from the cafeteria before they can even sit down.
You stop in front of the French classroom, glancing inside to make sure it's empty before pulling them inside and sitting El down at one of the desks, standing in front of her.
"So," you say. "About what you saw earlier..."
"You and Mike kissing?"
You look at Mike. Mike looks at you. You're both asking the same question. Do we tell her?
"She already saw," you murmur.
Mike nods with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah." He turns to El. "You're right. We were kissing."
"Why was Y/N lying?"
"Because nobody's supposed to know about us. So you can't tell anyone."
"This is like, super serious, El," you say. "So please promise me you won't tell anybody about it. It's a secret."
"It was a secret," Mike mutters, rolling his eyes.
El looks between you and your boyfriend. Then she nods sincerely. "I promise I won't tell."
"You're the best," you beam, stepping closer and wrapping your arms tight around her. "I love you, El."
She smiles softly. "I love you too."
As the three of you exit the classroom, Mike leans in towards you, whispering: “Two people in two days. I think we’re screwed.”
After Mike had made that comment, you'd thought you were screwed, too, but maybe he'd jinxed it or something (can you jinx a bad thing?) because nothing embarrassing happened to the two of you for the next four weeks.
No being walked in on, no being suspected, no accidentally saying something and having to cover it up, just pure, secret (sort of), bliss.
And it carried over through spring break, when the weather finally warmed up and . Nobody you knew showed up when you took Mike on a picnic in the meadow, and Steve was never home when Mike called, either grocery shopping or on a first date or whatever else he spent his free time doing. You didn't really care as long as you got to talk to your boyfriend.
The whole week off you had for the break went by far too quickly, feeling like it had just been a hazy three-day weekend instead. That just wouldn't do, though, so (after annoying your brother into saying yes) you invited everybody to your house to sleep over.
Your one instruction to your friends was to bring bathing suits. You would handle the rest—movies, games, snacks. They pulled through, and you all spent most of the afternoon splashing around in your backyard pool, trying out fun tricks and dives and playing all the pool games you hadn't played since winter.
You had all climbed out of the cold water by the time the sun began to skin into the horizon and paint the sky orange, leaving wet footprints on the concrete in your backyard before going to change—some of you lining up in front of the pool shed, and some others waiting outside of the downstairs bathroom.
Once you were dry, hair damp and dressed in clean, soft pajamas, you had dragged all your friends into the living room, where boxes upon boxes of old board games were stacked on top of each other in an impressive tower.
"Take your pick," you grin. "I'll get the food." The second you turn around towards the kitchen, chatter immediately erupts between the group of friends, and you hear some of the boxes fall to the floor. You slide frozen pizzas into the oven, and you get some chips and Hostess cupcakes to hold you guys over while you're playing.
Multiple rounds of UNO, Twister, Clue, and a Connect Four tournament later, you're all on a couch or the floor, with cheesy slices of pizza in hand and a large bowl of popcorn on the coffee table that's almost empty already. Top Gun is bright on your television screen, and a pretty high stack of VHS tapes sits next to your player, shrinking one by one as everyone votes on more movies to watch.
By almost four in the morning, everyone's too sleepy to continue watching whatever movie was playing, sprawled on the floor or one of the couches. The sound of snores surrounds you, and they're just so appealing. So you point the remote at the TV and turn it off, leaving the room in silence and darkness. Your head lolls on Mike's shoulder and your eyes slip shut barely a second after as you doze off into a dreamland.
Your dreamland is dark. The sky is red and black, thunder clapping every so often, making you almost jump out of your skin each time. Under your feet, the ground feels slimy and moist, like you were going to slip on it any second. Which you knew from personal experience was the least dangerous thing about this place.
You weren't supposed to be here. This was supposed to be over. You'd destroyed it. So what were you doing back.
You turn your head frantically, looking around the area for any possible way out.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. What is happening?
And then you see it. Him. Alive. Not dead like you'd ensured two years ago. Alive and breathing and heading towards you with the speed of a falcon. You turn to run. But your feet are planted into the ground, and you can't lift them.
He gets closer. Closer. Then he lifts his hand toward you. Your body rises up. Higher, higher, higher, until—
You shoot up, head frantically lifting from Mike's shoulder, sweat dripping down your cool skin. Your eyes dart around the room, and though it's pitch-dark, you can still see everyone. Asleep. Inside. Safe. You can't help it. A loud sob leaves your mouth, one you can't tell is from relief or fear. Hot tears trail down your cheeks and drop onto your shirt, even though you hurriedly try to wipe them away.
Mike stirs. His eyes move fast, from everyone asleep in the living room, to you, pale and scared and very much awake.
Blinking rapidly, he pushes himself to sit up, looking at you with his brows creased in concern. "Hey," he whispers. "What happened?"
"Nothing." You tuck your knees up to your chest, curling in on yourself like it'll make you invisible to him.
"It's not nothing if you're crying about it," he says gently, tilting your chin towards him to meet his gaze. "You can tell me. I'm not gonna judge you or anything."
"I know you won't. I just don't want to talk about it."
"But it won't help you to bottle—" Mike sighs. "Okay." He obliges for a moment, then looks over you and asks: "Do you want a hug?"
You unravel from your self-hug ever so slightly. "Yes please," you murmur, already moving to lean into him. He pulls you in all the way, wrapping his arms around your waist and you wrapping yours around his neck.
Your eyes water again, and the sobs come faster, harder, wracking your body, producing tears absorbed by Mike's sleeve. And in the midst of the sobs comes the story.
"I was back there," you rasp. "And I was alone. And he had me, Mike, he had me and I was gonna die. He was gonna do that thing where he made me float and snapped all my bones like he was gonna do to Max and—" you're interrupted by your own cries, muffling them in Mike's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I woke you up and now your shirt's all wet and snotty and—"
"Hey, no, don't apologize, it's not like any of this is your fault," Mike reassures you. "I think what happened haunts all of our dreams, tonight it just picked you. But you're okay. We killed him. The gate's closed. Nobody can hurt you, and nobody will hurt you, because I'm here. alright? We all are." He tugs you impossibly closer to him, pressing light but loving kisses all around your face. "And I'm gonna keep you safe."
Just him saying that made something inside you settle, and you respond to his kisses, giving him a few of your own.
You were safe. And Mike would help keep it that way.
As you cuddle tighter against your boyfriend, seeking sleep once again, your eyes meet a pair of hazel ones across the room.
Will.
You must have accidentally woken him up, too.
They move to Mike, then to you once again, and you exchange a silent promise.
He's not going to tell.
Will doesn't ask many questions except "how long has this been going on?" and the dreaded "does Steve know?". Once you had answered those, it was smooth sailing.
Steve didn't know, and he wouldn't know. Not yet.
You had been mindlessly flicking through the TV channels on a gloomy Sunday evening when the weather came up, showing that this coming Saturday would be sunny with a high of 74° F (about 23° C!).
That sounded wonderful with the quite consistent showers that had been raining on Hawkins, so what's the first thing you do?
Call Mike (once you were sure Steve wasn't home yet).
You hold the receiver against your ear, tapping your foot impatiently as you wait for him to pick up. He does on the fourth ring. "Mike, I have the perfect—oh, hi Mr. Wheeler. Could you tell Mike I want to talk to him?"
"Who's this?"
"I'm his friend, Y/N Harrington." Though you're not the fondest of Mr. Wheeler, you speak brightly into the phone, so as not to ruffle his feathers or anything that could make him hang up on you.
It's silent for a few moments, then you hear another voice.
"Hello?"
"Mike? I have the best idea for a date."
"A date?"
"Yeah. You know, that thing that boyfriends and girlfriends go on?"
"Yeah, I know." You can practically see the eye-roll. "We just haven't been on one in a while."
"Exactly," you grin. "Are you free Saturday? Because if you are, we're gonna go to the hill where Dustin put his radio thing and watch the sun rise."
"...You want us to climb all the way up Weathertop. At like, five in the morning."
"Okay, it sounds bad when you say it like that, but I promise I'll do everything. I'll bring us like, a breakfast or something, I'll pick you up from your house, and you won't have to dress nice, and I can carry you up the hill if you get too tired to walk."
"I can walk up a hill! And I'm gonna pick you up from your house. I'll take my bike. Or Nancy's car if she lets me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm showing up at 5 AM sharp on Saturday, and you better be ready. With that breakfast you mentioned."
"Great. I'll see you then, Mike."
"You're gonna see me at school tomorrow."
"Oh, right," you giggle. "But I'll see you on Saturday, too."
The sound of the front door's lock turning hits your ear, and your heart rate doubles. "Shit, Steve's home. I'll call you back later if you still wanna talk, 'kay? Bye!"
"Bye—" The phone is back up before he can add anything else.
Usually after a long, boring five days of school and homework and socializing and bedtimes (that you never followed anyway), you're ready to stay up on a Friday night at a party, or watching a bunch of movies or whatever stupid shit is still airing at two in the morning.
This Friday night, however, you're in bed before even 10:00 PM, alarm set to 4:00, blankets soft, pillows fluffed, window, blinds, and curtain shut; and a sleep mask that you'd received a million years ago as a party favor (to keep out any and all light). You're in your comfiest pajamas, curled up on your side as you wait for sleep to engulf you.
You roll over. And over again. You shift to your back. You flip your pillow. You shift to your stomach. Back to your side. A cricket chirps outside and every nerve in your body jolts. But you don't move. You won't move. You will sleep.
You don't want to know when, but you do fall asleep eventually.
And soon, it's 4:00 AM, and you feel like you're physically fighting the sleep in your body as you groggily push yourself out of your bed and hit the button to turn it off.
By the time you've showered, brushed your teeth, and done your hair, you were awake enough to walk over to your wardrobe and pick out something nice to wear for your guys' first date in weeks.
Fuzzy sweater...no, too warm. Sundress...no, too fancy. Pink tank top...yes. Casual but nice and suited for the weather. You pull that on over your head, careful not to mess up your hair, and style it with a pair of denim shorts you'd bought on sale for Black Friday and couldn't wait to wear.
As you clip in jewelry, your gaze passes over the numerous cosmetic products that line your vanity. Is it worth it at almost 5:00? You knew Mike wouldn't care—he'd like your look either way, but it was still a date. And you wanted to look nice. So you apply a bit of mascara and lip gloss to top everything off.
Perfect.
At 4:59 in the morning, you hear a light tap on your window. Then a slightly harder one. Rushing over to it, you open the curtains and pull up the blinds.
"Hi Mike."
"Hey, Y/N." He's not in his pajamas like you said he could be, but actually dressed, in a band T-shirt and a pair of jeans. "I couldn't get Nancy's car, but I brought my bike, and I tied one of Holly's old bike baskets onto it so that you could put the stuff you bring in it."
"Okay—"
"And I parked it a block away so Steve doesn't see it."
You had really taught him well over the past few months. "You are so amazing, Michael Wheeler."
"I know," he grins. "You look pretty."
Your face flushes, and you look from Mike to the rug on your floor, twisting the ends of your hair between your fingers. "Thanks."
"Okay, so are we gonna go sunrise-breakfast or what?" He stares into space for a second. "Sorry, that sounded a lot cooler in my head, and then I said it out loud and I was like, 'Mike, shut the fuck up that sounded disgusting'. But are you ready to go?"
Sunrise-breakfast. Breakfast. "One minute. Stay here!" You bolt from your room, keeping your stride short once you leave your room so your steps don't make as much sound, running to the kitchen and grabbing every crowd-pleaser in the cabinet before running back to your room, where Mike is very confused at the window.
"What's that?"
"Breakfast," you answer, holding up the stuff you'd swiped. Actually looking at it, a box of Twinkies, Cheetos, and a couple pouches of Capri-Sun didn't sound like the best breakfast, but it was better than nothing.
Mike nods. "Solid choices. I'll get that for you." He holds a hand out towards all the food in your arms.
"What? No!" Your eyes widen. "You're hanging off my window pane!"
"Yeah," he says. "And you'll be too once I get down. I don't want you to fall."
"I don't want you to fall," you argue. "I'll be fine."
"Y/N—"
"We're gonna miss the sunrise if we keep arguing, Mike, just climb down and I'll climb after you."
Mike could tell that you weren't going to take no for an answer, so he sighs and starts back down the wall of your house. You watch through the open window, waiting until his feet hit the grass and he's some feet away from the house until you move all the food to one arm, using the other to grip the wood as you swing your legs out the window and slowly climb out, too.
The snacks breakfast move to the bike basket, and you sit behind your boyfriend on his bike, wrapping your arms around his waist as he pedals through Hawkins and all the way to Weathertop. You don't talk to him, letting him focus on biking, and instead busy yourself with the dusky purple sky.
It's become a much paler color by the time you arrive at the hill, and the two of you dismount the seat, grabbing the food and, hand-in-hand, running up the hill (haha see what I did there). You plop down onto the soft green grass, pulling Mike down with you and leaning your head against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around your back to get you closer.
Twinkies unwrap, and straws poke into the juice pouches as you both sit on the hilltop in comfortable silence.
The sun slowly starts to come up from the horizon, and its beams streak the sky in pinks and golds.
"Wow," Mike mutters. "It's really pretty."
"Beautiful," you agree.
The sky is blue by the time you reach for another Twinkie, but all you feel underneath your fingers is cardboard. It tears your gaze from above and you turn to Mike, who's holding the last one in his hand...and he finishes it off.
"Mike!"
"Hm?" There's a couple yellow cake crumbs stuck around his lips and his brow is furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"That's the last one!"
He looks down at the box, seeing it empty, and he runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Sorry," he says, half apology, half laugh.
"It's not funny."
"I'll get you another one, Y/N."
"But I'm hungry now," you pout.
Mike doesn't say anything for a second. Then he scoops all the food up in one arm and holds the other one out towards you. "Okay. Let's get you one now."
You take his hand and he helps you up, pulling you down the hill. When you reach his bike, he shoves the leftover snacks and all the wrappers in Holly's basket and climbs onto the seat, waiting for you to settle and hold on tight before he starts pedaling.
Your surroundings pass you in a slight blur as your boyfriend takes you from the hill all the way to his house.
"Just stay here," he says. "I'll be in and out in like, twenty seconds." He hops off his bike and kicks the stand down, leaving you on the front porch.
His return with a Twinkie actually took twenty-five seconds, but you were willing to let it slide. You unwrap the sweet treat, taking a bite, and using your free hand to pull Mike into a sweet embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tight.
He hugs you back, his arms sliding around your waist. You both stay like that for a little bit, then he pulls away.
"What was that for?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.
"I just wanted to thank you," you shrug, taking another bite of your Twinkie. "You woke up super early, biked me up a hill, and then biked me all the way to your house because I'm hungry and want a Twinkie. It's really nice of you to do for me, Mike."
He looks at you for a second. Just looks at you, a soft sparkle in his eyes. Then, quietly, he speaks. "I would do a hell of a lot more for you, Harrington."
You'd insisted on going on a quick walk while you were halfway through your Twinkie.
"The day's so nice. I don't want to waste it just standing around."
So you'd rushed through the rest of your Twinkie, and you and Mike were now walking around his neighborhood, fingers intertwined.
"You should all come over later," you tell him. "It's gonna be even hotter. We can use my pool. Or we could just hang out outside, I have popsicles."
"Or," Mike counters. "We could all go to my house—you know, enjoy the AC—and keep playing that D&D campaign."
"No," you refuse immediately, kicking at a pebble in front of you. "I'm not playing that campaign."
When you'd first started hanging out with Mike and the party, that sentence had left your mouth at least twice a day. Dungeons and Dragons was for loser nerds, and you wouldn't be caught dead rolling one of those twenty-sided dice.
Now, though, it's a different story.
"You're only saying that because all your wealth was looted," Mike laughs.
You roll your eyes, but press closer to him, leaning against his side. "I hate those bandits. I'm so screwed now, there's literally no point in playing."
"Maybe you could get more," Mike shrugs.
"...Did you write that in?" You glare at him through the corner of your eyes. "Michael Wheeler, tell me if that's written in."
"I'm not gonna tell you! You'll find out when you play."
"Mike," you groan. "That's so un—"
The sound of your name stops you in your tracks. Mike stops, too.
"Did—" He looks behind himself, then to the side. "Did you hear that?"
Another voice calling Mike's name startles you both again. "I definitely heard that," you agree. You feel sweat beginning to bead on your hands, and wipe them on your shorts. "Mike, what if it's him? Or what if it's the flayer and we never really destroyed the bridge and it's coming for us and—"
Your name. Again. Much louder this time. And with it, this time, a head of fiery red hair coming towards you on a skateboard. Max. You exhale in relief. It was just Max.
The minute her foot stops her movement on the ground, you rip your hand from Mike's and step closer to your friend, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her tight.
"I'm so glad it's you," you whisper.
"Uh, okay," she says, confused. "Thanks."
Lucas appears behind her. "You guys," he asks, looking at Mike and then at you. "What are you doing awake and outside at 6 AM?" He turns fully to you this time. "And why are you even here, you live all the way across town!"
You can see that those were the kind of question that was answered just by asking it. The gears turning in Lucas' head are basically visible, and his slowly gaping mouth and his pointing between you and Mike.
"Oh my God," he says slowly. "You," he looks at Mike. "And you." He looks at you. "Max, are you seeing this? Mike and Y/N!"
"I'm seeing it," she nods.
"How long has this been happening?" Lucas asks, gesturing wildly. "Does your brother know?"
"Obviously Steve doesn't know," Max huffs. "Wheeler's alive."
Lucas lets out a chuckle. "So...the two of you. How come you didn't tell us?"
"There were a lot of risks," you sigh. "In how my brother could find out. So we decided not to tell anyone?"
"Wait, so we're the only ones who know?" Max lifts a brow.
You and Mike glance sheepishly at each other and Mike shakes his head. "Well...Nancy knows. So do Eleven and Will." He runs a hand through his hair. "And now you guys."
"Please don't tell anyone," you whisper.
"I mean, pretty much everyone knows at this point, so I don't see why not—"
"Max, I'm not joking," you tell her, your voice low and flat. "Please keep your mouth shut about this, I don't want me or Mike getting in trouble."
She stares at you for a moment then nods slowly, understanding. "Okay," she nods. Lucas does, too. "Our lips are sealed."
"What are you doing here again? You're not in Hellfire."
"Sorry." You put your hands up sheepishly. "Just walking Mike here before Steve comes to get me. Do you guys need any help setting up?"
Dustin shakes his head, and beckons with his arms for Mike to enter the room.
You turn to face your boyfriend, taking a step back from him. "I will...uh, see you later?"
"Yeah," he nods. "I'll call you."
"Cool." You almost give into your natural reflexes of leaning in to kiss him. Almost. "Have fun." You turn and walk away from him before the urge to do anything rash—like hug him—overtakes you completely.
(Mike's POV!)
Once you're out of Mike's field of vision, Dustin gives him a sly smirk, pulling pieces out of a box. "So you and Y/N have been hanging out a lot."
Mike is so grateful in that moment for the darkness of the room that serves to hide his reddening cheeks. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "What about it? She's one of our best friends."
"I mean, you don't see me walking her to all of her classes," he points out. "Is the 'little' thing you had for her back in seventh grade coming back again?"
"I—what? No! No. No." Mike shoves one hand in his pocket, and runs another one harshly through his hair. "I do not like Y/N." It almost killed him to say.
Unfortunately, Dustin and his valedictorian-sharp brain saw right through it. "Oh, you so do," he smiles.
Not-so-thankfully, Dustin and his valedictorian-sharp brain also think about it. "You know, now that I'm looking back on it...she might like you, too."
Mike blinks, biting back some sort of sarcastic 'you don't say?'.
"Nope." He shakes his head. "I think that...she does not like me."
"Oh, come on, Michael! She wouldn't be voluntarily hanging out with you all the time if she wasn't into you, would she?"
"Thanks?" Mike couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. "And we're..." He runs a hand through his dark curls. "We're just friends, Dustin."
Dustin wasn't listening. He was thinking again. "What do you guys do when you're hanging out anyway?"
"Uh, we—we eat," he sputters. "Eat."
"Eat?" Dustin cocks a brow.
"Yeah," Mike nods furiously. "Like, food. We eat food. At shops and diners and stuff."
"You just...eat? You can do that with the rest of us, too, you know. Oh, we should all go get pizza. We should just make it a thing, though. We can make a list of who gets to pick where and when, and we can do rotations, like once a week or month or something."
Mike blinks. It's not that he minded going out to eat with his whole friend group, just that Dustin was implying that it was going to become a group thing. That's the part he didn't like. Getting alone time with Y/N when they didn't have full guard up for someone watching was hard enough as it is—he didn't want even less of it.
"Ehh...I mean, it sounds really fun," he nods along. "But don't you think it would be hard to plan? Like, you and I have Hellfire, Lucas has basketball, Will is always painting...I don't think it'd work out."
"Well, we have the whole summer. And it's our last summer together before we're all gone our separate ways for college. We should do it. Make more memories."
An uncomfortable guilt washes over Mike. Dustin was right. Mike hadn't wanted to think about everyone leaving, not yet, but they really only did have this one last summer before having to go about their lives on their own. He tips his head back, running his hands through his hair again, tugging at the strands slightly in agitation. "That's true," he mutters. "I just...I dunno, I like hanging out with just Y/N sometimes—"
"No," Dustin interrupts. "You like like Y/N."
"I don't!" He huffs, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Yes you do," his friend tells him matter-of-factly, his tone alone serving to be the finger that pushes nonexistent glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It's just like back in middle school, except she likes you back this time."
"Oh my God—I don't like her, she doesn't like me back, there is nothing going on between me and Y/N!"
"Okay, yeah, but there might as well be!" Dustin argues. "You act as if she's your girlfriend anyway, so—"
"That's because she is my girlfriend!"
Mike's loud yell is followed by a silence even louder.
Then Dustin breaks it. "That is—I—you've really contradicted everything you were just saying."
"I know," Mike sighs. "We're going out, though. We've been going out. I just got so frustrated trying to convince you that nothing was happening that it...slipped out of my mouth."
"What the fuck?" Dustin looks appalled. "You're actually with Y/N. You and Y/N Harrington." His eyes go even wider. "You are dating Steve Harrington's little sister. Oh, shit; Mike, you're gonna be dead."
"I know," he repeats. "Believe me, we've been keeping this quiet for—"
He's interrupted by the creaking of the door, a gaggle of freshmen and sophomores bursting inside the room, tossing their backpacks onto the floor and settling into their self-designated spots, waiting eagerly for the two older boys to say they can get started.
You're filling me in on everything later, Dustin mouths to Mike with a stern expression before sitting to face the rest of the club and starting the session.
Mike slumps into the seat next to him. Oh, dear God...
(Back to your pov!)
You walked Mike to Hellfire the next week, too, and you'd planned for him to come over after to make out do homework, because Steve had work late.
Because he wasn't free to pick you up today, you walked home, which you didn't mind. It was sunny but not blinding with a slight breeze that made the temperature more than bearable.
You push the door open, letting some of the early summer air into the Harrington House before scanning the lower level for your brother, just in case. If he was home, you wanted to make sure he was tired and knocked out before Mike got here, to make your little rendezvous as stress-free as possible.
"Steve?"
No answer. You check the pantry, and call for him again. Still nothing. So he was still at work. Or on the way home. After pulling a boxed lasagna from the freezer and sticking it in the oven, you cross your fingers for the former, and drag your backpack upstairs to finish some schoolwork.
Your brother arrives later than usual, while you're in a whole different realm—walkman on, headphones on, music blasting—scribbling down notes from your Physics textbook, pushing your bedroom door open and smacking the back of your head.
"Ow!" You push his hand off of you. "What the fuck was that for?"
"I called you down like, twenty times. I took the lasagna out of the oven and it's getting cold."
Oh. At the mention of your dinner, you realize just how hungry you are, and sit up from your chair. "Let's eat, then," you say, already walking out of the room.
"Uh-uh." Steve shakes his head. "Not so fast."
"What?" You groan. "Why?"
"I drove Henderson home from his club today."
That's why he was late. "Okay," you say. "What about it?"
"I, uh, heard something pretty interesting from him."
"Ooh, did they finally get past the demon shark and into the caverns?" You've never seen a more confused look on someone's face until now. "Sorry. Mike was telling me about the club campaign."
Your brother's eyebrows raise and he nods slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. "Mike. Wheeler. Michael Wheeler. Funnily enough, that's what Henderson was telling me about."
Shit. "...Why?" You hesitate before asking your next question. "What'd Mike do?"
"Well, according to my sources, Y/N, Mike did the one thing I told him and all his little friends not to do, and that was get together with you."
You freeze. Your mouth opens but your brain can't form words for it to get out. "I—no—we—"
"Save it. How long has this been going on for?"
Your mind catches up, scrambling to come up with anything that can save yourself. "No, Mike and I aren't—"
Tap. Steve's head spins to the source of the sound, yours following quickly. Tap. Your window.
Fuck.
He takes a step, pushing your curtains to the sides and pulling up the blinds. And his eyes, just as expected, meet a pair of round brown ones, that widen, breaking eye contact with Steve immediately, scanning the room for you.
You look at him apologetically, then turn your gaze to the floor. I can't do this. You hear the hiss of the window's glass being pushed up, and the slight breeze from earlier has kicked up, blowing into your room and through your hair, sending goose bumps down your arms.
"What are you doing at my sister's window?" Your brother asks your boyfriend, peering down at him.
"I learned from you. I guess the student becomes the master," Mike shrugs.
Steve's hands curl into fists. "I'm so tempted to push him off," he mutters, still staring at Mike through the open window.
"Wha—no!" Whatever glue had stuck your feet to the floor this whole time seemed to have worn off now, and you walk over to the window, pushing your brother aside and sticking both arms out to help pull Mike up and into your room. "Hi," you whisper once he's fully inside, plucking a green leaf off his sleeve.
"Hey," he says, his gaze going to the man next the two of you, hands on his hips and a deadly stare. "I—how—I'll be sneakier next time."
"Oh, don't worry about that, Wheeler," Steve smirks with mock concern. It drops fast. "Henderson told me everything."
"Oh my God," Mike groans, running his hands through his hair. "He told? I literally said not to—"
Your brows shoot up. "Wait, Dustin knows? Since when? How much? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Since Hellfire last week," Mike explains. "I told him...pretty much everything, which was a dumb mistake now that I know where his loyalties lie. And I was going to tell you about it but you just always talk to me about more fun stuff and I got so lost in that that I forgot to mention it and...I'm sorry," he sighs.
"It's oka—"
You're cut off by your brother. "Um, no! It's not okay! Nothing about this is anywhere near okay! You two have been sneaking around behind my back for...God knows how long, and you..." He points a finger at Mike. "I trusted you. What was the first and only rule I ever asked you to follow?"
"Y/N's off limits," Mike mutters.
"And what do you do? You break it!" Steve throws his hands in the air. "I'm going to ask this one more time, and I better get an answer. How long has this rule been broken?"
You look at Mike. Mike looks at you. You hold up a hand, counting on your fingers. "Like..."
Steve lifts a brow expectantly.
"Okay, don't be mad," you murmur.
"I'm already mad, Y/N. And I don't think I can get any madder."
"That's great," you laugh nervously. "Like, eight months?"
Mike's eyes widen and his lips curve upward. Steve's eyes widen and his jaw falls through the floor.
"Eight months? You have been dating Wheeler behind my back and lying to me for EIGHT MONTHS?"
"I'm sorry," you start, pursing your lips. "I just didn't want you to stop me from seeing Mike."
"Oh, I will—"
Mike shakes his head. "No, you won't." His lips are set in a firm line and his eyes have this determined look to them, the one you usually love to see, except right now.
"Wheeler," Steve exhales. "One more word out of you and I will throw you out of that open window."
"Steve!" You cry, cutting through the stiff tension between your brother and your boyfriend. "This is why we didn't tell you. You get all...Steve."
"I am Steve," he huffs. "And do you not think it's justified? I mean, this is Wheeler we're looking at here; he's a boy. I'm trying to protect you!"
"From what?" You scoff incredulously. "For the whole eight months we've been going out, Mike has been nothing but kind and patient with me. He's never pressured me into anything, he's never hurt me, and he's never taken me for granted. He helps me when I need it, he laughs at my jokes and he actually cares about what I have to say. He makes me feel safe, and protected, and light, and Steve, he makes me really happy. I didn't want you to break us up because I didn't want to lose that. So I'm sorry I lied to you, but I'm not sorry for being with someone who means as much to me as Mike does. That's not something that should upset you."
Your brother's eyes soften visibly. "...I'm sorry, too. I know I get protective, but I just really don't want to see you hurt. Especially by some dumb kid who can't treat you right. I want you to be happy. And if Wheeler makes you happy, then..." his face twists into slight disgust. "Date him."
A gasp leaves your mouth? "Really? No shovel talk, no nothing?"
"Nope," Steve shakes his head.
"Thank you!" You squeal, rushing over to him and throwing your arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. "You're my favorite brother!"
"I'm your only—whatever. Thanks." He pulls away from you. "But no sneaking in." He looks between you and Mike. "And no touching. Absolutely no touching. You need to stay at least three feet apart from each other at all times, and—"
"Steve."
"I'm serious. And that doesn't look like three feet, so one of you needs to move aside a little bit."
You and Mike both stay still. Then Steve gasps, facepalming.
"Y/N, we forgot about the lasagna. Could you toss some slices in the microwave? One for Wheeler, too."
His last sentence is an absolute delight to your ears. "Really? Yes! Totally!" You step out of your room, running down the stairs to the kitchen.
Once you're out of earshot, Steve steps closer to your boyfriend.
"What are your intentions with my sister?"
Mike rolls his eyes. "I care about her, Steve." His voice softens a bit. "More than anything. She's my favorite person. I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt her, I just want to see her smile. I want to make her happy. I promise you nothing is going to happen to her; not while I'm with her."
Steve nods. "You know the bat that's been in my trunk for years?"
"What could I possibly have said wrong?" Mike huffs.
"Nothing," says Steve. "But if you break that promise you just made, if you hurt Y/N in any way, you'll have the privilege of being the first one to see it since 1984. Understand?"
Mike stays silent.
"I said do you understand, Wheeler?"
"Yeah," he says, voice quiet. "I understand."
He knew he'd never ever break that promise—even if Steve hadn't threatened him with a bat.
. . . of saying i love you /// college!mike wheeler x fem!reader
wc: 13k
In the aftermath of the lake incident, Mike does his best to make it up to you. Luckily for him, you only have so much self-control when it comes to such a pretty boy.
read part one here!
warnings ! cursing, fluff, mentions of celebrating christmas, smut, submissive mike if you squint, mike and reader are virgins, pretend they used a condom i just didn't know how to write it in, p in v, fingering, teasing, grinding, mike calls reader 'baby,' deadass no prep because they're horny, big dick mike wheeler truther, not proofread yet because i got embarrassed.
a/n ! mike wheeler who can say i love you? this is unheard of. apologies for how long it took me to post, but as you can see from the word count, this was a lot of work. i will say, if anyone is uncomfortable with reading smut, it is possible to skip it and not miss much. thank you noah kahan for releasing the great divide at the most perfect time. and erm like i said i'll edit this when i get over the shame of writing smut for the first time (20 yrs old btw). enjoy!
****
It was only after driving thirteen hours from Hawkins to NYC, sitting in his car outside your house, that Mike Wheeler began to wonder if he was making the right decision.
He’d turned off the radio completely, unable to be soothed by the crooning voices spilling from his speakers. Other than the low rumble of his engine, Mike could only hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.
It was reassuring to feel blood pumping through his veins, because Mike felt like he was about to keel over at any moment. There was a shakiness in his limbs and a sour nausea curdling in his stomach. Granted, that could have been due to low blood sugar (he’d only managed a granola bar and a piece of toast before setting off), but it was more likely that he was just nervous. Nervous to see you after how you’d left things, nervous to confess the secret he’d been keeping (was it really a secret if he also didn’t realize it?), nervous at how you were going to react.
He took a deep breath and tipped his head back, dragging a hand down his face. This was stupid. Objectively, completely, undeniably stupid.
What was he thinking?
That was the problem - he hadn’t been thinking, and thirteen hours of mile markers blurring together hadn’t been enough to convince him to turn around. Those thirteen hours had given him plenty of time to rehearse what he might say, but never once had he stopped to consider whether this was a good idea. He should’ve had an actual meal and then slept off his idealism. And then, he should’ve gone the fuck home and pretended as if none of this had ever happened. Pretended that he wasn’t willing - no, he was more than willing, considering he’d actually done it - to drive half a day just to tell you he was sorry. God, he was so fucking sorry.
Yet, here he was, parked at the curb, closer to you than he’d been in weeks, and procrastinating. Faced with your front door, he was horrified at the idea that you wouldn’t let him in. That he’d finally work up the courage to knock, and you wouldn’t answer. Or worse, you’d see him and slam the door in his face.
Not that he’d blame you. He’d been nothing but awful to you ever since the day you met.
It tormented Mike to know that he hadn’t understood how much damage he’d caused. He’d grown up being so attuned to his friends’ emotions - Will’s especially - that he hadn’t stopped to consider that he’d gotten you all wrong.
No, not gotten you wrong. He’d just never known you in the first place. He’d built up this version of you in his head and taken it at face value, unable to separate the person he wanted you to be from the person that you were. He’d turned you into a fictional character in his mind, so caught up in his fantasy world where you paid attention to him and favored him that he’d completely ignored the real world where he made you cry.
And he hated that it had taken him over a year to realize this. His first instinct had been to blame you for not telling him, but he knew that it wasn’t right to place the responsibility of his failure on you. Besides, even if you had told him, would he have been receptive to it? Or would he have just ignored it until things exploded anyway?
So, was it fair for him to be here? Everything had been his fault, so did he even deserve the opportunity to apologize? Did he even deserve to l-
Mike stopped his own thoughts.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
The entire drive here, he’d been unable to admit the L word to himself. He’d replaced it with ‘like’ and ‘crush,’ immature and silly-sounding words that belonged on the playground rather than in the mind of a 21-year-old. How could he say it to you, if he couldn’t even say it to himself?
He looked at the flowers in his passenger’s seat. He hadn’t originally intended to gift you flowers or anything because he feared that you’d take it the wrong way, that you’d think it was too cliche, but halfway through his journey, he’d seen a roadside flower stand and found himself stopping to buy a bouquet of roses.
The stems were crushed, he realized, panicked. Had that been his doing? Could he still give you damaged flowers? Or would you think he just didn’t actually care? That he was just apologizing to absolve himself of guilt.
Mike was struck by a horrible thought. What if you thought this was just another mean-spirited joke?
Mike let his forehead fall forward until it thudded lightly against the steering wheel. Maybe if he did it hard enough, he could knock himself out. Maybe he would give himself amnesia and forget about you entirely. Would that really be easier than being vulnerable? Than admitting that he was wrong? To erase the ache that had settled in his chest from the day he’d met you.
In the span of a single, impulsive breath, Mike had turned off his car, yanked his keys out of the ignition, and unbuckled his seatbelt. In the span of a second, impulsive breath, Mike was out of his car and slamming the door behind him. In the span of that third, impulsive breath, Mike was walking to your front door, the flowers in one hand and his keychain clutched so tightly that it left indentations on the skin of his palm.
Mike chuckled sardonically to himself. There was no turning back now.
****
One Year Ago
Will texted him twice before you arrived.
clean up a little?
she’s coming over
Mike had been half-asleep, curled into a ball in the center of his bed, when he heard the lock turning. He pushed himself upright, blinked blearily, and ran a hand through his hair. He was foggy from the nap he hadn’t meant to take, and the late afternoon light leaking into his room made everything feel a bit surreal.
He reached for his phone and squinted at the bright screen. He’d just read the two texts when Will called his name.
“Mike?”
Mike swung his legs off the bed, immediately catching his foot on a pile of clothes, stumbling slightly before he regained his balance. He stepped out into the hallway. He hadn’t expected much of you, Will’s new photography major friend. Which, in retrospect, was a shitty thing to admit - even just to himself. But Will tended to describe people in the same way he described art: vague and idealized.
But when Mike saw you, he immediately wished he’d cleaned up the apartment. And maybe brushed his teeth.
You were standing slightly behind Will, just off his shoulder, tote bag slipping down your arm. Your eyes darted around the apartment like you were trying to take in everything at once. Mike was overcome with the strange, disoriented feeling that one gets when falling in a dream or accidentally missing a step. You knocked the breath out of him.
Mike wasn’t a poet, but he could have filled libraries just trying to find the right words to describe his first impression of you.
“Mike, this is-” Will started.
“The photography major,” Mike cut in. The words came out quicker than he meant them. He wanted to show you that he knew about you, that Will talked about you. That you were important enough to Will to maybe one day be important to Mike.
He stepped closer. You were shorter than he was, and the doe-eyed look you gave him made something warm bloom inside his chest.
You held out your hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Mike glanced down at it for half a second too long. Your hand was soft in his; that was the first thing he registered. Even touching you in such an innocuous way made his mouth feel dry. The second thing he noticed was that there was still ink smudged along the side of his hand. Shit. What if you thought he didn’t want his hands? He wanted to explain himself - I fell asleep while writing - but then what if you asked about what he was working on, and he had to admit he was in the middle of concocting a D&D campaign. Will had never mentioned that you were interested in D&D, and he didn’t want to come off as too nerdy.
Mike dropped your hand. “Will told me you’re a fan of classic literature,” he said. Yes, that was better. At least if he was a nerd, he was a well-read nerd.
You brightened just a bit. “Oh, yeah. I tried to give Will some recommendations, but he said you’d be more interested in all the ‘Dostoevsky nonsense.’ His words, not mine.”
The cogs of Mike’s brain began to turn. Okay, so you read Dostoevsky. How could he prove to you that he was intelligent enough to have an opinion on someone so revered? He’d taken a class during his first year at university about European literature in the 18th and 19th centuries, and the professor had repeatedly gotten on his soapbox about how Camus was infinitely better than Dostoevsky.
“Dostoevsky?” he repeated, crossing his arms loosely. Mike tried to look like he was concocting a new thought, knowing damn well he was about to recite what his professor had said years ago. “I don’t know. I’ve tried, but his prose feels too messy. He thinks he’s a philosopher when really, he’s not. If you want to read someone who actually understands existentialism, you should read Camus.”
He hoped he didn’t sound like an asshole.
“I thought Dostoevsky came first,” you argued. “I thought that Dostoevsky’s ideas inspired Camus.”
You were looking at him now - really looking at him - with an inquisitive tilt of your head. Shit, what had his professor said about that?
“He was,” Mike confirmed, “but Camus just executed it better.”
There was a brief pause. Mike hoped you weren’t going to ask him about which parts of Camus’s writing were actually better, because he honestly had no idea.
“Mike,” Will hissed. “You’re being an ass.”
Mike clenched his jaw. For once, he felt angry with Will. Angry that he was interrupting this natural banter. It made Mike feel defensive, almost like Will was choosing you over him. That you were choosing Will over him. That wasn’t fair.
“Whatever. I don’t know why I’m arguing with a photography major.”
Perfect. There was something you could use to fire back at him. Call him a pretentious English major. Tell him he was looking at Dostoevsky the wrong way - even though Mike actually really enjoyed Crime and Punishment, and The Idiot was probably one of his favorite books ever. Mike wondered what your favorite Dostoevsky was. Maybe you could borrow his copy of The Idiot.
You recoiled. “Oh, I’m sorry that I don’t have everything about Camus memorized down to his fucking shoe size. I’m just a photography major, after all.”
Mike blanched. Okay, that was a little more scathing than he’d anticipated.
“I didn’t mean-” he began, trying to rectify the situation. He had to pivot, try a different tactic to make sure you kept talking to him. Fuck, why didn’t he just ask you your favorite book?
You pretended to check an invisible watch. “Actually, I forgot I have to be somewhere. Right now. Nice to meet you, Mike.” You turned to Will. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
You were gone before Mike could even blink. He was certain he looked like a fool, standing there with his mouth hanging slightly open. The sound of the door slamming made him flinch.
“What’s your problem?” Will asked, his gaze burning holes into the side of Mike’s head.
“I-” Mike started, then stopped. His mouth felt wrong, like it wasn’t cooperating with the rest of him. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“Yeah, I know what you were trying to do,” Will snapped. “Jesus, is it so wrong that I have other friends? Maybe if you actually talked to people instead of coming home and moping around, you wouldn’t be so threatened by everyone else in my life.”
Will hadn’t spoken to him like that in a long time. It hurt more than your apparent rejection. Did Will really think he was threatened? Was he threatened by Will having other friends? Threatened by how personable Will was, how people seemed to flock to him, and no one even spared Mike a second glance.
“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” said Mike finally.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” Will replied, his voice dropping a bit. “That’s kinda the problem, Mike.”
Mike swallowed thickly. “I’ll fix it,” he muttered weakly.
“No, I’ll fix it,” Will said. And then, just as you had moments before, Will turned on his heel and stormed out the door, leaving Mike with an odd feeling of confusion coiling in his gut.
****
Now
Mike did not underestimate the importance of your allowing him into your room. There was an underlying trust in being privy to something as intimate as your bedroom, he thought. Mike had never seen your studio apartment - Will said you were ashamed of it - so for the first time, he was getting an inside look into new aspects of your personality.
The light that filtered in through your gauzy curtains cast a holy glow on your silhouette as you led him through the door. The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the typical staleness of an attic that went unoccupied for so long. Mike took in all the details - the messiness of your bed, as if you’d tugged your duvet up in a hurry. Your favorite water bottle was on the bedside table, set atop a stack of books that ranged from cheesy thrillers to weighty tomes on photography. The walls were relatively bare, save for the few posters of your favorite bands and singers that you’d sporadically hung. There was a Heathers poster tacked right above your headboard, and Mike smiled to himself - he remembered Will telling him that you’d gotten El hooked on Christian Slater.
Mike knew you didn’t attribute such depth to inviting him into your room. You were just doing the most logical thing when your worst enemy showed up at your front door unannounced. He had to remind himself of that. . . you were just being kind. You didn’t know about the agony he’d put himself through over the last couple of weeks, sparring with his own thoughts, berating himself for how he’d treated you. Replaying every interaction the two of you had ever had, recontextualizing until the guilt was insurmountable. Until he was so congested with remorse that he could do nothing but stare at the wall, searching for answers.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” you demanded, suddenly whirling on him. Mike stopped his observations abruptly, not wanting to be caught analyzing your room so intently.
“I brought you these,” Mike blurted, thrusting the roses at you. He cringed at his own awkwardness - his mouth was never able to do what his brain was. The one thing he’d feared was that you’d see these roses as a way to trick you into forgiving him, and here he was, starting his confession with the roses.
You buried your nose in the bouquet, inhaling deeply with a content smile on your pretty face. “Thank you,” you said softly. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
Mike scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t want to throw Will under the bus, but he also didn’t want to admit that he’d grilled Will about your new address for hours. “Oh, er, Will told me. I came to apologize.”
“You already apologized,” you reminded, setting the roses on your desk. Mike swallowed nervously.
“Yeah, but not. . . very well,” he said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I think I messed up.”
You think, Michael? God, you fucking idiot.
“Yeah. You did,” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms across your chest.
“I know,” he whispered, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’ve just been thinking. A lot.”
“Congratulations. That’s new.”
His heart fluttered pathetically. Yes, that was what he’d been seeking this entire time. Those sarcastic digs. He’d just taken things too far. He always took things too far.
“I thought you liked it. The arguing. I thought it was. . . I don’t know. Our thing.”
“It wasn’t a thing. It was you being mean and me not knowing how to stand up for myself.”
Mike slumped, shrinking himself at least five inches. He felt microscopic, unbelievably pitiful. He had gone to literal hell and back, but merely standing in front of you and admitting his wrongdoings was sucking all the courage out of him. He’d spent thirteen hours building himself up, rehearsing every work, and yet. . . he didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know if he could put his heart on the line like that. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“What, you’re not going to fight me on that? Insist I was the one in the wrong?”
“No. I don’t really think I get to argue with you right now,” Mike said. He was horrified that you thought he would do that. Had he done that before?
After a moment, you said, “So, you took a bus? Or did you manage to event teleportation just to ruin my day again?”
“I drove.”
You blinked. “You drove.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s twelve hours, Mike.”
“Thirteen. I hit traffic.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I know.”
Another pause. He wanted to step forward and comfort you with his touch (although he doubted you would find it very comforting), but he longed to feel the soft warmth of your skin beneath his fingers, to smell your shampoo, to see how you reacted. Those rare moments he’d touched you - that first handshake, brief brushes of arms while studying, the press of your thigh against his on the pier before you’d moved away - had lit a fire beneath him, a continued desire to be important to you. That was what it all came down to, that need for you to pay attention to him, to find him interesting. Why couldn’t he have focused on making you laugh instead? Why had he been so steadfast on the bickering?
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did,” Mike said quickly. “I really did.”
“Why?” You looked away this time.
“I didn’t like how we left things. And I didn’t like that you left because of. . . me.” Mike hoped he sounded as earnest as he felt. He wanted the guilt radiating off him to engulf you, undeniably.
You rolled your eyes slightly. “Not everything-”
He finished the sentence internally. Not everything is about you, Mike. “Just let me finish,” he interrupted. You pressed your lips together but nodded. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I mean, I knew we argued, obviously, but I thought it was equal, I guess. Like we were both just. . . doing it.”
“We were, for a while, I suppose,” you said quietly. He frowned. With all his careful consideration, he’d concluded that there had never been any sort of mutualness, but now you were saying. . . the opposite?
“Yeah, but not for the same reasons,” he assumed, shifting his weight. “I think I was doing it because it was the only way I knew how to talk to you. Life if I stopped, then we’d just. . . not talk at all.”
There. Part of the hard part was over with.
“I know. I know it doesn’t make any sense. It’s stupid. But every time we mocked each other or argued, it meant you were paying attention to me. And I-” Mike clenched his jaw. “I didn’t really think about what it felt like for you. And then you just stopped. Near the end. I thought you were just tired or something. I didn’t realize that you were sick of it. I didn’t like that you stopped engaging with me. I think I misunderstood from the beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we first met, and we had that whole conversation about Dostoevsky-”
“You mean when you called my interpretation pretentious?”
“I didn’t call it-” he stopped. “Okay, yeah, I kind of did.”
Well, actually, his professor had called the interpretation pretentious, but that was probably a conversation for another time.
“I thought that was. . . I thought we were teasing each other. That that was just how we were going to talk.”
“And so you just kept going,” you said flatly.
Mike nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t realize I’d already crossed a line. Like I said, I didn’t think we would talk if there wasn’t that arguing.” He sighed, his pulse pounding so loud that he didn’t know if he’d be able to hear your response. “Will told me.”
“Told you what?”
Mike hesitated. “That I made you cry. I thought I was being clever. Or funny, or whatever. I’ve never been good at having friends either, I guess.”
That was another conclusion he’d come to. Despite being surrounded by the same people for almost his entire life, these friendships had blossomed in adolescence. He’d never had to make friends in adulthood. Will, Lucas, Dustin, Max, and even El had grown used to Mike’s flaws. They knew his cruelty but also knew his tenacity. They’d seen firsthand his unwavering loyalty but also his inability to adhere to set boundaries. You didn’t know him like that, and you would never know a prepubescent Mike Wheeler. You would only ever know him now.
He stepped forward, his feet moving faster than his brain.
“I miss you.”
You gasped slightly.
“I miss talking to you. Even if it was messed up. Even if it was like that.”
He knew this would lessen the weight of what he really meant, but he didn’t want to scare you off. He missed you, but he didn’t know yet how to say that with his chest.
“That’s a pretty low bar,” you scoffed, but your voice had gone softer.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But, there’s something else.”
“Okay?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he said slowly. “Like. . . a lot. Driving here, especially. I don’t think I hated you.”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s your big realization?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I mean. . . I definitely acted like I did. But that’s not what it was.”
He took a breath. This was it. This is what he’d been working up toward.
“I think I was in love with you. I think I am in love with you.”
“You’re lying,” were the words that immediately came out of your mouth.
Okay, not the reaction he’d wanted. Then again, had he ever thought about how the aftermath of his confession would play out? He’d only ever gotten this far in his mind.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” you insisted.
“I’m not,” he repeated.
You shook your head, taking a small step back. “You don’t just show up at someone’s door and decide you’re in love with them.”
“I didn’t just decide. I think I have been for a while.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is for me. I mean, it doesn’t fix anything, obviously, but it’s not random.”
You began pacing in front of your window. “Mike,” you said, “you made me feel like I was stupid. You made me feel like every time I opened my mouth, you were just waiting to tear it apart. Why do you think I’d want this? Any of this?”
“I don’t,” Mike said frantically, although he didn’t really know what he thought you thought he wanted. He just wanted to get this off his chest, to fix everything. Did you think he wanted to date you? I guess he did, but he hadn’t expected that to be your first reaction. “I don’t think you want it. I just needed you to know that it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you.
“What do you want from me?” you asked meekly, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here? Why did you drive thirteen hours to give me flowers and confess your love to me?”
“I just wanted to see you. I wanted to say all of this to your face instead of letting it just sit there and rot in my head.”
“And now?”
“Now. . . If you tell me to leave, I will.”
He braced himself, preparing for you to push him out the door, maybe even push him down the stairs. Breaking his neck would probably be easier than rejection, at this point.
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
“I’m still angry. So angry.”
“You should be.”
“And I don’t know if I believe you.”
“That’s fair.”
You exhaled shakily. “But. . . I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
You gestured vaguely. “Just sit or something. You’re making it weird, standing there.”
“Right. Yeah. Okay.”
Carefully, Mike sat down on the edge of your bed. He was afraid to move too quickly, afraid he’d scare you off, and you’d change your mind. His brain was short-circuiting at this point. Nothing about this was happening in any way that he’d prepared for. Eventually, you crawled onto your bed next to him and lay down. He stared at you, stunned for a bit, unsure of what you wanted. He was trying to be more attuned to your needs, but also, he was so light-headed by your closeness that he was worried he would pass out.
“You can’t stay the night,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Right, sorry.”
“Stop saying that, too.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Can you just. . .” you swallowed, “. . . can you just hold me? For a little?”
Mike froze.
“Even if you’re lying about everything,” you continued, “I want to know what it would feel like. If you meant it.”
Mike couldn’t think clearly. All he could do was nod and carefully move to lie down next to you. His joints feel stiff and swollen as you shuffle toward him, leaning into his side. Only then does he wrap his arms around you, comfortable in his assumptions. You settled into his grasp like you were meant to fit there, and he longed to trace every inch of your body available to him. He wanted to bury his face in your hair, inhale exactly like you breathed in the roses.
He adjusted his grip on you - one arm underneath you, the other resting across your back. His hold was both fragile and strong. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he also didn’t want to let you go. This is what he’d been thinking of for the last two weeks, explicitly, at least. He’d been subconsciously thinking of it for the last year, ever since he met you. Wondering what you’d feel like pressed up against his side, softly breathing against his throat.
“Can I say something?”
You hummed in approval.
“I think about this a lot. Holding you like this. That’s sort of what made me realize I was in love with you.”
Your fingers curled slightly in his shirt, the rise and fall of your chest slowing, your eyes closed.
“I’m really sorry,” he whispered. “I do love you.”
You were asleep before he said the words, but he was partly glad for that. He didn’t know how to voice everything he thought, how to put into words how much you really meant to him. How wholeheartedly he longed for your attention.
He would make it up to you the only way he knew how. He would fix everything.
****
Mike was gone when you woke up.
It was the first thing you noticed as consciousness crept back in, your thoughts still mushy and unfocused, your body heavy with a rare, restful night of sleep. You reached out, feeling for his presence, but could only find never-ending emptiness.
Your heart dropped. You’d told him that he couldn’t stay the night, yes, but was Mike’s absence really just him listening to you? Which was worse? The idea of it all being a dream, and Mike hadn’t been there at all, or the idea that he had been there and left. Maybe he’d changed his mind in the middle of the night, subtly retracting his confession without actually saying the words.
Rolling onto your back, you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars. Your skin felt oily - you’d forgotten to wash your face last night before molding yourself into Mike’s embrace - and your mouth had the familiarly bitter taste of sleep. Sluggishly, you dragged yourself out of bed.
Your eye caught the bouquet of roses on your desk, a confirmation that Mike had, in fact, been standing in your room last night. You wavered, your head spinning from standing up too quickly. Should you put them in water or throw them out?
Instead, you left them untouched. If they wilted, that wasn’t your problem.
The water was scalding hot when you stepped into the shower, the bathroom already hazy with steam. The spray was delightfully painful, and in a way, refreshing. The burning little droplets on your skin forced you to wake up and gave you something to focus on other than Mike Wheeler. With wet hands, you scrubbed at your face, wiping the sleep and smudged mascara from your eyes.
For a long while, you just stood under the hot water, staring blankly at the showerhead, trying to think of anything but Mike. You tried to distract yourself with reminders of the new school year and the classes you’d chosen. You mentally mapped out the route you’d take around campus - you and Will would have to find your classes together, so you didn’t get lost on the first day. You thought about the absurd fact that you were entering your senior year of university, that you’d be a college graduate a year from now. You scared yourself with the possibility that you wouldn’t be able to find a job that you loved after graduation, instead spending the rest of your life doing some dead-end office job that made you want to blow your head off.
Nevertheless, your thoughts always returned to Mike.
The roses he’d bought just for you - had he bought them in Hawkins? Or stopped somewhere along the drive?
The drive that had been thirteen hours. Thirteen hours, because he hit traffic. Did he ever consider turning around? Had there ever been a point when he was slowly crawling down the freeway at which he changed his mind?
Changed his mind about telling you that he. . . that he loved-
The water turned shockingly cold, and you let out an involuntary yelp, jumping backwards and banging your hip on the corner. Shit. How long had you been in here? With a rapid-fire speed, you lathered up your body wash and rinsed off the bubbles with the freezing water.
Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around yourself, teeth chattering. Your hair was damp on the nape of your neck where you’d failed to avoid getting it wet. The suffocating humidity of the bathroom had dissipated, so you were able to clearly see your reflection in the mirror.
You stared your doppleganger down, observing the droplets of water that traced your collarbones and disappeared into your towel. You looked at the streaks of mascara at the corners of your eyes. You took in every inch of yourself, wondering what exactly Mike saw in you. Did he think you were beautiful? He hadn’t said that last night, so maybe he didn’t.
“Stop thinking about Mike,” you berated yourself, wetting your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it with more force than necessary.
Did you really believe him? That he loved you? Love was not a word that you’d personally ever thrown around lightly. Maybe Mike’s definition of love was different than yours. Maybe your impression of love was his description of a school-yard crush.
If he really did love you in that mind-altering, all-consuming way he’d led you to believe, then why wasn’t he here?
You spat into the sink, watching the foam swirl down the drain. With the hand that wasn’t holding up your towel, you gripped the counter edge. You wanted an explanation so badly, to know everything Mike had ever thought and understood about you, but you didn’t want to put yourself through the spiraling. This was Mike you were talking about, the same boy who had mocked your interests and habits, apparently under the impression that you enjoyed it. He thought he’d been flirting, but really, he’d just made you feel worthless. Unworthy of friends, unique hobbies, and a relatively mainstream music taste. Completely wrong in every opinion you’d ever had and too stupid to grasp intellectual meaning.
You pictured that half-smile he did after picking apart the things you liked. You’d thought he’d been waiting for you to admit you were wrong for liking them at all, but you realized now that - if he were telling the truth - he was waiting for your retaliation, for you to insult him on the same scale. The worst part was that he didn’t realize he was hurting you. If he didn’t know, then that meant that was just how he saw you.
You paused. So what did it mean that that version of you. . . the one he laughed at, corrected, the one he never quite took seriously. . . did that mean he loved her?
Unless he didn’t. Your chest tightened. You had to keep reminding yourself of that, that this could have just been another misunderstanding. Another one of Mike’s almost-right, not-quite-there attempts at something real. Maybe he thought love was this - grand gestures and long drives and revealing intense secrets out of nowhere, and then in the morning it all just faded.
There was a quiet creak from outside the bathroom, one that you recognized as your bedroom door opening. Then, the soft thud of something being set down. Your heart slammed against your ribs, sudden and violent.
No.
There was no way.
“Hey,” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door, familiar even through the wood. “It’s, uh-”
Of course it was.
“It’s me. Er, Mike, I mean.”
The quiet stretched awkwardly. You didn’t move at first; your hand tightened reflexively around the counter. Your heart was still racing.
He came back.
A hesitant knock at the bathroom door rang out. “Um, if you don’t. . . if you want me to leave, I can just-”
You turned, throwing the bathroom door open with a force that generated a breeze. Mike was standing there, shifting from one foot to the other, like he was debating whether to knock again. His hair was messy, pushed around like he’d been running his hands through it over and over again.
On your desk behind him, right next to the discarded bouquet, were two matching coffee cups and a crumpled paper bag. The room smelled chocolatey and warm.
The two of you stared at each other. You suddenly became aware of the fact that you were standing in front of him in nothing but a towel, which explained the startled way he was looking at you. You watched his throat bob, like he was fighting to keep his gaze on your face.
“Hi,” he said, a little breathless.
“You left,” you said, hating how upset you sounded.
Mike blinked, clearly thrown off by your response.
“Yeah, I went out, um, to get-” he motioned behind him, “-to get breakfast. And coffee.”
You pressed your lips together.
“I was gonna be back before you woke up. I just. . . there was this line, and it was, like, ridiculously long, and I thought about coming back, but then I’d already waited fifteen minutes, so it felt stupid to-”
He cut himself off, still staring intently at your face.
“I didn’t mean to disappear.”
“I thought you changed your mind,” you admitted quietly.
Mike’s expression shifted immediately. His fingers twitched, and he instinctively leaned closer, like he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you. The nervous rambling dropped away, replaced by something more serious. “What? No! No, I didn’t. Why would you think that?”
You let out a small, dry laugh. “I don’t know, Mike. You told me you loved me and then you were gone when I woke up,” you shrugged. “I know I said you couldn’t stay the night, but, Jesus, I at least expected a note. Hey, I know I said I loved you, but you drool in your sleep, so I can’t do it anymore,” you finished off, mocking his intonation.
He shook his head frantically. “I woke up early. Well, actually, I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to move and wake you up. I didn’t wanna get you in trouble, either. You know, with your landlord. So, I thought if I showed up with coffee, then she’d think I left last night.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, you always forget to eat breakfast. You say you get nauseous, but then you get really quiet and kinda mean around noon-”
“Wow, okay,” you interrupted dryly. “You’ve never said that to me before.”
“No, not - no, not mean - just-” he stumbled, flustered, “-you said your blood sugar gets low, and I thought if I came back with coffee and food, then you’d wake up and it’d just. . . be good.” Mike gestured vaguely between the two of you, and the building frustration in your chest faltered. “And I wanted to be back before you woke up,” he added. “I didn’t think the line would be that long. I should’ve known. It’s New York in the summer.”
You glanced at the drink on your desk.
He bought you flowers.
He drove thirteen hours.
He stood in line for who knows how long, just to get you breakfast.
For you.
“How do you know my coffee order?”
That made Mike scoff. “Please. Did you forget I’ve been tagging along with you and Will for almost an entire year? You always order the exact same thing.”
You didn’t know whether to be flattered by that. On one hand, he remembered your order. On the other hand, he was usually standing right behind you when you recited your drink to the barista behind the counter.
“I should’ve left a note,” Mike agreed. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I didn’t know you’d assume I changed my mind. I just wanted to show you proof that I actually care about you - that I’m trying to fix things. That I notice these kinds of things - you getting irritable after not eating all day.” He smiled a little bit. “I wouldn't drive thirteen hours and stand in line for an hour for anyone, okay? Only you.”
You let your eyes roam over his face, searching for any hint of insincerity. You observed the soft scrunch of his nose as he rambled, the expressiveness of his eyebrows, the pinkness of his lips, the red tips of his ears beneath the dark curl of his hair. And his eyes - the same eyes you’d been so struck by the first time you met - so wide and pleading, absolutely irresistible. Either he was a terrific actor, or he was being genuine.
You pointed at the door. “Okay, get out so I can put clothes on.”
Mike startled. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, right. Sorry.” Backtracking out the door, he banged his elbow on the doorframe. “Ow. Shit. Sorry. I’ll just. . . I’ll be out here. I won’t leave again, okay?”
The door clicked softly behind him.
Less than ten minutes later, you were dressed in a baggy t-shirt and old running shorts, your face washed, and your hair shaken out of its shower updo. You and Mike sat in the center of your bed - well, you sat in the center of your bed, legs crossed as you munched on the chocolate croissant Mike had brought. He was instead tentatively seated at the corner farthest from you, practically falling off the bed as he chewed thoughtfully at his breakfast sandwich.
“Can I have a bite?” you asked, trying to ease the tense silence. Sharing food was not unfamiliar for the two of you - you loved stealing bites of Mike and Will’s food, usually just to annoy them, but also because they usually ordered better food than you.
Mike hummed affirmatively, handing it over to you. As you took the wrapped sandwich from him, your fingers brushed briefly, and you shivered. Mike choked on his bite, devolving into a coughing fit.
“Scoot closer,” you ordered when Mike was finished coughing up a lung. “You’re going to fall off the bed.”
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” said Mike, but he obeyed, shifting himself so that the two of you sat directly across from each other, knees touching slightly. You handed back his sandwich and took a prolonged sip of your coffee.
“I would tell you if you were making me uncomfortable,” you reminded. “We cuddled last night. I think it’s okay for you to sit next to me.”
Mike grinned at you. “Yeah, I know you would.”
“Just so you know,” you added, taking another bite of your croissant, “this isn’t just immediately going to change everything. Just because you apologized doesn’t mean we’re, like, dating or anything. You don’t even know if I like you like that.”
If I love you like that.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Mike assured, shaking his head once. He picked at an invisible piece of lint on his sweats. “I understand that you might still hate me. I was really shitty to you. But I really do want to fix things and show you that I’m serious about being. . . friends?”
His voice faltered on that last word, seemingly unsure if it was too much of a stretch to seek out a friendship. He went from picking at his sweatpants to picking absently at the wrapper of his sandwich - he always had to be doing something with his hands.
“Friends sounds like a good place to start,” you agreed, shifting slightly so that your knee pressed a little more firmly against his.
Mike exhaled, relieved .” Friends,” he repeated. “Do you want it to be the same way you and Will are friends? Because if you just want someone to study and watch movies with, I can do that. I can be anyone you want me to be.”
The chocolate croissant suddenly felt like concrete in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want you to be someone else,” you said, internally cringing. You sounded like a walking Be Yourself! Poster. You shook your head. “God, I sound like a motivational speaker. What I meant was. . . whenever I got a glimpse of the ‘real Mike,’ I guess you could say, I always wondered if maybe we could get along. Believe it or not, I actually did like bickering with you sometimes. When you weren’t trying to get a reaction out of me.”
Mike’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yes, Mike. Even though you’re annoying and always think you’re right, when you’re not trying to sound like the smartest person in the room or be as mean to me as possible just so I pay attention to you-” Mike grimaced “-you’re actually really funny.” A small smile tugged at your mouth. “I already told you at the lake that I thought you were really cute when I first met you, and then you started talking-”
“Okay, I get it,” Mike groaned, covering his face, and you burst into a fit of laughter. “Mike Wheeler should be seen and not heard.”
You nodded. “Sounds perfect to me,” you teased.
“You’re so mean,” he scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
You tossed your crumpled croissant wrapper and his head, and he dodged it before lunging at you, knocking you backward into your pillows. You let out an embarrassed squeak as the two of you crashed down together, his hands planted on either side of your head, your legs bracketing his hips.
Without meaning to, your gaze drifted down to his lips. They were so pouty, parted slightly as he exhaled again. The thought slipped in before you could stop it. All you had to do was lean forward, close the already too-small distance. It would be nice, right? To be wanted like that. To have someone look at you the way Mike was. No one had ever really looked at you like that before.
You could feel it. The pull. The stupid hopeful part of you that wanted to give in, to believe him just because it would be easy to. Because it would mean that someone - he - chose you, despite everything. You could overlook all the complications of your past and start anew, let him lure you in with promises of flowers and coffee.
But that wasn’t a good enough reason. Mike had hurt you. Not on purpose, maybe, but he still had. And just because he was here now, soft and apologetic and only centimeters away, didn’t change anything.
“Sorry,” Mike whispered, though he didn’t move away. The formation of his words was almost enough to brush your lips together. “I didn’t mean-”
You swallowed painfully.
“Friends,” you reminded breathily, your words a finality, a concrete decision. “We’re just friends.”
****
When Will returned to New York, you and Mike had to pretend that nothing had changed. Yes, the arguing and insulting noticeably faded away, but whenever one of you caught the other’s eye from across the room, you both quickly looked away. Even the slightest of glances could reveal your secret.
It seemed that Will was completely oblivious to the newest developments. You decided that he was under the impression that Mike had driven from Hawkins to NYC just to apologize, and that was that. There’d been no cuddling, no love confessions, and definitely no almost-kisses.
Mike’s effort to ‘fix things,’ as he’d declared it, was not lost on you, however. From August to mid-November, Mike was intentionally more attentive. On the days that Will didn’t walk to class with you, Mike took it upon himself to make sure you got there safely. He carried your backpack, showed up at your door with coffee, and met you outside the lecture hall with lunch on the days you were up too early to pack yourself food.
And as the weather turned colder, he began offering you his jacket, but after pointing out that he was shaking like a leaf, he just gave you one of his sweatshirts to keep in your bag at all times. Secretly, you cherished it. It was thick and way too big on you, but it smelled like him and kept you warmer than any of your clothes did.
Slowly, all of Mike’s grand gestures became habits. On mornings when your alarm didn’t go off - or it did, and you just ignored it - Mike was barging into your room, loudly telling you to get up and carpe diem. Then, you’d throw a pillow at him, tell him to stop quoting Dead Poets Society, and kick him out so you could get ready.
If Will noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just kept being Will - floating in your orbit, sketchbook under one arm, laughing at Mike’s bad jokes, and occasionally eyeing the two of you suspiciously when you showed up to the library together.
No, scratch that. Will definitely knew.
Your assumptions were confirmed one day as November bled into December, winter break rapidly approaching. While Mike was busy taking a final exam, you and Will had bundled up on the couch, adorned with fleece blankets, and arguing about what movie to watch.
“It’s December 5th, Will. We have to watch a Christmas movie,” you whined, your mug of apple cider keeping your hands warm. The heat in Will and Mike’s apartment had broken at the most inconvenient time, and their landlord couldn’t be bothered to fix it.
Will shook his head stubbornly. “You can’t watch Christmas movies before winter officially starts.”
You gawked at him. “That’s not until the 21st! That’s only four days to watch, like, a trillion movies!”
He shrugged, readjusting the blanket over his lap. “I refuse to buy into capitalism.”
“Oh, my God. Shut the fuck up.” You rolled your eyes. “You took one class about Karl Marx, you pretentious ass. It’s Christmas! Capitalism doesn’t exist on Christmas!”
“It’s not Christmas yet, though. It’s December 5th.”
You huffed petulantly. “Okay. What if we watch Die Hard? That’s technically a Christmas movie, right?”
“Who in the world thinks Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”
“Mike does,” you said before you could stop yourself. A sly smile crept over Will’s face, and you suddenly wanted to disappear between the couch cushions.
“Mike does!” Will taunted. “Alright, out with it. What’s going on between the two your?”
“Nothing!” you cried.
“Even I didn’t know that Mike considered Die Hard a Christmas movie,” Will pointed out, “and I’ve known him since kindergarten.”
“Well, that movie wasn’t out when we were in kindergarten.”
“So? Come on, spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” you insisted through gritted teeth, your grip so tight around your mug you were afraid it would shatter.
He raised an eyebrow in that annoyingly calm way of his. “You just brought up Mike unprompted. While we were arguing about Christmas capitalism.”
“That’s because you’re wrong about Christmas capitalism!” you shot back. “And you know who else is always wrong about everything? Mike.”
Will tilted his head slightly, waiting. You took a sip of cider.
“Nothing is going on,” you repeated, slower this time.
Will hummed, unconvinced. “Okay.”
You stared. “What does that mean?”
“It means okay,” he said simply. “I just think it’s funny that Mike suddenly started acting like your personal assistant right after he drove to New York in a panic and apologized for something that neither of you will tell me about.”
You winced. Okay, so you hadn’t exactly told Will all the details about that day at the lake and what happened after you stormed off.
“You’re both really obvious. Like, really obvious. I don’t think either of you has an inconspicuous bone in your body.”
“We are not obvious,” you muttered.
“You and Mike? You’ve always been obvious. You just used to argue louder, so no one noticed how completely obsessed you were with each other. Now he just looks at you like a lovesick puppy, and you constantly ask if he’s going to be places.”
Your mouth opened, then closed again. “Obsessed is a strong word.”
Will sighed. “Listen, I know we’ve only been friends for a little more than a year, but I’d like to think I know you pretty well. And I definitely know Mike. You two are the only people who can’t seem to see how totally in love you are.”
The apartment creaked faintly as the heater tried and failed again, sending a cold draft across your ankles. You tugged your blanket tighter, suddenly very interested in your mug. “You think he’s in love with me?” You tried to come off sounding uninterested, but Will saw right through you.
“I think,” he said slowly, each word chosen carefully to not scare you off, “he cares about you in a way that makes him kind of stupid. And yeah. . . I think it’s more than just friendship. It’s exhausting waiting for you two to try and out-stubborn each other.”
“And if he was in love?” you asked quietly. “Do you think I’d be stupid to love him back?”
“No,” Will responded immediately. “Mike is Mike. He’s stupid and impulsive and loyal to a fault, but that’s what makes him, him. To be loved by Mike Wheeler - romantically or platonically - is one of the greatest things in the world.”
Before you had the opportunity to spill your guts to Will about everything that had happened over the past few months, you heard the telltale sign of Mike arriving home. His key turning in the lock, his backpack clunking to the floor, him kicking his shoes at the wall, and then a soft, “Ow, fuck,” under his breath, because he always stubbed his toe in the same spot.
“How was your final?” Will called, though his eyes hadn’t left your face, eyebrows raised expectantly. Are you going to do something about it? He mouthed. Were you? Were you going to accept that Mike had truly been putting in effort, just as he said he would, and you were undeniably falling in love with him?
You didn’t have time to think about that right now. Not with Mike in the room, his cheeks and nose flushed from the cold, his hair windswept. He was in dire need of a haircut, but you also kind of liked how long his hair had grown recently, the way it curled at his collar.
Mike sighed and collapsed onto the couch between you and Will, immediately wriggling his long legs under your blanket. “Horrible,” he groaned. “It was pointless - didn’t even show off my skills.”
“You’re cold,” you complained. “Why can’t you steal Will’s blanket?”
“You’ll warm me up faster,” he said. Underneath the blanket, Mike’s frigid hands moved boldly, sliding underneath the legs of your sweatpants and pressing against your bare skin. He watched your every reaction, waiting to see if you would tell him to stop. You could see a smirk growing on Will’s face.
Wow. You and Mike really were obvious.
“Mike!” you hissed, sucking in a sharp breath. You tried to twist away from him, but he’d tangled his legs with yours, effectively trapping you in place.
“See?” he said, far too pleased with himself. “You’re warm.”
“You’re annoying,” you shot back, words failing you. You hadn’t felt his touch in months - at least not as direct as this. Occasionally, your arms brushed in the library or your fingers touched as you passed him your bag, but his hands were flat against your legs now, absorbing all the heat you had to offer.
Mike’s fingers twitched and flexed at your words, and you could see the exact moment he began to question his decision, wondering if he’d gone too far. He began to retract his hands, his cold palms sliding across your ankles.
“Wait, don’t,” you said.
Mike’s hands paused. “Don’t what?”
“You can keep them there,” you decided, reaching for his wrist. “I’ll warm you up. Keep your hands there.”
From the other side of the couch, Will made a small, deliberate sound - something between a cough and a laugh - and you snapped your head toward him. He was watching the two of you with a delighted sparkle in his eyes. “Don’t stop on my account,” he quipped. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“Wait,” you said quickly. Will paused, mid-rise.
“Oh, so you want an audience? Listen, I knew she was a freak, but you, Mike? I was under the impression you were as vanilla as they come.”
You groaned. Now that Will had confirmation about your feelings, he was definitely just trying to embarrass you. Mike hadn’t moved; his wrist still in your grip. “Shut up,” you muttered. “I told you that in confidence, Will.”
“Told him what?” Mike asked, bewildered.
“I’m sure you’ll find out,” Will grinned. “I’m going. Try not to make it weird. And if you’re going to have sex on the couch-”
You launched a pillow at his head, hitting him square on, as he backed down the hallway. Will let out a wicked laugh before closing the door to his room with an echoing click.
You became acutely aware of the fact that you were still holding onto Mike’s wrist - except, no, you weren’t. Somehow, in the midst of Will’s humiliation ritual, your hand had found its way into Mike’s.
You pulled your hand back as if you’d been burned. “Sorry,” you blurted out.
Mike seemed unfazed, as if he hadn’t even noticed the two of you had been holding hands. “Does he know?”
You nodded.
“You told him?”
“No,” you corrected. “I mean, not really. I didn’t tell him about the lake or. . . anything that happened this summer. Apparently, we’re really obvious, though.”
“Yeah?” Mike glanced down at where your legs were still entwined under the blanket. “I wonder why he thinks that.”
You nudged him lightly with your knee. “Fuck off. You started it.”
“I was just trying to stay warm,” Mike argued. “You’re the one who started holding my hand.”
So he had noticed. “Oh my god, shut up. I didn’t realize-”
“It’s okay,” Mike interrupted. “I liked it. It was nice. Even though you have tiny hands-”
“Not my fault that your fingers are bigger than my fucking forearm-”
“-it was kinda like your hand was meant to fit in mine,” he finished.
You stilled. The comeback you’d been about to fire off died somewhere in your throat. Mike’s expression faltered.
“That was sappy, sorry.”
“Give me your hand,” you ordered. Mike pulled his hand out from under the blanket. He’d resigned to letting it rest against his own thigh. Apprehensively, you took it in your own, interlocking your fingers again - his skin had finally warmed and was soft, like usual. There were ink stains on his fingertips, and his nails were bitten down. He must’ve bitten at them during his final exam - he had a habit of doing that when he was writing. Mike looked stunned and ran his tongue over his lips.
“I guess they do fit together quite nicely,” you whispered.
“Does this mean we can hold hands now?” Mike asked eagerly, his eyes jumping up to your face. “Like, on purpose?”
Your grip on his hand tightened. “Yeah,” you decided finally. “I think that would be okay.”
Mike blinked, processing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you repeated. “If you want to hold my hand when you’re walking me to class. . .I won’t object.” You shrugged lightly.
“And if I wanted to hold your hand while we were studying?”
“Only if you can figure out the logistics, considering we both write with the same hand.”
Mike frowned. “Oh, right.”
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his thumb traced gentle circles over your knuckles. It was almost second-nature to him to soothe you in that way.
You shivered slightly, both from the lack of heat and from the sensation of his touch. You subconsciously pressed a little closer to him.
“You cold?” he asked immediately, already adjusting the blanket without letting go of your hand.
“A little.”
“Here. C’mere.”
Before you could overthink it, Mike eased you forward with an arm around your waist. He leaned backward until he was lying down, stretched out along the couch, and gently draped you over him. You ended up with your head on his shoulder, hands still locked, with his free arm settling carefully around you.
“Better,” he asked, rearranging the blanket.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “Better.”
“Are you comfortable? I can move my arm, if you want.”
“No, please leave it,” you said. “You’re comfy.”
“Am I?” You nodded against his chest.
“Yeah, and you smell good.”
“I bought a new detergent,” he replied, his voice reverberating through his ribcage, low and heady. “And a new cologne. You said once that you liked the smell.”
“You’re so obsessed with me,” you smiled into his shirt.
“Just a little bit.”
For a moment, the two of you just stayed there, feeling drowsy. The rise and fall of his chest made it hard for you to stay fully alert, coupled with the tender way Mike was running his hand along your arm.
“I have another request,” he murmured.
You tilted your head up. His eyes were lidded, looking just as tired as you felt. You imagined he was exhausted after such a painstaking final exam.
“Can I say I love you?”
You stayed tucked against him, tracking the movement of his eyes over your face. He always looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time, so entranced by every detail. “You can say it,” you said. “Only if you mean it.”
There was a pause.
“I love you.”
Your breath caught. Even though you’d just permitted him, it still caught you off guard. You couldn’t deny his feelings now - between all the gifts and the quiet affection and moments like these - you really believed he could be in love with you.
You lay your head back against his chest.
“I think I love you, too,” you whispered.
There was no response on his end, and you looked up again, wanting to see his reaction to the words, but Mike was already asleep. His long lashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks. He looked divine in that state, so gentle and unmarred. You smiled.
To be loved by Mike Wheeler is one of the greatest things in the world.
With a calculated slowness, you untangled your hands to reach up and brush his hair off his brow. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t wake. His grip on you stayed just as tight. You ran a delicate finger over every inch of his face - the curve of his cheekbones, the scatter of fading freckles.
“Fuck you, Mike Wheeler,” you said, barely audible. “How’d you make me fall in love with you?”
You kissed him softly on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth, and then grabbed his hand again and curled up against him - as close as you could get - allowing yourself to drift off.
****
Less than an hour before midnight on New Year’s Eve, you were sprawled on the couch, legs in Mike’s lap. Outside his apartment, New York pulsed with distant noise - car horns, laughter spilling in from the sidewalk, and the tangible anticipation of a new year. But inside the walls, it was just the two of you, content in each other’s presence, waiting patiently for the clock to strike 12.
Will was at a party thrown by a few of his art friends. He’d invited you and Mike as a formality, but it was mutually understood that you and Mike needed the apartment to yourselves.
Mike shifted slightly, careful not to move you too much. In the past few weeks, sitting together on the couch like this had become the new normal. You were rarely at your own place anymore, eager to come over and sink into Mike’s caress. He had a thick sci-fi book in one hand - Dune, it was called, and he insisted that you needed to read it after him - and a half-empty glass of wine in the other that he’d been nursing since 10. The glasses he wore to read were low on his nose, and he occasionally kept sneaking glances at the clock.
You also had a glass of wine, your second over four hours. Admittedly, you were feeling a bit anxious and wanted a bit of liquid courage in your system. There was an unspoken agreement about what was going to happen at midnight.
“So, how’s the book?” you asked.
Mike looked up. “Jealous that I’m not paying attention to you?” he teased, setting down his wine glass.
“Maybe a little bit.”
He looked at the clock. “Twenty more minutes and I’ll give you so much attention you’ll be sick of me.”
His words went straight between your legs, your body feeling hot. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just all the built-up tension and desire, but you wanted Mike badly. He’d never looked more delicious than he did now, and it was taking every ounce of willpower to wait until midnight to kiss him and rip his clothes off.
Everything about him, cast in the glow of the candle on the coffee table, was angelic tonight. You needed every inch of him, and now that you were permitting yourself that desire, it was hitting you full force.
“Hey, what’re you thinking about?” he asked, squeezing your ankle.
“You, Wheeler,” you said.
“Yeah? What about me?” he asked, closing his book and setting it down on the arm of the couch. You grinned devilishly, crawling over to him, taking the opportunity to settle down into his lap, your thighs on either side of him.
Mike’s eyes went wide beneath his glasses, the tips of his ears turning red. “About kissing you,” you purred, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.”
Mike scoffed, trying to come off as calm and collected. “You’ve been waiting?”
“Mhm,” you nodded. “Ever since the first day I met you, I’ve been thinking about how badly I’d like to shut you up with a kiss.”
He looked frantically at the clock and clenched his teeth when he saw the time. “Come on, it’s practically midnight,” he said, a little breathless.
“Practically isn’t midnight.”
“You’re already in my lap.”
“And you’re hard,” you taunted in his ear. Mike swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. Maybe it really was the wine making you bold, or maybe you’d just been waiting for the opportunity to make him tremble, but you untangled your hand from his hair and reached out to softly trace the line of his jugular with your index finger.
“Fuck,” he groaned, and you felt the vibration of it beneath your fingertip. He brought his hands down to grip your hips, squeezing lightly. “Come on, baby, just kiss me already. I can’t wait any longer.”
Fifteen minutes.
Arousal curled in your stomach at the name - Baby.
Experimentally, you ground your hips down into him, and Mike let out the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard, his hands digging deeper into the flesh of your hips. “Fuck,” he groaned again. “Fuck, please.”
Pretty, you thought to yourself.
“Be patient,” you urged. He was painfully hard beneath you, pressing obscenely against your inner thigh. “Just think about how good it’ll feel if you’re patient.”
Mike’s head tipped back against the couch cushions, his fingers repeatedly flexing and tightening. There was a flush spreading over the highest points of his cheekbones, and his eyes had begun to glaze over with desire. Oblivious, he bucked his own hips up to meet yours.
“I’ve literally never been this hard in my fucking life,” he said. You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look back at you.
“Mike,” you cooed. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me when that clock hits midnight.”
A renewed sense of purpose washed over Mike. The two of you kept lazily grinding against each other, both of you so fucking eager that you couldn’t help yourselves. His gaze hardened, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.
His voice was gravelly when he finally spoke. “You’re not going to be so cocky, I’ll tell you that.”
“Yeah, you think you’re in charge?”
“I know I’m in charge, baby,” he challenged, hands slipping underneath your shirt. You weren’t wearing a bra, but he restrained himself, only letting his deft fingers trail across your ribs in a way that made you shiver. It was honestly impressive how both of you had managed to hold back.
Eight minutes.
“I’ve waited so long,” he continued, “but I’m not going to touch you until you beg for me.”
It delighted you to know that his desire to be needed was going to bleed into your sex life. However, you weren’t one to back down easily, so you scoffed. “As if I’d ever beg for you, Wheeler.”
He grinned boyishly. “We’ll see.”
You shook your head stubbornly. “You’re going to be begging for me. You’ve been waiting a year to fuck me, I don’t think you’ll be able to contain yourself.”
The crassness of the sentence made Mike’s hips jump again, and you had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from making noise. You both looked at the clock.
Five minutes.
“Fuck it,” Mike said. “You’re right.
And he kissed you.
It was messy and depraved the way he kissed you, teeth clashing. His hands didn’t stop moving - they trailed across your stomach, down to your hips, squeezing at your thighs, before coming back up to cup your face and pull you in closer. You could barely even process it, only able to chase desperately after his mouth.
Your hands rooted themself on the back of his head, digging into his hair. You tugged at it and, just as you’d hoped, Mike let out a whimper into your mouth. It gave you the chance to slip your tongue in, licking and sucking at his bottom lip.
Mike’s kiss wasn’t tender like he’d been the last few months. He didn’t treat you like a fragile doll, afraid to get too close and press too hard. Instead, he was fervent in his desire, guiding your hips over at a maddening pace.
“Off, please,” he murmured against your lips, yanking pathetically at the hem of your shirt. You broke the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt off shamelessly before diving back in, addicted to the heat and taste of his mouth.
He began to kiss his way down your throat, nipping teasingly at your skin, urged on by your breathy moans and the tightening grip you had in his curls.
“Mm, pretty,” he said to himself.
“Mike,” you whimpered. “Please.”
He looked up at you, eyes lidded. “What did I say? Didn’t take you long, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered, pulling him back up to your lips. “I need you, now.”
That was enough for Mike to scoop you up in a surprising feat of strength. Your hardened nipples brushing against the material of his shirt made you shiver as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He was determined as he carried you down the hallway to his room, ceremoniously setting you down on his bed before stripping his own shirt off.
Before he crawled over you, you shimmied out of your pants and underwear, letting them drop to the floor. Mike’s eyes lit up at the sight of you presented to him so vulnerably. His hands traveled down between your legs, looking to you for approval.
“Can I?” he asked, all the confidence melting away until it was just Mike - your Mike - left hovering over you. You nodded, unable to speak.
Mike kneeled before you like you were an altar as he rubbed his large hands over the inside of your thighs. You longed to dig your hands in his hair again, unsure of what to do with them, so you planted your fingers in his bedsheets.
“Stop teasing,” you said through gritted teeth.
“I’m not teasing,” he huffed. “I want to take my time. Make you feel good.”
Mike’s index finger tapped at your clit with a barely-there delicacy that still made you gasp. He couldn’t take his eyes off your face, not even to stare at your dripping cunt. Slowly, Mike pressed his finger inside you, and you couldn’t help but arch slightly.
“Tight,” he muttered to himself, slowly working his finger in and out. With his other hand, he grabbed at the fat of your thigh, bringing your leg up enough so he could kiss a sloppy line from your ankle to his shin. The wetness of his kiss was enough to distract you as he slipped a second finger in.
“Mike,” you whined, hands still fisted in the bedsheets.
“Feel good?”
“Yes. So good.”
Mike curled his long fingers, and the sensation of it was overwhelming. You’d been dreaming of how his fingers would feel inside you for months, touching yourself at the thought of it in the privacy of your bedroom. They, of course, reached further than you ever could, and it was almost enough to bring you to an orgasm.
Almost as if he sensed that he was bringing you close to the edge, Mike pulled his fingers out, slick and shiny in the lamplight. You lifted your head just enough to watch him bring them to his mouth, sucking your arousal off them with a mischievous look on his face.
“Good?” he asked again.
“Take your pants off, Wheeler. Now.”
Mike laughed, easing a bit of the thick tension in the air. He stepped off the bed, pushing down his sweats and boxers, before climbing back over you. He leaned down to capture your lips in another bruising kiss, tongue licking lewdly at the inside of your mouth, the sound of it practically pornographic.
You reached up to grab his shoulders, nails digging into his pale skin.
“I can’t be patient anymore,” he revealed.
“I can’t either,” you said.
The feeling of him pushing into you was more overwhelming than the stretch of his fingers. He was long, longer than you’d expected, and each inch made you feel fuller and fuller, until you weren’t even sure if you could accommodate all of him.
“Almost there, baby. So good, you feel so good,” Mike muttered. He looked just as wrecked as you felt, a slight sheen of sweat across his face, his curls disheveled, and his lips pink and swollen. He looked so beautiful above you, the broad line of his shoulders and long arms caging you in, the trail of hair that disappeared toward his cock, which, as you’d mentioned, was huge. “Hey, look at me.”
It took a lot of effort to open your eyes and look at him.
“You okay?”
You could only nod frantically, knowing that any words out of your mouth would sound too much like a moan. He ran a soothing thumb across your cheek and kissed you chastely.
“Doing so well,” he repeated. “You feel so good. I don’t know how long I can last.”
Finally, he bottomed out, his hipbones pressing up against you. You gasped, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. Holy shit.
“Come on, baby,” he cooed, rolling his hips lightly. “Where’s all that attitude?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you chanted. “Move.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mhm, yes, yes!”
Mike pulled out a few inches before pressing back in, always so attentive to your reaction, even when chasing his own pleasure. When you just let out a little whimper, he did it again, thrusting back in a bit rougher this time.
“Shit,” he grunted. One of his hands was still holding up your knee, hooked over his arm, while the other had begun to squeeze lightly at your tits. He pulled out further this time, sliding back in with another rough thrust.
“Mike, c’mere,” you whimpered. He obeyed, dropping your leg to press his chest against yours. He kissed your jaw, the bridge of your nose, your cheeks as you sought out his curls, wanting to feel the softness of them between your fingers as he fucked into you.
As he began to speed up more and more, the feeling of fullness began to ease slightly, becoming much more pleasurable. You couldn’t stop the noises that escaped you, immensely grateful that you and Mike were alone. His thrusts got messier and messier as he buried his face in your neck, mumbling words of encouragement against your skin.
Each sound that he made was just as pretty as the moan he’d let out on the couch. Already, just during this first time, he fucked you so good. You’d never felt anything like it. Just the thought of how else he could throw you around had your toes curling.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin, hips beginning to stutter. “Fuck, I love you so much. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you, Mike,” you hiccuped. “I love you, too.”
Both of you came at the same time. It was so erotic the way he continued to rut into you, hands grasping greedily at any inch of you he could reach. You couldn’t do anything but let your head fall back, your eyes rolling back in your skull, and take whatever he had left to give you. It was so much better than any orgasm you’d ever given yourself, and you could’ve gotten high on the feeling.
Your limbs felt heavy when Mike collapsed over you, letting his full weight settle. Chest still heaving, you brushed back his hair and kissed him on the temple. For a moment, the two of you just existed in the post-sex haze, skin sticky and sweaty, and when he finally pulled out of you, you winced.
“Was that okay?” he asked after tossing the condom and wiping the two of you clean.
“Okay?” you repeated, incredulous. “Mike, I practically fucking blacked out.”
“So, you didn’t fake it?”
You smiled, stroking his cheek with your knuckle. “No, never.”
He smiled back. “Did you mean what you said? That you. . .”
Mike trailed off, apparently afraid to put words in your mouth, to undo all of the progress you’d made up until that point.
“That I love you?” you finished softly. He nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Of course. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
He let out a quiet breath, almost like a laugh, but not quite. “You-” he started, then stopped again, shaking his head slightly. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
Mike lurched forward and kissed you again. It was less erratic and needy, but still just as intense. “I love you, too,” he said when he pulled away. “God, I love you so fucking much.”
You giggled at that, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Happy New Year, Mike,” you said.
He rested his forehead against yours. “Happy New Year.”
“I love you,” you whispered again.
Outside, New York carried on, the last few fireworks exploding in the air enthusiastically, but inside the walls of Mike’s apartment, where it was just the two of you, you had never been happier.
To be loved by Mike Wheeler was the greatest thing in the world.
summary: one day before your california trip to see will and el with mike and school goes by normally.
hope you like it!
masterlist
♡
it had been a long morning, and you hadn’t even left the house yet. you had just finished packing for your california trip last night and got no sleep, and you’re currently trying to make your curl flip the right way. or you were until steve shouted something about robin hating being late so you had to leave now.
you quickly throw on a random pink top, jeans, and your jean jacket and jog downstairs. your parents were (surprisingly) home so you trip on your dads shoes laying around while you grab your backpack. and your walkman because the sound of robin and steve bickering at 8 am was soooo annoying.
steve huffs as you plop into the backseat, “took ya long enough.”
you roll your eyes as he speeds off, “i was getting ready and my hair wouldn’t stay because you took my hairspray!”
“did not!” he very quickly drives through hawkins which terrifies the hell out of you and gets to robins impossibly fast. “aren’t you supposed to be cheering at the rally?” he glances at you through the mirror while pulling into robins house and honking, signaling he’s here.
you groan at the memory of your coach yelling at you for dropping a stunt and taking you out of the pep rally routine. “my coach is making me sit out all because i dropped stupid jennifer green who, by the way, was toeing the most anyone ever has like, ever. like yeah, she broke her arm but still!”
“what the hell is toeing?” he honks again and robin runs out with her bag and band shit that gets shoved in the back with you.
“ooh is this cheer talk?” robin grinned as she got in the passenger seat. “i love with you talk about lifting girls 20 feet in the air like its nothing.” she pulls out her makeup bag.
“yeah well i dropped one so not only am i sidelined, she’s making me do soooo much at the game tonight! i have to do a straddle jump!” you pout in the back, fixing your music device.
“oh poor you,” steve mocks playfully as you put on your headphones, drowning them out and listening to your new madonna album.
you were so excited for california tomorrow. it had been almost a year since you last saw will and el, which was basically torture. it was a shock to say the least to the population of hawkins high that y/n harrington and will byers were practically best friends, but you were. and el was the absolute best girl ever.
and you were going with mike wheeler, who you unfortunately find extremely attractive. it was his nerdiness and awkwardness combined with his face that for some reason made you weak in the knees. you never showed it thought. of course not! if people were shocked that you were friends with them, they’d have an aneurysm if you and mike started dating!
he was totally out of your league anyway. you had half the guys in your grade staring at you, and yet you can only focus on mike! what the hell?
you force those thoughts out of your brain. can’t be thinking like that when you had a 4 something hour flight next to him tomorrow morning, and spending a week around him. no no, those thoughts will not do.
your thoughts drifted to the rally in a few minutes, you’d have to find max to stand with. ‘that’s gonna be difficult,’ you thought guiltily. she had just been so closed off since billy died. you knew it wasn’t her fault and you really, really wanted to help her. but she made it clear to you multiple times she didn’t want help.
you see the school appearing and you take out your headphones just in time to hear your brother say something about “boobies!”
“what the hell are you guys talking about?” you huff and get your stuff ready to get out.
“am i picking you up after school or do you have practice?” steve asks instead, obviously not explaining why he and robin were discussing tits.
“practice.” you hop out with your bag and robin bumps your shoulder as you walk and steve speeds off.
“who’d you drop?” she whispers and grins.
“jennifer. broke her arm on accident,” you nod to the bitchy senior girl pouting and holding her cast.
robin high fives you then runs off to her friends.
♡
the pep rally started and you quickly spotted where mike, dustin, and max were standing on the bleachers. the boy's hellfire shirt made them stand out a crazy amount. you almost felt embarrassed on the walk to them, but honestly who cares? you had fought real life monsters and lost people important to you, a bit of highschool judgeyness could be damned.
you slide in next to max as the basketball players run out. mike and dustin have weird looks on their faces as they see lucas which annoys you to no end.
mike gets your attention, “dont you cheer at these things?” he nods to the other girls.
i tell him how i dropped jen, “…and it’s so annoying because i’ll have extra stuff to do at the game.” you unconsciously pout a little.
mike almost laughs, “isn’t that your whole job, holding girls up?”
“she was toeing!”
“what!?”
“like leaning forward.”
mike hums, “they should lift you up, that’d be funny to see.”
you shake your head immediately, “hell no! i hate heights.”
mike almost shoots back with, ‘you faced real life monsters but can’t handle heights?’ but obviously didn’t, can’t talk about that shit in public!
he just huffs a laugh instead then goes back to watching.
jason starts praising the cheer squad and you murmur to max about you dropping the girl and why you aren't cheering. you really have no idea if shes even listening but even if she isn't you just love talking.
you know she is listening to you though because she 'shhs' you when jason starts getting serious and talking about the people who died in the "mall fire" from over the summer.
he mentions billy and hopper and you bite your bottom lip. those names brings back memories of starcourt mall, the massive mind flayer, els leg, the monster almost getting you-
with a shake of your head the memories go away and everyone cheers for something jason was saying.
"tonight?!" mikes face scrunches up all cute.
"how is that possible?!" dustin huffs back.
"its called a tournament," max explains it all to them.
"can you guys not make it tonight?" you shout over the loud noise, "im sure lucas really wants you to go."
"yeah obviously!" dustin sasses, "we have hellfire tonight."
you roll your eyes slightly, "can't you just move it?"
"no! it's been planned for ages!" mike looks over at you and gives you a 'are you being serious?' look. "it's the most important round tonight, with vecna-" you cut him off with a raise of your hand
"okay i don't care that much, sorry for suggesting it," you huff sarcastically.
mike starts walking off the tiny bleachers "hey! max isn't going either, why aren't you up her ass?"
"'cause max can do whatever the hell she wants?"
"y/n!" he groans.
"im just saying! and they'll probably play lucas tonight, some sophomores sick. and if you can you could watch me cheer!"
dustin snorts, "because we like watching cheerleading." he's always so sarcastic.
"i do really cool moves! like a straddle jum-" mike cuts you off.
"'okay i don't care that much'" he mocks you from earlier.
you huff, "shut up." they catch up to lucas and you wave before going off to find your other friends.
♡
at lunch you're eating some snacks steve bought you when eddie munson jumps on a table- mikes table- and him and jason have some annoying stand off thing. then it calms back down.
"such freaks," a girl on your team, julie, laughs and the other girls join too.
"y/n? whats wrong with you?" stacey pokes your shoulder, "its funny."
"uh yeah, aha," you fake chuckle and go back to zoning out. everyone thought eddie and those guys were weird, and yeah they're weird as hell but they're kinda funny too. and the game dnd is actually kinda fun.
over summer a few days after will and el left, the guys were feeling down and dustin practically begged at your feet for you to play dnd, just once he promised.
for some reason you gave in and ended up playing with them until school started up. max teased you relentlessly for it, even though she played it too. not that you'd ever tell anyone. you were fine with people whispering about you being friends with the party, but playing dnd? no way.
you think back to that day a few months ago....
"so what do i do?" you huffed as you plopped down in a chair.
dustin immediately started explaining, "so mikes the dungeon master, and basically makes up the story." he thoroughly explained it while you twirled a strand of hair around your finger.
"and not die, even though wheeler will probably kill you on purpose," max added and mike kicked her from under the table.
the round or whatever its called began and when it was your turn to roll you rolled a 9. "is that good?"
lucas winced, "no, you probably died or will die soon if your luck stays like that."
"what! already?!" you glanced at mike because maybe he could make your 9 turn into a 19 or something.
he only shrugged, "you have another roll coming up, and if thats good you're fine."
"and if its not?"
"can't tell!" he held up his hands and grinned his shit-eating grin.
5 minutes later you rolled again and got a 10 and looked at mike hopefully.
he smirked a little and put on his storyteller voice, "hmm, not the best but not the worst either. the Demogorgon attacks, but only injures you."
at the mention of the Demogorgon, your eyes nearly popped out of your head, "you guys named those real life monsters after dnd villains?!"
dustin rolled his eyes, "yes?"
"i still think its stupid how they did that," max laughed a little bit at you.
"we talked about that like, a lot." lucas shook his head a little.
"well i didn't hear anything! is the mind flayer in the game too?"
mike sighed "yes, seriously how did you not know?"
you rolled your eyes at his brattiness but moved on, "so im injured?".....
stacey poking your arm again snapped you out of the memory.
you did wish you didn't sit with these girls. you liked them i guess but much preferred max, but she hates the cafeteria.
so you sit there, zoning out for the rest of lunch and don't even notice mike staring at you the whole time.
♡
school finally was out which meant a long painful practice was ahead of you until the game. you get your uniform on and go into the gym to start stretching when mike runs up to you, calling your name like 50 times.
"what?!"
"wanna join hellfire tonight?" he looks down at you all hopeful.
"i literally have a game! we were like, just talking about this!"
he deflates a little, "oh yeah." mike glances around the room to see all the cheerleaders giving him looks. "we can't find anyone to replace lucas."
"go to the game instead," you give him a grin and see dustin waving him over and into the hallway. "bye then, see you tomorrow for that early ass flight you wanted."
"so we can spend the whole day in california! i don't want to waste a second!" he scrambles out of there and you can't help but sigh in attraction when you see his lankly legs run.
♡
pratice was rough, especially with the coach currently hating you, but the game is going well. the chick who sang the national anthem sucked ass and you and stacey could barely hold in your giggles.
and your halftime routine hit so well, you didn't break anyones arm OR drop them! the tricks coach had you doing were tiring so you weren't cheering to your full potential until you saw lucas get on the court.
you made sure to shout extra loud, and when he made that winning shotw you definitely cheered the loudest. 'will be making mike feel bad for missing this on the flight tomorrow,' you made a mental note.
you give lucas a hug before you leave then get in steves car with robin and that annoying girl he brought. there were like 20 parties you could've gone to, but a 6:30 AM flight made you eager to leave.
robin was pretty much asleep on you in the back and steve drops her off then his date.
"she was annoying," you chirp from the back.
"yeah well..." he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.
you take your too high ponytail out, "didn't i do so good?"
"i liked that leg trick you did, like the turny thing."
"a cartwheel?"
"whatever, yeah you did great, sinclair too"
"ohmygosh yeah i'm so happy he made the shot!"
"the rest of those shitheads weren't there though," steve sighs and pulls into the home, "don't tell me they were playing that dumbass game."
"they were playing that dumbass game," you giggle and get out.
he unlocks the door, "hey, i know you're friends with them and whatever, but don't hang around munson. he's a freak and held back like 10 years."
you laugh again at his protective tone, "don't worry i wasn't planning on it." you head to the stairs.
"and i also don't love the idea of you and wheeler on a plane, alone!" he shouts up to you.
"shut up!" you get into your room and get in the shower to prepare for tomorrow.
"brats," he mumbled under his breath.
♡
you had just finished your shower when the hallway phone starts ringing. you groan and pick it up, “hello?”
it’s mike. “what clothes did you pack? it’s hot there right?”
“obviously, it’s california! they live in southern california right?”
“how would i know!?” you can hear him going through the wheeler family laundry basket.
you think “well i packed my summer clothes, but ill bring jeans and a jacket.”
mike hums over the line and you hear a suitcase unzip.
“are you seriously not packed!? we leave so early. if you make us miss the flight i swear.”
✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | ✪ g's star reads | 🔞 smut below the cut
@luveline
✧.* not known or seen ✪
Things between you and Peter change with the seasons.
@filmjules
SPIDER-BOY
✧.* where peter parker’s best friend starts calling him by a silly nickname, not knowing how true it is. aka peter has a hopeless crush on his best friend who has a small habit of drawing on his hands and arms. who also may have a crush on spiderman.
@thollandsgirl2013
✧.* Suit Up, Buttercup
You blackmail Peter into letting you try on his Spider-Man suit. It fits too well, leading to making out—and Tony walking in.
@ptergwen
✧.* out of sight, on his mind
warnings: making out, suggestiveness, drinking, like one swear
@loverangels
✧.* webbed in desire
Peter really likes your Spiderman pajama pants
@anon-188
✧.*sweet stuff
business is slow, you’re losing hope. so peter does what any reasonable guy would do—sends spider-man on a bakery rescue mission.
@shortnspidey
✧.* SLIM PICKINS
Safe to say your love life was nonexistent. You’d tried everything, swiping through dating apps like it was your part-time job, smiling at strangers on the subway, even letting friends set you up with guys. Still, nothing. Just awkward dates, ghosted messages, and a lingering sense that love might just be a myth. But maybe, just maybe, the problem wasn’t you. Turns out, slim pickins didn’t apply when the best option was right under your nose.
@gossameres
˚꩜｡ spin the lie
peter parker’s never kissed anyone, and pretending to do it in a closet was just to spare him the humiliation. teaching him the basics? innocent enough. until he starts learning how to touch, how to beg, and how to make you forget it was ever pretend (completed)
@wokeupinmars
⚠︎ Remedy
Peter believes you stood him up for his work event, but his hurt feelings subside when he gets home and finds you sick.
@waitimcomingtoo
✧.* Built A Fire Just To Keep Me Warm
you and Peter are in the same friend group but never got along. That doesn’t keep him from making sure you never get cold
@yasministration
✧.* want you to stay
peter is absolutely appalled when he sees you beginning to leave the party when his frat brother yells "if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, get out!"
@thceseus
✧.* he does melt!
seeing if he melts into a kiss' trend with your best friend, Peter Parker.
@ironinc
🔞 Distracted
You decided to take a break from your day and play a online game with your friends, but before you can even start, it's impossible to concentrate when your boyfriend, Peter Parker, is being so distracting. He offers to let you sit on his lap while you play, not realizing his intentions aren't nearly as innocent as he pretends they are.
@boxofbonesfic
🔞 Play Pretend
You play dumb to get help from some nerd in your Stats class, but end up biting off more than you can chew.
@thollandsgirl2013
🔞 Love Stained
You surprise Peter with kisses to test your new lipstick, leaving him covered in maroon marks.
🔞 His Favorite Breakfast
Peter wakes up horny and needy in the morning and he takes you on the kitchen counter.
🔞 No Nut November Challenge
It's November, Peter and Ned decided to join no nut November, it's a disaster for Peter.
@yasministration
🔞 am i doing this right?
could i request summer, smut with peter. and the prompt “am i doing this right”
@alsofoundinpeas
🔞 A Little Tied Up
When Spider-Man offers a surprisingly unconventional alternative to an ice pack, you find yourself agreeing, only to discover there's more to his touch than just superhuman strength.
@uhhhj13iguess
🔞 what you asked for
teasing peter parker while he's patrollingggggg
🔞 the stages of us
peter parker starts an internship at oscorp, matched into a robotics team led by you — you, who has peter believing in love at first sight. and despite every instinct in his body, peter can't help but fall further and more helplessly in love with you... even if you happen to have a boyfriend.
@iridescentparkers
🔞 lessons in sexting
warnings: very suggestive! (18+)
-> summary: mike is your first ever boyfriend. but you’re not much expressive when it comes to loving and you’re still nervous around him. that mixed with some miscommunication can cause your first ever fight with him ( shy reader, modern au)
tw: lowkey corny😭✌️
————
as the school bell rang signaling the end of a week of school, you made your way to the parking lot in search of a familiar blue car. as your finger was about to tap on the phone screen for mikes contact, you saw him waving at you from his car. adjusting your backpack strap, you head over to the all too familiar vehicle, throwing your bag in the backseat and shutting the door.
mike hops into the drivers seat and starts to drive.
it was an unusually warm day. like those random days in march where the midwest gets a false spring, the hot sun is shining but you still get cold in the shade. the sun beams down into the car and the warmth is getting suffocating. truth is, it’s not just the sun. it feels like mikes been walking on eggshells around you as of late. and you don’t know why because it’s only been two weeks since you’ve started dating, and it’s been going great for the most part with no fights.
he clears his throat and you shift in the passenger seat.
“so… i was planning on inviting the party over for a movie night. thoughts?” mike asks.
you roll down your window.
“sounds fun. what time should i be there?”
he hums while tapping the steering wheel. “6?”
“6.” you affirm. “
the rest of the ride is quiet. you turn the volume dial up, and some random Cure song consumes the car.
after mike drops you off home, you spend the next two hours napping and then getting ready to leave. hearing a familiar honk outside you run downstairs to put your shoes on, telling your parents you’ll be home before midnight.
—
you follow mike downstairs inhaling that all too familiar smell of the wheeler basement; a mix of dust, mildew, and comfort. shutting the door behind you, you let go of mikes hand and sit next to max and el, both of them already cozied up on the couch behind lucas and dustin who were on the floor playing fortnite. mike sat next to will on the floor as you waved to robin and steve who’re on the other sofa.
as lucas and dustin were fighting the last duo, mike walked up to the tv, shutting it off.
“dude! are you serious?!? we were about to get a double crown!” henderson whined, rolling over to be on his back.
“not cool wheeler” lucas echoed, sitting up straight.
mike sighed, “we have to decide on a movie”.
max throws her head back, studying the ceiling, “at this point why not just watch youtube shorts on the tv, since every movie night we spend 30 minutes choosing a movie, another 30 on shorts getting distracted, and we never finish the movie!” she complains, tossing lucas’s sweater up and down repeatedly towards the roof.
“we wouldn’t waste time on youtube shorts if we stopped letting steve touch the damn remote.” mike spews, saying steve’s name as if he was satan.
harrington scoffs, “okay wise man how about you choose the movie tonight so we don’t waste anymore of your precious time” he says without looking up from his phone.
mike scoffs, grabbing the remote, “watch me!” mike scrolls through the list of movies on tv and clicks on some random 2 hour oscar nominated movie.
“im ordering pizza, add whatever you want.” steve throws his phone onto the carpeted floor in the center.
will grabs his phone and adds food to the cart, passing it to dustin and lucas who debate whether or not they should get dr pepper.
“don’t get soda, we have some upstairs.” mike says, as he dims the lights.
max shifts in her seat next to you. “you want this blanket?” she asks.
“sure!” you grab it and get comfortable.
“so, how are you and wheeler?” max asks, genuinely curious.
your eyes widen. “we’re fine. is there a particular reason you ask…?” you wince.
“well—for starters, why aren’t you two sitting next to each other? you’re always sitting together. ” she tilts her head and nods towards his direction and you look at him on the floor, passing out pillows to will and the rest of the boys.
“about that… he’s been moving weird. like today- in the car, he seemed kinda mad, or sad? anyways, he just wasn’t talking as much as usual. but i didn’t do anything wrong so im just confused! i didn’t know being a girlfriend would be so— difficult.” you sigh and max nods as she crosses her legs.
“tell me about it, it’s hard dating someone. sounds especially hard for you because mike is infamous for never tells anyone what he wants. he seems impossible, no offense.” she smiles.
“honest to god, none taken” you both laugh and mike watches, cringing at the fact that he’s not next to you.
“can someone get garlic knots too? i’ll pay you back steve.” el asks politely as ever.
“no need. i told you guys its free. ya know, since im a dasher” steve exclaims.
“… dasher?” el asks with a look on her face.
“yeah. like door dasher…? just— it’s on me, okay?” he squints in embarrassment .
el nods, and max can’t help but let out a chuckle at how pathetic steve sounds.
“from scooping ice cream to delivering it.. harrington really does it all!” max is dying at her own joke and you look away so steve doesn’t see your grin.
robin cackles, smacking steve’s shoulder.
“alright, don’t laugh too hard now, you’re in the same boat as him.” dustin points out, and the older girl deadpans.
“okay, steve-o and i will go get the dr. pepper upstairs.” robin says as she starts to get up, but mike shoves her back into the sofa.
“itssssss okay, i’ll go get it. im closer to the stairs anyways.” he smiles crookedly, wiping his hands on his pants.
robin and steve look at each other with raised brows, cause mike was defiantly not sitting closer to the stairs at all. in fact, he was probably the farthest.
mike clears his throat, “y/n, could you come and uh, help me?” he scratches his head and nods towards the stairs with one hand already on the railing, awkwardly.
you shrug, “sure.”
max bites her lip, confused. will and lucas eye each other also confused. the sound of dustin’s brawl stars from his phone is the only thing you hear because the movie is paused, and your footsteps are light as you go upstairs with mike.
stepping into the kitchen, mike opens the fridge and grabs the giant pepsi bottle.
you sit down at the kitchen island. “didnt they want dr. pepper?” you ask, resting your chin into your palm while kicking your legs, nervous as to why mike suddenly wanted to be alone with you.
mike winces and hurriedly grabs the dr. pepper, “shit— you’re right, sorry” he apologizes, and slams the plastic bottle of soda on the counter way harder than he intended startling the both of you.
you shift on the stool and fidget with the paper cups in front of you while hesitantly asking, “is everything… like good between us?”
“huh? what do you mean? why wouldn’t it?” he replies coolly, but it’s not hard to sense his jittery undertone as he reaches for the kitchen window, pulling it up to open it.
the late night summer breeze flows through the tense room, and it isn’t completely dark out yet as the cicadas ring incessantly. you debate whether or not you should ask him. whatever.
“i’m only asking because you’ve been acting kind of distant lately” you spit out as you close your eyes momentarily, not wanting to see mikes reaction.
“i… am sorry i made you feel that way it’s just that i…” he trails off, still facing away from you as he leans against the kitchen sink with his hands gripping onto the still wet countertop from when his mom did the dishes for dear life.
the antique clock is ticking obnoxiously loudly.
he takes in an deep breath of backyard air, “it’s just that, I feel like you don’t really… want… me.” he turns around quickly to face you, sounding so unsure and looking it too, crossing his arms.
your eyes widen as big as the moon. not even knowing what to say you manage to form a full sentence feeling your face warming up.
“i do—“
“and i’m sorry if it was me who made you uncomfortable by moving too fast and if i was annoying you in any way by hanging around with you too often i totally get that too it’s just my first time liking someone so much and i don’t want to fuck this up” he takes a breath as he looks around the floor with his hands running through his own loose curls, “and i thought you wanted space because you rarely post me on your socials, you don’t hold hands in the halls, i still haven’t met your parents, i have to sneak into your room window instead of just using the front door, and you never really ask to spend time with me anymore and i’m always asking to hang out first so i thought i should just give you space, i think i already said that and…. god, i don’t know.” he exhales as he is now leaned over, his head is now on the counter and he’s still gripping onto his hair, looking… distressed.
the cicadas sound deafening as you process what he just dumped.
“mike… i think you’re forgetting that i like you a lot. and im still strung up on how you are my boyfriend. im gonna be honest but i still get really nervous whenever we hang out. like, when i see you in my own room my heart races like— at least 600 beats per minute. and you know me, i don’t wanna seem clingy either” you sigh and study your hands on the cold countertop, “i like you so much i don’t think ill ever stop being anxious around you, even saying all this is killing me” you finally look up at him and this time he’s actually watching you.
“and i’m sorry for having you stressed out about, well, nothing. because i don’t need space from you. i was just overthinking about us.” you offer him a small smile and you swear his eyes are glistening like stars under the kitchen light.
he blinks and clears his throat.
“no it’s me.. i’m sorry.” he blurts, and he makes his way to the other end of the counter, swiftly pulling you in for what seems like a hug and you try to wrap your arms around him as he goes in for a soft kiss, and he pulls away, just to embrace you for a hug so warm you swear he can feel your own racing 600 BPM heartbeat against his chest.
as mike gently yet firmly squeezes you against him with his face digging into your shoulder, you’re both oblivious to the sight behind you. the basement door is wide open as robin and steve clutch heavy paper bags of pizza and takeout, clearly about to head back down to the basement, but not before steve fumbles for his phone to take a photo of mike crying into your shoulder with his hands white from how hard he’s squeezing your back as robin suppresses a burst of giggle and it’s not long before the whole basement roars of laughter.
such a funny way. . . /// college!mike wheeler x fem!reader
wc: 9k
In your third-year at NYU, you meet Will Byers. Unfortunately, you also meet his roommate, Mike Wheeler, who, it seems, has a personal vendetta against you.
warnings ! everyone is 20+ and in college, mike is kinda mean but it's just because he's stupid, cursing, reader is mentioned to be bisexual, hella angsty, potentially part one of two
a/n ! hi party people. this is my first ever post on tumblr yippee! i usually write more long-form content on ao3 (even though this is 9k words... yeah what about it) but this plot idea came to me in a dream and i've spent the last week writing it. i do have an idea for part two if anyone is interested but thank you all so much for reading :))))) any advice on how to be an expert tumblr user is greater appreciated and please ignore any typos. <3
****
When Will introduced you to his roommate, your first impression of Mike Wheeler was that he was an annoyingly attractive douchebag.
It was your third year at NYU when you first met Will Byers in an Art History class - one required for all visual arts majors, whether your interests lay in painting like Will or photography like yourself.
You’d spent your first two years of university in a sort of quiet, perpetual state of loneliness that had drained you of all the bright-eyed enthusiasm you’d had before setting foot on campus. You hadn’t exactly been popular in high school, but you did have a few close friends that you’d hung out with from time to time. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, it seemed impossible to befriend anyone at NYU. Occasionally, you struck up a conversation with people in your classes, but the words seemed to fizzle out the second the lecture ended. No one ever invited you to study with them or grab a quick coffee after a test.
Your roommate situation was no better. Despite the close proximity that your freshman dorm provided, you were unable to connect with your roommate. Your sophomore year had (somehow) been worse, even in an apartment. So, when your lease ended, you were immensely grateful to move into the first cheap studio apartment you could find. Yeah, the walls were paper-thin, and your neighbors frequently played music at full volume, but you would’ve lived in a cardboard box if it meant having your own space.
By the time the fall term started, you’d gotten used to being alone all summer. Alternating between a job stocking books at the local library and watching shitty rom-coms while eating shitty meals, you rarely had to speak to anyone.
So, when Will Byers sat next to you on the first day of class - before the professor had even arrived - and struck up a conversation, you thought he’d mistaken you for someone else.
He’d settled down next to you without hesitation, carefully placing a worn sketchbook and a brand new notebook on the narrow desk in front of him. You’d watched his every move apprehensively, waiting for him to glance over and realize you weren’t who he thought. The lecture hall was only half full, students still trickling in and carrying on quiet conversations.
“Nice camera,” he’d said gently, nodding toward the camera that was visible inside your bag. There was a raspiness to his voice, as if he hadn’t spoken a word before this 8 AM class. “Film, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” you’d stammered, running a finger along the fabric strap you usually had slung around your neck.
“My brother used to have one. Not the same but, um, similar.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He said it was better than digital.”
“Yes, I agree!” you exclaimed, louder than you meant. You winced. “I like not knowing how the pictures are going to turn out right away. Makes me less of a perfectionist.”
Immediately, you’d regretted talking so much. You weren’t even sure if he wanted to carry on a conversation or if he was just being polite. But he’d laughed then, smiling in a way that made you feel like you’d known this boy forever, and you relaxed.
“I’m Will, by the way,” he’d introduced.
You told him your name, potential for friendship already blossoming in your mind.
After that day, you and Will did a lot together. You studied for exams - even if you weren’t studying for the same class - you compared pictures and paintings before submitting them for critiques, and you frequently got coffee on campus after a long day. Will was easy to talk to, more so than anyone you’d ever met, and you genuinely liked spending time with him. He gave great music recommendations, and in return, you’d recommend books he might like.
Or at least tried to recommend books.
“I’m not much of a reader,” he’d admitted one day in the library, about a month into your friendship. “My roommate, though - his name’s Mike - he’s a creative writing major. I bet the two of you would get along.”
Unfortunately, Will had been wrong. You first met Mike the first time you went over to Will’s apartment, the two of you having planned a movie night after the stress of midterms. While unlocking the door, he’d prefaced your introduction to the elusive Mike with, “He’s a bit quiet, at first, but I really think you guys have a lot in common.”
You’d just nodded, adjusting the tote-bag slung over your shoulder. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every aspect of your appearance. Your clothes, your hair, the makeup that you’d applied twelve hours ago, surely looked terrible at this point.
The door creaked open to reveal an apartment that looked exactly like what you’d expect from two 20-something boys living together. There was a worn couch facing the TV, and every available surface was covered in textbooks, papers, and unopened junk mail. There were empty cups strewn across the coffee table and several pairs of shoes piled up by the door. “I told him to clean this place up,” Will muttered under his breath, kicking a pair of sneakers aside. “Mike?”
A figure appeared from the hallway. With dark, tousled curls and a lanky build, your first glance at Mike Wheeler genuinely took your breath away, something you thought was only possible in movies. He had the dazed look of someone who’d just woken up from a late afternoon nap, cozy in an oversized sweater and sweats. The fabric hung loosely over his figure, soft and worn at the elbows and stretched across his collarbones, revealing a faint sliver of pale skin beneath. When he looked at you from underneath long lashes, you were struck by the deep, limitlessness of his brown eyes.
Will’s roommate was fucking beautiful.
“Mike, this is-” Will began.
“The photography major,” Mike interrupted, shuffling forward so that he was standing right in front of you and Will. He was tall - maybe 90% legs - and you hated that his looking down at you made you flustered.
Shit, maybe your period was starting soon, and that’s why you were ready to jump Mike Wheeler’s bones.
“Nice to meet you,” you said kindly, holding out your hand. Clearly, your social skills had atrophied. Who shook hands anymore?
Mike stared down at your extended hand before slowly grasping it with his own. His palm was warm and soft against yours, and his fingers were just as long and lanky as he was, stained with ink in various places. Right, creative writing major. He must write stuff by hand from time to time.
“Will told me you’re a fan of classic literature,” he said, pulling his hand away, but instead of letting it drop back to his side, he reached up and rubbed his face tiredly.
“Oh, yeah,” you confirmed sheepishly. “I tried to give Will some recommendations, but he said you’d be more interested in all the ‘Dostoevsky nonsense.’ His words. . . Not mine.”
“I did not say Dostoevsky nonsense,” Will scoffed.
“Really,” you asked teasingly, “because I seem to remember those exact words coming out of your mouth-”
Mike yawned, interrupting you again, dragging a hand through his hair. “Dostoevsky?” he repeated, brows knitting together.
You paused, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. You looked helplessly at Will, who seemed just as bewildered by Mike’s reaction as you were. “Yeah, I mean, I like his stuff. Is there something wrong with him?” You wondered if there was some innate understanding about Dostoevsky that all writing and literature majors had, one that you weren’t privy to as a photography major.
Mike shifted his weight, crossing his arms loosely. “I don’t know, I’ve tried, but his prose feels too messy. He thinks he’s a philosopher when really, he’s not. If you want to read someone who actually understands existentialism, you should read Camus.”
“I thought Dostoevsky came first,” you argued feebly. “I thought. . . that Dostoevsky’s ideas inspired Camus.”
Mike shrugged. “He was, but Camus just executed them better.”
“Mike,” Will hissed through gritted teeth. He looked like he wanted to punch his roommate in the ribs. “You’re being an ass.”
Mike clenched his jaw, looking between you and Will. “Whatever,” he muttered, seemingly offended by Will’s accusation. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with a photography major.”
You recoiled. “Oh, I’m sorry that I don’t have everything about Camus memorized down to his fucking shoe size. I’m just a photography major, after all.”
Mike’s eyes widened a little. “I didn’t mean-”
You pretended to check an invisible watch, feeling petty. “Actually, I forgot I have to be somewhere. Right now. Nice to meet you, Mike.” You turned to Will. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Turning on your heel, you threw the front door open. Yeah, you and Mike had plenty in common. You hadn’t even made it to the living room before butting heads. Looks like you wouldn’t be spending much time at Will’s apartment, after all.
When you’d reached the sidewalk, the late autumn air nipping your flushed cheeks, you heard Will calling your name. You ignored him, instead continuing your angry path home. There was a feeling of shame and embarrassment coiling in your gut, one that made your hands shake with rage. You rarely spoke to new people, yes, but you’d never had someone be so outright mocking as Mike Wheeler.
Will called your name again, the sound of his Converse pounding on the pavement resounding as he ran to catch up with you. Unfortunately, his long legs made it easy for him to cut you off.
“Will, please just let me go home,” you pleaded.
“I don’t know why Mike was acting like that,” Will said, slightly winded and completely ignoring your request. “Fuck, you walk fast.”
“Your roommate thinks I’m an idiot,” you said.
“He does not think that,” Will replied immediately.
“He basically said it.”
“He didn’t mean it like that. . . I don’t think. No, no, he didn’t. Mike’s just like that sometimes. He gets into these modes where he thinks he’s having a debate and forgets there’s, like, a person attached. You just got defensive quicker than most people.”
“Oh, so I’m an idiot and too defensive?”
“What? No, I didn’t-”
Will broke off when he saw your smile.
“Tocuhé,” he said. “Listen, I’m sorry. I really thought you guys would get along.”
“It’s fine,” you said. “I mean, it’s not, because it’s not your apology to make, but I think I’m just gonna go home.”
Will studied your face. “Okay. But, this doesn’t mean you’re banned from the apartment or anything. I’ll make him behave.”
“Good luck with that,” you scoffed. Then, you stepped forward and pulled him into a quick hug. He hugged you back without question, and it made your chest ache a little.
The entire walk back to your apartment, you occupied yourself by replaying the conversation with Mike until you were sure you could’ve recited it word for word. It wasn’t fair, really, how he was already infiltrating your thoughts like that. And it especially wasn’t fair that the attraction you felt toward him hadn’t completely gone away.
****
Over the course of the next six months, Mike was unfortunately integrated into your study sessions and coffee runs with Will. Every time Will told stories about their childhood, you expected to suddenly find Mike endearing - figured maybe you’d just gotten off on the wrong foot, maybe he’d been having a bad day, and eventually the two of you would get along. Will seemed to have the impression that the more time you and Mike spent together, the easier the residual detestation from that first meeting would dissolve.
But that never seemed to happen. Your relationship with Mike developed into one of combative bickering and biting insults that sometimes left you genuinely hurt. Each time he mocked an interest of yours, you mocked one of his right back. You insulted each other’s taste in music, fashion sense, and favorite authors. Every late night spent at the apartment ended in you and Mike hurling names at each other before you stormed out or Mike disappeared into his room.
Nothing was off limits. Mike called you boring, you called him stuck-up. He said your vinyl collection was pathetic, and you said his admiration for the Beatles was embarrassing. If you showed up with a bookmarked copy of Jane Eyre, you’d never hear the end of it. And if he so much as took a picture, you made sure to pick apart the lighting and framing until he groaned and deleted it.
It wasn’t even like siblings who got along from time to time. You and Mike never got along. Even if Mike agreed with you, you argued anyway. Sometimes, you even resorted to pranking each other, as childish as that was. You’d substituted the sugar for salt for his coffee more times than you could count, and he’d, admittedly, managed to trick you with fake bugs a mortifying amount.
It was unfortunate, too, all this bickering, because you still found Mike ridiculously pretty when he kept his mouth shut.
As the weather warmed, the three of you started spending more time outside, sitting in the grass and basking in the spring sunlight. One afternoon in April, when the temperature crept into the mid-70s, Mike fell asleep beside you while you and Will debated the logistics of capturing shadows in photographs versus paintings.
Neither of you bothered waking him, so when Mike finally stirred, cheeks and nose flushed pink with sunburn and grass in his curls, you felt a few dormant butterflies begin to flutter in your chest.
By the time the year ended, you hadn’t exactly expanded your social circle beyond Will Byers and Mike Wheeler. Still, you were content with how your life had changed.
It was early June when Will invited you to come home with him to Hawkins, Indiana.
“I don’t want you to be alone this summer,” he explained after you’d initially shot down his invitation. “You can stay with me - I have a sister, Jane, so you can sleep in her room. Or on the couch. Whichever you like. My mom wants to meet you, though. You don’t have to stay all summer, but I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”
“Will, I have to work,” you said. “I can’t afford to pay rent on my apartment if I’m not working, and I can’t afford to keep an apartment that I’m not living in.”
“Then move in with Mike and me!” Will exclaimed. “We want a new place, anyway, so the three of us can find an apartment for when we get back. It will be way cheaper.”
“I don’t know,” you began slowly. “Mike hates me, and I hate him. I think putting us in such close proximity might lead to a homicide.”
“Mike doesn’t hate you,” Will insisted.
You gave Will a pointed stare. “Mike and I have spent the last eight months actively insulting each other to the point of tears.”
Will looked startled. “He’s made you cry?”
“No, no,” you backtracked, even though, yes, Mike’s words had occasionally brought you to tears. Never in front of him, but sometimes, in the privacy of your own apartment. “I mean hyperbolically, but my point still stands.”
Will sighed and stirred his iced coffee with a straw. The two of you were at your usual table at your usual campus coffee shop. “Just think about it, please? Not the apartment thing, but the Hawkins things. Even if you just stay for a few weeks, it would make me really happy.”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
What you didn’t tell Will, however, was that you were on board with the idea the second he’d brought it up. As summer encroached, you’d been dreading the idea of being alone again. You (secretly) hadn’t renewed your lease, deciding that you’d figure out your living situation at the end of June when it became necessary. Was it a bad idea? Yeah, probably, considering you would be homeless in two weeks, but if you went to Hawkins. . .
The road trip took an entire day.
The three of you had loaded your bags into the trunk of Mike’s Toyota Camry and set off on the 12-hour drive to Hawkins, Indiana. You’d spent the last week putting your furniture and other belongings into a cheap storage unit that you’d rented for the summer. Although if worst came to worst, maybe you could just live in the storage unit.
Of course, Mike had mocked you for your giant suitcase, backpack, duffel bag, and other, smaller suitcase.
“Jesus, are you planning on moving in?” he’d asked when he and Will pulled up, staring down at your pile of luggage. You frowned at him, shoving your duffel bag into his chest.
“Sorry, I don’t plan on wearing the same three outfits all summer,” you snapped before pointedly adding, “thanks for helping me load all my stuff into the car.” Mike stumbled slightly from the force of your push and rolled his eyes.
Will was in the front seat when you climbed into the car. He looked back at you and grinned. “I literally can’t even begin to describe how happy I am that you’re coming,” he said, handing you a coffee.
“Thank you,” you smiled, taking a long sip. Lugging all your stuff downstairs had not been an easy task. Behind you, Mike cursed loudly as he dropped your suitcase on his foot. “Hey, careful with my stuff, Wheeler!”
“This shit is too heavy. I can barely lift it!”
“Hit the gym then, sweetheart, it was pretty easy for me,” you taunted. Will laughed, fiddling with the radio.
When Mike finally managed to wrestle your stuff into his trunk, he climbed into the front seat, grumbling under his breath about how high-maintenance you were. You chose to ignore it, content with your drink and the snacks Will had begun to hand you. You resolved not to work Mike up for the duration of the drive, especially since he was behind the wheel. You didn’t know if Mike was above crashing the car just to shut you up.
The first hour of the drive was filled with conversation between you and Will.
“So, my mom is probably going to make, like, way too much food when we get there,” he said, half-turning in his seat to look at you. “Don’t feel like you have to eat everything - or any of it, for that matter.”
“I would never turn down a home-cooked meal,” you said.
“She’s also going to ask you a million questions,” he added apologetically. “She likes knowing everything about my friends.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you won’t mind talking about yourself,” Mike cut in, looking at you in the rearview mirror, his sunglasses low on his nose.
You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Will groaned softly. “Can we not do this already?”
“We’re not doing anything,” said Mike.
“You started it,” you shot back.
“We’ve been in the car for forty-five minutes,” Will muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“I just meant that you talk a lot,” Mike explained.
“I wish you’d stop talking.”
By the time the city gave way to long stretches of highway, Will had fallen asleep. The initial adrenaline of road tripping had worn off, and the three of you had lapsed into genuine silence. Will’s head lolled gently against the window with each bump in the road, his breathing slow and even. You glanced at him every so often, half-hoping he would wake up and fill the space.
You shifted in your seat, tucking one leg beneath you and reaching for your watered-down coffee. Your gaze drifted forward despite yourself, landing on the back of Mike’s head - on the curls at the nape of his neck, the curve of his nose from that angle, and the way one hand rested lazily at the top of the steering wheel, the other tapping faintly against his thigh in time with the song playing low through the speaker. In another life, he probably would’ve made a great guitarist with those long, deft fingers of his.
“Why are you staring at me?” Mike asked suddenly.
Your eyes snapped up to meet his in the mirror again. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Sure.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed to look straight forward.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you were looking at my hands.”
“No, I was not,” you argued. “You are so unbelievably conceited. You think I’m constantly thinking about you.”
“Because you are constantly thinking about me,” Mike replied.
“Only about how much I despise you,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “And how peaceful life would be if you lost your ability to speak.”
“Charming,” Mike said. “We can go back to sitting in silence.”
He turned up the music, seemingly forgetting that Will was sleeping right next to him. Will jerked awake, startled.
“Are you two arguing again?” Will mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“No!”
****
You settled into life in Hawkins quite easily.
Will’s mom, Joyce, was beyond welcoming, and his sister, Jane - who everyone called El, although you didn’t really understand how they got that from Jane - was the sweetest and visibly excited to have another girl in the house. She asked you endless questions about NYU and your friendship with Will, just as eager and intense as Joyce had been the first night.
The rest of Mike and Will’s friends - who had affectionately been dubbed ‘The Party’ from their childhood D&D days - wormed their way into your heart just as quickly.
Dustin talked your ear off within the first five minutes of meeting you, bouncing between topics so fast you could hardly keep up. Lucas was tamer in his enthusiasm for meeting you, asking genuine questions about the city and your major. Max, whom you learned was Lucas’s long-term girlfriend, seemed wary at first - which you understood - but she soon became one of your closest friends.
Other than El, of course.
El seemed to cling to you like you might go back to New York at any moment. She loved listening to you talk about your camera and your classes. She was more interested in your answers than anything Mike and Will had to say. Sharing a room meant the two of you stayed up late, giggling about celebrity crushes (you introduced her to the movie Heathers, and she quickly became just as obsessed with Christian Slater as you were), and you taught her how to develop film photographs using the Hawkins High dark room, which was open even during the summer. She took pictures of you frequently, something you weren’t used to, but you came to appreciate it. El had an eye for photography.
Somewhere between the late-night movies sprawled across the floor of Mike’s basement, the shared meals at the Byers’ kitchen table, and the lazy afternoons wandering around Hawkins with nowhere in particular to go, you began to feel like you belonged here.
Yeah, corny, but whatever. It was true.
Alas, Mike Wheeler was still there.
If anything, the Party’s acceptance of you seemed to change something in him.
The bickering didn’t fade, but rather deepened. A comment here, a jab there - small things that built into full-blown arguments before either of you could stop them. Sometimes it happened in front of everyone, drawing groans and eye-rolls as they’d come to expect the dynamic between you and Mike. You’d become professionals at getting under each other’s skin.
Of course, there were moments where his words landed just a little too hard. You were sure yours did, too. You told yourself that the tightness in your chest whenever he looked at you a second too long was simply anger. That the way your stomach flipped when he laughed - really laughed - was just lingering resentment. That the way your heart dropped when he insulted you was just. . . well, you didn’t really have an explanation for that.
As the weeks progressed, you grew exhausted with the slights and fights. You’d never had to see Mike every day before this, and everything became predictable. Mike would say something, you’d snap back, he’d escalate, and you’d follow. The two of you were stuck in a loop, and you began to dread it.
There was one night when everyone was gathered in his basement, music playing softly in the background while you and El flipped through one of your photo books. With each picture El looked at, it was impossible for you not to preface it with some excuse for why it wasn’t perfect.
“Why do you overthink everything you do?” Mike asked from where he was sprawled on the floor. From anyone else, it would’ve seemed like a genuine question, but it came from Mike.
You looked at him. There was a faint smirk tugging at his lips, already anticipating your reaction. Something in your chest sank.
“Okay,” you said after a second.
Mike frowned, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re not going to say anything?”
You shrugged, turning your attention back to El. “Does it matter?”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the moment passed as if it hadn’t happened. But it had happened, and you couldn’t unsee the look on Mike’s face. Like he was excited for your response. Like he wanted to argue with you.
When you realized that you didn’t have to say anything back, he began to push harder.
“Did you forget how to talk?” he asked one afternoon when you’d didn’t rise to one of his usual comments. The two of you sat in Lucas’s yard while everyone else ran through the sprinklers, laughing and squealing with childlike delight.
“Is it a crime to not argue with you all the time?”
“You always argue with me.”
“Yeah, and I’m sick of it.”
“Oh,” said Mike, looking down at his lap. You waited for him to say something, but instead, he just stood and joined the others.
It all came to a head at the lake sometime in August.
By then, the heat had settled into everything, clinging to your skin no matter how long you stayed in the shade. It had been Max’s idea to go swimming, deciding that it was too hot to do anything else.
The lake was louder than usual that day - music playing from someone’s shitty portable speaker, voices echoing, and the occasional splash breaking through it all. You kicked off your shoes and waded into the water, letting out a sigh at how refreshingly cool the water was.
You weren’t a fan of swimming - at least not getting your hair wet - so you retreated to sitting on the pier, watching all your friends splash around. Occasionally, El or Will would swim over and wet your legs to make sure you didn’t get too hot.
About an hour or two into your lake day, Mike climbed out to get water. He came up behind you, shaking his hair so that it sprayed all over you.
“Fuck off!” you exclaimed, shielding yourself. He grinned at you.
“Are you ever going to get in the water?” he asked, taking a swig out of his water bottle. While he wasn’t looking, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift to the flat expanse of his stomach. You’d seen him shirtless a few times since meeting him - mostly when he got out of the shower and decided that getting a snack was more important than putting a shirt on - but there was something about the way that sun glinted off his wet skin and the way his swim trunks hung low on his hip bones that made your mouth dry.
“I don’t like swimming,” you admitted, kicking your feet in the water to emphasize your point.
“Who doesn’t like swimming?”
“Me.”
“What are you afraid something’s down there?” he teased, sitting down next to you. You scooted over aggressively, scratching the skin of your thighs against the worn wood of the pier, and glared at him from underneath your sunglasses.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you said. “If there was something down there, it would probably go for you first. Might think you’re a brother or some sort. You look weird enough to be a sea creature.”
Mike snorted softly, taking another sip of his water. “Oh, were you not just ogling my abs?”
“You don’t have abs,” you shot back, embarrassed to be caught. “Those are called ribs, Wheeler.”
“Girls seem to love my ‘ribs,’” he shrugged.
“You’re a fucking virgin.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. Will told me.”
“Will,” he hissed under his breath. “Whatever. Being a virgin doesn’t mean no one’s ever blown me.”
“Men, maybe.”
“That’s homophobic.”
“You’re homophobic.”
“My best friend is gay.”
“So is mine. So am I.”
Mike recoiled. “You are?”
You nodded, suddenly unsure why you were telling Mike this. “Yeah, so what? I dated a girl in high school.”
He looked down at the water. “I didn’t know that.”
“Obviously. I never told you.”
“Will never told me that either.”
“I’ve never told Will,” you admitted. “I just. . . never thought to bring it up.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Do you only like girls?”
“Trying to figure out which slur to call me?”
“No, what? No, I was just. . . wondering if you’ve ever dated a guy.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m just curious.”
You hesitated. “Yeah, I did, once. He was. . . kind of shitty, honestly.”
Mike’s head whipped toward you. “Did he-?”
“No, he didn’t,” you interrupted, swallowing thickly. “He just cheated on me. A few times.”
“A few times?” Mike repeated. You nodded.
“It’s really none of your business, though.”
“. . . Right. Sorry,” he said, and for once, he sounded genuinely apologetic that he’d pried into your personal life. “Well, nice chat, but I’m getting back in the water with the fun people.”
“Whatever. Have fun.”
“Oh, I will,” Mike retorted.
You weren’t quite sure how it happened. Maybe while he was getting to his feet, one of his gangly limbs, which he still struggled to control (he was like a 21-year-old Bambi), knocked you off balance. Or maybe he did it on purpose, unable to last more than ten minutes without getting on your nerves.
However it happened, it was your final straw.
When you surfaced, spluttering from the shock of the water, your hair was plastered to your face, your sunglasses having slipped off your head and now lost to the depths of the lake.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to-” you heard him say.
You ignored his stammering apology, tears stinging your eyes as you swam toward the pier. He reached out to you to help hoist you up, but you smacked his hand away aggressively. You would’ve much rather struggled than accept his help at this point.
He said your name in a pleading tone.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Mike,” you muttered, already gathering your things - your towel, your book, your water bottle - and scooping them up into your arms.
“It was an accident, I swear-”
“I don’t care!” you cried, whirling on him. He stumbled back slightly, and you almost wish he had gone crashing into the lake, too. Ideally, in the shallow end, so maybe he would break his stupid neck. “Ever since I met you, you have done nothing but try to make my life miserable! You make fun of all of my interests, my clothes, my voice, my major, and I’m supposed to believe that you didn’t mean to push me into the water? Give me a fucking break.”
In the midst of your explosion, the rest of the Party had begun to swim over, interested in why you were yelling at Mike this time.
“Hey, is everything okay over here?” Will asked, his wet hair clinging to his forehead.
“No, it’s not,” you snapped. You were dripping all over the pier and onto your stuff - the cover of your book was splattered with droplets from your hair and jaw. “Mike thought it would be funny to push me into the water.”
“I did not push you!” Mike argued, exasperated. “It was an accident.”
“Not cool, Mike,” Lucas said, climbing out of the water. The rest of the Party followed his lead, joining you and Mike on the long pier. “You know she doesn’t like swimming.”
Mike threw his hands in the air. “It was an accident!” he exclaimed again. “I was standing up and-”
“I’m leaving,” you interrupted. “Will, El, I’ll see you two at home.”
El said your name in a similar pleading tone as Mike had done just moments before, but this time, you weren’t swayed. You turned on your heel and began to storm down the pier. You were so angry that you could almost feel it radiating off your body, turning all the lake water into angry steam (and no, it wasn’t because of the sun).
“Mike, go apologize,” you heard Will insist sternly behind you. You scoffed under your breath. As if Mike would ever give you a genuine apology.
“Why should I apologize?” you heard Mike say faintly.
“Because you have been nothing but a dick to her!” Max said.
You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
The pavement of the parking lot was scalding underneath your bare feet, and you had to pause to slip on your shoes. You were beyond uncomfortable - your heart pounding, your swimsuit dripping, your arms full, your eyes being blinded by the light. But what made everything worse was the unabashed tears that had begun streaming down your cheeks the moment you turned around, and your friends could no longer see you.
You felt. . . humiliated. Maybe it was an overreaction - it was just the lake, after all. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? If it had been anyone else, you would’ve accepted it as an accident or even been more willing to accept it as a joke. But it was Mike. Mike Wheeler, who had done nothing but be a jerk to you since the moment you met. It was draining to be around him, and you just didn’t understand what you had done to him. Had your comment about Dostoevsky almost a year ago really been enough to garner such detestation? Or was there more to it? Were you and Mike just incompatible on a fundamental level? A molecular level, even?
You sighed, looking around the crowded lot. Mike’s car was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Lucas’s. You stalked back to the curb and sat down, beginning to towel your hair dry, defeated. You’d just have to sit here until everyone got tired because you were way too embarrassed to go back.
Someone sat down next to you.
“I’m sorry,” Mike whispered. There was a good foot of distance between the two of you, as if he was afraid to get too close. “I really am.”
“It’s fine,” you muttered, keeping your face turned away so that he couldn’t see that you were crying. “I overreacted, I guess.”
“I meant about. . . everything. I’m sorry about everything.”
“It’s fine,” you repeated.
Mike stayed silent. You wanted to look at him, know what he was thinking - it was impossible to know what he was thinking. You wondered if he was actually considering his words before he spoke.
“I’ve never really had any friends,” you said before he could say anything else. Mike remained silent, content to let you speak. “Not in high school and not in college. Not until I met Will.”
You shifted slightly, dropping your hands to your lap, but continued to stare straight ahead at the rows of cars.
“I’d honestly gotten used to being alone - Will can attest to that. That’s why he invited me along, I guess. He didn’t want me to be alone. And I was so excited to meet your friends. I’ve never really belonged anywhere, never really had a friend group of my own. That first night, after I met everyone, I couldn’t even sleep because I was so happy that I’d found a group of people who actually seemed to like being around me.” You paused to laugh dryly. “It’s so stupid to say that out loud, but this whole summer has been. . . the best of my life. I’ve never had girl friends like El and Max to do makeup and go shopping with. And Dustin never tried to embarrass me whenever I nerded out over photographers. Lucas is always so willing to go on impulsive, late-night shopping runs with me. And Will. . . I love Will more than I’ve ever loved anyone. He’s my best friend, and I’m sorry if you feel threatened by that, but I don’t think Will would ever choose me over you, if that makes you feel better. Even so, it’s nice to believe that someone could choose me. If you weren’t there.”
“If I wasn’t there,” Mike repeated hollowly.
An apology - I didn’t mean it like that - lingered on your tongue, but the words remained clotted there. You couldn’t bring yourself to apologize right now.
“Do you wish Will had never introduced us, then?”
You shook your head faintly. “No, I guess not because. . . well, the worst part of it all is that I liked you.”
“Liked me?”
“When I first met you, god, I thought you were so fucking. . .” you almost said pretty, but stopped yourself. “I had the tiniest crush on you, I guess. Even after the whole Dostoevsky/Camus conversation. I kept hoping that maybe you were just having a bad day, that one day we’d start getting along.”
Mike looked at the side of your face, startled. You saw his eyes widen in your peripheral vision.
“Obviously, that never happened, though,” you scoffed. “You really were - are - just an annoyingly attractive douchebag.”
“I didn’t -” he started, then stopped, like he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “I didn’t know you felt like that.:
“Of course you didn’t,” you said flatly. “You don’t know anything about me. At least not anything that you can’t make fun of.”
“That’s not. . .” he ran a hand through his damp hair, visibly frustrated with himself. Or maybe with you.
You heaved a sigh. “I’m going back to New York tonight, I think.”
“You’re what?” Mike blurted, completely ignoring every other aspect of the conversation.
“Yeah,” you said. You don’t know where the idea came from, but out of nowhere, you’d suddenly realized that you wanted to go home. You had an apartment to find, a storage unit that was getting more and more expensive, and you needed to find a job for the next school year. Maybe the library would take you back.
“You’re supposed to be here for three more weeks.”
“I know, but I just can’t keep doing this with you every day. It’s exhausting, Mike. It makes me feel like I’m back where I started - like I don’t belong anywhere, like I’m just. . . irritating everyone.”
There was a long stretch of silence.
“You’re not irritating.”
You let out a weak, humorless huff. “You literally spend all your time pointing out everything that’s wrong with me.”
“I thought you liked it.”
You stared at him, for the first time since he’d sat down.
“I thought you liked arguing with me,” he clarified quickly, his words rushed. “You always had something to say back. I figured if it actually bothered you, you would’ve-”
“What? Said something? Left?” you cut in. “Like I’m doing now?”
He flinched.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding slightly. “Exactly.”
You adjusted your grip on your things, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself. “I’m just gonna walk back to the Byers’, I guess. You can tell Will everything. I’ll see you back in New York.”
You left Mike Wheeler sitting on the curb, his words, his excuse, churning through your brain.
I thought you liked it.
****
You settled back into routine quickly. Things, miraculously, worked out for you after arriving back in New York. You couldn’t find a studio apartment that was available to rent on such short notice, but you did find an older couple who was offering up the upstairs half of their house in exchange for chores and errands. You were a little upset, admittedly, that you wouldn’t be living with Will, but it was probably better in the long run.
You were given your job back at the library and relegated to shelving books for hours on end in a stuffy basement, but it was a much-needed break from the chaos of that summer. You found solace in putting your headphones on and listening to Alanis Morrisette and Fleetwood Mac. You enjoyed your evenings of instant noodles and reruns of Twin Peaks. You began to prepare for your final year at university, handing in your resume for different internships, talking with your advisor over email, and curating your class schedule. You faintly wondered if you would have another class with Will.
Speaking of Will, he had returned home from the lake that day to find you packing your stuff, sniffling as you went. Wordlessly, Will had wrapped you in a hug and let you cry into his chest.
“I understand,” was all he said. He drove you to the bus station the next morning, before the sun was even up.
Mike Wheeler showed up at your door two weeks after you left Hawkins.
“Dear, there’s a boy at the door for you!” called Mrs. Alvarez, one of your elderly landlords.
Mrs. Alvarez frequently smelled of that floral perfume most old women smelled like, infecting the whole house with it. Mrs. Alvarez had become a sort of mother figure toward you in the short time you’d lived upstairs. The three of you - Mr. Alvarez included - made a routine of having dinner together as often as possible, Mr. Alvarez cooking, Mrs. Alvarez making dessert, and you doing the shopping. They entertained you with stories of their youth, and you kept them updated on the events of the outside world. You didn’t tell them anything about what you’d been doing over the summer, though. That would be a story for another time.
You knew, as soon as Mrs. Alvarez said there was a boy at the door, that it was Mike.
You shut the book you’d been reading frantically, forgetting to slide a bookmark into place. Jumping to your feet, you checked your reflection in the mirror and smoothed down your hair. Your face was bare of makeup, but Mike had seen you without makeup before, right?
“I’m coming!” you called back, quickly applying lip gloss. Why did you even care what Mike thought? The two of you had parted on terrible terms.
He was standing in the entrance hall, holding a bouquet of flowers and looking terribly out of place. In the two weeks since you’d last seen him, his hair had gotten slightly longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders. He was sunburnt, too, his cheeks and nose blooming pink along with parts of his forearms. When he saw you coming down the stairs, he seemed to freeze, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to appear.
You weren’t quite sure why you’d come down, either, honestly.
“He won’t be staying the night, will he?” Mrs. Alvarez whispered in your ear as you passed, quirking an eyebrow. That was the one rule - no boys were allowed to stay the night.
“Of course not, Mrs. Alvarez,” you assured. Mrs. Alvarez nodded, content, and disappeared back into the kitchen. You turned your attention to Mike. “Upstairs.”
He obeyed, his feet moving before his mind could process the order. You stormed up the stairs, not looking back, but you heard his thundering feet behind you. He was completely incapable of being quiet.
You led him into your room. There were still a few unopened boxes stored in the corners - mostly ones that contained stuff you no longer had any use for, such as kitchen appliances. The walls were mostly bare, too, except for your favorite posters that you’d hung over your bed.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” you demanded, stopping in the center of your room. Mike stuttered to a stop, looking around at your new space. You couldn’t remember if he’d ever been in your studio before - he must have, right? - but he seemed completely fascinated by this insight into your life.
“I brought you these,” he blurted out, thrusting the bouquet into your chest. They were roses, simple, but they smelled sweet, and you couldn’t help but bury your nose in them and inhale. The stems were a bit crunched, as if Mike had been gripping them tightly the entire way here.
“Thank you, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, er, Will told me,” Mike said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I came to apologize.”
“You already apologized,” you reminded, placing the roses down on your desk.
“Yeah, but not very. . . well,” he said. He chewed on his bottom lip. “I think I messed up.”
You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly against your desk. “Yeah. You did.”
Mike nodded immediately. “I know,” he said, quietly this time. He glanced around your room again, like he needed to look at anything that wasn’t you. “I’ve just been thinking. A lot.”
“Congratulations,” you muttered. “That’s new.”
He almost smiled. You were reminded of how nice his lips were, and you mentally kicked yourself. Not the time!
“I thought you liked it,” he said, echoing his words from before. “The arguing. I thought it was. . . I don’t know. Our thing.”
“It wasn’t a thing,” you said. “It was you being mean and me not knowing how to stand up for myself.”
Mike deflated. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.”
That threw you off. “What, you’re not going to fight me on that? Insist that I was the one in the wrong?”
“No,” he said simply and paused. “I don’t really think I get to argue with you right now.”
You looked down at your socked feet. Silence stretched between you, thick but not quite as suffocating as it had been back in Hawkins that day at the lake.
“So,” you said after a moment, gesturing vaguely. “You took a bus? Or did you manage to event teleportation just to ruin my day again?”
“I drove,” he said.
You blinked. “You drove.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s twelve hours, Mike.”
“Thirteen,” he corrected absently. “I hit traffic.”
You shook your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
Another pause. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, suddenly very aware of how small your room felt with him in it. How familiar he looked standing there. How. . . how much you’d missed him.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said finally.
“I did,” he said. “I really did.”
“Why?” you swallowed, looking away again.
“I didn’t like how we left things. And I didn’t like that. . . you left because of me.”
“Not everything-”
“Just let me finish,” he said quickly. You pressed your lips together but nodded. He exhaled. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you,” he continued. “I mean, I knew we argued, obviously, but I thought it was - equal, I guess. Like we were both just. . . doing it.”
“We were, for a while, I suppose,” you said quietly.
“Yeah, but not for the same reasons.” Mike shifted his weight, his gaze finally settling on you fully. “I think I was doing it because it was the only way I knew how to talk to you. Like if I stopped, then we’d just. . . not talk at all.”
You frowned.
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s stupid. But every time we mocked each other or argued, it meant you were paying attention to me. And I-” he stopped, jaw tightening briefly. “I didn’t really think about what it felt like for you. And then you just. . . stopped. Near the end.”
Of course. The photo book. The basement. The way Mike looked stunned at your resistance to arguing.
“I thought you were just tired or something. I didn’t realize that you were sick of it. I didn’t like that you stopped. . . engaging with me. I think I misunderstood from the beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we first met,” he explained, “and we had that whole conversation about Dostoevsky-”
You let out a small, disbelieving breath. “You mean when you called my interpretation pretentious?”
“I didn’t call it-” he stopped himself. “Okay, yeah, I kind of did.”
You rolled your eyes.
“I thought that was. . . I thought we were teasing each other. That that was just how we were going to talk.”
“And so you just kept going,” you said flatly.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize I’d already crossed a line. Like I said, I didn’t think we would talk if there wasn’t that arguing.” He sighed. “Will told me.”
Your stomach dropped slightly. “Told you what?”
Mike hesitated, as if saying it out loud made him uncomfortable. “That I made you cry.”
You looked away immediately, your throat suddenly tight.
“I thought I was being clever,” he continued. “Or funny, or whatever. I’ve never been very good at having friends either, I guess.”
Mike took a small step closer.
“I miss you,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“I miss talking to you,” he clarified, but it didn’t lessen the weight of it. “Even if it was messed up. Even if it was. . like that.”
“That’s a pretty low bar,” you scoffed, but your voice had gone softer.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But, there’s something else.”
Your stomach dropped slightly. “Okay?”
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he said slowly. “Like. . . a lot. Driving here, especially.”
You waited.
“I don’t think I hated you.”
You let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s your big realization?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I mean. . . I definitely acted like I did. But that’s not what it was.”
He hesitated again. And then, finally-
“I think I was in love with you. I think I am in love with you.”
You stared at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “You’re lying,” you accused automatically.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” you insisted.
“I’m not,” he repeated.
You shook your head, taking a small step back. “You don’t just show up at someone’s door and decide you’re in love with them.”
“I didn’t just decide. I think I have been for a while.”
“That’s not better.”
“It is for me,” he shot back, but immediately softened. “I mean, it doesn’t fix anything, obviously, but it’s not random.”
You began pacing in front of your window. “Mike,” you said, “you made me feel like I was stupid. You made me feel like every time I opened my mouth, you were just waiting to tear it apart. Why do you think I’d want this? Any of this?”
“I don’t,” he said immediately. “I don’t think you want it. I just needed you to know that it wasn’t because I didn’t care about you.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling cold despite the stuffy air in your room. “What do you want from me?” you asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you here? Why did you drive thirteen hours to give me flowers and confess your love to me?”
“I just wanted to see you. I wanted to say all of this to your face instead of letting it just sit there and rot in my head.”
“And now?”
“Now. . .” he glanced down briefly. “If you tell me to leave, I will.”
Part of you wanted to slam the door in his face. To protect yourself.
But another part, the worst part, remembered the late nights and stupid arguments that sometimes made you laugh. And looking back, you realized that sometimes he would look at you like you were the only person in the room.
“I don’t forgive you,” you said.
“I know,” he replied.
“I’m still angry. So angry.”
“You should be.”
“And I don’t know if I believe you.”
“That’s fair.”
You exhaled shakily. “But. . . I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”
His expression softened. “Okay.”
You gestured vaguely toward the floor, your bed, anywhere but directly at him, “Just sit or something. You’re making it weird, standing there.”
“Right. Yeah. Okay.”
He moved carefully and sat on the edge of your bed. You stayed where you were for a second, then eventually sank down onto the chair by your desk. You stood up again. You couldn’t decide what you wanted to do.
Then, in a bold move, you crawled onto your bed next to him and lay down, hoping he’d take the hint. He stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment longer than necessary, hands resting loosely on his thighs.
“You can’t stay the night,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Right, sorry.”
“Stop saying that, too.”
He grinned faintly. “What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Can you just. . .” you swallowed, “. . . can you just hold me? For a little?”
Mike goes still.
“Even if you’re lying about everything,” you continued so you didn’t take back your request, “I want to know what it would feel like. If you meant it.”
Mike nodded and, carefully, moved closer. Lying down next to you, he’s stiff as a board until you shuffle toward him, leaning into him. It’s then that he wraps his arms around you, steady and warm. You press your face into him before you can overthink it, like if you hesitate even a second longer, you’ll lose courage entirely.
Mike adjusts immediately. One arm under you, the other resting across your back, holding you carefully. You can hear his heartbeat pumping away in his chest.
“Can I say something?” he whispered. You hum in approval. “I think about this a lot. Holding you like this. That’s sort of what made me realize I was in love with you.”
Your fingers curled slightly in his shirt.
“I’m really sorry,” he whispered. “I do love you.”
summary: eighteen months after everything changed, hawkins is still standing—but only just. as the group settles into a dangerous new routine under military watch, a sudden disruption at the squawk pulls them back into action. but when their latest crawl begins, it quickly becomes clear that whatever they’ve been searching for… might already be watching them back.
warnings: trauma, mentions of death, cursing
note: welcome to season five!!! <3
series masterlist - << prev chapter - next chapter >>
--------------
The first thing you feel is the pull.
It’s sudden and violent, something wrapping tight around your ankle and dragging you backward before you can even catch your balance, your hands scraping uselessly against the ground as you’re yanked off your feet. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, your body slamming hard against something rough and uneven, the force of it leaving your head spinning as the world snaps violently into place around you.
Dark.
Red.
Wrong.
The Upside Down stretches out in every direction, the air thick and suffocating, the ground beneath you slick with something that doesn’t feel real but still clings to your skin all the same. Your chest heaves as you try to pull in a breath, your body slow to respond, like everything is just slightly out of sync.
And then you hear them.
The screech comes first—high-pitched, sharp enough to cut straight through you—followed by the heavy, frantic beat of wings.
Too many.
You push yourself up too quickly, your arms trembling under your weight as your vision struggles to focus, just in time to see the first demobat dive toward you.
You don’t get out of the way fast enough.
It hits you hard, claws tearing into your side as the force of it sends you stumbling backward, pain flaring sharp and immediate as something hot and wet spreads across your skin. Your breath catches, a broken sound tearing from your throat as you try to shove it off, your movements sluggish, delayed.
Another one follows.
Then another.
They circle you, fast and relentless, wings beating violently as they close in from every direction, their screeches overlapping until it becomes noise—too loud, too close, too much.
You swing blindly, your hands catching nothing but air, your body reacting too slowly as one of them slams into you again, knocking you off balance completely this time.
You hit the ground hard.
The impact rattles through you, your head snapping back as your lungs struggle to catch up, your body refusing to cooperate no matter how hard you try to force it to move.
You can’t breathe.
You can’t—
“—go—!”
The sound cuts through everything.
Faint.
Distant.
Your head turns instinctively, your vision blurring as you try to focus past the chaos, past the movement, past the shadows—
And then you see him.
Eddie.
He’s on the ground.
Not moving the way he should be.
Not getting up.
The bats are already on him.
Too many of them.
They swarm over him in seconds, a dark mass of wings and claws and teeth, tearing into him as he struggles beneath them, his movements frantic at first—then slower—
“No—”
The word barely leaves you.
Your body doesn’t move.
You try.
You try to get up, to push yourself forward, to do something—but it’s like your limbs aren’t listening, like the world is holding you in place just long enough to make sure you see it.
To make sure you don’t miss it.
“Eddie—!”
Your voice breaks this time, louder, sharper, but it doesn’t matter.
He’s still there.
Still on the ground.
Still—
The bats close in tighter.
You can’t see him anymore.
The sound is what stays.
The tearing.
The movement.
And then—
Nothing.
Your chest tightens painfully, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as something inside you twists hard enough to make your vision blur.
You should be moving.
You should be helping—
You should be doing something—
Another demobat slams into you.
Your back hits the ground again, harder this time, your head ringing as your body jerks under the impact, claws digging in as you struggle against it, your hands weak, uncoordinated as you try to shove it away.
More of them circle overhead.
Closer.
Lower.
Your breathing stutters, panic rising fast now, your chest tightening as the space around you closes in—
There’s no one here.
No one to pull you up.
No one to—
The red pulses around you, brighter now, bleeding into everything until you can’t tell where the ground ends and the sky begins, your hands slipping against something wet as you try to push yourself up again—
You can’t get out.
You can’t—
The alarm slams off beside your head.
Your body jerks violently as your eyes snap open, your breath catching sharp in your chest as the nightmare clings to you for just a second longer, the sound of wings still echoing faintly in your ears before it all crashes away at once.
“Hey—hey, hey…”
Steve.
His voice.
Right there.
Real.
His arms are already around you, pulling you in before you can fully register it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as the other wraps tightly around your side—careful of where you’re still healing, even after all this time.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady in that way that immediately starts pulling you back into yourself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He’s said it enough times now that your body almost believes him before your mind catches up.
Your hands grip at his shirt without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric as your breathing stutters, your body still halfway caught between now and then.
It takes a second.
A few uneven breaths.
The feel of him—solid, warm, here—before the panic starts to loosen its grip.
You nod against him.
You don’t trust yourself to speak—not yet.
“…Nightmares again?” he asks quietly.
You nod again.
You don’t trust your voice yet.
You don’t need to.
His hold tightens just slightly, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he presses a soft kiss into your hair.
He doesn’t say anything else.
He never really does in these moments.
He just stays.
Lets you come back at your own pace.
After a few minutes, your breathing evens out properly, your grip on him loosening just slightly as the last of the tension drains from your shoulders.
Steve shifts just enough to look down at you, his hand brushing lightly along your arm.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, softer now, the edge of sleep still lingering in his voice. “We better get to the Squawk before Robin kills us.”
You let out a quiet groan, your face pressing further into his chest.
The last eighteen months flash through your mind in one tired, continuous blur—planning, scouting, running crawls, mapping routes, sending Hopper in and pulling him back out—over and over again, trying to find something, anything that would lead you back to Vecna.
It never really stops.
“…Five more minutes,” you mumble.
Steve huffs out a quiet laugh above you, the sound warm and familiar as his hand slides up to the back of your neck.
“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday,” he says, leaning down to press another kiss to your hair. “And the day before that.”
You tilt your head up just enough to look at him, already leaning in before you fully think it through, your lips brushing against his.
It’s soft at first.
Sleepy.
Easy.
But it doesn’t stay that way.
His hand shifts slightly, fingers curling at your side as he leans into it properly this time, kissing you back with just enough pressure to make your chest tighten, your hand coming up instinctively to rest against his jaw.
You feel him smile faintly against your mouth.
“…You’re trying to distract me,” he murmurs.
You don’t pull back.
“Worked yesterday,” you whisper.
That’s all it takes.
His hand slides a little more firmly against your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, slower but heavier now, the kind that lingers just a second longer each time.
For a moment—
everything else fades.
No planning.
No Upside Down.
No Hawkins tearing itself apart.
Just this.
Just him.
Then—
BANG.
The noise is loud enough to make you both jolt slightly, the sudden crash echoing through the hallway just outside your bedroom.
“Will—move!”
“I was here first!”
“Jonathan, seriously—!”
Steve groans immediately, dropping his head back against the pillow.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You can’t help it—you laugh, the sound softer than it used to be, but real.
“Well then,” you say, pushing yourself up carefully despite the lingering stiffness in your body.
Steve watches you for a second, still half sunk into the mattress.
“…How much longer are they staying with us?” he mutters, dragging a hand over his face.
You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you swing your legs off the bed.
“They’re not guests, Steve,” you point out. “They’re family.”
And they always have been.
They’ve been here long enough now that it doesn’t feel temporary anymore. Just… how things are.
He sits up slowly, already reaching for you the second you’re just out of reach, his hand catching yours loosely.
“They could be family… at a different house,” he argues, voice still rough with sleep. “We could go to my place? My parents aren’t even there.”
You raise a brow at him.
“…But Miss Byers gets better snacks,” he adds, completely serious.
You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it.
“Come on, Romeo.”
You tug his hand, pulling him up with you.
He follows without protest.
He always does.
The two of you move toward the door, the noise outside getting louder the closer you get—Jonathan and Will still arguing, Joyce trying (and failing) to mediate somewhere in the middle.
Steve glances at you briefly before you reach the handle, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.
Grounding.
Always.
You open the door.
Jonathan and Will both freeze mid-argument, standing just outside the bathroom, both looking like they haven’t slept nearly enough.
“…Sorry,” Jonathan says immediately.
“Yeah—sorry,” Will adds, rubbing the back of his neck.
You glance between them, then back at Steve, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“…Morning,” you say.
And just like that—
the day starts.
_____________________________
The car hums steadily beneath you as it rolls through Hawkins, the low vibration of the engine filling the quiet space between you in a way that almost feels familiar.
Same drive. Same road. Same routine you’ve followed almost every day for the last year.
The cassette clicks—
And then—
“Woah, we’re halfway there—”
You don’t even hesitate.
“Oh, come on,” you groan, letting your head fall back against the seat as Livin’ on a Prayer fills the car. “Steve, seriously? Again?”
Steve barely spares you a glance, one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it in time with the music.
“It’s a classic,” he says, like that settles it. “You just don’t appreciate good music.”
You turn your head slowly, narrowing your eyes at him.
“I appreciate good music,” you shoot back. “This is just… overplayed. Change it.”
“No.”
“Steve.”
“Nope.”
You lean forward, reaching toward the cassette deck, but his hand is already there, catching yours easily before you can get anywhere near it.
“Don’t even try,” he says, not even looking at you this time.
You huff, dropping your hand back into your lap.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“If you wanted better music,” he adds casually, eyes still on the road, “you could’ve waited for Jonathan and Nancy to take you.”
A small laugh slips out before you can stop it, your head shaking slightly.
“Oh yeah, because Jonathan’s playlists are just thrilling,” you say. “Nothing like staring out a window while someone plays the saddest song ever written on repeat.”
Steve snorts quietly.
“Exactly.”
The argument dissolves just as quickly as it started, settling into something softer as the music carries on in the background. Your gaze drifts out the window, watching Hawkins pass by in slow, familiar stretches.
It’s different now.
Not empty—but quieter.
Tighter.
Military trucks sit parked along certain roads, stationed more like checkpoints than patrols, their presence constant without being overwhelming. A few soldiers move in the distance, posted near barricaded areas where the ground still hasn’t been fixed—where it can’t be fixed.
The town feels… held together.
Like something waiting.
Your eyes catch on it without meaning to.
The MAC-Z.
The fencing is the first thing you notice—tall, reinforced, stretching around what used to be the library, cutting it off completely from the rest of Hawkins. Beyond it, the ground still looks wrong, uneven in a way that doesn’t belong, like something beneath it is still shifting, still there even if you can’t see it.
Floodlights tower over the area, even now, turned off in the daylight but still looming.
Watching.
The car doesn’t slow as you pass.
But you do.
Your thoughts quiet.
Your gaze lingers just a second too long before you force yourself to look away, your fingers curling slightly in your lap without thinking.
Like if you stare too long, it might look back.
The song keeps playing.
Steve doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to.
You feel his hand before you see it, sliding over yours where it rests, his fingers threading through yours easily, like it’s second nature now.
Like it always has been.
His thumb brushes slowly across your skin.
Grounding.
You glance over at him briefly.
He’s still focused on the road, his expression calm, steady—but his grip tightens just slightly around your hand.
You squeeze back.
Just once.
And that’s enough.
The tension loosens.
The moment passes.
Hawkins fades behind you as the road begins to climb, the town slowly dropping away below as the car winds up the hill. The familiar structure of WSQK comes into view ahead—isolated, standing on its own like it’s been placed just far enough away from everything else to stay untouched.
The tower rises high above it, cutting into the sky, wires stretching out in long lines that hum faintly when the wind hits them just right.
Steve pulls into the lot, the gravel crunching softly beneath the tires as he parks.
The engine cuts.
Before you can even reach for the door—
He’s already out.
You blink, watching as he shuts his door and moves around the front of the car without hesitation.
“Steve—”
But he’s already there.
Your door swings open, and he offers you his hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You stare at him for half a second.
Then roll your eyes.
But you take it anyway.
“Such a gentleman,” you mutter as you step out carefully, your balance still not perfect, your body reminding you of that in small, quiet ways.
“Always,” he replies easily.
You lean in just slightly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he can say anything else.
It’s brief.
Soft.
But it lingers just enough to make him pause for a second.
“C’mon,” you say, pulling back, already turning toward the building. “Before Robin actually kills us.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, his hand brushing lightly against yours as he falls into step beside you.
And together—
you head inside.
Another day. Another shift. Another attempt at figuring out what comes next.
_____________________________
The door barely has time to swing shut behind you before—
“—Hurry up, lovebirds, we go live in twenty seconds!”
Robin’s voice cuts across the room immediately, fast and sharp, already halfway through setting something up as she glances over her shoulder at the two of you.
You roll your eyes instinctively, shooting Steve a look as he just grins, completely unfazed.
“Good morning to you too,” he mutters, already being pulled toward the sound booth.
“Don’t start with me,” Robin shoots back, pointing toward the door. “Inside. Now. I need sound effects and I need them good.”
Steve gives your hand a quick squeeze before slipping away, letting himself get dragged into the booth as Robin shoves a pair of headphones at him.
You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you move toward the couch just outside the glass, dropping down into it as you pull a stack of maps into your lap.
The paper is worn.
Folded too many times.
Marked up in pen, pencil, anything you could find during the last crawl—routes, dead ends, places you swore you’d seen something move.
Your fingers trace the same marked route for what feels like the hundredth time.
Inside the booth, Robin adjusts the mic, flicking a switch—
A soft click.
Then—
“Good morning, Hawkins! This is WSQK The Squawk!”
Steve immediately hits a button.
A loud, ridiculous rubber chicken squawk blasts through the speakers.
You snort quietly, shaking your head as you glance up through the glass, catching the way Robin closes her eyes for half a second like she’s reconsidering all of her life choices.
“It’s looking like a regular day in Hawkins,” she continues, recovering quickly. “Fifty-five degrees, low chance of rain, medium chance of arrest, high chance of helicopters.”
Steve taps something else.
A faint whistling sound effect cuts in.
You lean back slightly into the couch, arms folding loosely as you listen, your gaze drifting between them and the maps in your lap.
“But general banality aside,” Robin continues, slipping into her rhythm easily now, “it’s an exciting day for me, your friend, entertainer, and DJ, Robin Buckley… Nice to meet you! …AKA Rockin’ Robin.”
She cues music briefly, letting it play before cutting it again.
“And why is it a big day for me, you ask? Well, it’s my 500th broadcast. Yeah, you heard that right, folks. Five-double-O!”
Steve hits another button.
Applause fills the room.
You roll your eyes again, though there’s no real annoyance behind it, just something warm and familiar as you glance over at him.
He catches you looking.
Smiles.
Just a little.
Then looks back to the board like nothing happened.
“…Which means it’s been even longer since you’ve heard the sultry voice of Jimmy ‘Fast Hands’ Lee,” Robin goes on, pacing slightly as she talks. “But while Jimmy was fleeing Hawkins even faster than he moves those hands—”
Steve hits the scream sound effect.
Robin doesn’t even pause.
“—yours truly was watching slackjawed as the earth split open beneath her feet and coughed up that tsunami of mysterious dandruff.”
Your eyes flick back down to the map.
Your fingers still slightly.
“…And now, I’m stuck here with you, my fellow quarantine compatriots,” she continues. “And if I can be brutally honest, I couldn’t be happier.”
Steve takes a sip of his coffee between cues, completely casual.
“Because when you really think about it,” Robin says, leaning into the mic, “why would you want to live anywhere else? I mean, what town on Earth can match our very impressive military-to-civilian ratio?”
A whistle sound cuts in again.
You glance up, shaking your head faintly.
Robin gestures vaguely as she talks, completely in her element.
“And those free, mandatory medical checkups? I mean, very cool. ‘Cause after we inhaled those springtime snowflakes, who knows what’s wrong with us? Maybe we’re fine, maybe not.”
Steve presses another button.
A coughing sound plays through the speakers.
Robin points at him without looking.
“Exactly.”
Your lips twitch slightly.
“After all,” she continues, “this was a ‘natural phenomenon never before seen by man.’ A phenomenon now covered up by a giant metal Band-Aid. Quite the eyesore, but hey—great for sledding.”
She leans closer to the mic.
“Though seriously, kids, stop sledding on the giant steel Band-Aid. You are going to kill yourselves. Also, the men with guns.”
Steve taps something again.
Robin nods, satisfied.
“They don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Your gaze drifts again, back to the map, your thumb pressing lightly against a section you’d marked weeks ago.
Still nothing.
Still no answers.
“While we’re on the subject of things not to do,” Robin continues, “please steer clear of the Military Access Control Zone, aka the MACZ—or as I like to call it, the Big Mac.”
You don’t look up this time.
But your hand pauses.
“I have no idea what’s going on in there,” she adds, “but I have a gut feeling there’s a pretty good reason they’d like you to stay away.”
A beat.
“But hey, the rest of Hawkins is still there for you to enjoy.”
Inside the booth, Steve glances toward you again.
This time he lingers.
Just for a second longer.
You feel it.
You don’t look up.
But you feel it.
“Someday soon, they’re gonna let us out of here,” Robin says, more lightly now.
Steve hits a bell sound.
“In the meantime,” she continues, “be thankful this is your home, study for that test, enjoy that TV dinner, and go on that date.”
She pauses.
Just long enough.
“…Which, by the way, is exactly what yours truly is doing tonight.”
Steve immediately hits the rubber chicken again.
Robin shoots him a look.
You finally glance up—and there it is.
That look on Steve’s face.
Soft.
Amused.
And when his eyes flick toward you this time, there’s something else there too—something quieter, something that makes your chest tighten just slightly before you look back down at the map.
“That’s right,” Robin continues, ignoring him now. “Rockin’ Robin has a date, ladies and gentlemen.”
Steve taps the button again.
Another ridiculous squawk.
Robin exhales through her nose.
“And now, who is this lucky someone? Well, don’t be so nosy, kids. They know who they are.”
She leans closer to the mic, voice dropping just slightly.
“That is, if you’re listening… which I hope you are.”
A beat.
“Because this next one—”
She reaches for the switch.
“—it’s for you, babe.”
Music kicks in.
Louder this time.
Filling the space—
And then—
It warps.
The sound distorts suddenly, the music stretching unnaturally before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that cuts through the room sharp enough to make you flinch.
Your head snaps up.
Inside the booth, Robin frowns, adjusting something quickly.
“Whoa—” she says, pulling one side of the headphones off. “What’s going on?”
The static spikes again.
Louder.
Sharper.
“What the hell—?”
Your grip tightens on the map in your lap as you sit up slightly, your eyes locking onto
___________________________
The music cuts wrong.
Not clean.
Not intentional.
It stretches for a second—warped, distorted—before collapsing into harsh, crackling static that fills the entire room.
You sit up immediately.
Inside the booth, Robin freezes mid-motion, her head tilting slightly as she pulls one side of her headphones off.
“Whoa—what’s going on?” she says, frowning. “What the hell? What the hell—?”
Steve turns at the same time, both of them looking down at something you can’t see from where you’re sitting.
Then they move.
Fast.
The booth door swings open as they rush out, Robin heading straight for the wall of equipment, already reaching for the controls like she knows exactly where to go—even if she doesn’t know what’s wrong.
You’re up just as quickly.
The map slips from your lap as you cross the room, closing the distance in a few quick steps as the static continues to spit and crack through the speakers.
“What happened?” you ask, moving in beside her.
“I don’t know,” Robin says quickly, her hands already moving over the dials, twisting one, then another. “It just—went—”
The sound spikes again—jagged this time, biting through the room.
You flinch slightly, reaching up to steady one of the switches she just adjusted as it flicks back harder than it should.
“That didn’t do anything,” you say, glancing between her hands and the panel, trying to follow what she’s changing.
“I noticed,” she mutters.
Behind you, Steve hovers for a second before backing off, his attention already shifting elsewhere.
“I told you to stop thumbing your nose at the military,” he says, heading for the coffee table.
“I was reiterating their goddamn rules,” Robin shoots back, not even looking at him. “Encouraging compliance.”
“Right. No sarcasm there.”
“Says the dingus with the rubber chicken.”
“These are very serious people, Robin!”
You roll your eyes faintly, your focus staying on the panel as Robin keeps adjusting things that don’t seem to be helping.
“Can you two argue after it stops screaming?” you mutter, reaching to turn one of the knobs she missed.
“Working on it!” Robin snaps, though there’s no real bite behind it—just tension.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—”
Steve grabs the walkie.
“Henderson, you copy? Henderson?”
You glance over briefly, then back to Robin as another burst of static rattles through the room.
A crackle answers him.
“Yeah, I copy. God, you sound swell,” Dustin’s voice comes through, slightly distorted. “Let me take a wild guess. You’re not calling to wish me good morning.”
“It’s not exactly a good morning,” Steve says quickly. “We’ve got a situation at the Squawk. The signal—it’s… it’s gone all wonky. I think Robin finally pissed ’em off.”
“Doubtful,” Dustin replies. “She was encouraging compliance.”
“Told you!” Robin shoots back immediately.
You lean in slightly, watching her hands move again, following what she’s doing without interrupting this time.
“The remote radio head’s the more likely culprit,” Dustin continues.
Steve pauses.
“The remote what?”
“Just read the manual, Steve.”
You straighten slightly at that.
“Got it.”
Steve groans.
“C’mon, man, that thing might as well be in Greek.”
You’re already moving, stepping away from the panel and heading straight for the filing cabinet, pulling it open and flipping quickly through the folders until you find the one you’re looking for.
Behind you—
“Then learn Greek!” Dustin snaps through the walkie. “I can’t always be there to solve your problems for you, Steve.”
You grab the manual and turn back, moving quickly across the room—
Just in time to hear:
“Henderson? God—” Steve lowers the walkie slightly, looking over at you as you approach. “ ‘Learn Greek.’ You heard that tone. You heard that, right?”
You stop in front of him, holding out the manual.
A small shrug.
“I think he believes in you,” you say.
Steve stares at you for a second.
Then exhales, taking the manual.
“…Unbelievable.”
Behind you, the static crackles again.
Still loud.
And still not stopping.
___________________
The back office feels too small for this.
Not because of noise—
but because of the way everything has tightened.
The broadcast is still running out there, still bleeding static into the airwaves, but back here it’s quieter—too quiet—like you’re working in the eye of something you can’t quite see yet.
The sound isn’t in the room.
Just the knowledge of it.
Robin paces anyway.
“I swear to God,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair, “this stupid thing does not exist.”
You barely look up from the manual spread out in front of you, your finger tracing down the page as you skim, trying to make sense of something that feels deliberately impossible to follow.
Steve stands close beside you now, one hand braced lightly against the desk as he leans in, scanning the same page from over your shoulder.
The door bursts open.
You all look up.
Jonathan and Nancy step in quickly, both of them slightly out of breath, eyes sharp as they take in the room.
“What the hell was that?” Jonathan asks immediately.
Nancy’s gaze flicks between you, Steve, Robin.
“Is the signal still out?”
Robin turns toward them, already shaking her head, the panic sitting just beneath her words.
“I don’t know—I don’t know, it just cut and then the static and—just—help me find something. Anything.”
Jonathan doesn’t hesitate.
As he moves past you, his hand comes up instinctively, squeezing your shoulder—quick, familiar, grounding in a way that doesn’t need explanation.
You glance up at him for half a second.
He gives you a small nod.
Then he’s already reaching for another manual, flipping it open as he leans against the desk.
Nancy moves in beside him, grabbing a second stack of papers, scanning quickly.
Jonathan glances up.
“Can someone try Dustin again?”
Robin shakes her head.
“He turned off his walkie.”
Nancy’s brow furrows slightly.
“What’s up with him lately?”
Steve exhales quietly beside you.
“Don’t get me started.”
Robin points at him without looking.
“Yeah, please don’t.”
You flip another page quickly, your eyes catching on something—something that feels familiar, something Dustin had mentioned earlier—
Your focus sharpens. “Hey—!”
Jonathan looks over immediately.
“What?”
Your finger presses against the page. “Got it.”
Steve leans in further, his shoulder brushing yours as he looks.
“Wait, wait, wait—” he says. “There it is, yeah. Remote radio head, yeah.”
Robin steps closer instantly, peering over the edge of the desk. “And, uh—where exactly are we gonna find this remote thingamajig?”
_______________________________
Stepping outside feels like a reset.
The air is cooler, clearer—free of the low tension that had been building inside the station. Out here, it’s just the open space around the hill, the faint sound of wind moving through the trees, and the towering structure of metal rising above all of you.
The radio tower stretches impossibly high, its frame cutting up into the sky until the very top is almost hard to make out. You tilt your head back along with the others, eyes tracing the wiring, the beams, trying to pick out anything that looks out of place.
Robin squints beside you, one hand lifted to shield her eyes.
“I don’t see it.”
You narrow your focus, following the lines more carefully, scanning where something could have come loose or shifted. “It’s up there somewhere.”
Robin lets out a breath, already gesturing vaguely upward like that somehow helps.
“It’s gotta be. So, I guess somebody’s gotta climb to the tippy top of this bad boy and…” she trails off, mimicking a squeaky tightening motion with her hands.
Nancy shifts slightly at your side, arms folding loosely as she studies the height of it again. “Without a harness or anything, it seems kind of dangerous.”
There’s a brief pause—just enough for someone to make a decision.
Steve steps forward. “AKA job for good old Steve Harrington.”
Jonathan steps in then, a little too quickly, his voice cutting across the moment, already peeling his jacket off. “I, uh… I actually think this might be a better job for Jonathan Byers."
Steve interjects. "I’m like one quarter monkey, dude. I got this. Don't sweat it” Peeling his own jacket off and passing it to you kindly with a smile.
Before anyone can properly react, he’s already moving, heading toward the base of the tower like it’s settled.
Robin points toward the base of the tower.
“Uh, voltage! Unless you wanna fry.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not an idiot,” Steve shoots back, already disappearing into the small structure beneath the tower.
You shift your weight slightly, watching the doorway, the moment stretching just enough to notice.
Then—
a low hum fills the air.
It vibrates faintly through the ground, through the metal structure above you, before—
The silence that follows is immediate.
Steve steps back out—and stops.
Your gaze follows his.
Jonathan is already heading up the ladder.
You let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and something more tired.
“Whoa, dude, what are you doing?” Steve calls up.
Jonathan doesn’t look down.
“I got this, dude. Don’t sweat it.”
Steve exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face.
“Son of a…”
And then he’s moving again—quickly this time—cutting across to the other side of the tower and grabbing onto the ladder without another word, starting up after him like there’s no version of this where he lets Jonathan do it alone.
You sigh properly this time.
Robin watches them climb, clearly trying to piece together what just happened.
“What is up with them?”
You shake your head slightly, still looking up as the two of them move faster than they need to, neither giving the other an inch.
“I don’t even know. Jonathan has been acting weird to Steve ever since he moved in with us.”
Nancy barely reacts, her attention already drifting away from the situation.
“I don’t really care to watch these two.”
Robin nods immediately.
“Me neither.”
Above you, the metal ladder rattles faintly under their pace, both of them climbing like it’s some kind of competition neither one is willing to lose.
You watch them for a second longer—just long enough to make sure they’re steady—
before something else pulls your attention.
The low rumble of an engine.
You turn, the sound cutting through the quiet hilltop as a Bradley’s Big Buy truck pulls up beside the building, tires crunching against the gravel before it rolls to a stop.
Robin frowns.
“I thought grocery delivery wasn’t until tomorrow?”
Nancy glances over.
“Me too.”
You look at the truck, recognition settling in almost immediately.
Murray.
You don’t say it out loud.
You don’t need to.
You just turn and start walking toward it.
Robin and Nancy follow without hesitation, the three of you leaving the boys to the tower as you head across the gravel toward whatever Murray has brought with him this time.
_________________________
Gravel crunches under your shoes as you, Robin, and Nancy make your way toward the truck, the engine ticking as it cools. Behind you, the faint clatter of metal from the tower continues—Steve and Jonathan still somewhere up there—but your attention shifts the moment Murray climbs out of the driver’s side.
He straightens, brushing his hands together like he’s just arrived at exactly the right moment, eyes scanning over the three of you before landing on you specifically.
“Well, well—if it isn’t my favorite group of government-adjacent delinquents,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Then, without missing a beat, “And my sweet child—”
You roll your eyes immediately.
“Still calling me that.”
He ignores you completely, already moving toward the back of the truck as if he didn’t hear a word.
“—you’re welcome.”
Robin lets out a quiet breath beside you, something between amusement and disbelief.
Murray swings open the back doors with a flourish and climbs inside.
“All right.”
There’s the sound of things shifting as he moves around.
“Santa’s brought a full sack today.”
He drags a large, worn sack toward the edge before reaching inside it, pulling something out and hopping down.
“A fresh telemetry tag.”
He hands it straight to Robin, who takes it carefully, already turning it over in her hands.
“Scarcer than hen’s teeth, these things.”
He doesn’t stop moving, reaching back into the sack again.
“Enough bullets and shells for Hop to start a small war—if he should so choose.”
Nancy grabs hold of the two ammunition cases, her expression tightening slightly as she looks down at it.
Then Murray pulls out a head of lettuce and waves it directly in your face.
“Anyone order a salad?”
You stare at him, unimpressed.
He turns back, grabbing something else.
“Grenade salad?”
He holds up a grenade like it’s the punchline to the world’s worst joke.
You, Robin, and Nancy all exchange the same look—polite, confused, not entirely sure how to respond.
“I hid the grenades under the, uh, lettuce,” he adds, like that explains everything.
He reaches back in again.
“Okay. Gatorade for El’s battery.”
Before he can even finish the sentence, Steve’s voice cuts in as he and Jonathan come around the side of the truck.
“Did someone say Gatorade? Let me get one of those.”
Murray tosses one without hesitation. Steve catches it easily, already grinning.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing,” Murray replies, already digging through the sack again.
“But I don’t think it’s gonna go too well with… peanut butter!”
He tosses another pack toward Steve.
“Boppers! Hey! God, I missed these things. Thanks.”
Steve looks genuinely pleased, already opening them as Murray lets out a satisfied little laugh.
Then his attention shifts back to you.
“And of course, for my sweet child, something sour to match your attitude.”
He throws a sour patch kids bag your way.
You catch it without thinking. “Thanks, Bald Eagle.”
Murray pauses.
Stares at you.
Completely unimpressed.
Then moves on like he refuses to give you the satisfaction.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Byers. I got you a present too.”
He pulls out a cassette tape and waves it in Jonathan’s face.
“I know you’re allergic to jazz, but just give it a whirl. I think you’ll find it quite engaging.”
He winks.
Jonathan takes it quickly, clearing his throat as he looks away.
Murray doesn’t linger. He grabs a document envelope and turns toward Nancy.
“And for the station manager—”
He taps it lightly against her head before handing it over. “—the reason for my premature delivery.”
Nancy takes it immediately, already opening it as Jonathan steps in beside her. You shift closer too, the group naturally tightening as all of you look over the pages.
Her eyes move quickly.
“A burn? Tonight? But that’s—”
“Too soon, I know,” Murray says, nodding toward all of you now, his tone sharpening just slightly.
“Whatever they’re doing in the Upside Down evidently needs serious resources.”
Nancy flips the page.
Your eyes catch the numbers, the listed shipments, the scale of it.
“That’s a lot of cargo,” you say quietly.
“I figure a supply drop this big takes two hours, minimum.” Murray adds.
Nancy nods once, already putting it together. “Which gives Hopper plenty of time for a crawl.”
Murray’s gaze hardens just slightly. “Maybe tonight’s the night we finally find that bastard and end this.”
__________________________________
The shift happens fast.
One second you’re outside, Murray’s words still hanging in the air, the weight of tonight settling in—and the next, everyone is moving.
Back inside.
Doors opening, voices overlapping, footsteps quick against the floor.
Murray doesn’t follow.
He’s already turning back toward his truck, shouting something about good luck, but no one really responds. There’s no time to. The plan has already started moving, and all of you fall into it like it’s second nature now.
Inside the station, everything tightens into motion.
Nancy is already talking, handing Robin a folded piece of paper covered in quick, precise notes.
“Stick to this,” she says, pointing at specific lines. “Timing matters. Don’t rush it.”
Robin nods, scanning it quickly as she walks, already half in performance mode.
“I got it, I got it—just don’t make me do math on air.”
You move ahead of them, slipping into the sound booth first.
The equipment is still slightly out of place from earlier—the broadcast cutting out, the static—and your hands move quickly, adjusting dials, resetting switches, checking levels like muscle memory. The familiar routine steadies you, even as everything else speeds up.
Behind you, the others file in.
Nancy near the back, close to the door. Jonathan beside her, already watching everything, tracking. Robin steps up to the mic, rolling her shoulders once like she’s shaking out the nerves before they settle.
Steve lingers for half a second as he steps in behind you.
You barely have time to turn before his hand brushes lightly against your arm, grounding, familiar—and then he leans in just enough to press a quick kiss to your head.
It’s brief.
Soft.
But it lands.
“Got this,” he murmurs, more to you than anyone else.
Then he’s gone, moving past you to the sound effects deck, already flipping switches, preparing tapes.
You take a breath.
Then step back, just behind him.
Everything clicks into place.
Robin leans toward the mic.
“Hey there, friends, this is Rockin’ Robin. Sorry about the abrupt departure. I hope you survived without me. We had some annoying technical difficulties.”
Steve hits the first set of effects—glass shattering, followed by the sound of a baby crying—layered just enough to feel chaotic without overwhelming her voice.
“But to make it up to you, we have a very special treat that’s sure to turn your day upside down…”
Music kicks in.
“Upside Down” by Diana Ross fills the room, the beat instantly shifting the energy as it carries out over the broadcast.
Robin settles into it, voice smooth, easy—like none of this is anything more than another morning show.
“Now, before you start bumping, here’s a few fun facts about the Boss. She was born Diane in the North End of Detroit. Berry Gordy, that’s Gordy with a G, signed her to Motown in 1961. And one is the key number, because between 1964 and ’67, the Supremes had ten songs hit the top of the charts. That’s right, ten.”
You watch her as she speaks, the rhythm of it familiar now—the way she weaves it in, the way the code hides in plain sight.
“Then in ’78, she tried to make it big in the movies with The Wiz, which was a colossal floparoonie. But, in my personal opinion, I still dig it. Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Give it a chance.”
Behind you, Steve adjusts another dial, glancing briefly in your direction before refocusing.
“But make sure you bring your supersized popcorn, because this movie has a run time of over two hours.”
Nancy shifts slightly at the back, eyes flicking between Robin and the clock, tracking every second.
“All right, class dismissed. I hope you were taking notes. There will be a test later. Take it away, Diane.”
The song swells.
♪ Upside down ♪
And just like that—
the message is out.
__________________________
The moment the broadcast ends, everything moves again.
No hesitation.
Robin pulls back from the mic, Steve already stepping away from the sound deck, Nancy reaching for the door before anyone else has fully spoken. You follow with the others, the group slipping out of the booth in practiced motion, the station still humming faintly behind you as if nothing has changed.
But everything has.
You move quickly down the short hallway, turning into a back room that looks, at first glance, like nothing more than storage—boxes stacked unevenly, old equipment pushed into corners, shelves cluttered with things no one has touched in years.
Nancy doesn’t slow.
Her hand is already in her pocket, pulling out a small set of keys as she crosses to the back wall. She reaches one of the shelving units, pushing a box aside with ease, revealing a small, almost hidden lock embedded into the wall behind it.
She unlocks it quickly.
There’s a quiet click.
Jonathan steps forward immediately, gripping the shelving unit and pulling it aside with a low scrape against the floor, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.
No one hesitates.
Steve gestures slightly for you to go ahead, his hand brushing briefly against your back as you start down, the others following close behind. The space shifts as you descend—cooler, quieter, the noise of the station fading above you.
Once everyone is down, Steve reaches back up, pulling the shelving unit back into place, sealing the entrance behind you.
The room below is bigger than it should be.
Not polished. Not clean. But lived-in.
Chairs that don’t match. Old tables dragged into place. Pieces of furniture that look like they’ve been borrowed, repurposed, or salvaged. It’s not much—but it’s theirs.
Their real base.
Nancy moves straight to the corner, already lifting the overhead projector into place. You follow her instinctively, helping steady it as she sets it down and slides a map across the glass.
The light flicks on.
The map spreads across the wall in front of you.
You stay beside her, close enough to follow every movement as she picks up a meter ruler, already shifting into planning mode.
Robin and Steve take seats nearby, both leaning forward slightly, while Jonathan lingers further back, arms crossed, watching.
Nancy taps the projection once.
“All right. So, assuming Murray’s intel is correct, the supply convoy is set to reach Hawkins at 10:00 sharp.”
Everyone nods.
She steps closer, ruler in hand, pointing precisely.
“Meaning I want Hopper in the tunnels and en route to MACZ no later than 9:00.”
The ruler taps firmly against the map.
You step in beside her.
“Mike and Lucas will take their usual observation post.”
Nancy continues without missing a beat, shifting the ruler across the map.
“Barring unusual traffic, I expect the convoy to reach MACZ at 10:15.”
Your eyes follow the route as she traces it.
“Once the burn starts and there’s sufficient cover, the boys will signal Hopper, who’ll make his move.”
“And now the crawl begins,” Nancy continues, guiding the ruler along the road. “Hop is now in the Upside Down, traveling at what I hope to be a gentle 30 miles an hour, which will allow—”
“…Me, you and Dustin to follow along in the Rightside Up,” you finish, glancing toward Steve.
He nods once in acknowledgment.
Nancy continues, already moving forward.
“I expect the convoy to take the same route as last month. Main to Cornwallis, one turn. But if you guys hit any red lights…”
“I’ll blow right through,” Steve says.
You immediately turn your head toward him.
“Only if there’s no MPs around,” you say firmly. “Remember, if we get pulled over, we lose Hop, we’re toast.”
Steve lifts his hands slightly.
“I got it.”
He throws you a quick wink.
Nancy continues, pointing further up the route.
“You’re gonna travel up Cornwallis for about six miles. And as the convoy reaches this Shell station here…”
“We radio Hop to disembark.”
“Which will drop Hop at the border of G1.”
Nancy steps back slightly now, a small, confident smile pulling at her expression.
“Where he’ll have two whole hours to search for Vecna, which is ample time. He’s cleared zones much faster. So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.”
She reaches toward the light—
“—”
Jonathan clears his throat.
Nancy pauses.
“Is there a problem?”
Jonathan shifts slightly, arms still crossed.
“Um… No. No, I mean, I think it’s good.”
You move away from the projector then, crossing the space toward Steve, who’s now sitting on the edge of a table, arms folded, clearly still thinking it through.
Robin leans forward, picking up where he leaves off.
“Zone G1 is not that exciting or Vecna-y. What does it have? A Circuit City, a couple of houses, and a… Big Buy? What are the chances Vecna’s shopping for Lucky Charms?”
Nancy’s expression tightens slightly.
“It doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan. We break into the Upside Down the only way we can, through the MACZ gate, under the cover of a burn. Once inside, we search one zone at a time, methodically, until we figure out where he’s been hiding.”
Steve leans forward slightly.
“Unless… he’s already dead.”
You and Nancy both look at him immediately.
“Again, your plan is great,” he continues. “It’s just… This is crawl what? Are we in the 30s now? And not a single baddie in sight? El can’t find him in her bath, and Will hasn’t had his goosies since the shake ‘n’ quake.”
Jonathan frowns slightly.
“Goosies?”
“And last we saw Vecna, he was roasting like a turkey and pumped full of lead,” Steve continues. “That was before he fell three stories. So you ever think we’re scouring a battlefield that we already, like, won?”
Jonathan steps forward slightly now.
“Have you forgotten what he showed Nancy? Hawkins on fire. Karen, Holly, everyone dead.”
Steve shakes his head.
“Yeah, man. He also showed Max her brother walking around with a hole in his chest. That’s what he does. He gets in your head and tries to scare you.”
“Yeah, but he did a good job because I am scared. And you should be scared too. Because if he’s still out there, he’s planning to end our world, so—”
You step forward.
“We don’t stop looking.”
The words come out steady.
Certain.
You move closer to her, standing beside her again.
“Even if it takes 100 more crawls, 1,000. We don’t stop until we’re goddamn sure that wrinkled, nose-less, rotting bastard is dead and gone and never coming back.”
The room stills.
“Everyone in?”
Steve looks at you first.
Really looks.
Then nods.
Robin follows.
Jonathan too.
And just like that—
the plan holds.
_________________________
The light has started to change.
It’s softer now, stretching long across the ground, the sky dipping slowly toward evening. The kind of time where everything should feel quieter—winding down, settling—but instead it just sits there, heavy.
Waiting.
You stand just outside the station with Steve, Lucas, Will, and Mike, the five of you spread loosely across the gravel. No one’s really talking. No one’s moving much either. Every now and then, someone glances down the road.
Still nothing.
Your arms are folded, more out of habit than anything else, your gaze fixed somewhere past the hill, like if you look hard enough he’ll just appear.
Dustin should’ve been here by now.
He’s always here by now.
Lucas shifts beside you, already lifting the walkie-talkie again, his thumb pressing down harder than necessary.
“Dustin, this is Lucas. Do you copy? Over.”
The static crackles back at him.
Nothing else.
He exhales, trying again.
“Dustin, do you copy? Over. Dustin, you’re an hour late, man. You’re making us nervous. We need you here at the Squawk. Dustin, if you can hear us, please respond. Over.”
You glance at Steve.
He’s staring straight ahead, jaw set slightly tighter than usual, one hand resting on his hip while the other rubs absently at the back of his neck.
He doesn’t say anything.
But you can feel it.
The shift.
Footsteps break the stillness.
Robin comes rushing out from inside the station, breath slightly uneven like she’s been moving too fast, too long.
“I got off the phone with his mom,” she says quickly. “She hasn’t heard from him.”
That lands.
You feel it settle somewhere in your chest, sharper than before.
Steve exhales, running a hand through his hair.
“Christ, Henderson,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
Will adds, “He’ll show. He always shows. Try him again.”
Lucas doesn’t hesitate.
He lifts the walkie again.
“Come in, Dustin. Are you there? Earth to Dustin. This is serious, man. Quit playing. We can’t wait around.”
You shift your weight slightly, your arms tightening where they’re crossed, your eyes flicking once more toward the road.
Still nothing.
Lucas presses the button again, voice rising now.
“Get your ass to the Squawk. We can’t wait around. We need you here now. This is not funny. Are you there?”
Silence.
Static.
The kind that stretches just a little too long.
Behind you, there’s movement.
You turn.
Hopper, Joyce, and Eleven are making their way up from the direction of the tunnels, dust still clinging faintly to their clothes, the weight of what’s coming already sitting on them.
Mike doesn’t hesitate.
He takes off immediately, crossing the space quickly and pulling Eleven into a tight hug the second he reaches her, like he’s been holding that in all day.
You glance at them for a second—
then back to Lucas.
He lifts the walkie again, voice quieter this time, but no less urgent.
“Dustin… is everything okay?”
_____________________________
The van feels wrong without him.
It’s the first thing you notice the second you climb in.
You’re so used to Dustin being here—talking, explaining, adjusting things before anyone even has a chance to ask—that the quiet feels out of place. Too still. Too empty.
You settle into the passenger seat anyway, pulling the door shut as Steve slides in beside you, the engine not even started yet. For a second, neither of you says anything.
The back of the van sits open behind you, gutted completely—no seats, no clutter, just a carpeted floor lined with equipment. Wires, monitors, dials, all pieced together into something that somehow works. The telemetry tracker sits mounted among it all, designed to pick up the signal Hopper will carry in the Upside Down.
And above it—
the crank.
Dustin’s “wheelie thing.”
The one he never let you touch.
Steve glances over at you.
“You know how to use all that?” he asks, nodding toward the back.
You shake your head immediately.
“No.”
You don’t even hesitate.
“I’m usually just on comms… or lookout. Dustin never really let me near it.”
Steve exhales quietly through his nose, nodding once like that confirms exactly what he didn’t want to hear.
“Yeah. Sounds about right.”
He pushes the door open again and climbs into the back, dropping down onto the carpet and looking over the setup like he’s trying to piece it together from memory.
You twist slightly in your seat, watching him as he reaches for the crank, testing it, adjusting something near the base of it.
He knows enough.
Just not all of it.
You reach over and grab the radio Robin left for you, bringing it up as the familiar crackle comes through.
Robin’s voice follows almost immediately.
“Y/N, you getting any signal? Tag is active.”
You glance back at Steve, who’s already trying to turn the wheel.
“Yeah, just give us a second.”
The crank doesn’t move.
Steve frowns slightly, putting a bit more force into it, but it barely shifts.
You lean back slightly, calling out toward the station.
“Hey, anybody know how Henderson’s wheelie thing works?”
Robin’s voice comes back quickly.
“There should be a safety lock under the wheel.”
“Okay, hold on.”
Steve shifts, finding the latch beneath it.
“Safety lock,” he mutters. “Real necessary.”
There’s a click. Then the wheel finally gives, turning under his grip.
He adjusts it slowly, watching the dials, the monitors flickering to life with a weak, uneven signal.
He glances toward you. You bring the radio up.
“Okay. Okay, getting a signal. It’s pretty quiet, though.”
The faint pulsing begins—soft, uneven at first.
Steve keeps turning.
The signal sharpens.
The pulsing grows stronger, more consistent as the numbers climb.
“Okay,” you say, watching the readout. “Signal’s holding a steady 90 dB. I am going to have to drive.”
Steve doesn’t even look to you.“Absolutely not. Last time you drove we got pulled over by the MPs.”
You roll your eyes immediately.
“Okay, then how are we supposed to monitor this and drive without Henderson?”
There’s no answer to that.
Just the quiet weight of it sitting between you.
Dustin should be here.
Steve finally exhales, letting go of the wheel before climbing back toward the front, dropping into the driver’s seat with a slight shake of his head.
The radio crackles again.
“Jonathan is coming up.”
“Copy,” you respond, glancing toward Steve.
He lets out a breath.
“Great. That’s gonna make this experience much smoother for me.”
You give him a look.
“Steve, it’s just Jonathan. You see him every day at home.”
He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.
Just reaches for the keys, settling into place behind the wheel as he waits.
You sit beside Steve in the front, the soft hum of tracker filling the space where Dustin’s voice should’ve been. Every now and then, your eyes flick to the side mirror, then back to the station door, like that’ll somehow make Jonathan appear faster.
Steve drums his fingers once against the steering wheel, then stops, exhaling quietly as he leans back slightly in his seat.
Suddenly, the back doors creak open.
You both turn slightly.
Jonathan climbs in without a word, pulling himself up into the back and shifting quickly onto the carpeted floor, already reaching for the equipment like he doesn’t want to waste a second.
You turn just enough in your seat to watch him settle, glancing once at the dials before focusing in properly.
Steve twists slightly in his seat, leaning his arm over the back of yours so he can look at him.
“You comfortable back there, Byers?” he asks, just lightly enough to pass as casual. “Or you want me to get you a pillow?”
Jonathan doesn’t even look up as he pulls the headphones on.
“Just focus on driving.”
There’s a brief pause.
Steve presses his lips together, like he’s biting back a response, then turns back around, shaking his head slightly.
“Yeah, okay.”
He reaches forward, turning the key.
The engine rumbles properly to life this time, louder, steadier, the van shifting as he flips it into gear.
You settle back into your seat, one hand still loosely holding the radio as the van starts to move.
And just like that—
you’re rolling.
__________________________
Night settles in fully by the time you’re in position.
The van is tucked into a narrow alleyway, hidden just enough from the main road to avoid attention. The engine is off now, the quiet heavier than before, broken only by the faint crackle of the radio and the occasional distant hum of a passing vehicle somewhere beyond.
You sit in the passenger seat, radio in hand, your gaze flicking between the windshield and the side mirror out of habit. Beside you, Steve leans back slightly in his seat, one arm resting loosely near the wheel, the other holding onto a half-open pack of Boppers.
Behind you, Jonathan is crouched over the equipment, headphones on, one hand already resting on the dial, waiting.
Joyce’s voice cuts through the radio.
“Squawk to Crow’s Nest, anything? Over.”
Mike answers almost immediately. “Negative, not a peep.”
You shift slightly in your seat, your fingers tightening just a little around the radio.
“We got action. Four trucks, outer east gate on Main.”
Everyone stills.
You glance at Steve. He’s already looking forward, focused now.
A few moments pass.
“Burn commencing in five, four, three, two, and boom!”
The word lands with a weight you can almost feel.
“Trucks moving in.”
There’s a beat.
“Am I clear?” Hopper’s voice comes through.
“East is clear.”
“And to the west?”
“We got a straggler.”
A pause.
“Clear.”
Another second passes—
“He’s in.”
You lean forward slightly without thinking. “He’s flipped.”
Joyce’s voice comes through again, sharper now.
“Y/N, are you guys getting a signal?”
Behind you, Jonathan moves immediately, turning the dial, adjusting the tracker as the faintest crackle begins to bleed through the speakers.
He glances up giving you a quick thumbs up.
You bring the radio up. “Snagged it.”
Steve glances at you, then up into the rearview mirror, watching Jonathan work.
“Should I move?”
Jonathan’s voice comes from the back, focused.
“No. Hold.”
The signal is faint.
Uneven.
“Hold.”
It strengthens slightly.
“Hold.”
Steve takes another bite of the Bopper, chewing loudly.
The pulsing grows sharper.
“Hold—”
A beat—
“Go!”
Steve reacts instantly, throwing the van into gear. The engine roars to life as he pulls out of the alleyway and onto the road, following the route they’d mapped out earlier.
You steady yourself slightly, lifting the radio.
“Van is on the move.”
“Good, good. Okay, hard part’s over,” Joyce says.
Hopper lets out a small breath through the radio.
“I mean, speak for yourself. I still gotta jump out of this thing. And is it me, or are we moving faster than normal?”
“A little faster. Just aim for the grass.”
“I was gonna go for the asphalt, but now that you mention the grass—”
The sound cuts.
Something sharp bursts through the radio—loud, sudden.
You flinch slightly, your head snapping toward Steve.
Joyce’s voice comes through immediately.
“What’s going on? Hopper?”
Behind you, Jonathan’s movements change.
“We’re losing him!”
Steve’s grip tightens on the wheel.
“Wait, what?”
You grab Steve’s arm. “Steve—wait! Stop! Stop!”
He doesn’t hesitate.
The brakes slam hard, the van lurching forward as he pulls off to the side of the road. The sudden stop sends everything shifting slightly, the equipment rattling behind you as Jonathan immediately adjusts the dial again, trying to catch the signal before it disappears completely.
For a second—
nothing.
Then—
The pulsing returns.
Stronger.
“We got him.”
Jonathan exhales, the tension breaking just slightly as he looks toward the front.
You don’t realize how hard you were holding your breath until it comes back, your shoulders dropping as you glance at Steve.
He exhales too, a short, relieved huff, before looking back toward the road, still not moving yet.
“Hopper, do you copy? Hopper!” Joyce calls.
“Yeah, I copy.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. We just slammed to a stop.”
You glance between Steve and Jonathan. “Why would they stop?”
The answer doesn’t come.
Instead—
the radio distorts.
A low, disorienting sound pushes through, warping the signal.
Then—
roaring.
Screaming.
Voices breaking apart into something unrecognisable.
The sound crackles, stretches, tears through the speakers as the signal begins to spike wildly.
Your grip tightens around the radio.
“What the hell is happening?!”
You turn toward Steve, your expression tightening, the worry no longer subtle.
At the same time, the van reacts.
Lights flicker.
The equipment behind you starts going erratic, dials jumping, the tracker spiking in uneven bursts.
Steve turns sharply in his seat.
“What the hell’s happening, man?”
Jonathan shakes his head, eyes locked on the readings as they shift too fast to follow.
↳ summary: mike wheeler is a loser. big time loser. and he’s dating the cheer captain. the only problem is that they’ve kept it a secret long enough.
↳ warnings: characters are 18, making out, slight voyeurism, dry humping.
↳ notes: wrote this on my phone at the airport not too much on me.
word count: 2.5k
The Hawkins High gymnasium’s smell was awful. It smelled like a lethal mix of floor wax, sweat, stale popcorn, and enough Axe body spray to tear a new hole in the ozone layer. It was the night of the Senior Championship game—or in other words, the holy grail of high school social hierarchy—and the noise was absolutely deafening.
Mike Wheeler sat sandwiched between Will Byers and a very aggressive tuba player from the marching band, his knees pressing uncomfortably into the back of a freshman. He looked miserable. He felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to punch someone.
"Statistically speaking," Dustin shouted over the thumping bass of We Will Rock You, spraying pretzel crumbs onto Lucas's shoulder, "this is a gross misappropriation of our time! Our teams’ defensive line has the structural integrity of a wet napkin. We could be running the Vecna's Revenge campaign right now. I had the map ready! But instead, we are watching grown men chase a ball."
"It's our last semester, Henderson!" Lucas yelled back, wiping pretzel dust off his jacket. He was wearing face paint that was already sweating off in the humidity. "It's called social integration. Try it sometime! We're seniors! For fuck’s sake!"
"I am well integrated!" Dustin gestured wildly to his Hellfire Club t-shirt. "I am a leader of men! I just don't see the appeal of—"
Will nudged Mike hard in the ribs. "You okay? You look like you're going to throw up."
Mike was staring fixedly at the sidelines, his face pale, gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were white. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I'm fine, Will.” he squeaked. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "I'm great. Go Tigers. Yay sports."
Nobody knew.
It was the absurdity of the century. It was a glitch in the matrix. It was the best-kept secret in a town famous for government conspiracies and horrendous interdimensional monsters.
The secret had a name, and that name was Y/N, his sweet little girlfriend.
It had started back in October, senior fall, on a rainy Tuesday that smelled of damp leaves and ozone. The AV Club room was Mike's sanctuary, the one place he could escape the pressures of senior year. He had been alone that afternoon, covered in black toner, cursing creatively at the large-format poster printer which had decided to jam for the third time that week.
He heard the door creak open. He expected Mr. Clarke. He expected Dustin.
He did not expect the Captain of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad.
Y/N had walked in, closing the door softly behind her. She wasn't wearing her uniform; she was in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and jeans, looking like she had just stepped out of a catalog. Mike froze, his hands stained with ink, waiting for the usual mockery. He waited for her to ask where the "cool people" were, or to make fun of his D&D shirt.
Instead, she looked around the messy room with a sigh of relief. "Is it quiet in here?" she asked, her voice soft. "The library is full of freshmen."
"Uh," Mike had managed, eloquent as ever. "Yeah. Usually."
She held up a leather-bound notebook. "I just need somewhere to write. Journaling. I can’t do it with people behaving like animals."
She didn't leave. She sat on a desk, legs swinging, and watched him fight the printer. And then, shockingly, she helped. She rolled up her expensive sleeves, got ink on her perfect hands, and helped him dislodge the paper tray.
They spent three hours talking. And not the superficial stuff Mike expected. They talked about fears. About the crushing pressure of perfection. About how they both secretly thought Return of the Jedi was the weakest of the trilogy. Mike was a rambling, nervous mess, his hands shaking every time she looked at him with those big, intelligent eyes, but she just laughed—an overly warm, genuine sound that made his chest ache.
By the end of the day, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. The rain was hammering against the windows, sealing them in their own little world. Mike had been staring at her lips, paralyzed by his own insecurity, convinced he was misreading the signals. Because girls like Y/N didn't look at guys like Mike Wheeler. Not like that.
"You're going to pass out if you don't kiss me, Wheeler," she had whispered, leaning in close enough for him to smell her sweet, edible vanilla perfume.
Mike had stopped breathing. "I just... I didn't think..."
"Shut up," she had smiled.
She grabbed him by his shirt, yanked him down, and planted a kiss on him that effectively rebooted his operating system. It was soft at first, then hungry, and Mike had realized with a jolt that the coolest girl in school was actually trembling just as much as he was.
Now, six months later, they were keeping it secret. Mike insisted on it. He told himself it was to protect her.. Well, obviously, dating a very active member of the Hellfire Club wasn't exactly a status booster for a cheer captain. He didn't want to be the anchor that dragged her down the social ladder.
But tonight? Tonight, Y/N had other plans.
"I'm doing a toe-touch jump right at the 50-yard line," she had told him last night, her voice husky over the phone as he lay in bed staring at his ceiling. "And if you aren't there to see it, I'm, so seriously, breaking up with you. I'm tired of hiding, Mike. I want to show you off."
Show me off, Mike thought, feeling dizzy. She's fucking insane.
Back in the gym, the buzzer sounded for halftime. The lights dimmed, and the spotlight hit center court.
"Oh, look," Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Pompoms. My favorite part of the evening. Wake me when the game starts again."
"Shut up, Henderson," Mike snapped, instantly alert. He sat up straighter, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The music kicked in, something rhythmic and loud, vibrating through the bleachers. The squad moved in perfect synchronization, a sea of green and gold pleats and white sneakers. And there she was.
Y/N.
She was absolutely mesmerizing, as always, Mike thought. She flew through the air in a basket toss, soaring higher than anyone else, her ponytail whipping like a lash, her smile dazzling enough to blind the front row. She hit every beat with a sharpness that commanded attention. She looked powerful, beautiful, and completely, utterly out of his league.
Mike felt a surge of pride so intense it nearly choked him. That's my girl, he thought. His and only his. The words felt reckless and golden in his head. The girl everyone is staring at? She kisses me. She likes my nerdy ass rants.
The routine ended in a pyramid formation. Y/N was at the very top, arms raised in a V, chest heaving, glitter catching the overhead lights. The crowd went feral.
But Y/N didn't look at the crowd. She didn't look at the judges.
She turned her head and locked eyes with the specific section of the bleachers where the band geeks and the Hellfire Club sat.
She found Mike. Even from this distance, he felt the weight of her gaze. It was a look of pure, terrifying possession. A smile curled the corner of her lips; soft, intimate, and knowing.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she raised two fingers to her glittery lips and blew a kiss.
It was a direct hit.
The bleachers around them erupted in confusion.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" Lucas grabbed Dustin's arm, nearly dislocating it. "She looked right at me! Y/N just blew a kiss at me!"
"You're hallucinating, Sinclair!" Dustin scoffed, frantically smoothing his curly hair under his hat. "She was looking at the hat. Chicks dig the trucker hat energy. That was clearly for me! It was a signal!"
"In your dreams! Why would SHE blow a kiss at you?"
"Why would SHE blow a kiss at YOU!? You're wearing face paint like a damn toddler!"
"Guys," Will started, looking at Mike. "I think—"
But Mike didn't say a word. He couldn't. His face was burning so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. He stood up abruptly, his metal chair clattering back loudly. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost, or maybe God.
"I have to go," Mike choked out. "Stomach. Bad pretzel. Need air."
He bolted before they could ask questions, scrambling down the bleachers, tripping over people's feet, fleeing the scene like a criminal.
Twenty minutes later, the game was dragging into the third quarter. The crowd was roaring, but the party was distracted.
"He's been gone a while," Will frowned, looking at the empty seat next to him.
"He's probably crying in the car because the noise was too loud," Lucas rolled his eyes, though he looked concerned. "Or he went to 7-Eleven for a slushie and didn't invite us."
"Let's go get him," Dustin decided, standing up. "This game is a blowout anyway, and I refuse to watch the Tigers lose by thirty points. Let's go."
The three boys trudged out into the cool night air, leaving the roaring, sweaty gym behind. The parking lot was a sea of metal, quiet and still under the buzzing streetlights. The distant sound of the announcer echoed eerily.
"There's his car," Dustin pointed to Mike's beat-up, beige sedan parked way in the back, under the shadow of a large oak tree. "I bet he's asleep. Grandpa Wheeler strikes again. Probably taking a nap."
As they got closer, weaving through the rows of trucks and vans, Lucas slowed down. He squinted.
"Hey... is it just me, or are the windows... wet?"
The car windows weren't just wet. They were opaque. Completely fogged up with heavy condensation, obscuring everything inside like that one scene from Titanic.
"Weird," Will murmured. "It's not that cold out."
Dustin marched up to the driver's side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Watch this. I'm gonna scare the soul out of his body." He raised his fist to bang on the glass.
Then, through a small clear streak in the condensation, his eyes adjusted to the interior.
Dustin's hand froze in mid-air. His mouth dropped open so wide a damn demogorgon could have crawled in and set up camp.
Inside the car, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of the dashboard lights, was a scene that defied every law of the high school social universe.
Mike's seat was pushed all the way back. And Mike wasn't sleeping.
He was buried.
Y/N was straddling his lap, facing him. Her green and gold cheer skirt was hiked dangerously high, gathered at her waist, the pleats fanning out over Mike's denim-clad legs. Resting on the dashboard, next to a half-empty bottle of water, was a massive, expensive-looking bouquet of red roses with a card that screamed CONGRATS, LOVE <3 in bold marker.
But nobody was looking at the flowers.
Mike Wheeler, the lanky nerd who argued about dice rolls and refused to dance at prom, had his head thrown back against the headrest, his mouth devouring hers.
It wasn't a polite high school peck. It was feral.
Y/N had her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her fingers tangled deep in Mike's messy black curls, holding him in place as she ground her hips down into his lap. And Mike... Mike looked like a man starving. His hands were gripping her waist with a desperation that turned his knuckles white, his long fingers digging into the bare, soft skin of her thighs just below the hem of her skirt.
Y/N broke the kiss for a split second to gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting their lips, and Mike chased her immediately. He didn't let her pull away. He groaned something against her throat, a low, vibrating sound that was audible even through the glass, and buried his face in her neck.
He kissed the sensitive cord of her throat, open-mouthed and wet, his hand sliding up from her waist to palm the curve of her hip possessively, dragging her closer until there was zero space between them.
She whimpered, her head falling back, exposing her throat to him. She grabbed the collar of his Hellfire Club t-shirt, yanking on the fabric so hard the neck stretched. She bit his lower lip, hard, pulling it between her teeth, and Mike surged up to meet her, his other hand tangling in the back of her cheer uniform.
It was messy. It was frantic. It was the hottest thing any of them had ever seen, and it involved.. Mike. Jesus Christ! The Mike Wheeler.
Lucas looked like he had been slapped in the face with a wet fish. Will looked like he wanted to dissolve into the pavement.
Dustin just stood there, his brain unable to process the data. Mike? With Y/N? Making out like they were trying to invent a new form of fusion energy?
The cognitive dissonance was too much.
Inside the car, Y/N shifted her weight, pressing down harder into Mike's lap, arching her back. Mike let out a rough sound and moved his hand higher, his thumb grazing the skin of her inner thigh, his face flushed, eyes squeezed shut in pure, agonizing bliss. He looked powerful. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Dustin couldn't take it anymore. The universe was collapsing.
He didn't tap politely. He banged on the window with the force of a SWAT team.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The reaction inside was explosive.
Y/N shrieked, a high-pitched sound of terror, scrambling backward and hitting her head on the rearview mirror. Mike practically jumped out of his skin, his limbs flailing as he tried to cover Y/N and locate his own dignity at the same time. His elbow hit the dome light, flooding the car with unforgiving brightness.
Mike whipped his head toward the window.
He looked wrecked. His black hair was standing up in every direction. His lips were swollen, red, and slick. His t-shirt was twisted. And on his neck, blooming in vibrant high-definition, was a fresh, purple hickey right above his collarbone.
He looked at Dustin with eyes the size of dinner plate; terror, shame, and fury all mixing together.
Dustin stood there, illuminated by the sudden flash of the interior light. He looked at the disheveled cheerleader trying to smooth her skirt down over her hips. He looked at the giant bouquet of love roses. He looked at Mike, whose hand was still instinctively resting on the thigh of the most popular girl in school.
Dustin threw his hands up, gesturing to the entire tableau, his voice rising to a screech that echoed across the parking lot.
