Request: lockwood reacts badly during an investigation. he finally allows himself to become vulnerable towards the reader & lets all of his emotions out in front of her. reader, who has never seen lockwood react like this before, allows him to let it all out on top of her & she comforts him until he feels better
a/n: hope you like it :** sorry it took so long
He was really getting on your nerves now.
âI asked you to not do one thing and guess what you did?â Lockwood was raising his voice now, not a single care for the fact that you two were still in the middle of a very quiet street.
âKeep your voice down! Donât you think I could make my own calculated decisions? Just keep me on a leash if it bothers youâŠâ You came to a halt, waiting for him to unlock the door to 35 Portland row. All the hopes to quietly discuss what happened on the case now fully lost.
âA leash? Really? You think that- wow, okay. Just because I want you safe and healthy Iâm suddenly some dictator,â he kept trying to jam the key into the keyhole, his hands slightly shaky. âIâm not controling you, Iâm protecting you.â
With a swift click the door finally unlocks, you step inside, sliding your now wet shoes straight off.
-
The house smelled of dust and mould but it soon became clear that the mould was not the only contaminant.
You could hear cabinets slam as soon as you stepped into the threshold and the instant feeling of lifeless frigidity could not be ignored.
For the first hour, everything went smoothly. The two of you spent a significant amount of time in the second floor bedroom, as the owners informed you that before them a young woman lived here, she killed her husband and herself in a fit of rage after she found out that he had been cheating on her.
Naturally, the master bedroom was the place of interest.
Lockwood and you had developed a quiet atmosphere, searching any nook and cranny for the source. He didnât even notice you step out until he heard the bathroom door slam.
He stepped out into the hallway just as you started banging on the door.
âI-I only came in here to check it out but the door slammed right behind me! Maybe you could open it from the outside?â
Your voice, even though it was muffled by the door between the two of you, seemed calm and slightly out of breath. Lockwood wished he felt the same, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest.
âAnd you didnât thinkâ he tried to wiggle the doorknob. It seemed jammed shut. âto tell me you were leaving the room?â
He tried twisting the incredibly cold doorknob again, no luck.
âWell Iâm sorry, I really thought it was nothing until the door shut behind me.â
âIs it cold in there?â He asked, still trying to figure out how to get the door open without doing too much property damage.
âIncredibly.â Screw it, they could pay for a broken door.
âDo you think-â sheâs in there with you?
Lockwood couldnât finish his sentence without feeling a chill going all throughout his body.
âMaybe, Iâm still trying to look for the source.â You didnât seem that worried, it angered Lockwood. You both knew, that between the two of you his sight was better than yours and you wouldnât know a ghost from a shadow unless it was strong enough, this one clearly wasnât.
âJust make yourself an iron circle and stay in it until I break this door down, okay?â
âYeah, okay- wait what?â You were interrupted by the door almost caving in on you.
Behind it stood an out of breath Lockwood, he was halfway through drawing his rapier when his eyes suddenly bulged out of his skull, looking right behind you.
âDuck!â You did. He started slashing through the air with his rapier.
When he calmed down and turned back to you his face was enraged.
âWhat did I say about the iron circle? You couldâve died!â You were shocked by his outrage.
âExcuse me? Youâre the one who started kicking the door like a madman! You almost kicked me in the face!â Even though you were determined to protect your point you still stepped into the iron circle.
âJust- look for the source.â He started going around the bathroom, displacing shampoo bottles and soaps, opening and slamming cabinets. Even though he stayed quiet, his breathing grew erratic.
âLockwood, listen, you donât even know what youâre looking for-â
âNeither did you when you came in here all alone! Do you understand how stupid that was?â He turned around to face you.
âI- you need to calm down. Check the temperature around the room or something since itâs clearly hereâŠâ
You needed him calm and collected, Lockwood only grumbled something under his breath before taking the thermometer out and checking the temperature around the corners of the room.
The source turned out to be a dainty engagement ring hidden behind a mountain of dust that had collected between the bathtub and wall.
Even when passing the silver lined bag to you, Lockwood stayed quiet, seemingly deep in thought.
-
Lockwood was right behind you, taking his shoes off and locking the door.
âYou couldâve died.â He said quietly.
âIâm not denying that what I did was kind of stupid, but donât act like you value life when youâre the most reckless person Iâve ever met! Donât try to act like you wouldnât have done the same thing if you wouldâve thought of it.â You pointed a finger at him, tired of the constant criticism that seemed to follow your every action.
You were met with silence.
âThatâs what I thought.â Just as you were about to turn around and sleep it off you noticed a strange look in his eyes- glossy and far away.ïżŒ
âLockwood? Are you okay?â You placed a hand on his upper arm, he jerked back from your touch and sat down on the sofa behind him.
Lockwood swallowed, opening and closing his mouth a few times as if he was going to say something, he ran his hands over his face and clasped his hands behind his head, bowing it.
âI just⊠donât want to lose you.â He finally said.
âFor heavens sake- Iâm not going anywhere, Lockwood.â Your temper had grown short over the night, you wanted nothing more than to sleep it off.
ââŠI donât want to lose you like I lost my parents and my sister.â He looked up at you, his brown eyes seemed like little black holes- all consuming and full of deep sadness.
Oh.
âDo you want to talk about it?â You sat next to him.
He stayed quiet again, staring up ahead, somewhere between the carpet and coffee table.
âWhen I was six, I lost my parents. Car crash.â He kept twisting the ring on his finger, still staring somewhere ahead.
âAnd a few years later Jess died as well, ghost touch.â
âLockwood⊠Iâm so sorry, I never wouldâve knownâŠâ
âMaybe thatâs why I reacted the way I did, I just heard the door slam and I thought that I wouldnât get to you in time, just like I couldnât get to her.â You rubbed a hand up and down his back.
âItâs not your fault, you were just a kid.â
âIt feels like it sometimes, you know?â
A cold but buzzing quiet spread between you.
âI canât lose you.â
His voice was quiet, nothing left of the anger and frustration he felt just hours before
âYouâre not going to lose me, Lockwood.â Your temper had whispered back.
âYou canât know that.â
âJust like you canât know that youâll lose me, if I ever leave, it will be on my own terms, and you wonât get rid of me that easily.â He scoffed at your statement, a small smile finding its way on to his face.
âGo to sleep, Iâll be there when you wake up, I promise.â
Against all his anxieties, Lockwood didnât want to fight you on that promise, it was one he believed you would keep.
You havenât seen Eddie since the night he left you his number.
Which isnât surprising, seeing how you only work every other night and spend your days sleeping or slumping around your uncleâs house, waiting for the weather to get nicer or maybe for some friends to magically appear out of nowhere.
The shift from your hometown to Hawkins has been harsh, everyone seems to know each other and itâs like youâre stuck outside of the bubble that is this townâs ecosystem.
Whatever, being alone is nice too.
âŠbut maybe, just maybe, it wouldnât hurt to have a friend.
He picked the phone up after three rings, but whoâs counting, right?
âHello?â
âDoes the Devil still love me?â
ââŠâ
ââŠâ
You can hear his fist knock against a counter in recognition.
âOf course he does.â
a/n: I want to write something more but every time I try it seems like Iâm writing absolute gibberish, maybe Iâll make a pinterest board for them or something idk
please please please donât be scared to interact or leave ideas or just thoughts đđ
summary: miscommunication, running away (in the literal sense) and panic attacks.
tags: reader suffers from a panic attack ; bosco is too arrogant for him own good (it bites him in the ass) ; heist gone wrong ; argument ; reader is a perfectionist ; idfk Iâm super bad at tagging fics
now playing: visions of gideon
a/n: took over a month to finish this yikes sorry
turn left⊠turn right when you run past two alleyways⊠turn left again when you run past the closed pawnshop and jump into the car with tinted windows waiting for you. Quick and easy.
Youâre repeating the revised plan in your head as you try to catch your breath while thinking up a new strategy on how to not get beaten up by three buff security guards that chased you down from the gala when you and Bosco tried to run away.
Everything you had carefully planned to every last detail is falling apart right in front of you because where there should be a car waiting for you is a⊠brick wall. A brick wall with no way around it or over it, a dead end, something that youâd imagine as a part of your final moments.
And here is the man of the hour, Bosco Leroy, stopping in his tracks when he realises that the alleyway he should have scouted four weeks in advance leads to nowhere.
ââŠshit.â He stops in his tracks.
âshit is right.â You agree, trying to not freak out while accepting your extremely unlucky but not unlikely fate.
The distant echo of the security guards yelling pulls you out of your thoughts. You still have time, amazing. You look around the alleyway and spot a brick, and a window, bingo.
Just before you start to think of how noticeable a broken window in the middle of a dead end alleyway might be you shove the brick into the window, efficiently breaking it before going around the frame to neaten it up a little.
Bosco appears right beside you, offering his hand for leverage so you can step inside to what is apparently an abandoned warehouse.
â-Look, Iâm sorry, I know I shouldâve-â
âShut up, Leroy.â You cut his apology off when you land on the concrete flooring.
His lanky frame follows you inside without another word.
-
a month and a half pre-heist:
âAnd youâre absolutely sure that we wonât get found out?â Youâre pacing around the table and the nail polish that was once neatly painted onto your nails has almost fully been scratched off.
âI trust it, canât you?â June shrugs your worries off.
âThatâs the thing, we canât trust anything, it could be a setup to lure us in and-â you were well aware of how you sounded but you couldnât not worry.
â-canât trust anything except each other, right? Canât you trust us?â Bosco cut your rambling off and crossed his arms over his chest.
âFine. Do whatever, we live in a fairytale and never ever get caught, right?â You had no choice but to accept your loss in the argument and go dwell in your room.
Exactly a month and a half later an auction for stolen designer items would be held for every deep pocketed individual of New York. The plan was to replace the stolen items with replicas that held hidden card readers that would, when in contact with a credit card or a phone, charge a substantial amount from the persons account and donate the money to a charity.
It was a beautiful and precise plan, you planned everything to the smallest details, but some people didnât quite pull their weight (hint hint: his name starts with B and ends with osco Leroy).
-
present day:
â-Look, Iâm sorry, okay? I know this is kind of my fault since-â
âKind of? Are you joking? I plan this whole operation, I find the gala and order the card scanners online, I give everyone else tasks and make sure that everything goes according to plan and you canât make sure of one thing? The escape plan? And itâs only kind of your fault? Yeah, rightâ
Youâre aware that youâre rambling, but right now talking is the only thing stopping you from completely shutting down.
Bosco is at a loss for words, heâs never seen you this panicked and tense. Just when heâs about to say something else, you cut him off.
âJust so you know, Iâm totally going to beat your ass once we get to the afterlife.â You seem to be breathing rather heavily, almost like youâre manually taking breaths in and out⊠Maybe itâs worse than he thought.
âLook, okay, Iâm sorry, Iâm guilty, you can do whatever you want to me in the afterlife- which weâre not reaching tonight by the way- but just look at me for a secondâ He carefully placed his hands on your upper arms, rubbing along them in a soothing pattern.
âDeep breaths, come on.â He breathed in in an exaggerated manner and paused, in hopes that youâll follow his lead.
Your eyes kept rushing between his, trying to get your breathing pattern in order before even attempting a deep breath. Were his eyes always this brown?
Slowly but surely you took a deep breath in, he breathed out, so did you. After a few rounds of this he noticed how your brows werenât furrowed as tightly as before, he hesitantly brushed a finger over the wrinkle that was between your brows, smoothing it.
âBetter?â He tried to give you a reassuring smile.
âDonât expect me to forgive you.â Ouch.
Bosco knew that your love for precision was a force to be reckoned with but he never expected himself to be the one who messed up so bad.
Obviously, he knew that he was prone to messing up but he tried to be on his best behaviour for you, maybe youâd deem him impressive enough for you and keep him around forever, maybe heâd even manage to see you smile really wide one day, the furrow in your brow would get replaced by a dimple in your cheek⊠A guy could dream.
Bosco would be lying if he said you didnât make him slightly nervous. You always gave him a run for his money and called him out on his laziness (which had gotten the both of you into the situation at hand).
Even though he liked a challenge, he seemed to be the one placing obstacles in his own way and tripping on his own foot around you, earning himself a sideways look or the cold shoulder for an hour or two.
Maybe he could fix it this time.
âLetâs go up to the roof.â
-
The city looked so calm from up here. Barely any lights were on and the only sound disturbing the peace of the night was thumping from a far away bar.
Bosco looked down from the roof, no sign of any security guards.
âHey, theyâre gone, maybe we could call an uber and go-â He turned around at you with a playful smirk on his face that was quickly shattered when faced with the serious look on his face.
âIf you tell anyone what happened down there Iâll never speak with you again.â
The panic attack? Why would you be embarrassed? More importantly, why would he ever tell anyone or make fun of you for it?
âGot it, you donât have to worry about it.â He put his arms up as a sign of surrender.
Bosco Leroy spent 50$ on an uber that night. In his eyes it all became worth it when you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder on the ride home and the worry wrinkle in your brow disappearedâŠ
summary: a bad night at the bar leaves you with a bloody nose, steve pissed off yet worried, and youâre too stubborn for your own good.
wc: 2.4k
tags: 90s bouncer!steve au, annoying/creepy man, hints at drug use, drinking (obvi), physical fighting, mentions of blood + injuries, bar fight time!!!! we get a hint of angry steve
Saturday nights are loud, hectic, and rowdy. Especially during the summer.
The weekend nights of working in a bar during the summer in Indianapolis will never be dull nights. Even if you pray for them to be at least the tiniest bit docile. They never are.Â
Such as right now, with Dave from New York.
For the past hour and a half, Dave has been in a drunken pattern of going back and forth from the dance floor to the counter to get more drinks and for you to slip him your phone number.Â
Heâs back at the counter again, sitting on the stool and leaning in against the wood, trying to tell you about how gorgeous the view of the city is from his hotel window, and how he just wishes you could see it.
Heâs got a fresh tan from his trip in Monaco he just got back from, looking at real estate, or working in real estate. Something of that sort, you donât know, you stopped listening a while ago.
Youâve run out of fake laughs and one word responses, youâre not even looking at him, youâre barely giving him full nods.Â
The bar closes at 3AM, youâve got four hours left.Â
God give you strength.
And maybe heâs listening, because Daveâs buddy slips by to whisper something in his ear, which gets Dave to slide off his stool and follow the guy to the bathroom.
You feel like you can finally breathe, you take a minute to drop your head and let it hang as you keep your hands gripped around the bar counter.
You bring your head back up to look out the open doors, you can see Steve. Heâs got his back turned and his body at an angle so you canât really see his face, more of his side profile, the slope of his straight nose.Â
This is one of the only good things about being stuck behind the bar all night, you get a perfect view of the doors and of the outside of the town. You get a perfect view of Steve. You could stare at his back for hours, you probably already have.
The line to get in is being held up by some guy trying to argue with Steve, you wonder if itâll escalate. You hope it doesnât of course, the bar is currently on a 3 day streak of no bouncers being swung at by drunk kids with fake IDs. This might be a new record.Â
And of course your little moment of freedom has been shut down. Of fucking course it has, of fucking course the moment you consider slipping outside for a smoke break, Dave is stumbling back up to the bar again.
God give you the fucking strength. Please.
He trips over something, a napkin, spilled liquid, his feet. You canât really see from where youâre standing.Â
He nearly slams his jaw into the counter before heâs able to stop himself with his hand smacking against the wood.
Youâve run out of energy to deal with him and youâre preparing to close off his tab.
When he straightens himself up, you notice how his pupils have grown 2x their size and heâs got a bit of white powder under his nose. Just fucking great.
âAlright, Iâm gonna have to cut you off man.â You say through a sigh, interrupting him before heâs able to speak.
And of course, like always, of course he starts protesting. Making the same excuses every other person has: because, like, heâs not even that drunk, he hasnât had that many, he can pay to keep it open, he just got here.
And you really donât have the energy for this. You print his tab, slide it towards him, and attempt to take the drink he brought back away from him.
You wish you realized letting any part of getting close to him is a bad idea. His hand wraps around your wrist so tight his knuckles are turning white and you can feel his fingers press against the bone.
His drink knocks over in the process and spills across the bar and a good amount of it splashes onto your lower half. At least youâve got your apron on.
But the bigger issue is the asshole gripping onto your wrist and not planning on letting go anytime soon.
âAre you fucking serious? Youâre not gonna let me finish my drink, you bitch?â Heâs yanking at your arm so hard youâre getting pulled into the bar, the counter is pressing into your stomach. His sudden aggression has you caught off balance.
You look around the room, fuck, Andrew, the inside security for the night told you he needed to take a leak and that he would be back in a minute.
Itâs been five.
But lucky for you, a drunk patron comes to your rescue, tries to.
âCâmon buddy, get your hand offaâ her, sheâs just doinâ her job.â The other guy tries to put his hand down over Daveâs forearm, pushing it down. And this makes you realize maybe tonight is the night for everyone to make bad decisions.
Dave turns his attention to the other guy but his hand is still wrapped around your wrist in an iron grip, itâs really starting to fucking hurt, he uses his free hand to shove at the attempted drunk knight in shining armor. Which makes him stumble backwards into the stool he was sitting in and a few other people.
It takes a moment for him to grasp what happened as you're trying to wiggle out of Dave's hold on you.Â
Then the guy retaliates, knocking Dave straight in the cheek with his fist and getting him to let go of you.Â
Clean streak broken. 0 days without a fight.
Your arm gets pulled a bit before he fully loses his grip and youâre terrified you might hear something pop.
But great. Thereâs a crowd forming, thereâs other guys trying to stop them but end up joining in.
Itâs been awhile since youâve had an actual fight inside the club, so it seems like now anyone will take the chance to get their anger out with a few punches in.
You slip out from behind the bar to yell for Steve and the other bouncer outside. It takes few shouts before they can actually fucking hear you over tonights live music.
Once they do hear you and look over, they come sprinting in, so does Andrew from wherever he ran off to.
It doesnât take that long for Steve and the others to rip the two who originally started this mess off of each other, theyâre bigger than the two guys.
Somewhere in this mess of Dave being torn off the other guy by Steve, heâs failing around like a ragdoll trying to wriggle out of Steveâs arms locked around his torso, his elbow rears back and hits you right in the face. Right in the fucking nose.
You curse out loudly and your hands are immediately going to cover the sight of the impact, it feels like less than within seconds you can feel your face getting warm, when you touch underneath your nose itâs warm as well.
Warm and wet.
You pull your hand back and look. Of fucking course, your fingertips are covered in blood.
You try to press your fingers back against your nostrils to somehow, somewhat, keep the bleeding from going past your chin, but the pressure of it stings like hell and you curse out again.
Steve somehow hears it over all the yelling and looks behind him, Dave is still jolting around while Steve looks like he could kill somebody with the way his brows unpinch and his face drops.
He tosses Dave to the ground, then proceeds to grab him by the nape of his neck, more of the back of his hair like heâs a baby kitten, he drags him out the room and Dave is stumbling as heâs trying to keep up.Â
He gets thrown on the sidewalk so hard by Steve you wouldnât be surprised if he got roadrash.
Meanwhile Stella, one of the gogo dancers is hustling you off to the bathroom with her. Sheâs forcing you to sit on the dirty sink and when you do finally, youâre making a mental note to wash your jeans as soon as you get home. Whenever thatâs gonna be.
Maybe burn them. Youâre not sure how often the sinks get cleaned here.
âJesus fucking christ, what happened out there?â Sheâs already pulling out handfuls of brown paper towels from the dispenser.
âAlcohol and cocaine.â Your voice is a bit muffled due to your hand being placed right on top of it, trying to use it as some sort of barrier for underneath your nose.
Stella just scoffs. âHold these.â She brings up the rough paper towels under your nose. Your eyes are watering and the pressure of the crumpled towels are making it worse.
âFuck, it really hurts.â Your voice is a bit squeaky and you cringe, Stella is too busy grabbing more towels and wetting them. âDo you think itâs broken?â You try to sniffle and it makes you taste metal in the back of your throat.
âNo. It doesnât look that bad. I think.â
âYou think?â
âIâm not a doctor!â
No matter how many paper towels you use to wipe away the blood, more leaks out, youâve gone through enough blood soaked ones to fill up the pathetically small bathroom trashcan.
âGoddamn, you are pouring like a fountain.â Stellaâs grimacing as she pulls your hands away to see if itâs done.Â
It isnât.
âWell, he hit me pretty hard.â You wince again as you bring your hand back and press a little bit too much.
âOh! Hold on! I have an idea!â She beams as she whips around and shuffles over to the tampon dispenser built into the wall. Itâs already dented to the point you can open it and get them without having to search for a quarter.
âNo, Iâm not putting tampons in my nose.â You protest.
âItâll help! Plug it! You can keep them there until a doctor looks at it!â Stella's already back over with a handful of them.
âNo, no! Iâm not going to a hospital, I donât need to!â Stella is not listening to you, sheâs pushing a tampon out of the applicator. âI just need to clean this up.â You gesture to your face down to your neck and chest where theyâre both covered in small streaks and drips of blood.
âOh my god, just plug it.â Sheâs slapping your hands away and pushing your head back, shoving one into your left nostril.
âOw! Ow! Motherfucker!â You rasp out, youâve got the ugliest scrunched up expression on your face as you twist your head away, half of a damn tampon up your nose.
And just to add onto your luck for the night, thereâs a knock on the door and Steve peeks in. His eyes are on the ground first, just in case. But once he knows thereâs no one else in the bathroom he looks up to where youâre sitting.
He can see you. Heâs looking at you.
While you have a tampon shoved up your nose.
âOh thank god!â Stella cries out, âCan you please help me convince her to go to the hospital or call 911 or something?â
âI donât need 911.â You mutter out, seething almost.
Stella and Steve both ignore you, Steveâs already marching over to bend down a bit to get to eye level with you, heâs staring intensely. You still have the tampon in your nose.
âYeah, yeah. I can drive her.â He agrees without another second of hesitation, his hand wrapping around your upper arm.
Itâs a complete contrast to how you got grabbed a few minutes ago. You could faint from the gentleness, or maybe itâs the injury.
Youâre protesting all the way from the bathroom to the car. He helps you in, even buckles you in. Heâs such a gentleman even when you look like an idiot.
âSteve, seriously, I donât need a doctor. Itâll stop soon.â You pull the stupid tampon out your nostril, it stings and you wince, the blood is still going.Â
âIt takes ten to twenty minutes for a broken nose to stop bleeding. Itâs been what? Eleven minutes?â Steve is reaching over to his glovebox and pulling out napkins for you.
How does he even know that?
âIf they give me a bill, I wonât be able to pay for it.â You slouch down in the seat while he pulls out and onto the road.Â
âSit up straight and lean your head forward, itâll help.â Literally how does he have this knowledge on hand. âIâll cover it for you.â
âWhat? No, Steve. You shouldnât waste your money on me.â You follow his instructions and lean forward, but you're looking straight at him in awe.
âItâs not wasting it if itâs for you. Besides, I got the funds to cover it, trust me.â He scoffs, youâre about three minutes away from the urgent care.
Youâre a bit speechless at his words.
Not wasting it if itâs for you.
It takes a minute for your brain to catch back up and send in more defenses for why you totally donât need medical attention.
âMy nose isnât broken. That douchebag just got me in a bad spot, itâs starting to lighten up anyways.â Youâre not entirely wrong on that last part, the blood has begun to stop spilling and itâs drying up in most parts now.
âListen, I know what a broken nose looks like, and yours looks pretty close to one. Iâm not gonna argue with you about this.âÂ
You huff and youâre preparing to slouch back down grumpily in your seat, before you remember what Steve said. You stay in your weird tilted position even though itâs making your neck ache.
Steve pulls into the entrance of the ER, his car is parked crooked, one wheel a bit too much on the white line of the space.
The dried blood all over your face and neck is making you feel so disgusting. You need a wet rag or something. God, you need a shower. Badly.
âYou ready to go in?â Steve sighs, looking over to you.
âI shouldâve taken a beer with me on the way out.â
The call from the hospital came the moment you stepped inside your apartment. You didnât even have time to put your work bag down before the phone in your kitchen began incessantly ringing.
If you hadnât been expecting a call from a friend of a friend about whether or not your art pieces would be making it into her show in two weeks, you probably wouldnât have answered the phone. You had made it a point to always have at least an hour to yourself once you were home after work as a way to decompress; you loved your students and your job, but that didnât mean that it wasnât exhausting sometimes.Â
Within the first few seconds, you learned that you werenât getting a call from Trish, and instead it was a nurse from Hawkins Memorial telling you that Steve was in the hospital and she was calling you because apparently you were his emergency contact.Â
âOh, um, what?â Was all you managed to get out at first because of how confused you were by this abrupt phone call. Â
âHe just got here due to a head injury. Heâs doing okay right now, but the doctor thinks he might have a concussion. If you could get here as soon as you can, that would be great.â
How could you tell this nurse in a succinct number of words that it didnât make sense that you were still Steveâs emergency contactâ that you shouldnât have beenâ because you two hadnât seen or talked to one another since you broke up ten months ago? How could you also say that the last ten months had felt like years, so hearing Steveâs name for the first time since then was completely jarring, but also there were some moments where the breakup felt like only yesterday, so the immediate worry you started feeling upon hearing that Steve was in the hospital was unfamiliar but understandable? How could you tell her that your mind had suddenly become a weird, contradictory mess?Â
The answer was that you couldnât say any of that because she definitely wouldnât care to hear it. She was simply just doing her job, which meant calling the emergency contact number that was listed on file and informing them of blah, blah, blah. You werenât going to burden her with the logistics and technicalities of your and Steveâs relationship (well, lack thereof) and history.Â
âUm, yes, yeah, sure,â You responded instead. âIâll be there soon.â
âDonât you think thatâs kind of selfish?â He asked, his voice soft and unmistakably confused.Â
âHonestly, I think whatâs selfish is us staying together when we both know that we want completely different things.â
It was hard not to replay the last conversation you and Steve had on what felt like a constant loop as you drove to the hospital.Â
You really didnât want to see him, you realized.Â
When you walked out of his house for the last time, you planned to never see him again; mainly because it made the most sense. Some exes could be friends with each other, but that never felt like it could be the case for you and Steve.Â
You didnât break up because you stopped loving each other; you broke up because love wasnât enough.Â
How deeply you loved each other couldnât change the fact that you and he wanted two entirely different things out of life. And it got to the point where you two could no longer pretend and avoid that obvious truth. Â
You had no idea what it would be like to see Steve for the first time in almost a year. Youâd gotten so good at not thinking about him, at pushing away any and all thoughts that involved him or what your relationship was.Â
Honestly, there was a good chance that heâd hate seeing you again, but knowing Steve, heâd never say that to your face, which in some ways was kind of worse. If he was genuinely upset about seeing you again, youâd rather he just be honest about it.Â
Finding parking ended up being a lot easier than you expected it to be, and you thought that maybe that was a sign from the universe telling you that everything would be fine. You let that bit of potential false confidence lead you inside the hospital.Â
The older woman at the front desk was quick to tell you what room Steve was in, and you followed the proper signs until you were at his door.Â
You peeked through the small window on the door and saw Steve sitting upright on the side of the hospital bed with an ice pack to the left side of his forehead, and his eyes were shut.Â
You took a breath and gave the door a quick knock before walking in and grabbing his attention. âHi.â
Steve gave you the most confused look youâd probably ever seen from him. âAre you actually here right now, or is the concussion worse than what the doctor initially thought?â
âI would joke and say, yes, you are hallucinating right now, but given the current circumstances, that would probably be a really shitty thing to do,â You responded as you closed the door behind you. âSo, yeah, to answer your question, I am actually here right now. No, youâre not going insane.â
The confused look didnât falter. âWhyâ How are you here right now?â
âApparently, Iâm still down as your emergency contact.â
âOh,â He said; it all seemed to click into place for him. âShit, Iâm sorry. I completely forgot about that.â
âItâs fine. Honestly, I think youâre probably still mine too. Who actually remembers to change it?â You responded, trying to keep things light and as normal as they could be in this moment.Â
Steve gave you a quick nod in understanding in response, and before things could descend into an inevitable awkward silence, you gestured to the ice pack pressed to his head. âUm, so what happened?â
âI got hit with a baseball at practice,â He answered, and you probably shouldâve figured that was the case considering what he was currently wearing; the typical white polo, khaki pants, and blue bomber jacket. âOne of the kids said he wanted to try out pitching. And I now know that he has a great arm, but really bad aim. With a little more practice, I think he will be our best pitcher, though.â
You were suddenly reminded of why youâd fallen for Steve two years ago. Even though he was in the hospital because of this kid who accidentally hurled a ball at his head, his injury seemed like the least of his worries. You had always admired how much he loved his job and how proud he always was of the kids he worked with.Â
âHow are you feeling?â You asked because someone needed to worry, and as the emergency contact, that felt like it was technically your job.
âMy head still kinda hurts, but I feel okay right now,â He said as he readjusted his ice pack. âI got really dizzy after the initial hit and a little nauseous too, which is what made one of the parents call an ambulance, and the doctor thinks I just have a mild concussion, but he still wants to keep me here for an hour or two for observation to make sure itâs nothing worse.âÂ
âOh, okay, thatâs good,â You said, nodding. âNot the concussion, obviously, but the fact that itâs probably just a mild one.âÂ
Steve nodded too, and you didnât know what else to say, so you didnât say anything. You let your eyes roam around the small hospital room and noticed the tiny TV on the wall; you wished that it was on to fill the unmistakable awkward silence. Â
âYou donât have to stay if you donât want to,â Steve said after a long beat of silence. âI hope you donât feel obligated to be here right now.â
âItâs okay,â You told him. âI wanna be here.â
Weirdly enough, your words actually felt truthful, and you did not want to think about why that was the case.Â
Steve gave you a small smile. âThanks.â
You sat down in the chair that was tucked in the corner of the room, and Steve shifted around so that he was facing you. âSo, aside from what happened today, how have you been?â
âUm, yeah, good. Everythingâs been pretty much the same for me since weâŠâ Steve trailed off, trying to figure out how to finish his statement. âSince the last time we saw each other.â You figured it was less awkward to say that than to say âsince we broke up.â âOh, well, except Thompson finally retired, so Iâm teaching general Health now in addition to Sex Ed.â
Hearing that surprised you. âWhoa, I canât believe he retired. I seriously thought he would be at the school forever.â
âYeah, me too, honestly,â Steve responded. âBut heâs moving to Florida because he wants to be closer to his son and grandkids.â
âThatâs actually really sweet.â
The older man, formerly known as Mr. Thompson, had always been tough and kinda mean (which made sense to you because it just seemed so stereotypical), but it warmed your heart to learn that there was a bit of a softer side to him. Â
âHow have you been?â Steve asked. âHow have the new town and new school been treating you?âÂ
âItâs all been really good, honestly,â You answered, and it was the wholehearted truth. You didnât think about what the implications of your answer could be. If Steve would read deeply into the simple sentence and feel offended or upset by your words because they implied that you were doing good without him.Â
But, you refused to allow yourself to walk on eggshells about what he was maybe thinking or feeling. If you thought too hard about every little thing, you wouldnât be able to have a conversation with him.Â
He followed up with another question. âBetter than Hawkins?â
You nodded, not thinking too hard about your answer and just simply going with your gut. âBetter than Hawkins.â
âOuch,â Steve responded, placing his free hand over his heart in an overdramatic fashion. âThat feels like treason or something.â
You laughed a little. âI donât think thatâs how treason works, but I get what you mean.â
âThe kids miss you a lot,â Steve said, slightly shifting the subject. âThe new art teacher is much more⊠traditional than what you used to do with them.â
A small frown tugged at your lips. âNo more outdoor classes?â
âNope, and I hear complaints probably once a week about how deeply those are missed,â Steve answered. âOh, and that music thing youâd do on Fridays where youâd play a song and tell the kids to paint how theyâre feeling as they listen to it, they really miss that too.â
Inwardly, you smiled; that was always one of your favorite things to do in your classroom, and kids always seemed to love it too.Â
âWhat does the new teacher do?â
âAccording to the kids, nothing fun. But I havenât popped in on one of her classes yet, so I donât know exactly how overdramatic theyâre being.âÂ
âTell them I miss them too,â You said, and then considered your words. âOr, wait, would that make things worse?âÂ
âYeah, theyâd probably revolt and start striking until you came back,â Steve responded playfully, giving you a smile.Â
You couldnât help it, you smiled back. âWell, we definitely canât have that, so donât mention to them that you saw me.â
âOnce Iâm back to school on Monday, Iâll pretend that this interaction never happened.â
You nodded at that, still failing to hold back your smile. âGood.â
This was fine; this was easy. But also maybe it was too fine and too easy. In the grand scheme of what this current situation was, things effortlessly falling back into a comfortable territory between you and Steve was good, but in some ways it was also dangerous.Â
The kind of dangerous that made you realize that you needed to get out of here sooner rather than later, before you fell into an all too familiar deep end.Â
You opened your mouth to say not exactly that but a version of itâ âHey, so I gotta head home and work on a bunch of school stuff; new lesson plans and whatnot. I hope your head feels better soon. It was good seeing you.âÂ
However, before even the âheyâ could form on your lips, the door opened, and in walked who you could only assume was the doctor.Â
âHey, Mr. Harrington, howâs your head feeling?â
Steve shifted around so that he was facing him and pulled the ice pack off of his forehead. âStill a little throbby, but a lot better than an hour ago.â
The doctor nodded at that, and then his eyes settled on the clipboard in his hand. âYou still feeling nauseous?â
âNo.â
âAny more dizziness?â
âNo.â
âOkay, thatâs good.â He set the clipboard to the side and pulled out one of those doctor-type flashlights from his chest pocket, flashing a light into Steveâs left eye for a quick second and then doing the same to his right. He then inspected the bruise on Steveâs forehead. âYouâre looking a lot better than how you were an hour ago, which is great. Do you have ibuprofen at home?â
âYeah, I think so,â Steve answered.
âOkay, take that to help with your headache. Your girlfriend can take you home now.âÂ
âSheâs not my girlfriend.â
âIâm not his girlfriend.â
The slightly different sentences practically stumbled over each other as you and Steve both rushed to make the correction.Â
âSorry, my mistake,â The doctor said as he picked up his clipboard again. âYour friend here can take you home.â
Steve shook his head. âShe canât do that either.â
You jumped in before you could potentially think better of it. âYes, I can. Itâs fine.â
Steve turned to look at you. âYou sure?â
âYeah, itâs okay,â You told him with a quick nod. âPromise.â
You didnât know why you were doing this. You had been moments away from telling Steve that you had to leave, and now you had impulsively roped yourself into taking him home?Â
It was probably a bad idea, but what would the other option have been? Let Steve take a cab home from the hospital? Even you could recognize how severely messed up that would be.Â
âOkay, thatâs settled then. If any symptoms start coming back, or your headache gets worse even with the medicine, or anything like that, come right back to the emergency room,â The doctor said, to which Steve nodded understandingly, and then he left the room, leaving you and Steve alone again.Â
âIâm not parked too far from here,â You said, breaking the quiet as you stood up from your chair.Â
Steve followed suit, standing up from the hospital bed. âOkay, lead the way.â
âOh my god, what are you doing?â It was the first thing that came to your mind, and you couldnât help but blurt the words out.Â
They definitely were not the average response that someone would have to their long-time boyfriend proposing to them, but your gut instinct was telling you to run away from this entire moment, so you did exactly that, or at least something that felt equivalent to that but slightly less insane.
You quickly turned away from Steve, leaving him alone in his bedroom, and rushed to the bathroom down the hall, closing and locking the door behind you.Â
You looked at yourself in the mirror for the briefest second before turning away and leaning back against the sink.Â
The last minute started flashing in your head on what felt like an endless loop. Steve down on one knee. Steve holding the velvet box in his hand. Steve smiling up at you. Repeat, repeat, repeat.Â
No matter how hard you tried, you couldnât push the look on his face out of your head, the hopeful and genuinely happy look in his eyes.Â
God, you felt like you could throw up.Â
Why was he doing this? Why was he ruining something that was so damn good?Â
The sound you expected to hear came moments later; three quick knocks against the bathroom door.Â
âWhat just happened?â Steveâs voice was only slightly muffled through the door.Â
âI could ask you the same thing,â You said, making your voice loud enough so he could hear you, because in this moment you refused to open the door.Â
âI was about to ask you to marry me, and you ran away.â He sounded genuinely hurt, and you squeezed your eyes shut.Â
Your heart was pounding in your ears. âWhy were you about to ask that, Steve?â
âIt felt right.â
âWeâve talked about this.â
âWe talked about it one time almost a year ago. I thought maybe things changed,â He responded, his voice so soft that it almost felt too hard to hear him. âWeâve been so good. It felt like the right time to do this, the right next step for us.â
Finally, you unlocked the door and pulled it open. Your eyes met Steveâs as you quietly shook your head.Â
Before he could question what your head shake meant, you started speaking. âNothing has changed for me.â
A sad look crossed his eyes for the briefest of moments. âNothing?â
You shook your head again instead of verbally saying anything because you didnât trust your voice in this moment. You watched as Steve seemed to process your nonverbal response as he walked into the bathroom and sat down on the shut toilet seat.Â
You watched him for a second longer before moving toward him and settling yourself in his lap. Steve accepted the action immediately, hands finding your hips like it was second nature to do so.Â
âI like things as they are,â You told him, letting your own hands settle on his shoulders. âI love things as they are with us. Why does it have to change?â
âBecause we love each other,â He answered, as if that was the secret to the universe. âBecause I want us to have more.â
In hindsight, you shouldâve seen this coming. Fundamentally, you and Steve were different. He wanted the traditional things that some people wanted in life; marriage, kids, being happily settled down in one place.Â
And you didnât want any of that. Quite honestly, the thought of having any of those things had never made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, it made you feel stuck.Â
You and Steve knew this about each other from the beginning. After you met him when you started teaching at Hawkins Middle and you two became friends, and before he kissed you for the first time at the annual Sno Ball dance because you two could no longer seem to deny the obvious.Â
You both knew that in the grand scheme of things, what you wanted out of life was completely different. However, everything else about you two together was perfect, so you two decided to push this one minor (read: huge) difference to the side because what was the point of thinking about things that would be years down the road during the early stages of your relationship?
Except now it was no longer the âearly stagesâ of the relationship, and it seemed like you two were finally hitting that crossroads.Â
Because Steve wanted more.Â
And you honestly couldnât even fault him for that. You and he had been together for almost two years at this point; it made sense that he wanted more. Â
And you loved Steve, but that didnât change who you were.
âI donât want that,â You told him softly. âI donât want anything more.â
His eyes searched yours for something that you werenât sure if you were able to give him. âBut maybe you will eventually?â
You really wished that you couldâve said yes to him. Yes, your feelings toward marriage and kids and that sort of life-changing commitment would eventually change, and instead youâd want exactly what he wanted.Â
However, you had never lied to Steve, and you didnât want to start now.Â
âI donât know. I donât think so,â You admitted honestly.Â
His eyes dropped from yours, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking, really thinking, and you had no idea what he was about to say.Â
âOkay,â He ultimately said and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, which surprised you. âThatâsâ thatâs okay. Letâs just pretend this whole thing never happened. Weâll keep things as they are with us, and yeah. Letâs forget this happened.â
Steveâs hands moved from your hips so that he could wrap his arms around you completely, pulling you into him. You almost let yourself fully lean into his touch and let yourself forget what had happened barely ten minutes ago, just like he said, but you couldnât.Â
âNo, I donât wanna forget about it,â You said as you pulled back a little.Â
If you two forgot about this, wouldnât this all just repeat itself eventually? You felt the need to face it head-on now.Â
Steveâs eyes met yours. âI donât mean forget about it forever. I just mean letâs push it to the side for now and revisit it later. Maybe then youâll have changed your mind, or maybe Iâll want what you want. We can talk about all of this again some other time. A few months from now, maybe?â
A part of you wished that you could be as hopeful as him. Instead, you sighed. âI donât wanna revisit this conversation ever again.â
âDonât you think thatâs kind of selfish?â He asked, his voice soft and unmistakably confused.Â
âHonestly, I think whatâs selfish is us staying together when we both know that we want completely different things,â You said as you detangled yourself from him and stood up. âPretending like everything is fine and hoping that one of us will eventually change is not fair to either of us.â
Steveâs eyebrows furrowed. âSo, what are you saying?â
Please donât make me say it.Â
You quietly stared at him, and he stared right back, until you took the cowardly way out and turned around because it felt physically impossible to look at him as you said the words.Â
âWe should break up.â
You heard his quiet scoff first, and then you heard his footsteps receding down the hallway.Â
Iâm sorry.Â
You wanted to say that out loud too, but the sudden lump in your throat made it feel entirely too hard to speak.Â
You quickly grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen from Steveâs medicine cabinet and then promptly left the small space so that you could push away all of the harsh memories that were starting to hit you.Â
You handed the bottle over to Steve, who was at his kitchen sink, filling a glass with water.Â
âThanks,â He said as he grabbed the bottle from your outstretched hand and then opened it up to take two pills. âYou still want the leftover spaghetti, right?â
âYes, Iâd never pass up your spaghetti,â You answered him. âAnd Iâm also starving right now because I havenât eaten since my lunch hour at school, so I'd honestly probably take any food from you right now.â
During the drive from the hospital, you asked Steve if he wanted to stop somewhere to pick up something for dinner, but he said that he had leftover food from last night that he was going to eat, and he told you that you could join him too if you wanted. When you two left the hospital, your initial plan had been to just drop him off once you got to his house, but you really did love his spaghetti.Â
You two ended up on Steveâs couch in his living room, bowls in hand and half watching the sitcom that was playing on the TV.Â
âIâm just now realizing that I asked you about school and teaching, but I didnât ask about how your own art is going,â Steve said, turning to look at you. âHow is it?â
That question didnât necessarily surprise you; Steve had always been one of your biggest supporters when it came to your art. Constantly lingering at the door of your âart studio,â which was set up in the empty bedroom in your apartment, because he was always just so curious to see what you were working on. And youâd constantly shoo him away because you didnât like anyone seeing your works in progress.Â
âBut I love seeing the process. Itâs really cool,â Heâd say with a pout on his face that he hoped would convince you to let him continue his observing, and youâd kiss him on the cheek before still shooing him away. The pout only sometimes worked.Â
âI just finished this new collection two weeks ago, and Iâm hoping it gets picked to be a part of this showcase that a friend of a friend is having at her art gallery at the end of the month,â You answered as you mindlessly twirled some spaghetti around on your fork and focused your eyes on that instead of Steve. âAnd I also got selected for an art residency in Maine. It starts at the end of June and goes until late August.â
âWow, thatâs awesome. Congrats,â Steve responded, and he sounded so genuinely happy for you that you finally met his eyes.Â
âThanks,â You said, suddenly feeling insanely shy for some reason, even though you hadnât felt that way around Steve in ages.Â
âHey, if your work does get picked for the art show, let me know when it is. I definitely wanna come and check it out.â
You nodded before you could think better of it. âYeah, of course.â
It would be pretty safe to say that all logical thinking had officially been thrown out the window for you, which was probably a bad thing, but it was too hard to pretend that this wasnât nice. And for the time being, you allowed yourself to lean into it.Â
You set your empty bowl on the coffee table and then looked at Steve again. âDo you have cookies?â
âOf course. I always keep chocolate chip stocked,â Steve answered, and you smiled, glad that that was something that hadnât changed in the past ten months.Â
He grabbed your bowl off the table, stacking it on top of his, and then headed into the kitchen. You followed him, watching as he placed the bowls in the sink and then headed to his pantry. The light above the stove was the only thing that brought some soft light to the kitchen, but it was hard not to immediately take notice of the all too familiar blue Chips Ahoy! packaging that Steve pulled out from the pantry. He set it on the counter near the stove and opened it, offering it to you first.
A silence that was entirely different from what it had felt like at the hospital started to linger as you two leaned against the counter and shared chocolate chip cookies. This quiet was comfortable, and a perfectly welcoming contrast from how things had felt earlier. It made you forget that this âcomfortable territoryâ was the exact thing that you had wanted to avoid back at the hospital because it would probably only make things harder.Â
It would make leaving harder, it would make forgetting about Steve again harder, it would make everything harder.
âOkay, please feel free to tell me to fuck off with this question, but Iâm just⊠I guess Iâm just kinda curious,â Steve said, breaking through your thoughts. He paused for a second, and you looked at him, unsure what he was about to say. âAre you dating right now?â
That was not at all what you were expecting him to ask you. It actually managed to surprise you so much, in comparison to what you had just been thinking about, that your immediate thought was to simply be honest.Â
âOh, um, yeah, Iâve been on a few dates here and there, but nothing serious.â You shrugged like none of those prior dates had mattered, which they hadnât. You considered not asking him the question back, but you suddenly became too curious not to. âWhat about you?â
âNothing serious either,â Steve answered, and you nodded instead of saying anything.Â
You thought about asking him why he wanted to know about your current dating life, but a part of you didnât want to hear the answer, whatever it would be. It would probably only add to the growing list of reasons why you shouldnât be at Steveâs place in this moment. The growing list that you still refused to listen to.
You grabbed another cookie and leaned back against the counter, looking away from Steve. You silently wondered if his dating life resembled yours in any way. If the dates heâd been on since the breakup were also a series of duds that were defined by awkwardness, having little to nothing in common, and shitty kisses.Â
Would that be too weird to talk about?
Or was this entire moment slightly weird and unprecedented, so actually there was nothing that could be deemed as âoff limitsâ?
You finished the rest of your cookie and decided to go with the latter. âCan I be embarrassingly honest right now?â
Steve didnât hesitate to nod. âShoot.â
âAll the dates Iâve been on have sucked, pretty much. Theyâre either terribly boring or disgustingly awkward, and somehow I end up with the worst kissers ever, too,â You told him. Admitting that definitely felt just as embarrassing as you thought it would feel, but it also felt kind of nice to put that out in the open for absolutely no reason at all. âAnd granted, Iâve only kissed three people since we broke up, but still, absolutely no comparison to you.â
âThat is probably the best compliment Iâve ever gotten,â Steve said, a smile tugging at his lips. âThank you.â
âAnd now youâre supposed to return the compliment and say that Iâm the best kisser youâve ever had too.â You were mostly joking with your words, but you were still kind of curious to hear Steveâs response.Â
His smile only seemed to grow. âNo one else has ever come close to you.â
You smiled back at him. âThank you.â
Steve was the one to break eye contact after a moment, grabbing another cookie and focusing on that for a moment.Â
âHonestly, I think thatâs one of the things I miss the most. Out of the physical stuff, at least,â He abruptly said, meeting your eyes again. âKissing.âÂ
You nodded your head immediately. âGod, yes, I swear itâs one of the most underrated things ever when itâs actually the most important.â
âAnd itâs very fun.â
âVery fun,â You agreed.Â
Perhaps it wouldâve been better to use past tense when it came to basically talking about kissing each other, but neither of you decided to correct yourselves. You also didnât look away from each other, even as a long quiet began to stretch and build a home in the air of the kitchen. It felt as if you both were silently daring the other to be the one to look away first. But you refused to lose this sudden staring contest, and apparently, Steve didnât want to lose either.Â
The amount of current space between you two had already been minimal, but in this moment, it was continuing to shrink. It was almost as if there was some imaginary force pushing you two together, when in actuality, it was simply just your bodies moving faster than your minds. One second you were blinking, and in the next you both were closing the final bit of distance between you two, meeting halfway.Â
Your arms came up to loosely wrap around Steveâs shoulders and his immediately circled your waist, drawing you as close as you could be to him. The look on his face in this momentâ a look so full of pure want and adorationâ shouldâve scared you, but you instead let it put your heart at ease for the time being.  Â
You decided to do something that youâd probably deem stupid in a weekâs time once logical thinking finally sank in. However, even though you would probably consider it stupid, you werenât sure if youâd end up completely regretting it.Â
And that final thought was what made you press your lips against his, letting your heart lead you entirely in this moment. Steve tasted like the cookies you two had just been eating, so sweet and perfect, and you immediately realized just how goddamn right youâd been. Kissing Steve was one of the best things ever, and it wasnât even over yet, but you were already missing the feeling of his mouth on yours.Â
Steveâs hands tightened on your waist as he maneuvered you two around so that you were pressed back against the counter, and yours dropped from his hair and found the edge of the counter so that you could push yourself up. Your lips detached from Steveâs for the briefest second before both of your hands were cupping his face and you were leaning in again. Â
You turned your mind off completely and only decided to focus on the feeling of Steve. His mouth on yours, his slightly grown-out hair brushing against your forehead, and his warm hands that you could feel through the thin fabric of your shirt. He gave your hips a squeeze, and you let out a soft sound that drove Steve absolutely insane and made him groan into the kiss too.Â
His left hand was moments away from slipping under your shirt, but then he was abruptly pulling away from you completely and taking a few steps back.
He covered his face with his hands for a moment and then looked at you. âIâm sorry.â
You blinked at him, unable to say anything for a moment. Your heart was hammering in your chest due to what you two had just been doing, and your mind felt effectively fuzzy. You shook your head in confusion. âWhat? Sorry for what?âÂ
âIâm sorry for proposing to you back then,â Steve answered, which only furthered your bewilderment. âIt was a shit thing to do when we really hadnât talked about it enough, and the only time we had talked about it was when you told me that you were against it.â
The timing of all of this didnât really make sense to you. Your body still felt like it was on fire because of the kiss, and going from that to an entirely serious conversation felt like an insane kind of whiplash.Â
âWhy are you thinking about that right now?â
âBecauseâŠâ He trailed off with a sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. âI donât know. I never said it in the moment, and then I donât know why I was thinking about it in this moment, but I just realized that I never apologized at all, and I suddenly felt so shitty about that.âÂ
âI donâtâ You donât⊠Thereâsââ You took a breath and tried to get your thoughts together. âThereâs nothing to be sorry for. I donât think I was ever really upset with you for proposing. I think I was⊠more sad, if anything? And not because you proposed, but because that whole thing just forced us to look at our relationship and how different we are, and yeah.âÂ
You shrugged after saying your final words because you didnât know what else to do or say, and your eyes dropped from his.Â
âIâm sorry too, though,â You abruptly told him before he could say anything about what you had just said. âFor kissing you like two seconds ago. That was⊠It wasâ It probably wasnât the right thing to do.â
He shook his head, and a small smile tugged at his lips. âDonât be sorry about that. If you hadnât done it, I definitely wouldâve.â
You let out a laugh at his words because you couldnât help it, they were a nice contrast from the seriousness of the conversation, and you reached out so that you could grab his hand and pull him in for a hug. His arms instinctively circled around your waist, and yours came up to wrap around his neck. Kissing Steve was great, but this was really good too, and you knew that youâd miss it just as much.Â
âI can be different,â Steve mumbled into your neck. âI can just decide to want something different, if it means getting to be with you.â
You took a moment to try and imagine it. Steve not settled down in one place. Steve not surrounded by a gaggle of kids that he called his own. Steve not in a cozy house with a wife who he loved and adored and probably wouldnât hesitate to die for.Â
It was a truly sucky thing to picture.Â
You pulled back so that you could look at him, and your hand found his cheek. âIâd never let you do that.â
He turned his head so that he could kiss the inside of your palm. âYeah, Iâd never let you change either.â
âThere were a lot of times right after we ended things that I really wished I wanted what you want,â You said, deciding to dive headfirst into honesty.Â
Steve gave you a small, sad smile and then pressed his forehead into your shoulder. âMe, too.â
You two stayed like that for the time being. His face in your neck, your chin on his shoulder, and your arms wrapped around one another. Neither of you said the words right then, but both of you knew that this was it. And it wasnât because either of you wanted that to be the case, but because it had to be. Nothing had changed in the past ten months, and worse than that, nothing would ever change.Â
It was kind of hard to fully accept that, though, because of how unfair it was.Â
âSoâŠâ Steve pulled back a bit and met your eyes. âNow what?â
You wanted to shake your head and shrug, tell him that you werenât sure, but you didnât do that.
âI go home, and we both remember to change our emergency contacts, andâŠâ You trailed off, unsure of how to finish your statement. âAnd thatâs that, I guess.â
âAnd thatâs thatâŠâ Steve said, and it was as if he wasnât entirely sure about the words and wanted to test them out first. âOkay.âÂ
The final word was spoken quietly, and you nodded because what else was there to do, really? Steve pulled away from you completely so that you could hop off the counter, and you missed his warmth immediately, but you, of course, didnât say that. He followed you to his door, and you slipped on your shoes before turning around to face him.
It wasnât like you two were breaking up again, but it felt so weirdly close to it. There was a part of you that felt exactly how you had when it happened ten months agoâ you didnât want to leave, but you knew that you had to, and you wanted to cry, but you really didnât want to break down in front of him.Â
You forced out a goodbye, and Steve did the same, but before you could turn around again, he reached out and pulled you in. You accepted the embrace immediately, even though you knew it only prolonged the inevitable. Â
âThank you for coming to the hospital today,â He whispered. âYou didnât have to, but you did, and Iâm really glad you did, so thank you. Seriously.âÂ
You wanted to tell him that there was no need to thank you and that you didnât mind helping him out today, but instead you said, âYou wouldâve done the same for me.â
Steve only squeezed you tighter in response and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. It was such a simple and minimal action, but it did a lot to you. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed away the fresh onset of tears that were threatening to spill.Â
You didnât want to let go, but you did. And you didnât want to pull open the front door, but you did that too.Â
The walk to your car was quicker than you expected it to be. Once you were settled in the driverâs seat, you looked at Steve still standing in his doorway. He waved at you, and you waved back, and then you forced yourself to look away and finally head home.
Ë àŁȘâ his messy brown hair, the marlboro classics in his back pocket, his strong (slightly rough) hands, the pillow lines on his cheeks, the never having to open your own door again, his flushed skin in the height of summer, the eye contact, the tan lines on his hipbone, the almost kisses that turn into never-ending kisses, him being so handsome that it hurts, the taste of coffee and cinnamon, the nervous glances that lead to nervous touches, the white t-shirt on his bedroom floor that you'll take home with you, the freckles on his jaw, the passenger seat of his car, his pretty eyes Ë àŁȘâ
Summary: Life happens. Life gets stressful. And what's a better way to handle it than by turning off your brain for a while? You hit up the local dealer, clueless on how buying works. Unfortunately, you're damn near tweaking on the day of the meeting. Eddie's not stupid, though. He can tell something isn't right. And he's not selling you squat until you open up.
WC: 2.1k
Warnings: Weed, reader is going through it, language
Masterlist
You checked your surroundings like a deer in the middle of hunting season. To the outside eye, you probably looked like one, too. Alone in the woods, paranoid, unarmed... you weren't exactly screaming "don't mess with me." No; if anything, you were a welcoming target. Alone in the woods, paranoid, unarmed... not a good look for you.
"Well, shit," a smooth voice hummed, seemingly appearing from thin air. A twig snapped under his foot as he drew nearer. "Of all the people at school, I never thought I'd be selling to you."
You looked up at him, eyes wide and alert. Eddie always scared you from afar. The individual parts to him weren't that frightening. You could never tell him, but you thought his battle jacket was sick as hell, and so was the rest of his getup. His hair seemed fun, so to speak, and his big smile-- always like a kid on Christmas-- told you that he came in peace. But all together? He was sort of intimidating. Not so much that you'd burst into tears if he spoke to you, but enough to keep you from ever approaching him. That's why you dropped the note in his locker instead of making a phone call or having a conversation. That note let you cower away.
"Well, let's get down to business." Eddie let his lunch pail clatter onto the picnic table. He gestured across from him. "Have a seat. Can't do business if you're six feet away."
You stepped away from the tree you'd been leaning against and over to the table, sitting silently on the very edge of the bench. He shot you a weird look but didn't say anything on the matter.
"So, Four-Point, what brings you to me?" He inquired, propping his elbows up on the table and joining his hands together. His chin came to rest atop his fists.
"Four-Point?" You squeaked. Damn. Wait to be cool.
"Yeah. Four-Point. How have you not heard that before? Half the school calls you that."
Oh, God. Half the school?
Eddie immediately backtracked, seeing the nervous look on your face. "It's not a bad thing," he assured you. "It's just because you're so smart. Four-Point, as in a 4.0 GPA. It's not because you're, like, a square or anything."
"A square?" You glanced up at him, daring to make eye contact only for a few seconds before you returned to the pile of pine needles on the table. "People think I'm a square?"
"God, I'm making it worse, aren't I?" He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. "You're not a square. That was just the only other reason I could think of that somebody might be called Four-Point. Everybody calls you that because you're smart. As in, the GPA. Okay?"
You swallowed and nodded. You weren't so sure he was telling the truth, but anything to get what you needed and get out of here. "Okay."
"Okay, then." Eddie smiled softly. "Good. Now, business. Based on your whole deer-in-headlights look right now, I'm going to assume this is your first time buying?"
You nodded shyly.
"Hey, nothing wrong with that. We all start somewhere." He began rifling through his pail, setting a bag of pretzels down on the table, then a tin, rattling with something small inside, and finally, a dime bag stuffed with a mossy green substance. "So, considering this is your first time, this little baggie here will probably be enough. But... it would help if I knew what the problem was."
You paused for a moment, on edge. How did he know about your problems? Had somebody heard you talking to your guidance counselor? Damn it; you knew this would happen. You found the courage to make eye contact again, then spoke in a tiny voice. "P-problem?"
"Yeah," Eddie affirmed. "Problem. I don't know you well, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem like the type to smoke recreationally. So, what is it? Joints giving you problems? Trouble sleeping? Home sucks?"
Home sucks.
God, he couldn't have summed it up better. Home sucked butt right now. School sucked, too. And so did work. And your head. You couldn't even retreat to your room and hide from your problems anymore, because they followed you into your dreams like some sort of reverse Freddy Krueger. You'd been having the stereotypical, stupid dreams about losing teeth for three days straight. Next, you'd be chased off a building and fall for a million years, only for your teeth to fall out once you hit the pavement.
"I--" The words caught before you could even get halfway through the sentence. You swallowed, but it didn't do anything for the dryness in your throat, or the tears welling up in your eyes.
"Oh. Oh, shit." Eddie straightened up, pretty brows furrowing in concern. "Hey, I didn't mean-- what happened?"
You moved your mouth wordlessly, begging syllables to work with you. "E-everything..." you managed. A sob forced its way out before you could stop it. The first of many.
"Jesus, um..." He looked around, as if there would be a trusted adult to wave over. When he found no one, he reached across the peeling table and patted your hand uncertainly. "It-- it's okay. Do you want to give me some specifics? You don't have to, but it might help if you got it off your chest..."
"I-- I got kicked off the tennis team because I hurt my wrist, and my mom got mad and isn't talking to me, but she keeps talking to my dad about it, and their room is right next to mine, so I can hear them talking at night, and I don't even understand what's so bad! I got hurt! It-- it's not like I got suspended or anything!" That was all you intended to tell him. You posted up the 'stop' sign in your head, but traffic laws don't apply to things that don't drive. "She's stressing me out because there's no way the tennis thing is the only reason she's not talking to me, but it's affecting my sleep, and that's affecting my grades, and my dad's not happy about that, and I don't know what to do!"
Eddie's thumb moved over your knuckles rapidly, like he couldn't comfort you fast enough. "Take a breath, okay? Just... just breathe a moment."
You didn't even try. You just pulled your hands away from his and cupped your face, wanting to hide. You hated crying in front of people. You hated being vulnerable. And here you were, all but wailing about your miseries with some guy who you'd never spoken to before. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, but who could tell under the flush from your tears?
"Hey... hey, come on..." He stood up from his side of the bench, drugs totally forgotten. He rounded the corner and came over to your side, hesitating before placing his hand on your shoulder. "It's all right."
"I-I'm so t-tired!" You cried under your palms.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that," he agreed. "Come on; put your hands down." Eddie crouched down beside you and took you by the elbows, turning your upper body to face him. He slid up to your wrists and gave them each a gentle tug. He bit his lip to keep down a smile when you resisted. "It's okay. Just look at me."
You let him pull twice more before allowing him to uncover your face. No amount of biting would keep down the smile now. Your cheeks were all wet and red and puffy, your nose a similar color. Your lower lip trembled between sobs, your lashes stuck together with tears... all things considered, you were a pretty crier. Or pretty in general.
"There... hi..." He nodded approvingly, still holding your wrists in his calloused, warm hands. "Good to see you. Can you breathe?"
You nodded. Now, how well you could breathe was up for interpretation, but oxygen went in and carbon dioxide came out. That was breathing in your book.
"Okay. Take a big breath and hold it for me. As long as you can," he instructed gently.
You tried, counting the seconds in your head. One... two... three... four... Just before you could think of 'five,' your body forced the air out, and the sobs started up again.
"Good. Again."
Again, and again, and again. Somehow, it worked. Before long, you were reduced to sniffles and hiccups. Eddies thumbs remained on your radials and his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. He gave you a moment of silence before breaking his news to you.
"I'm not going to sell you anything today."
Your stomach plummeted. Really? After pouring your heart out to him, laying out all the reasons why you needed the weed, and giving him a front row seat to the emotions you desperately needed to turn off, he wasn't going to give you anything?
"No, no. Eddie, I need this--"
"Shh..." He gave your wrists a little squeeze and shook his head firmly. "Bars won't serve you beer if you come in shitfaced. I, as a dealer, can't sell to you if you're already spiraling. I won't go to bed feeling good about that. I'm sorry about your wrist, and your mom-- that's really petty of her, by the way-- and about your grades and your wellness, but Y/N, I can't give this to you and feel okay about it."
A whine clawed its way up your throat. "What-- what am I supposed to do, then? If you won't help me, what am I supposed to do?"
"I didn't say I wouldn't help you," Eddie corrected. "I just said I wouldn't sell to you. Come on; stand up."
He didn't give you a chance to act on your own. He straightened his knees, hauling you up with him. He released your wrists, only to smooth the hair out of your face. He just looked at you for a second, as if confirming in his head that this was what he wanted to do, before wrapping his arms around you.
The first thing to hit you was the smell. You could smell the pot on his jacket; faint, like he'd smoked while wearing it and hadn't washed it since. The cologne masked it slightly, but not well. You couldn't describe it other than being akin to the holiday season. In that little gap between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Like sitting in front of a fire after eating a crazy amount of pie. The second thing you noticed was just how warm he was. Your breath bouncing between the crook of his neck, the cover of his curls, the heat in his palms against your back.
The last thing was the safety. Never in a million years would you have thought you'd buy from Eddie Munson or seek refuge in Eddie Munson. Hell, that you'd even talk to Eddie Munson. But he held you so close, with no expectation to talk or apologize. Just to be still.
"Weed won't fix this." His chest vibrated against your cheek. "I think a conversation would do more. Just, 'hey, mom, this is bullshit, let's talk.' Actually, you should see a doctor. You could get your wrist checked out, and then maybe get something proper for all this stress."
"It's just a sprain," you sniffled. "And she won't talk to me."
"Then write her a note. Leave it on her pillow or slip it in her bag. If she won't read it, write more. Keep writing until she caves or gets over herself and talks to you again."
"...you really think that'll work?"
Eddie pulled back slightly with a little sigh. His hands framed your shoulder blades. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know this lady. But the silent treatment? Over getting kicked off a team because of an injury? Even a five-year-old could see how stupid that is. At this point, I'm willing to bet she's only keeping it up because she's too proud to admit how stupid this is. If not..." He winced. "Mama might have some problems."
"What do I do if it doesn't work? The-- the letters, or the conversation."
"Call me," he said simply. "Then we'll talk about getting high, because that's a whole other demon. But for now, I'm prescribing you with hugs and deep breaths. You're in luck, too. Insurance covers everything."
You chuckled. Eddie's shoulders visibly relaxed at the sound, like he'd been freestyling this whole thing and just praying that something stuck. "Do I get free refills on the hugs?"
He pulled you back into him, smile widening. "Definitely."
Ask to join my taglist! Message me with the character(s) you want to be notified of (or just all posts in general), and I'll add you. Requests are welcome!
PAIRING; joe keery x fem!reader
SYNOPSIS; you're a friend of the stranger things cast and following the end of the series, you find yourself closer and closer to joe â and the fans pick up on it instantly.
WARNINGS; angst...
NOTE; face claim varies from post to post! just pretend they're all you. if you address the time stamps on anything im gonna eat you. NO ONE BE MAD AT ME PLS IM SO SORRY THIS BROKE MY HEART.
TAGLIST; @spideyzzn @webelong2gether @sexyvixen7 @kyzpixie @shaunagooner @dedicated-simp @djowantsyourvideo @prettyfortucker @nancywalkemdownwheeler @whysoseahrious @needjoekeery @fr3veryng @ripnanamin @multifandombliss @belongtoyou-u @pwincessangelmouse @redhexx @snowgirlieee @yikesdrama @basicbbeingbasic @lovrsinthedark @1011008 @izzycstairs @nataliaginkgo @disiscami @idontfeelsogoodallmight @dopeysunflowers @soobinspandulce @june-3-bug @hexyissy @borhapparker @lizzygranteded @mads-writes-vibes @littlepippilongstocking @beep2202020 @amirafloral @keepdriving @lilymayj @ttttt127 @thoroughlymimi @batmanssssss @enchantingduckbird @usteadyophelia @isabellaxlilah @hermionelaufeyson @runicjesterquake @ilikereadinghardcoresmut @msdankworthpotter @wtfaidhblog @djobrina1 @xbethanyx @bunnygirlsephi @inth3-meantime @xx-anastasia-xx
lmk if you wanna be added !
[ PT.1 ] [ PT.2 ] [ PT.3 ] [ PT.4 ] [ PT.5 ] [ PT.6 ] [ PT.7 ]
Liked by spotify, sadiesink_, devhynes, and 7.1M others
yourusername hihihi heres my new album philophobia i hope you guys like it đ
View 4,210,120 comments
spotify wow, ok, first thought... transcending the game
sadiesink_ WOW ok that was a whole lot im def not crying rn
devhynes loved producing this w/ you đ
calebmclaughlin are you okđ
gatenmatarazzo enough to bring a grown man to tears
oliviarodrigo oh my gosh everything you do is perfect ilysm
lilymhe oh my GOD, gonna go break up with my bf so i can experience this fully
alex_albon wait đ€
user4 GODDDDDDDDD
user9 i know im parasocial idgaf i genuinely sobbing uncontrollably pls unrelease this album pls pls y/n pls.
user0 oh shit oh shit oh shit
user7 joe when WE catch you
Liked by user11, celeb_gossip_, user5, and 992,129 others
yourlocalfangirl guys!!!!! i just met joe keery out in sohođ crying real tears
View 568,230 comments
user11 OHMYGOD YOU LUCKY BITCH DID YOU ASK HIM ABOUT Y/N
yourlocalfangirl YES I DID i asked him if he heard her new album and he said yes and i asked me if i heard it and what i thought of it and i said i heard it and i loved it so much but it was so sad!! he like nodded (2nd pic) and said yes and he agrees đđđđ
user11 holy. shit.
user7 god i see what you've done for others
Liked by finnwolfhardofficial, oliviarodrigo, jjacob.elordi, and 7.1M others
yourusername thank you jimmy for having me on tonight to perform my new song "casual"! it was an honor and i hoped you all enjoyed it đ
View 2,109,291 comments
fallontonight we all love you!! amazing performance as per usual
finnwolfhardofficial im not even joking this was truly magical yo
yourusername thank yew king
oliviarodrigo miss you girl
yourusername miss you more
user9 OH OK SO STAY OUT OF THE STUDIO BC THIS BROKE ME
user5 oh my GOD shes ethereal
user0 joe majorly fumbled holy fuq
user1 hi so is no one gonna talk about jacob fucking elordi in her likes or what
user22 nO I NOTICED THAT AND IM PEEPING IT
user4 did no one watch the performance??? all the comments are abt her looks or the guys which i get are a big part of this but her performance was genuinely one of the most heartbreaking things ever
â€ïž Liked by creator
user7 THANK. YOU. oh my god i was transfixed the whole time and it was so beautiful and she sounded SO upset and everyone keeps reducing it to a guy (no shade to joe)
user40 oh shiii she liked
youâre always spending all that stupid time with your band on the road.
but your band is all the rage, so Iâve been told,
but you can still come homeâŠ
summary: you feel like your boyfriend is leaving you behind and only aiming for stardom.
contents: minor fight; cheating accusations; insecurity; lowkey toxic⊠but they love each other, promiseâŠ.; kissing; hurt/comfort? idk
âAnd Iâm starting to think that you donât even love me anymoreâŠâ you crossed your arms across your chest, staring daggers into Eddieâs wide eyes. How could you think that?
Sure, maybe heâs been a little preoccupied with gigs and shows and making just enough money to buy you food and flowers once in a while. Maybe his daily phone calls turned into âIâm busy, can I call you later?â which turned into broken promises. But why should any of that matter? You should still know that he loves you with all his heart, right?
Okay, maybe you picked the wrong night to surprise him at the trailer. Maybe, just maybe, he took a little longer than usual to get home from the venue because some faceless person (that looked important at the moment!) offered to buy him a drink.
That was mistake number one.
Mistake number two was not feeling when that random groupieâs lips landed on his cheek as she was taking a picture with him after the show as he was too busy still riding the high of a successful show.
Mistake number three was not noticing the pink kiss mark it left and therefore not wiping it off.
Eddie closed the door to his room with a heavy thud and exhaled a deep breath that he had been holding all night, still bitter over the fact that you couldnât make it to his show over an awful headache.
âŠspeak of the devil
You, asleep on his bed, right here, right now. He doesnât know how long youâve been here, but based on your relaxed form, mustâve been an hour or even two.
He carefully shrugged off his jacket and guitar before kneeling besides his bed and enjoying the view of your calm sleeping face. He slowly dragged a finger along the bridge of your nose and watched your eyes scrunch as you drifted awake.
ââŠwhat a nice surprise.â He whispered, smiling.
âHow long have you been watching me, perv?â You rubbed the sleep away from your eyes.
âYouâre the perv! You broke into my room and even slept in my bed⊠now I know that Iâm your deepest fantasy but-â he was cut off by your lips pressing into his.
âStop talking and get on the bed.â Well, he didnât need to be told twice.
Your hand snuck under his shirt like fifteen times and his fingertip had managed to trace his own name on your back four times before the first time you pulled away to admire his face.
Usually, at times like this, your face would be sporting a satisfied and happy expression. You always loved to see how dopey he looked, how swollen his lips got and how messed up his hair managed to get. But something was off today, instead of adoration, all that he found of your face was almost worry and borderline disgust.
Your voice cut his thought process off.
â-Baby, whatâs that on your cheek?â He dragged a quick fingertip along his cheek where you were pointing. There seemed to be a sheen of pink, subtle enough to seem like nothing at first glance, but definitely visible enough to point out.
âIs that lipstick?â Fuck. Shit. This was bad. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. He could already see you slowly caging in on yourself and pulling away from him with a furrow to your brows.
âItâs nothing, just, uh- fuck, some groupie wanted to take a picture and kissed me, itâs nothing, promise.â He tried to look reassuring but could sense how red his cheeks were getting for some reason. You didnât look so convinced, your lack of response only solidified his thoughts.
âWhat is this? Do you not trust me?â Eddie felt almost hurt. His perfect girl, one and only, partner in crime, other half thinking that he would cheat on her with none other than some groupie? Come on!
âWell I donât know, Eds, you barely talk to me anymore, youâre always so busy with something else, and the one time I decide to pop by the trailer to see you after a gig youâre two hours late with a kiss mark on your cheek? Maybe Iâm just holding you backâŠâ your eyes avoid his as you pull further back.
â-and Iâm starting to think that you donât even love me anymoreâŠâ you crossed your arms across your chest, staring daggers into Eddieâs wide eyes. How could you think that?
âNoâŠ. Donât be like that, sweet thing⊠youâre my only girl and Iâm so lucky to have you, Iâd give you the world if I could⊠God, Iâm such a bastard⊠taking such a beautiful girl for granted and not loving her like I shouldâŠâ His brown eyes found yours again and he ran a hand through your hair.
âItâs you and me, baby, okay?â You only gave a weak nod. âHolding me back⊠no, youâre my muse, got it?â His gaze kept jumping between your eyes, looking for a sliver of trust and security.
ââŠyou still have to make it up to me, that really scared me.â Eddie recognised that sly look in your eye, the girl he loved and worshiped was back in front of him.
a/n: this is so short and bad đđ is it obvious Iâm sick?
Summary: You and Steve Harrington were never really anything. You were just the girl who made the last hours of his parties feel like they meant something. At least, until you stopped showing up.
A/n: fuck everyone who got this as their surprise song, anyways, as opposed to the song this has a happy ending, so enjoy!!
The music is too loud for how late it is.
Or maybe it just feels that way because everything else has started to quiet down, unnoticed, until quietness is the only thing left.
Itâs 5:00 a.m., or close enough. The clock on the wall has been stuck between numbers all night.Â
Steve Harrington is half-slouched, half-collapsed into the couch.
One arm hangs off the side, fingers barely grazing the floor, sticky from something he doesnât remember spilling. His head tips back against the cushions, eyes open but unfocused, fixed somewhere above the ceiling like thereâs something written there he has yet to figure out.Â
There are still people in his house.
Too many, honestly.
Someone laughs in the kitchen, loud and unfamiliar. A bottle clinks against the counter. A couple disappears down the hallway like this is normal, like this is his house but not really his space.
Everyone heâs ever known.
And somehow not a single person heâs actually looking for.
The front door creaks open.
Steveâs eyes flick toward it instantly.
Hope is quick. Reflexive. Stupid.
Stupid, because Itâs not you.
Just another guy-someone from school, maybe-dragging his feet in at this ungodly hour, talking too loudly about nothing.Â
The door swings shut again, and with it, Steveâs brief, flickering expectation dies just as fast as it came.
He exhales through his nose, slow, reminding himself.Â
Right.
You donât come anymore.
It hadnât been like that before. You used to show up late. Always late.
The memory hits him out of nowhere, uninvited and too clear, like everything from before somehow survived the blur of everything now.
The door opening. You stepping in, already half-smiling, half-annoyed.
âYou know you could not invite half of Hawkins, right?â
He remembers your voice, teasing him with a truthful smile. And SteveâGodâSteve would feel it instantly. That shift. Like the night finally made sense.
Heâd push himself off whatever wall he was pretending to enjoy leaning on, weaving through people just to get to you with a grin that spread across his face like a reward.Â
A reward to the hours he spent doing nothing but wait for you at every party, not even listening to anyoneâs words because all he could think about was you.Â
âYou came.â Heâd said. Like he wasnât sure you would. Like it mattered more than it should.
Youâd roll your eyes, brushing past him. âDonât sound so surprised.â
But youâd stay. That was the thing.
You werenât a party person. Never had been. You hated the noise, the mess, the people who got too close, too loud. Youâd hover in the kitchen, or sit on the counter with a drink watching everybody mush into one another, or disappear into quieter rooms and somehow, Steve always ended up there with you.
Not hosting. The thought that it was his party completely left his mind the moment you showed up.Â
Now the kitchen is full, and he doesnât step foot in it. Now the quiet rooms stay empty. Now he doesnât even try to look.
âSteve!â
He barely reacts when someone drops down beside him on the couch, too close, too energetic for the hour.
A girl. Familiar, but not familiar enough. Her hand lands on his arm like sheâs done it before.
Maybe she has but he canât remember, too lost in the thought of that it shouldâve been you.Â
It shouldnât feel wrong. But it does.
Because it shouldâve been you.
You, reaching for him like that without thinking.
You, nudging him when he drifted too far into his own head.
His brain does this cruel thing.Â
It expects you. It always does.
You never even had to say his name.
Youâd barely get the first sound outââSâââand heâd already be there, turning, stepping toward you like it was instinct, like he was tuned to you in a way he couldnât explain.
âThis partyâs insane,â the girl says, laughing, leaning into him like theyâre sharing something.
Steve glances at her, blinking slowly.
Her words take a second to land. He forces a smile. Itâs automatic at this point. âYeah.â He agrees. Not bothered.Â
She keeps talking about someone in the backyard, something that happened earlier, something that probably wouldâve been funny hours ago.
He tries to listen. But it all blurs together.
Her voice fades into the background, mixing with the music, the outside noise of people chatting.Â
And all he can think about is how you wouldâve reacted.
You wouldâve made a face. You wouldâve leaned over and whispered something sarcastic in his ear.
You wouldâve pulled him away after thirty seconds because you knew he wasnât actually listening.
His jaw tightens slightly.
The girl laughs again, nudging him. âAre you even listening right now?â Not really.Â
He huffs a quiet, humorless breath.
âYeah. Just tired.â
She doesnât believe him, but she doesnât push, either. Just shrugs, already half-distracted by something else.
Thatâs the thing about these people. No one looks twice. But you would. In fact, you wouldnât look away the first time in the first place.Â
You wouldâve kept him company all through every party.Â
At some point, he ends up in the bathroom. He doesnât remember walking there. The door clicks shut behind him, muffling the noise just enough that it feels like stepping underwater.
For the first time all night, itâs quiet.
Steve grips the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection. At his messy hair due to being run through one too many times, red rimmed eyes and his hollow expression.Â
One of the memories hits him again, sharper this time.Â
You, sitting on the counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him with that look, half amused, half something deeper. He knows youâre about to say something thatâs been bugging your mind.Â
âI think youâre trying too hard.â You say, firmly, shrugging like this wasnât the sentence that has been washing up your mind every time you get Steve in moments like these. Away from the crowd, without anyone to impress.Â
âWhat?â He answers, obviously a little confused.Â
âThis,â youâd said, gesturing vaguely. âThe wholeâŠKing Steve thing.â
Heâd frowned.
âItâs just a party.â But you both knew it wasât.Â
You shook your head, softer now.
âI like you better when youâre not like this.â
Not like this. Steve swallows, looking back at himself now. âShit,â he mutters under his breath. Because you were right. And worse because he knows it.
He stays in there longer than he should.
Long enough that the party starts to feel distant. Long enough that the silence becomes heavier than the noise ever was.
When he finally steps back out, it hits him all over again. The mess. The people.
The version of himself he slipped back into without even realizing it.
Someone calls his name from across the room again. This time he ignores it.
Instead, his eyes driftâslow, searchingâtoward the front door. Like they have all night. Like they keep doing without his permission. And the door? Itâs closed. Of course it is.
After everyone has left, Steve ends up back on the couch. Same position. Same spot. Like he never moved.
Except now the house actually is empty.
Cups litter the floor. Something sticky clings to his shoe when he shifts. A chair is knocked over near the kitchen. The air smells stale, heavy with everything the night dragged in and left behind as a reminder of whatâs left to clean  up.Â
He stares at the door again. One last time.
Again. Itâs stupid, at this point. Really stupid.Â
He knows youâre not coming. You havenât in weeks. Maybe longer.
He just⊠didnât want to admit it.
His throat tightens slightly, something uncomfortable settling in his chest. Because for the first time all night, thereâs no distraction left. No noise to drown it out. No one to pretend in front of.
Just him.
And the quiet realization thatâs been waiting for him to stop running long enough to catch up.
His gaze lingers on the door a second longer before finally dropping, his head tipping back against the couch.
A slow breath leaves him.
Another memory hits him.Â
It had never been about the parties for you.
Steve knew that.
You didnât show up for the music, or the people, or whatever reputation came with being seen at his house. Half the time, you barely spoke to anyone else.
But you always stayed for him.
That was the part he didnât understand at first.
Not until he started noticing the way your eyes tracked him across the room. Not in a clingy way. Not like you needed him.
More like you were making sure he didnât lose himself in it.
There were nights youâd catch his wrist as he passed, just for a second.
Not to stop him. Just to ground him a little.Â
âHey,â youâd say, softer than the rest of the room.
And that was enough.
Enough to cut through the noise. Enough to make everything else feel distant. Heâd lean in without thinking, like your voice existed on a frequency meant only for him.
And youâd always notice. Always.
The second his smile stopped being real. The second his laugh went a little too loud.
Youâd actually listen.Â
At least when you were there.
The house is quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful yetâjust empty. Hollow. Like somethingâs been taken out of it and nothingâs replaced it since.
Steve doesnât move from the couch. He hasnât for a while.
The clock still blinks. The floor still sticks. The air still feels too thick to breathe properly.
And the doorâ The door is still closed.
He lets his head fall back, eyes slipping shut for a second, exhaustion finally starting to settle into his bones now that thereâs nothing left to distract him from it.
This is it. This is whatâs left.
A trashed house. A quiet morning. And the realization that he spent the whole night waiting for someone who was never coming.
A knock breaks the silence. Barely there.
Steveâs eyes snap open.Â
For a second, he doesnât move. Doesnât breathe.
Because his brain, still stupid,hopeful and desperateâwonât let him believe it.
Not yet. The knock comes again.
Still quiet and still unsure.
Heâs on his feet before he fully registers standing, crossing the room faster than he means to, heart racing something sharp and uneven in his chest.
His hand hesitates on the doorknob for half a second. Then he pulls it open.
And itâs you.
You look out of place.
Not because you donât belong there, but because the night has already ended, and you werenât part of it this time.
Your eyes flick past him, briefly taking in the mess behind him; the cups, the overturned chair, the remains of everything.
Then you look back to him.
Thereâs no smile this time.
Just something careful still settled on your face.Â
âHey.â
His throat feels dry. Unsure. Like his brain is still catching up, too much happening all at once.Â
âHey,â he echoes, quieter.
For a second, neither of you moves and it feels awkward in a way itâs never been before.
Like you donât quite know where you stand anymore.
âI, uhââ you start, shifting your weight slightly. âI think I left my jacket here. A while ago.âÂ
Itâs a weak excuse. You both know it. But Steve nods anyway, stepping back to let you in.
âYeah. Yeah, itâs probablyâŠsomewhere.â
You walk past him slowly, more cautious than you used to be, like youâre not sure what version of him youâre walking into.
After all it has been weeks and you never know what to expect with Steve. Or with you. The last few weeks youâve spent avoiding him because facing your feelings with the fact that Steve the hair Harrington could never like you.
Even if you always saw right past that persona. He didnât.
He closes the door behind you, watching as you move through the space that used to feel familiar to you. During evening, at least.Â
You donât head for the kitchen. You donât make yourself comfortable. You just look around taking it all in.Â
âThis is new,â you say quietly.
Steve huffs, but thereâs no humor in it. He knows what you mean.Â
 âNot really.â
He lets silence overtake everything for a quick pause, hoping that what he says next wonât mess up the moment even more.Â
âI didnât think youâd come.â
You glance at him, something flickering across your face, searching for his eyes like thereâs a right answer and thatâs where youâll find it.Â
âI didnât,â you admit. âNot for that.â
Not for him. The words hang there, unspoken but understood.
Steve nods slowly, looking down at the floor for a second. âYeah.â
He clears his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet house. âWhere do you think you left it?â
Another dumb excusable question youâre both aware of.Â
You shrug slightly, arms crossing, bracing yourself against a feeling you canât explain yet. Â
âI donât know. Your room, maybe.â
His jaw tightens a little at that. You havenât been up there in weeks. Not since the last party you came to.Â
âYeah. Okay.â He nods once, not letting another memory flood both of your minds this time, then he gestures vaguely toward the hallway with a head shake. âIt could be there.â
You hesitate before moving. Just for a second,  deciding if this is a mistake, like youâre giving yourself the chance to turn around and leave.
Steve notices. Of course he does. He notices everything about you.
âI can check,â he rushes. âYou donât have to-â
âNo.â You shake your head, cutting him off, softer this time. âItâs fine.â
You step past him before he can say anything else.
He follows, a step behind, like he used to, but it feels different now. Less certain. As if heâs not sure heâs allowed to be that close anymore.
You reach his bedroom door first, pushing it open slightly, surprised it wasnât locked.
Even more surprised when you see how untouched it is compared to the rest of the house. He didnât let anyone in here.
You scan the room again, slower this time, like youâre giving yourself something to do.
âItâs cleaner in here,â you say, glancing back at him. âThatâs new.â
Steve huffs a quiet laugh from the doorway.Â
âYeah, well. People donât usually make it this far.â
âWow,â you deadpan. âI feel special.â, you joke, with a laugh, but the words had more weight to it. The word joke not holding itâs meaning anymore.Â
He shrugs, but thereâs the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. âYou are.â Like heâs not even thinking about it.Â
You chuckle, hoping he doesnât take it the wrong way and look away first, stepping further into the room, crouching slightly to check the side of the bed still holding onto the story. âIf I find it covered in something gross, Iâm leaving it here.â
âThatâs fair,â he says. âHonestly, Iâd probably do the same.â
You glance up at him. âYou would not.â
âI would,â he insists, pushing off the doorframe a little, stepping into the room. âI have standards.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou threw a party for half the town.â
âHey,â he points at you, mock-offended, âthose are unrelated issues.â
But you donât know the parties arenât for half the town. Theyâre not for his neighbours, for his classmates or anyone he ever knew.
Theyâre for you.
Why would he keep throwing them and pretend to thrive someplace that didnât include you. Even if that place included you for the last few hours only.Â
You stand back up, brushing your hands together like you actually found something, even though you didnât.
âStill not seeing it.â
Steve nods slowly, looking around like the jacket might magically appear if he tries hard enough. âItâs probably..uh..â he gestures vaguely toward his closet. âCheck there, maybe?â
You pull the closet door open, pushing aside a few hanging shirts without much hope. âIâm not digging through your entire house for one jacket.â
âWow,â Steve says lightly from behind you.
âDidnât realize it meant that little to you.â
You glance back at him. âItâs a jacket, Steve.â
âCold mornings are serious,â he shrugs, looking away from you.
Thereâs barely anything thereâjust a couple of boxes, a pair of old shoes.
And then something small, half-hidden near the corner. You reach for it without thinking.
ââŠwait.â
Steve shifts a little. âWhat?â
You pick it up, turning it over in your hand, squinting at it for a second, then your expression changes.
ââŠno way.â
Steve already knows that tone.
âWhat?â he asks, a little more cautious now.
You stand up, holding it out slightly. âYou still have this?â
Itâs a keychain.
Cheap. Plastic. Slightly scratched. From one of those dumb arcade prizes.
Steve freezes for half a second when he sees it. âOh,â he says quietly.
You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. âOh?â
âI mean-itâs just-â he gestures vaguely, already losing the point, âit was in there.â
âYou won this for me,â you remind him, as if he needs any reminding, turning it between your fingers. âAnd then got mad when I said it was ugly.â
âIt is ugly,â he defends, a small smile creeping in despite himself.
âYou were so proud of it though.â you add.
âI worked hard for that,â he shoots back. âThose machines are rigged.â
You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. âI think I said something like, âWow, Iâll treasure this forever,ââ you recall.
âYou were lying,â he says immediately.
âObviously.â
âYeah,â he nods. âI knew that.â
You look at it again, âI lost it likeâŠtwo days later.â
âI know.â
That makes you glance up at him. âYou do?â
Steve shrugs one shoulder. âFound it in my car.â
ââŠand just kept it?â you ask, searching for his eyes.Â
He hums, then, even quieter, âYeah.â
âYouâre weird.â You rush, before you could let your mind think too much of it. This meant nothing, you and Steve were nothing.Â
âGetting that a lot today,â he mutters in response.  But heâs smiling a little.
You step out of the closet, still holding the keychain, your fingers brushing over the scratched plastic absentmindedly.
âStill not my jacket,â you scoff, dramatically, feeling less out of place now.Â
âYeah,â Steve replies. âGuess not.â With raised eyebrows and a smile spreading into a grin already. Like he knew it wasnât there anyway as much as you did.Â
Neither of you moves much after that.
Youâre closer now. Not on purpose, itâs just how it ended up.
You glance down at the keychain again, then back up at him. âYou kept a lot of stuff like this?â
âNo,â he says. âJustâŠsome things.â
You tilt your head slightly. âImportant things?â
He lets out a quiet breath, like he didnât expect that question. âSomething like that.â
Your breath catches, taken back deciding on what youâre about to do next.Â
You shift your grip on the keychain, and your hand brushes his, this touching him on purpose.
Steveâs gaze drops for a second, then back up to your face like heâs searching for what this really means and the answer is on your face.
He takes a deep breath.Â
âYou still think itâs ugly?â he asks softly.
You hum, pretending to think about it. ââŠyeah.â
He nods. âFair.â Then you add, just as quiet: âBut Iâd probably keep it now.â
You donât move away after saying it. Neither does he. Thereâs barely any space left between you.
Steve lets out a small breath, deciding something again, knowing he didnât give it a second thought. Not even a first one. âYou can.â
You look at him. âYeah?â
âYeah,â he confirms. âYou can keep it.â He looks down at where your hands are still touching. âWas kinda yours anyway.â
You push harder against his hand, probing for one of his fingers, his hand, you donât even know, just wanting to hold a part of him in some way as slick as you can be.Â
âyeah?â You mutter, not losing your focus.
You settle on the finger closest to yours as quickly as you can, not wanting to make this more awkward than it already might be. He reaches for the keychain, both of you holding it tightly now.
But at the same time youâre scanning his eyes, scouring for any possible hint that says he doesnât want this, blinking as a way to cue him and let him know he can still pull away.Â
And instead of saying anything else, you lean your face closer, just slightly at first, giving him time to meet you there, if he wants to.Â
For a second, nothing happens.
Your breath mixes with his, close enough now that you can feel the hesitation in it, not unsure but like heâs not entirely sure this is real and happening.Â
His eyes flick between yours, searching, almost waiting for you to pull back, giving you every chance to.
You donât. But you donât get closer either, letting him decide what comes next.Â
So he closes the distance.
Itâs careful, barely there at first. His lips are brushing yours so lightly it almost feels accidental.Â
Like a test. And you still feel his reluctance, waiting for you to make it go away and confirm that he can be resolute in this.Â
And instead of stopping, you lean in just a little more.Â
Thatâs all it takes for the kiss to settle, both his and your lips catching each other tentatively. Chasing the taste of one another.
Steve exhales quietly against your lips, like something in him finally gives in and his hand lifts, slow, almost unsure, before resting gently at your side, still grounding himself in the fact that this is happening.
You tilt your head slightly, deepening it just enough to feel real, not rushed.
His thumb shifts faintly against your arm, a small, absent movement, like he doesnât even realize heâs doing it.
You try to think of how maybe this shouldnât be happening, like your lips shouldnât be so desperate and in seek of his the second he pulls back to breathe.Â
You should be bothered by sweat building on his pinky from you gripping it so tightly, but you just want more, more and more.Â
Because you know youâve wanted this for weeks. Weeks spent away from him, the moment only living in your imagination.
When you finally pull back, itâs unhurried, neither of you moving far, both still hovering in it, wanting it to continue. Your breath is uneven.
Steve lets out a quiet, disbelieving exhale, his eyes still half on yours, like heâs afraid if he looks away itâll disappear.
The keychain is still in his hands, pressed between his fingers.
Steve glances at it, then back at you, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. â..definitely not here for the jacket.â
You huff softly. âDonât ruin it.â
âIâm just saying.â
âDonât.â
âOkay,â he murmurs, still close. âOkay.âÂ
And heâs dropping the keychain in an instant, his hands framing for your cheeks, determined to kiss you again without any doubts.Â
he holds me in his arms but itâs no good, things donât go like they should
summary: you get a bad grade and go to your dealer turned best friend
contents: self indulgent because I measure my worth in academic achievements ahhhhh; crying; hurt/comfort; weed use; high school aged characters
a/n: oneshot so I donât go insane
Eddie woke up from his afternoon nap to rapid knocks at the door.
Strange, he wasnât expecting anyone and he wasnât blasting loud music so no neighbours should be complaining⊠Ignoring it was always a safe option but the knocking seemed almost polite, so it probably wasnât some asshole jock trying to torment him again. No harm in checking, right?
Just as he made his way to the front door the knocking stopped, still, he opened the door to check outside.
There you were, already turned around from the door and making your way away from his trailer. Eddie noticed how hunched over you seemed, almost as if ashamed or trying to make yourself smaller.
âHey! Wait, come back!â He called out and was going to go after you before he realised that going outside in just his sweatpants and no shirt might only scare you away. He rushed back inside scrambling for a shirt, a sweatshirt, a blanket, anything to cover up. He usually wouldnât care but it was you. And he sure did care about you. His guardian angel who dropped down to Earth and somehow landed on the picnic table just as he was dealing for one of your friends.
He was glad to hear your footsteps coming back but it worried him when he heard a few sniffles. Screw the shirt, he had never turned around quicker.
There was an evident pout in your lips and your eyes had a slight gloss to them, he would be lying if he said he wasnât worried.
âWhatâs wrong? What happened?â His hands found your upper arms, his thumbs instantly rubbing a soothing motion over them.
You put your hands over your face, trying to hide from him.
âItâs stupid.â It came out in a mumble from behind the palms of your hands.
âHey- no- nothingâs stupid when itâs you, angel.â The petname came almost naturally when it was you. Still, it earned a snort from you, you slowly removed your hands from your face.
âAngel is so not something you say.â Even though you found it annoying, there was still a soft blush on your cheeks, it made Eddie smile, his own cheeks earning dimples.
âMaybe, but it fits you so I donât really care.â His thumbs continued their motions as he kept looking at you with this adoring look in his eyes that was so familiar and so Eddie you couldnât help but calm down.
âSo, want to tell me about it?â
-
â-and I studied so hard just to barely write anything on the test, I donât know what happenedâŠâ you were sat on his couch holding a cup of orange juice (as it was the only beverage in the trailer aside from milk or tap water).
âWell, you gave it your all and exams are rigged anyway and-â Eddie sat next to you on the sofa, desperately trying to get his point across.
âOr Iâm stupid.â You countered his argument, his eyes immediately widened.
He turned to you and found you staring into nothing with a bitter expression on your face. He could practically hear your thoughts, repeating that same word. Stupid stupid stupid.
âIf youâre stupid, I am beyond lost and America is doomed. Youâre the smartest person I know.â It was still evident you didnât believe him.
âCome on, think about it, if it werenât for you, I wouldnât have passed any of my classes this year. Smartest girl Iâve ever met, Iâm telling you.â He nudged your shoulder with his.
ââŠNot smart enough, apparently.â
A soft sigh escaped your lips. But your breathing wasnât shallow and your eyes werenât glossy like when you first entered the trailer, so Eddie felt a sense of relief.
âWant to do something?â He nudged your shoulder again, making you sway slightly.
ââŠor maybe smoke somethingâŠ?â He continued in a hushed and dragged out voice.
âEddie, I didnât bring any money with me⊠I wasnât even planning on smoking today-â
âNonsense, time to activate your sad-girl-discount.â
Eddie practically jumped off the couch and rushed into his room to get his pre rolled joint, one that he planned to smoke on a better occasion than you getting a bad grade, but alasâŠ
Thatâs how the two of you ended up laying in his bed, hazy and calm. Overtaken by the silent melody of his cassette player, interrupted by nothing but the cheery chirping of birds outside and the soft static of your thoughts. This time they werenât filled with thoughts of failure, but with quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
Or maybe what was just Eddie, softly murmuring sweet words that were only meant for youâŠ
