desc - hawkins high started a new progam - speak up ! - a system where students can anonymously talk to each other to get help on projects and school work. when you eventually check it out, the first thing you see on there is a note from farrahfawcettspray asking for help on the chemistry homework. and, being the kind soul you are, you respond to them.
val speaks - WOOO after some pondering i ended up rlly loving this one guys i hope u do too ++ i also j realised there were a couple ppls that were on my taglist that i wasn't tagging so im so very sorry for that but its updated properly now!!
word count: 8.2k
the glow of your desk lamp was the only thing lighting your room by the time you finally looked up from your history notes. outside, the sky had gone dark hours ago, the faint sound of crickets slipped through your cracked bedroom window. your pencil rolled from between your fingers as you stretched your arms above your head with a groan.
you hated homework.
not because you were bad at school, you actually did pretty well, but because hawkins high suddenly seemed obsessed with making everyone miserable this year.
especially with that stupid new program.
speak up!
even the name sounded fake cheerful.
principal higgins had introduced it last monday during assembly, standing awkwardly behind the microphone while half the gym ignored him.
“students can anonymously communicate with one another for educational assistance,” he’d explained proudly. “it’s designed to encourage collaboration and improve grades schoolwide.”
translation?
people who were too embarrassed to ask for help could hide behind fake usernames instead.
at first everyone thought it was ridiculous.
tommy hagan had loudly called it “nerd tinder,” earning laughs from half the basketball team while teachers pretended not to hear him. even your friends spent lunch making fun of it.
you did too, honestly.
because seriously, who was actually going to use some weird school messaging board to ask strangers for chemistry help?
apparently a lot of people.
you stared at the chunky old computer sitting on your desk. it hummed loudly by the time it turned on, the screen flickering slightly before stabilising. your parents bought it for christmas years ago after you begged them for one, though now it was mostly used for homework and occasionally typing essays before the printer jammed for the hundredth time.
still, it worked.
eventually.
you chewed the inside of your cheek before leaning forward and typing in the school website address.
the login page for speak up! popped onto the screen.
you almost backed out immediately.
this was dumb.
you had friends if you needed help. normal people had friends. or classmates. or literally anyone else besides anonymous weirdos online.
but, you kinda understood the idea.
there were definitely people at school who acted too cool to ask questions in class. people who’d rather fail than admit they didn’t get something.
plus, maybe some kids just didn’t have anyone.
with a small sigh, you clicked register username.
after thinking for a second, your fingers typed:
uptowngirl
creative? no.
but the billy joel song had been stuck in your head all week and honestly you couldn’t think of anything else.
once you logged in, a long list of posts appeared on the screen.
and wow.
people were actually using this thing.
messages filled the page.
can someone explain algebra 3 page 52?
need help studying for bio test.
is anyone good at essay editing?
you blinked.
okay. maybe principal higgins wasn’t completely insane.
your eyes scanned lazily down the page until one username made you snort.
farrahfawcettspray: Need help with chem homework. Seriously desperate.
you laughed quietly to yourself.
there was no way that was a guy, right?
you literally had the exact same can of farrah fawcett hairspray sitting on your dresser.
for a second you considered logging off, but you had already finished the chemistry assignment. and it honestly wasn’t that hard once you understood it.
before you could overthink it, you clicked their profile and typed:
uptowngirl: hey, you said you need help with chem?
you expected to wait at least a few minutes for a response.
instead one came instantly.
farrahfawcettspray: Please
you smiled despite yourself.
dramatic.
you started trying to explain the worksheet the best you could.
uptowngirl: okay so for number 4 you have to balance the equation first
farrahfawcettspray: What equation
you stared.
uptowngirl: the one on the page?
farrahfawcettspray: Oh jesus christ
a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
for the next twenty minutes the two of you went back and forth. you genuinely tried helping at first, but after realising they seemed completely and utterly lost, you finally gave up and just started feeding them the answers directly.
honestly, whoever they were, chemistry clearly was not their thing.
finally another message popped up.
farrahfawcettspray: You’re a lifesaver, thanks uptown girl
you frowned for half a second before remembering that was your username.
uptowngirl: no problem farrah
a response came immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Don’t call me that
you grinned.
uptowngirl: goodnight farrah
you logged off before they could answer.
shutting down the computer took nearly five whole minutes, the thing whining dramatically as the screen slowly faded black.
you got ready for bed afterward feeling strangely… good. like you’d actually helped someone.
-
the next morning at school, you told your friends about it during lunch.
“wait,” your friend laughed around a mouthful of fries, “you actually used speak up?”
you groaned. “only once.”
“oh my god.”
“shut up.”
“was it romantic?” another teased dramatically. “anonymous study flirting?”
you rolled your eyes. “they barely knew what an equation was.”
that got another round of laughter from the table.
still, you found yourself smiling too.
the whole thing was kinda funny.
by the end of the day you’d almost forgotten about it completely.
hawkins high emptied fast once the final bell rang, students flooding into the parking lot in loud clusters. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as you headed toward the front doors, already mentally preparing yourself for the walk home.
your house wasn’t exactly close.
but the shortcut you found through the side streets cut the trip almost in half.
the october air was chilly enough to sting your cheeks as you walked, leaves crunching beneath your shoes. the neighborhood was quiet this time of day, most people still at work.
you were halfway down the street when you heard a car slow behind you.
your heartbeat jumped instantly.
you turned slightly and immediately wished you hadn’t.
a familiar bmw rolled beside you.
of course.
steve harrington sat in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily on the wheel. tommy was leaned halfway across the passenger seat already grinning like an idiot while carol lounged in the back.
you rolled your eyes and faced forward again.
keep walking, ignore them. easy.
the car crawled beside you anyway.
“hey!” tommy called.
you kept walking.
“hey sweetheart, why’s a pretty girl like you walking home all alone?”
carol smacked the back of his head immediately.
“god, tommy.”
“ow-”
from the corner of your eye you caught steve shooting tommy some annoyed look before glancing at you briefly.
you just smiled sweetly then flipped them off without breaking stride.
there was a beat of silence then tommy barked out an offended laugh.
“bitch!”
the bmw sped off ahead of you with a screech.
you sighed heavily.
god, you hated those people.
tommy and carol were the worst, loud, mean, constantly acting like hawkins high revolved around them.
and steve harrington?
honestly, you didn’t know him enough personally to hate him the same way but the rumors definitely didn’t help.
every girl in school seemed obsessed with him for reasons you couldn’t understand beyond the hair and the stupidly perfect face. supposedly he’d dated half the girls in hawkins already, and every story made him sound more arrogant than the last.
definitely not your type, not even close.
by the time you finally got home, the sky had darkened into deep blue.
the house was empty.
your parents were both working late again.
you dropped your bag by the stairs, called out a halfhearted “hello?” anyway, then headed upstairs after grabbing a soda from the fridge.
you weren’t really hungry.
your room was warm compared to the chilly outside air, and you immediately sat at your desk with a sigh, pulling your homework toward you.
math first.
then english.
then maybe death.
after about twenty minutes, your eyes drifted toward the computer sitting beside you.
the screen was dark.
you hesitated then reached over and turned it on.
the machine groaned loudly in protest.
“c’mon” you muttered.
eventually the screen flickered to life.
you logged into speak up! mostly out of curiosity.
the second your profile loaded, a notification popped up instantly.
1 new message from farrahfawcettspray
your eyebrows lifted.
you clicked it.
farrahfawcettspray: I failed the chem quiz
you laughed before typing back.
uptowngirl: that sounds like a you problem
three dots appeared almost immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Wow. Cruel.
uptowngirl: you survived though
farrahfawcettspray: Barely
you smiled a little without meaning to.
there was something weirdly easy about talking like this. maybe because you didn’t know who they were. no awkwardness. no trying to act cool.
just words on a screen.
another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: You got homework tonight?
uptowngirl: obviously
farrahfawcettspray: Wanna help me again?
you snorted softly.
hopeless, completely hopeless. and somehow, for some reason, you typed back anyway.
uptowngirl: fine. but this is the last time, farrah.
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: You really like calling me that huh
you grinned at the screen.
maybe this whole speak up thing wasn’t so stupid after all.
-
somewhere along the way, logging onto speak up! became part of your routine.
you’d get home from school, dump your bag by your desk, complain your way through homework, eat whatever leftovers were in the fridge, then eventually sit down in front of your computer with the quiet expectation that there’d already be a message waiting for you.
and there usually was.
sometimes it was something dramatic like:
farrahfawcettspray: I think Mrs o’donnell genuinely enjoys watching teenagers suffer.
or-
farrahfawcettspray: If i fail math i’m becoming a criminal.
other times it was just:
farrahfawcettspray: You there?
simple.
stupidly simple.
but somehow it always made you smile.
you didn’t really talk to anyone else on the site anymore. not because you meant to stop helping other people, it just.. happened naturally. every time you logged on, you found yourself clicking the same username first.
and apparently he did too.
you learned pretty quickly that “farrah” was definitely not a girl.
that discovery came after nearly two weeks of talking.
uptowngirl: serious question
farrahfawcettspray: Uh oh
uptowngirl: why the hell is that your username if you’re a guy
there’d been a long pause before the reply finally came through.
farrahfawcettspray: My sister was talking about hairspray when i made the account
you stared at the screen.
huh.
that actually made sense. kind of.
uptowngirl: still weird
farrahfawcettspray: You’re literally named after a billy joel song
fair point.
you didn’t learn much else about him after that.
not big things, anyway.
he wasn’t great at schoolwork, that became painfully obvious very quickly, but he didn’t seem stupid. honestly, sometimes he said things that surprised you. little observations that were funny or weirdly thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.
mostly though, your conversations were random.
complaining about teachers, ranting about homework, talking about the absolute freaks wandering the halls of hawkins high.
without naming names, obviously.
farrahfawcettspray: Someone left their lunch in the locker room and it smelled like sweaty fish for a week
uptowngirl: what does sweaty fish even smell like
farrahfawcettspray: Death
or
uptowngirl: i watched someone trip over absolutely nothing in the cafeteria today
farrahfawcettspray: That might’ve been me
uptowngirl: honestly wouldn’t surprise me
you started looking forward to those conversations more than you probably should have.
it was weird.
because you didn’t know him, not really. you tried figuring it out sometimes, usually while lying awake at night after logging off.
you mentally ran through people at school constantly.
who had a sister? who hated chemistry this much? who wanted a big family someday?
who said they wanted to buy an rv and drive around the country because “hawkins is depressing as shit”?
who admitted they could only sleep on the side of the bed closest to the wall because they were scared something would grab their ankle from underneath?
that one had made you laugh so hard you almost woke your parents up.
uptowngirl: you are literally a child
farrahfawcettspray: You say that now until a monster grabs your leg
uptowngirl: from under the bed??
farrahfawcettspray: YES
uptowngirl: you’re insane
but the more you thought about it, the more you realised the things you knew about him weren’t really things that narrowed anyone down.
they were too personal, too strange.
you couldn’t exactly walk through school looking at people and think:
yeah, he definitely sleeps facing the wall because he’s scared of bed monsters.
or
that guy absolutely wants six kids someday.
it didn’t work like that.
maybe that was the point, maybe this was all supposed to be.
just some weird invisible string tying you to a stranger.
still, was it weird that you felt like you liked him? not even physically, you didn’t know what he looked like.
didn’t know his voice, didn’t know how he laughed or walked or what color his eyes were.
but after weeks of talking every single night, it started feeling like you did know him in a way.
you knew the version of him behind the screen. you knew he was dramatic. and funny. and kind of an idiot.
you knew he hated peas with an alarming amount of passion, you knew he procrastinated every assignment until the absolute last second. you knew he got attached to stupid things easily because he once spent ten full minutes ranting after losing a lighter he “connected to.”
you knew him.
just not who he actually was.
just not who he…
was.
yeah.
oops.
-
one friday night, your friend convinced you to stay over at her house.
between movies, junk food, and listening to her complain about her ex-boyfriend for almost two straight hours, you honestly didn’t think about the weird little web page once.
not until the next afternoon when you finally got home.
your house was quiet when you walked in, duffel bag slipping from your shoulder onto the floor with a thud.
almost immediately, your brain went:
check the computer.
which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous. still, you headed upstairs.
the computer took forever to load like always, buzzing loudly while the screen slowly flickered alive.
you logged in and immediately saw two unread messages.
your stomach did a weird little flip before you could stop it.
farrahfawcettspray: Never guess what happened to me today
then, sent hours later:
farrahfawcettspray: Tough crowd
you smiled automatically.
god.
you typed back quickly.
uptowngirl: sorry! stayed at my friend’s house last night
uptowngirl: what happened??
the response came almost instantly like he’d been online already.
farrahfawcettspray: I got home and realised i left my window open
uptowngirl: okay?
farrahfawcettspray: There was a fucking fat frog sitting on my bed
you burst out laughing alone in your room.
actually laughing.
uptowngirl: you’re lying
farrahfawcettspray: Why would i lie about this
uptowngirl: because frogs can’t climb houses??
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: THEY CAN
uptowngirl: no they can’t
farrahfawcettspray: One was literally on my bed
uptowngirl: maybe it walked in
farrahfawcettspray: Through a second story window??
uptowngirl: good point
farrahfawcettspray: Thank you
for the next twenty minutes, the two of you argued about frog climbing abilities. twenty whole minutes. which honestly should’ve concerned you more than it did.
eventually you leaned back in your chair, smiling at the screen like an idiot.
god, he was stupid.
the thought came naturally now. comfortable. fond, almost.
and immediately after that came another thought.
was he?
you frowned slightly at the screen.
because really you didn’t know.
you didn’t know if he was tall or short, popular or invisible, funny in real life or just online.
you didn’t know if you’d even like him face to face and somehow that was the strangest part of all.
feeling this connected to someone whose face you couldn’t even picture.
-
more weeks passed so quickly it almost made you sick.
somehow talking to him had become the most normal thing in the world.
you’d wake up, go to school, come home, and somewhere in between all of it you’d find yourself thinking about whatever stupid thing he’d said the night before.
sometimes you caught yourself almost telling your friends about him before stopping at the last second.
because what even was he?
some anonymous guy from school you talked to every night?
it sounded ridiculous when you thought about it too hard.
still, the conversations never stopped. if anything, they got longer, easier.
and lately, you could tell you were both trying, very discreetly, to figure each other out.
not outright asking names or anything obvious, just little things.
tiny questions hidden inside normal conversation.
farrahfawcettspray: What were you wearing today?
you’d immediately narrowed your eyes at the screen.
uptowngirl: why
farrahfawcettspray: Curious
uptowngirl: that sounds suspicious
farrahfawcettspray: Or maybe i just care deeply about fashion
you snorted.
another time
uptowngirl: you said your shoes got soaked today. what shoes?
farrahfawcettspray: Nice try
you’d rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.
it became a game after a while.
you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to know who you were, that was the weird part. it wasn’t that you were embarrassed of yourself. you weren’t.
but after months of talking like this, what if he’d built some version of you in his head that didn’t match reality?
what if you disappointed him?
or worse what if he disappointed you?
it was stupid, completely stupid, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts anyway.
-
today had felt normal at first.
cold morning air, crowded hallways, just another day at hawkins high. then suddenly over the speakers came principal higgins’ voice.
“all students report to the gymnasium for assembly.”
the entire school groaned collectively.
you slumped back in your seat.
“if this is about safe sex again i’m leaving” your friend muttered beside you.
the gym was loud when everyone piled in, sneakers squeaking across the polished floor as students shoved into bleachers. you sat wedged between your friends half-listening while principal higgins adjusted the microphone awkwardly.
“i’ll keep this brief” he started.
already a lie.
you zoned out almost immediately until one phrase suddenly snapped you back to attention.
“the speak up! program-”
your head lifted.
“-will officially be shutting down at the end of the semester.”
your stomach dropped.
“…what?” you muttered under your breath.
around you, barely anyone reacted.
a few students laughed.
someone yelled “finally.”
principal higgins kept rambling.
“unfortunately, participation has remained low, and despite initial hopes, there hasn’t been a significant increase in overall grades-”
your friends looked entirely unbothered.
“knew that thing was stupid” one of them whispered.
“seriously who even used it?”
you forced out a little laugh along with them.
but honestly? you barely heard the rest of the assembly. because all you could think was the guy. how were you supposed to talk to him now? would you still talk to him?
would he even want to?
“the website will officially close four weeks from today” principal higgins finished.
four weeks.
shit.
-
that night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn your computer on.
you probably would’ve anyway but now it felt different.
the machine hummed loudly while loading, and for once you sat impatiently tapping your fingers against the desk waiting for it to hurry up.
the second you logged in, you opened your messages.
then typed quickly:
uptowngirl: were you in the assembly today?
there was a pause.
then:
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah. I was literally just gonna ask you that
you leaned back slightly.
uptowngirl: it’s so stupid they’re shutting it down
farrahfawcettspray: Right? Some of us actually use this thing
uptowngirl: exactly
then after a second:
uptowngirl: okay maybe not for homework anymore
he replied immediately.
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah we definitely stopped pretending awhile ago
you smiled despite the weird ache sitting in your chest.
the two of you eventually agreed to just keep talking normally and when the site closed, it closed.
that was it.
when it’s over, it’s over.
simple.
or at least that’s what you told yourselves.
and somehow, after awhile, talking to him like usual made you almost forget anything was wrong at all.
-
the next day at school, you were heading toward your locker when you heard familiar voices echoing down the hallway.
tommy.
carol.
steve.
you tried ignoring them.
really, you did.
but then tommy loudly said, “god, some people at this school are actually painful to look at.”
carol snorted immediately.
you glanced over just in time to see them both staring at some poor freshman walking away red-faced.
your expression soured.
same old shit.
steve stood beside them leaning against the lockers, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. he barely chuckled, more out of obligation than actual amusement.
still, he laughed.
you rolled your eyes and kept walking.
honestly, you wondered if they’d ever actually grow up.
-
that night, you found yourself ranting about it online.
without names, obviously.
uptowngirl: some people at school genuinely act like they’re still twelve
there was a longer pause than usual before he answered.
farrahfawcettspray: Do your friends ever piss you off?
you blinked slightly at the screen.
that felt random.
uptowngirl: how so
another pause.
farrahfawcettspray: Like in general
your brows furrowed.
uptowngirl: not all the time
uptowngirl: friends aren’t really supposed to make you feel bad constantly
there was a moment before the reply came through.
farrahfawcettspray: Oh
you sat up a little straighter.
uptowngirl: is it all your friends?
farrahfawcettspray: Kinda
you frowned.
uptowngirl: then make new ones
almost instantly:
farrahfawcettspray: Not that easy
you stared at the words for a second then shrugged it off.
he was right, you guessed.
maybe he was one of the quieter kids at school. the kind who got stuck with shitty people because they didn’t know how to leave them.
you knew people like that.
still, the conversation stayed in your head longer than it probably should have.
-
a week passed.
three weeks left.
three weeks until the website disappeared.
three weeks until mystery guy disappeared with it.
you tried not to think about it too much.
failed miserably.
that night, your room was dark except for the glow of the computer screen when his message suddenly appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: Will i ever know who you are?
your heartbeat stumbled slightly.
you stared at the sentence for way too long before typing back.
uptowngirl: i thought you said when it’s over it’s over
uptowngirl: why does it matter?
his response came faster than usual.
farrahfawcettspray: Screw that
you swallowed.
uptowngirl: why do you even wanna know?
another pause.
longer this time.
then
farrahfawcettspray: Why don’t you?
you froze.
because honestly?
you didn’t have a good answer. there wasn’t one big dramatic reason, just your own stupid thoughts. your own worries.
what if he expected someone cooler? prettier? funnier?
what if meeting ruined whatever this was?
you stared at the blinking cursor for almost a full minute before finally typing:
uptowngirl: i don’t know
for once, he didn’t joke.
didn’t tease you.
just
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
the simple response weirdly made your chest hurt.
then another message appeared.
farrahfawcettspray: What if we compromise?
you frowned slightly.
uptowngirl: how
there was a pause before his answer came through.
farrahfawcettspray: The day the website closes is prom right?
your stomach tightened immediately.
uptowngirl: yeah
farrahfawcettspray: We meet then
your eyes widened slightly.
farrahfawcettspray: Not a whole big thing
farrahfawcettspray: Just somewhere behind the school or something
farrahfawcettspray: So we know
your pulse had started beating noticeably faster now.
you read the messages twice. three times.
farrahfawcettspray: And if it’s awkward or terrible or whatever
farrahfawcettspray: We just go back to our lives
farrahfawcettspray: Deal?
you stared at the screen.
your reflection stared back faintly from the monitor.
this suddenly felt terrifying. and exciting. and horrifying.
all at once.
but maybe he was right. what could really go that wrong?
slowly, you typed back
uptowngirl: okay
almost immediately:
farrahfawcettspray: Okay
your heart thudded harder against your ribs.
in three weeks, you’d finally know who he was.
-
the last three weeks somehow felt unbearably slow and way too fast all at once.
every day dragged.
every night disappeared.
it didn’t help that exam season had officially started, meaning every teacher at school suddenly decided their class was the most important thing on earth.
you were stressed constantly.
your room became a mess of textbooks, loose papers, highlighters, half-empty soda cans and crumpled notes. your desk lamp stayed on until stupid hours of the night while you studied until your eyes hurt.
still somehow, despite all that, the thing making your stomach twist the most wasn’t even exams.
it was prom.
well.
not prom itself, the reveal.
you wouldn’t exactly call it stress. more like nervousness that kept sneaking up on you at random moments.
because holy shit.
you were actually going to meet him and every time you thought about it for too long your brain immediately spiraled.
what if he saw you and regretted everything?
what if you did?
what if it got awkward instantly?
what if one of you didn’t show up at all?
you tried not to think about it.
failed miserably.
honestly though, exams distracted you enough that the days still moved quickly. surprisingly, you actually thought you were doing pretty well too.
and apparently mystery guy was absolutely not.
somewhere during the second week, your conversations somehow circled all the way back to how they first started.
him begging for academic help.
farrahfawcettspray: I’m dropping out
you snorted quietly at your desk before replying.
uptowngirl: dramatic
farrahfawcettspray: Just failed so hard i saw my future
uptowngirl: you said after the first exam you were “done trying”
farrahfawcettspray: Yeah well now i’m scared
you laughed under your breath then spent the next hour helping him study anyway. again.
you honestly should’ve charged him tutoring fees at that point.
-
when exams finally ended, there was only one week left until prom. one week left until you found out who he was.
after that, the teasing started.
mostly from him.
farrahfawcettspray: You nervous?
uptowngirl: not even slightly
farrahfawcettspray: Liar
uptowngirl: you wish
farrahfawcettspray: You’re gonna see me and faint
you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache.
uptowngirl: keep dreaming farrah
he immediately sent back:
farrahfawcettspray: You still call me that after all this time. Cruel.
still, despite your constant denial, he wasn’t entirely wrong.
you were nervous. terribly so.
thankfully, dress shopping with your friends ended up distracting you for at least one full day.
you all made an entire event out of it. trying on ridiculous dresses just to laugh at each other, eating greasy mall food afterward, arguing over colors and shoes and hairstyles.
for awhile, things felt normal again.
easy.
you ended up buying a buttercup yellow dress that honestly looked really good on you.
it complimented your skin perfectly, hugged your waist just right, and made you feel prettier than you expected.
at least if everything went horribly wrong, you’d still look hot doing it.
-
a few days before prom, the two of you finally made a more solid plan.
simple, easy. less terrifying that way.
at 8:00, he’d go outside to the field behind the school.
at 8:05, you’d follow after him.
that way nobody would really notice you leaving together.
you appreciated that because honestly? the idea of everyone finding out about this made you want to die.
-
then suddenly it was prom night and you were nervous enough to throw up.
your hands shook slightly while fixing your hair in the mirror, your mom fussing over you while insisting you looked beautiful.
which, honestly?
you kinda did.
the yellow dress looked even better all done up properly. your hair sat perfectly for once, your makeup actually cooperated, and when you looked in the mirror you almost felt bad for mystery guy.
almost.
prom itself was exactly what you expected.
too loud, too warm, too many people packed into one room pretending the decorations didn’t look cheap.
still, it was fun enough.
you drank several unfortunately non-alcoholic punch cups, mingled with your friends, danced a little when forced to, and spent most of the evening pretending you weren’t constantly checking the time.
then suddenly 7:58.
your stomach dropped.
7:59.
holy shit.
8:00.
you immediately looked toward the doors.
five minutes, five minutes until you met him.
for a horrible second, you were tempted to stand there and watch the exit like a hawk. just wait and see who slipped outside.
but no. no, you’d waited this long. you could wait five more minutes.
probably.
another part of you briefly considered just not going at all.
seriously.
you could stay right here, pretend none of this ever happened.
but then what?
go home? never talk to him again?
the website would probably be deleted tonight.
this was it.
your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.
one of your friends noticed your weird expression almost immediately.
“you okay?”
“yeah,” you lied quickly. “just hot in here.”
“want me to come outside with you?”
“no!”
they blinked at your immediate response.
you forced a smaller smile. “i’m fine. seriously.”
it still took another minute of convincing and multiple be safes and don’t stay gone forevers before they finally let you leave alone.
the walk toward the field felt endless.
seriously endless.
you were convinced the path had physically grown longer somehow.
your heels clicked nervously against the pavement while your mind spiraled violently. was it that guy from health class? was it the one you once saw picking his nose behind the bleachers? was it that angry dude always getting into fights?
your heartbeat got faster with every step.
then you saw someone standing near the benches by the field.
just the back of them.
but honestly?
anyone would recognize that hair.
steve harrington.
your entire body stopped.
what.
the.
fuck.
your brain completely blanked.
there was absolutely no way. no actual way.
you must’ve made some noise because before you could even think about turning around and sprinting back inside, he turned too.
his eyebrows shot upward immediately when he saw you.
you both stared at each other in complete shock.
then at the exact same time:
“you’re-”
you both stopped.
silence.
then slowly, awkwardly, you both nodded.
steve let out a breathy huff of disbelief before a small smile pulled at his mouth.
and honestly?
you couldn’t stop staring.
because somehow it made sense now.
the humor. the dramatic texting. the stupid confidence covering up actual insecurity.
oh my god.
you squinted at him suddenly.
“you don’t have a sister.”
his face immediately changed.
“…what?”
“you told me you picked the username because your sister was talking about the spray.”
steve looked away, then back at you, then dragged a hand down his face with a groan.
“yeah, okay, i lied.”
you stared then barked out a laugh.
“you use farrah fawcett spray?”
he pointed at you immediately. “swear to god if you tell anyone-”
you laughed harder, holding your hands up in surrender.
“okay, okay!”
his expression twisted into embarrassed annoyance while you grinned at him.
god.
of course it was him.
steve glanced awkwardly toward a nearby bench before nodding toward it. you hesitated only a second before following him over and sitting beside him.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
it suddenly felt so strange hearing the voice attached to the messages.
then steve looked over at you, squinting slightly.
“so…” he said slowly.
you looked back at him.
he pointed vaguely.
“uptown girl.”
you bit back a smile immediately because the expression on his face was so genuinely baffled.
you nodded once.
“…yeah.”
he huffed out another laugh.
for awhile, the conversation was awkward, not horribly awkward, just strange.
you’d spent months talking nonstop and suddenly neither of you knew where to start now that you were face to face.
still, eventually it got easier.
little laughs slipped in naturally. comfortable silences too. you found yourself relaxing without realising it.
then finally you admitted, “i was not expecting it to be someone like you.”
steve raised an eyebrow.
“someone like me?”
“yeah,” you said honestly. “i thought i couldn’t stand you.”
he scoffed softly, glancing away.
“fair.”
you smiled slightly.
then he looked back at you.
“didn’t expect you either.”
you grinned. “upset it’s not someone who’ll sleep with you?”
he side-eyed you immediately, giving you the dirtiest look imaginable.
it made you laugh.
then suddenly he smirked.
“who says you won’t?”
you stared at him flatly.
he laughed quietly at your expression.
god, there he was. the real steve harrington finally showing up.
after awhile, you sighed softly and glanced back toward the school.
“i should probably head inside.”
steve nodded a little.
“yeah.”
“but…” you paused, trying to find the right word. “thank you for being my…”
you trailed off, and when you looked back at him, there was something almost hopeful in his expression.
“…friend” you finished quietly.
his smile softened immediately then he held his hand out toward you dramatically. you laughed under your breath before shaking it.
“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks.”
you started turning back toward the school.
then
“wait.”
you looked back.
steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking again.
“can this not be… like, the end?”
you blinked.
“huh?”
“i mean,” he said quickly, “i still wanna talk to you.”
something warm twisted in your chest.
you sighed dramatically instead to cover it.
“do you have paper?”
he blinked at you.
“…obviously not.”
you rolled your eyes.
“do you at least have a pen?”
“maybe in my car.”
you nodded immediately. “okay. c’mon.”
he looked confused but led you toward the parking lot anyway.
once you got there, steve dug around inside the bmw until finally finding a pen shoved somewhere in the center console.
“ha” he said proudly.
you snorted before grabbing his wrist.
he looked startled as you pushed his jacket sleeve up slightly.
then realisation hit his face.
“oh.”
before writing anything, you paused dramatically.
“if i do this,” you said, “you have to get your annoying ass friends to leave me alone.”
steve smiled slightly.
“i’ll see what i can do-”
you gave him a look immediately.
“okay, okay,” he laughed. “fine. i’ll tell them to lay off.”
“thank you.”
carefully, you wrote your number across his forearm. his eyes stayed on your face the entire time, which absolutely did not make your heart beat faster. not at all.
when you finished, you stepped back slightly.
then quietly, before leaving, you said
“you’re better than them, steve.”
his expression shifted immediately.
you smiled softly.
“much better.”
for a second he just looked at you, really looked at you. then slowly, he smiled too. and somehow it looked nothing like the smug cocky smiles you’d seen in school hallways.
this one felt real.
you turned then, heading back toward prom with your heartbeat still all over the place.
and for the first time in months, mystery guy wasn’t a mystery anymore.
-
walking back into prom after meeting steve felt strange in the best possible way, like somehow the whole room looked different now.
the lights hanging from the ceiling seemed warmer, the music sounded less annoying, even the sweaty overcrowded gym somehow felt easier to breathe in. your cheeks actually hurt from smiling by the time you made it back to your friends.
which unfortunately meant they noticed immediately.
one of them narrowed her eyes the second you sat back down at the table.
“okay. what happened.”
you grabbed your drink quickly to hide your smile. “nothing.”
“bullshit.”
“seriously.”
another one gasped dramatically. “oh my god she kissed someone.”
you nearly choked on your drink. “what? no!”
“then why do you look like that?”
“like what?”
“like you’re in love.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, laughing despite yourself while they all continued trying to interrogate you. but honestly? you didn’t even mind.
because your chest still felt warm from sitting beside steve outside. from hearing his voice say uptown girl out loud. from realising that somehow, impossibly, the person you’d spent months talking to was him.
god.
if someone had told you months ago that the boy you couldn’t stand would end up becoming your favorite person to talk to, you would’ve laughed directly in their face.
yet here you were.
the rest of the night passed in this happy blur.
you danced with your friends until your feet hurt, got dragged into stupid prom photos you’d probably cringe at later, and every now and then you’d spot steve somewhere across the room.
sometimes he’d already be looking at you. every single time it happened, he’d smirk slightly. and every single time your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
-
somehow by the end of the night you ended up at an afterparty. you honestly had no clue whose house it even was. someone said some girl from another school was throwing it, and suddenly everybody was piling into cars and driving there like it was the event of the century.
the house was packed. absolutely packed. music blasted loud enough to shake the floorboards, people crowded every room, and the air inside was thick with sweat, cheap perfume and alcohol.
actual alcohol this time.
which explained why after your third drink you started feeling significantly warmer and significantly less capable of making good decisions.
still, you were having fun. a lot of fun, actually. you laughed so hard at one point your stomach hurt, though later you couldn’t even remember what was so funny.
eventually though the heat inside the house became unbearable. your head felt fuzzy and your skin felt sticky and suddenly all you wanted was air. so, you slipped outside quietly, shutting the door behind you with a relieved sigh.
the cool night breeze hit your face immediately.
“oh thank god” you muttered dramatically.
then your eyes landed on someone sitting near the side of the porch.
steve. he sat alone on the curb, cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the pavement.
you smiled automatically, of course he was outside. but as you walked closer, your smile faded slightly.
he looked pissed. not angry exactly, more upset. his jaw was tense and his shoulders were tight in that way people got when they were trying really hard not to let something bother them.
you almost considered turning around and leaving him alone. almost. but you were already too close now. plus, liquid courage was a beautiful thing.
when steve finally noticed you approaching, he quickly dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe before offering you a tight-lipped smile.
“hey.”
“hey,” you answered slowly, stopping beside him. “what’s up with you?”
“nothing.”
you stared at him.
“steve.”
“i’m serious.”
“come onnn,” you whined dramatically, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “you tell me everything.”
his eyes flicked toward you at that, something softened there for a second. then he sighed heavily and looked down at the ground before lowering himself onto the curb fully.
you sat beside him immediately.
for a minute neither of you spoke. music thumped faintly through the walls behind you while cars occasionally passed in the distance.
then finally steve spoke quietly.
“i hope you’re right.”
you frowned slightly. “about what?”
he rubbed his palms together once before muttering
“about me being better than my friends.”
your expression softened instantly.
“what happened?”
he laughed quietly. not in a funny way, more tired. “what didn’t happen?”
you stayed quiet, letting him continue.
after a second he sighed again.
“they were being assholes to some guy inside.”
you immediately knew who “they” meant.
tommy. carol. probably half the people they hung around too.
“just relentless,” steve muttered. “wouldn’t leave him alone.”
he picked absentmindedly at the label peeling off a beer bottle nearby.
“i told them to stop.”
you looked at him carefully. “and?”
“and tommy started calling me a pussy.”
your jaw tightened immediately.
steve shrugged like he was trying not to care.
“said i’ve gotten soft lately.”
you hated how casually he said it, like he’d heard things like that a hundred times before.
“so i left.”
he gestured vaguely around them.
“and here we are.”
you sighed softly. for a second you just sat there looking at him, really looking at him. and honestly? he looked exhausted. not physically, just tired of pretending. tired of acting like somebody he didn’t even seem to like anymore.
you nudged his shoulder gently.
“they’ll probably get over it.”
steve huffed out a small laugh. “yeah?”
“yeah,” you smiled slightly. “you are kinda the leader of the pack.”
that earned a real smile from him, small, but real. still, it faded quickly.
“that’s the thing,” he admitted quietly. “i hate that.”
you tilted your head. “then stop.”
“stop what?”
“being friends with them.”
he immediately gave you a look.
“you’ve literally said this before.”
“because i’m right.”
“i can’t just drop them.”
“why not?”
he opened his mouth. closed it again. then shrugged helplessly. “i don’t know. it’d be weird.”
you snorted softly.
“weird for who?”
“everyone’ll be up my ass about it.”
you shrugged lazily. “who cares?”
steve looked at you for a second like he genuinely wished he could think like that.
then silence settled again.
but honestly, your drunk brain couldn’t stay focused for very long. after a minute you suddenly stood up. “i’m going back inside.”
steve looked up at you from where he sat. then without thinking, you held your hand out toward him dramatically.
“c’mon, harrington.”
his eyes flicked down to your hand. for a second you thought he’d ignore it, instead he took it. you pulled him up with a grin.
“i’m gonna stay out here and smoke another cigarette first” he said.
immediately your nose scrunched.
“gross.”
he laughed quietly.
“then i’ll come in.”
you nodded once.
“okay.”
you and steve somehow never found each other again that night after that
-
break started almost immediately after prom.
suddenly there was no school. no exams. no teachers. just endless warm days stretching ahead of you.
and somehow steve became part of nearly all of them.
at first, it was mostly phone calls. almost every night.
which felt weird initially because now you knew who he was. you weren’t staring at a screen anymore waiting for little messages to appear. now it was his actual voice in your ear while you laid in bed staring at the ceiling.
sometimes you’d catch yourself smiling halfway through conversations for absolutely no reason.
you got used to it surprisingly quickly though.
you’d spend the day with friends or shopping or sitting around bored at home, and eventually every night ended the same way. talking to steve until one of you got too sleepy to keep the conversation going.
sometimes the talks lasted hours. about serious things, stupid things, everything.
one night you spent almost forty minutes debating whether cereal counted as soup.
it absolutely did not.
another night steve admitted he’d never actually learned how to cook anything beyond scrambled eggs and toast.
“how are you alive?”
then eventually, one afternoon, steve casually asked “wanna go out tomorrow?”
you blinked against the phone.
“…out?”
“yeah,” he answered quickly. “like, just us.”
your stomach flipped immediately.
“maybe the drive-in?”
there was this weird nervousness in his voice that made your chest ache a little.
“yeah,” you answered before you could overthink it. “okay.”
he picked you up the next evening at six.
honestly neither of you watched the movie. you tried, for maybe ten minutes, then somehow you started talking and never really stopped.
you learned steve hadn’t hung out with tommy or carol once over break.
that made you smile more than it probably should have.
because maybe he was finally realising he didn’t have to keep pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
at one point while absentmindedly eating popcorn, steve admitted quietly
“i think i like being just steve better.”
you looked over at him softly.
then he smirked slightly.
“or maybe i just like being farrahfawcettspray.”
you burst out laughing immediately.
god, you loved him.
well. not loved. probably, maybe.
okay maybe a little.
because after that first date, which neither of you actually called a date yet, things just naturally snowballed.
you and steve started hanging out constantly.
drives with the windows down and music blasting, shopping trips where he complained the entire time but still carried your bags, county fairs, late night fast food runs, movies, blanket forts. so many blanket forts.
once steve spent nearly an hour engineering one in his living room because apparently “structural integrity matters.”
his parents were never around, meaning his house quickly became your favorite place to be.
you’d never seen steve happier.
he laughed easier around you. acted softer, realer.
he didn’t have to be king steve with you, he could just exist.
and somewhere along the way, he realised he genuinely liked you more than anyone he’d ever met before which was terrifying.
on your side?
you were absolutely gone for him too. completely. hopelessly. but obviously you weren’t going to make the first move.
absolutely not.
you’d wait for when he makes the first move, if that time ever came.
-
surprisingly, it did.
it was nearing the end of the break, only one weekend left before school started again.
you already had plans with steve that night.
nothing unusual. a movie, some takeout.
normal.
but the second you got into his car, you noticed something was off.
he looked nervous, like genuinely nervous. you almost asked about it immediately but decided against it. still, the weird energy stayed the whole drive.
then he pulled into his driveway.
you reached to open the car door and suddenly his hand gently caught your arm. you turned toward him instantly.
he still looked nervous.
your stomach tightened.
“steve?”
he swallowed once before speaking.
“i’ve had some of the best conversations and honestly… some of the best times of my life with you.”
your expression softened immediately.
he laughed awkwardly under his breath.
“which is funny considering how we started.”
you smiled.
but before you could respond, he kept going quickly.
“and i want you to know i really like you.”
you stared at him.
“like really like you.”
he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
“and i was wondering if maybe tonight could maybe be a date.”
your smile spread instantly, so quickly your cheeks hurt. but your silence lasted just slightly too long because immediately steve panicked.
“you don’t have to say yes,” he rushed out quickly. “i just wanted you to know-”
“steve.”
he stopped immediately.
you laughed softly.
“i like you too.”
his eyes widened.
“…you do?”
you laughed harder now.
“obviously.”
the smile that spread across his face right then honestly might’ve been your favorite thing you’d ever seen.
he squeezed your arm gently before grinning.
“c’mon then.”
then suddenly he looked ridiculously eager, which only confused you more when he immediately said
“close your eyes.”
you blinked. “what?”
“just trust me.”
laughing softly, you obeyed anyway.
he carefully led you inside while you tried not to trip over absolutely nothing.
eventually he stopped.
“okay.”
you opened your eyes and immediately melted.
the living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows, little lights hung around the room glowing softly, your favorite takeout sat on the coffee table and a movie was already waiting on the screen.
“steve…”
he shrugged immediately like it was nothing but there was a smug little blush sitting on his cheeks.
“it’s cute” you said honestly.
“yeah yeah.”
you grinned harder.
the two of you curled up together on the floor afterward, eating takeout and pretending to watch the movie.
mostly you watched steve slowly get sleepier beside you.
after the movie ended, his eyes were half closed already, hair messy from your fingers constantly running through it earlier.
you smiled softly then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
immediately his eyes opened.
before you could react properly, his hand gently cupped your face.
and then he kissed you.
properly.
finally.
and god it was everything.
his lips were impossibly soft.
the kiss started careful for about half a second before you both melted into it completely, finding rhythm naturally like you’d already done this a hundred times before. perfect. completely perfect.
when you finally pulled apart, steve looked at you with this expression that made you feel like your entire body might dissolve.
then he shifted slightly and pulled you down gently against his chest.
quietly, he murmured:
“i’m glad you decided to help me.”
you snorted softly against him.
“i’m glad you suck at chemistry.”
he laughed immediately and lightly smacked your arm.
eventually, somewhere tangled together beneath blankets and fairy lights, the two of you fell asleep.
and after that, everything naturally fell into place.
steve slowly drifted away from tommy and carol completely, he started hanging around different people. better people.
sometimes your people.
your friends met him properly and somehow immediately loved him, which honestly shocked you considering how much they used to complain about him.
but steve around you was different.
and now steve harrington, formerly known as farrahfawcettspray, was one of the most important people in your life.
summary: when steve gets hurt in the upside down, the party doesn't know who to call — thankfully, he remembers someone he always had a crush on in high school with larger than life aspirations to become a nurse.
pairing: nursing student!reader x season four steve
content/warnings: mentions of wound care and cuts, scars, bruising, etc, all of steve's injuries are in reference to when he gets attacked by demobats in s4, eddie is alive bc i fucking said so, no nancy slander on my watch, i know absolutely nothing about medical care so i probably got some stuff wrong, slight references to steve's trauma (shitty parents, his king steve era, feeling unloved), major hurt comfort, happy ending!!
word count: 4k
The day Nancy Wheeler calls your apartment to tell you about demogorgons and the Upside Down, you think she's playing a cruel, uncharacteristic prank on you.
You're not sure why she'd do that — you graduated high school a year and a half ago and were currently gearing up to return to Hawkins for Spring Break, because where else would you want to spend it? At first, your initial response is to sputter, and then laugh uncomfortably into the receiver of your plastic phone.
You're not even sure how she got your landline number; you live in a shitty off-campus loft and Nancy would probably only know to reach you via your parents' house, where they — and you, up until graduation — have lived their entire lives.
When you ask her that, she pauses, then avoids the question. This clearly isn't the goody two-shoes Nancy Wheeler you remember from high school.
What you do remember, however, is that she got into some hot water when she started dating Steve "The Hair" Harrington — god, what a douche he was — but last you heard, they'd broken up over some stupid misogynistic shit he pulled and she'd moved onto Jonathan Byers. You thought it was an odd pairing, but it wasn't much of your business.
"Anyway, you're in school for nursing, right?" Nancy steers the conversation effortlessly away from your questioning, and you swallow, bumping your hip against the ugly floral wallpaper that decorates the kitchen walls.
Again, you have no clue how she remembers that. You and Nancy were a year apart in school, and you were friends when you were younger, but you'd drifted apart in middle school.
"You there?" she asks.
You clear your throat. "Yeah, I'm a sophomore. Why does any of this matter, Nancy? You're not answering any of my questions, and honestly, you sound like you're on drugs or like you're having some kind of psychotic break—"
Suddenly, you're cut off by some shuffling on the other end, and you think you hear some yelling — a mix of older teenagers and prepubescent ones, then painful groaning. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.
"Nancy? Nancy, are you alright?"
"This isn't Nancy," a male voice croons on the other end. Your eyes widen. "Hi sweetheart, my name's Eddie. You might remember me, I've been a senior for like, four years. Anyway, good ol' Wheeler isn't on drugs and she isn't having a psychotic break, that I can promise. What she's telling you sounds totally bonkers, I know, because I was you a few weeks ago, but she's telling the truth. I promise."
The image in your brain only gets foggier. Was Eddie Munson on the other line? In what weird, fucked up world is Nancy Wheeler hanging out with Eddie Munson?
"So, all that aside, the reason why we're calling is because we need someone trustworthy with medical skills. Is that you? It kinda has to be, because you already know all the nitty gritty details, and we'll have to kill you if you say no."
You fumble. "Um. I- I don't know. I'm only a sophomore."
"Do you know how to take care of wounds?"
"It, um, depends on how bad they are."
"Let's say they're... moderately bad. From an animal. Hypothetically supernatural. Of the bat kind."
"What?"
"How about stitches?" Eddie continues, "Because, listen, I'm no doc, but I'm pre-tty sure Harrington could use a few."
"Harrington?" you echo, "Wait, this is about Steve Harrington?"
In the background, you hear a child's loud voice: "You said you wouldn't tell her!"
"Eddie," you say slowly, "Are there... kids there?"
"Listen, don't worry about that," he says, and it's far too nonchalant for your worrisome nature to take, "Are you able to help or not?"
You glance at your packed dufflebag on the bed. The one that was ready to spend the week at your parents' house before Nancy Wheeler called 30 minutes ago.
"Yeah," you say, grabbing your keys from the hook next to the front door. "Give me a second to grab a pen and paper, I just need the address."
Up until today, you've never been to the Harrington's house before.
In high school, you were never invited to Steve's infamous parties, but you always heard about them at school on Monday — about someone doing keg stands, about some couple, together or not, having sex, about someone jumping in the pool naked... teenage debauchery you were never part of, yet, for some reason, you yearned to experience.
The house is dark from the outside, and somehow, it feels even colder on the inside. A girl with short hair answers the door — someone you faintly recognize — and she immediately seems more down to earth, but more high-strung than Nancy.
"Hey," she greets in a tone that feels kind and familiar, and a part of you wishes you had that effect on people, "Steve's laying down in the living room. Nancy and Eddie took the kids home."
You nod as you follow her through the expansive house, all marble and tacky and wealth expressed in ways that feel frigid.
"I'm Robin, by the way," she says, "Nance said you were someone we could trust?"
You shrug. "To be honest, I'm not sure why. We were friends growing up but we grew apart... I don't even know how she got my number."
Robin waves her off, "That was all Eddie and Dustin. Don't be surprised if they hack your stuff one day."
You can't tell if she's joking or not.
In the living room, Steve Harrington — who you think you may have spoken to once when you were both juniors, and that's it — is laying shirtless on the couch, his eyes lazily half-closed while The Golden Girls play on TV. You want to snort at that, but you're more concerned about the red, bloody lashings and cuts that cover his side and throat. You swallow at the sight.
"I know Nancy kind of gave you a rundown about the whole monster thing but it's probably a little more gnarly in person," Robin says softly. She kneels down by Steve's head and presses a hand to his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Hey dingus, we brought someone to help clean you up since we're all no help."
"What did you guys do for him?" you ask, willing your nerves to fade. There's something different about working on someone you knew in high school — the attractive jock all-star everyone had a crush on, that is — instead of some random person you're practicing on.
"Um, Nance made him a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. And we're not sure if he's concussed or anything, but we've been keeping him awake... gave him water and something to eat and some ibuprofen for the pain. That's it, really... we didn't know what else, and we couldn't bring him to the hospital. He looks like he got mauled by a bear."
"Yeah," you agree humorlessly, opening your first aid kit on the floor. You pull your pen light out and bite your lip. "Do you think we can get him to sit up?"
"Sure, if you help me."
You nod, each of you taking one of Steve's arms.
"Hey Steve, we're gonna help you up a little, alright?" you say gently, tactfully pulling him up into a seating position against the couch cushions. You're surprised that he goes easily, his head flopping back as he groans. "Can you hold your head up for me? I remember you had really bitchin' hair in high school. Do you still have it?"
"'f course I do," Steve mutters, his hazel eyes languidly glazing over you. You flick your pen light on to look at his pupils. "Hey, 'member you."
"Hm?" you ask, distracted by the task at hand. He's clearly exhausted and might have been injected by some... supernatural venom, but he's not concussed, which is a win in your book. You decide to move on to cleaning the cuts on his face.
"I said I 'member you," he repeats, hissing when the alcohol cloth makes contact with the bloodied slices on his skin. "We went to school together."
"We did," you murmur, smiling softly. "We were in the same class."
"Uh-huh. Class of '85, baby!" Steve attempts to pump his fist in the air but quickly retracts in, a zip of pain ripping through his shoulder. This time, you do snort with laugher. "You're pretty when you laugh."
"Looks like you haven't changed a bit, Harrington," you say as you finish tending to the wounds on his face. "Let's take care of this thing on your neck, huh? What happened here?"
Steve shrugs nonchalantly. "Demobat tried to strangle me."
"Right," you mutter, assessing the damage. "Looks like you might have some scarring. You'll need to keep an eye on this and make sure it doesn't get infected. Do you trust anyone enough to stay here and do that?"
You look to where you thought Robin was sitting behind you, but it seems as if she's long gone.
"Don' really wanna bother anyone with it," he replies. "I can do it. 'm a big boy."
You furrow your eyebrows. "Steve, you're in seriously rough shape. Someone should be taking care of you."
He pouts. You hate to admit that it's adorable.
"Don' like asking for help."
You sigh. "It doesn't look like you need stitches or anything crazy, but let me stay the night to keep an eye on you, alright? I don't think you should be alone right now."
Steve, wide-eyed and boyish, looks to you like you just hung the moon for him.
He doesn't fight you as you continue to clean and check his wounds.
Steve sleeps for the next day.
You don't bother trying to move him to his bedroom. He's clearly comfortable, snoring away on the couch, and it sounds like he hasn't gotten enough sleep in the past month. So, you let him.
In the meantime, you don't do much. Robin left her phone number behind, so you call her periodically with updates, not that there are many. You don't know where Steve's parents are, but you remember them being quite sparse in high school, so you're unsurprised that the pattern's unbroken almost two years later.
You live out of your duffelbag and call your own parents to let them know that you got caught up with something at school and you'll hopefully be home in a few days. In the meantime, you occupy yourself with reading books that you brought along from your apartment, and when that gets boring, you watch TV and wait for Steve to wake up.
Eventually, that evening, he does.
You brace yourself. You're not sure what for — in the few hours you've spent watching doctors and nurses treat patients, you've seen some people wake up distraught, some angry, others confused and upset, but Steve does... none of those things.
His eyes blink at you blearily, craning his neck and stretching it against the arm of the couch. He lets out a low groan, one that makes your stomach flip, and you swallow, taking slow steps towards him with your first aid kit in hand.
"Hey," you greet delicately, "How are you feeling?"
Steve looks at you as you scan over the angry red marks on his throat. He has on a shirt on, but you'll need to peel back the fabric to assess the wounds on his stomach, too.
"Shitty," he croaks, his eyes widening some at the crack in his voice, "Went through puberty again, too, I guess."
You smile bemusedly before lowering to your knees and sitting back on your ankles. At eye level, Steve looks far less exhausted than he did 24 hours ago.
"You look better," you say, eyeing the cuts on his cheek. "You should eat something and drink some water. Shower, maybe."
"You saying I smell?"
"Well, if you and all your friends really aren't fucking around about all this demoshit, I would assume they can't smell great."
Steve attempts to shrug. "I've smelled worse. Like Dustin Henderson after demolishing multiple roast beef sandwiches."
You wrinkle your nose, popping open your kit to begin the process of cleaning his cuts and replacing the bandaids.
"Is there a reason why you all hang out with freshmen? Or is Nancy's brother just, like, really attached to her?"
Steve winces when the cold alcohol cloth touches his skin. You murmur out a halfhearted apology.
"'s a long story," he mutters. "I kinda... accidentally got myself involved in this and... now I'm here."
"And now you're here," you echo softly. "Barely walking with a random nurse-in-training tending to your supernatural bat wounds."
"Psshhhh," Steve turns his neck to face you, cocking his eyebrows. "'Random'? I told Nance to call you."
You pause, a mess of used, bloodied alcohol swabs on the ground beside you.
"How on earth did you know I was a nursing student?" you ask, reaching for the stack of bandaids. "We barely talked in high school. I don't even think we signed each other's yearbooks at graduation."
"Um, yes, we did," Steve says pointedly. You arch an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Go upstairs to my room. Hawkins Class of '85, the yearbook is on my shelf."
"I'll pass for now," you smirk.
"Anyway," he huffs dramatically. "We were lab partners spring semester junior year. You were always really good at science and I vividly remember asking you why you liked that stuff so much — you're the only reason why I even passed anatomy, and you said you wanted to be a nurse."
"You remember that?"
He shrugs. Like it's insignificant. Like you're surprised anyone can even recall your name instead of just passing over your face like a mushy blob.
"I just thought it was cool," Steve continues. "No one I knew at the time had any idea what they wanted to do, and you were so set already. Even when I was a senior, I had no clue. I was just gonna hang around Hawkins and work for my dad and... I just thought, maybe I could be like you, y'know?"
Your face warms, so you busy yourself with tidying the mess you've made on the ground. It feels silly to be so awestruck by Steve Harrington and yet... how couldn't you be?
"That's really nice, Steve. Thank you." you say softly. His face melts, matching the sweet smile on your face, and he almost looks relieved.
"Thank you for coming here," he mumbles. "I know it's not, like... your typical situation."
"I'm happy to help," you reach out hesitantly and place your hand against his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me make you something to eat, alright?"
You don't anticipate staying another night at Steve's, but it just... happens.
You make dinner for the two of you while the local news plays lowly in the living room, the TV flashing against Steve's tired face. Together, you eat grilled cheese sandwiches in silence. You hand him a glass of water between bites and then offer him a Gatorade.
After dinner, you run a shower for him in the ensuite bathroom of his bedroom. You lay towels out for him and slowly help him up the stairs, just like he's any other patient, and not the boy who could make any girl, teenager, or woman in Hawkins fall to their knees just with a flick of his eyes. You tell him to shout if he needs you, but you secretly hope he doesn't. You're not sure if you could spare yourself the embarrassment of helped a naked, wet, injured Steve Harrington.
While he showers, you make his bed and prep your supplies so you can tend to his cuts and wounds when he gets out. It's a repetitive but necessary process to prevent any infections, and Steve's lucky he didn't need stitches or anything worse. You're fumbling with your collection of travel-sized bottles of topical antibiotics when Steve emerges from the steamy bathroom in a pair of gym shorts and an old Hawkins High School shirt.
You look up, your polite greeting suddenly lost in your throat at the sight of his wet hair and tired eyes. There's something devastating and boy-like about his appearance, and your heart twists in your chest. You try to shove it down.
"That was exhausting," Steve mumbles, his posture slightly slumped. He eyes his bed, then where you sit on the carpeted floor. "Oh— did you— are you leaving?"
"I hadn't really thought about it," you admit. "I just thought it might be more comfortable for you to sleep in your own bed instead of the couch. And I have to redo all your bandages and stuff."
Steve nods. "Where do you want me, doc?"
"On the bed is fine."
By this point, you and Steve have familiarized yourself with this process, and with each gentle clean and touch, his wounds get a little bit better. You assume he'll be able to do this for himself at some point in the near future, but there's a part of you — the caretaker, nurse part of you, you assume — that really likes doing it for him.
He lifts his shirt, twisting slightly to showcase the bruising and sores on his side.
"Can you stay another night?"
For a moment, you pause. Glance up at him, but his eyes are focused on the Hawkins basketball team pendent tacked up on the wall. You continue adhering the band-aid to his skin.
"I can do that," you say softly. "You're healing up well, though. I can teach Robin or Nancy, or whoever you want, to do this, if you'd like."
Steve doesn't immediately reply. Not when you gently pull down the material of his worn sleep shirt and help him back into a sitting position, and not when he runs a hand through his damp hair.
"Will you grab the yearbook off the shelf?"
Your eyes follow to where he's pointing and you nod, standing from your spot on the bed. You retrieve it and hand it to him, watching as he flips to the back pages. It doesn't take him long to find the masses of autographs — not to mention, a couple of lipstick marks and more than a few phone numbers.
"Looks like you had quite a few admirers." you joke.
"Yeah, and none of them cared once high school wasn't real anymore," he snorts humorlessly. It's a second more before he points to your messy handwriting, shoving the yearbook into your lap. Sure enough, your signature is there, followed by a short message. "Read it and weep, doc."
You roll your eyes. "So? Everyone signs each other's yearbooks at the end of the year. It's a whole nostalgia thing."
"Read it."
"To Steve," you read aloud, "It's been great going to school with you all these years. Excited to see where you land. Wishing you the best of luck."
You look up at him expectedly. He shoots you a look.
"Keep going."
Below your handwriting is someone's unfamiliar penmanship. It takes you a few seconds to decipher it, but when you do, your stomach flips.
Coolest girl in Hawkins. Super smart. Wants to be a nurse. If she ever comes back to this loser town, it's a sign I have to ask her out.
"Who wrote that?"
Steve puffs out a breathy laugh. "Who do you think?"
"You thought that about me?"
"Of course." he says it like it's the easiest answer in the world. "I still do."
You can't help it when a loud laugh bubbles up out of you. Steve grins, wide and toothy, and you think it's the cutest thing you've ever seen in the world.
"I think you're delusional, Harrington. Maybe you are concussed."
"You said I wasn't, and you've been a damn good nurse so far."
You laugh again, shaking your head at the boy before you. You feel unbelievably giddy, like you just found out your middle school crush likes you back.
And maybe, really, that's exactly what it is — even if you're hesitant to admit it to yourself.
With a swallow, Steve gently shuts the hard covered yearbook before pushing it to the side, as if closing it will put some kind of finality to the ridiculousness of everything that was Hawkins High.
You remember Steve having a rough go of it his senior year. You don't know the details, but you heard rumors. No college acceptances, Nancy Wheeler drunkenly breaking up with him at a Halloween party that fall. It had been a long freefall for King Steve — one that had twisted up your insides at the time, even if the extent of your interactions were longing glances in the hallways.
"Stay," Steve suddenly says, and this time, his ask is breathier, quieter than it was 20 minutes ago.
You look at him. Allow your eyes to wash over the golden boy sitting in front of you, who's no longer such a golden boy at all, but bruised and beaten down and cut up by supernatural forces that you still don't quite understand. He's been swallowed up and spit out by Hawkins and young adulthood and Scoops Ahoy and Nancy Wheeler and Tommy Hagan and Mr. and Mrs. Harrington and even his latest venture at Family Video, where he works with Robin but regularly gets yelled at by teens trying to rent R-rated movies.
(He swears it's not that bad, but his eyes all but twitched at the mention of his boss, who apparently has a dictator-like approach to running the store.)
"I already told you I'll stay." you reply softly, hand pressing into the soft mattress. Your fingers make an indentation in the foam, and Steve's mouth parts. Carefully, he reaches out, his larger palm covering yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you feel like the biggest loser alive, your gaze remaining low on your now-joined fingers.
"No... I mean, stay here. In my bed. If you're comfortable." Steve amends. He almost sounds nervous, and it finally makes you look up. When you do, his eyes are wide, and you realize you're right.
You nod. "Do you want the TV on?"
He thinks for a moment. The past few nights, you've been sleeping to the sounds of the local news and late night re-runs of sitcoms. You don't ask why and Steve's grateful for it.
"No, 's fine," he decides, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the pillows.
"Don't strain yourself," you scold. "I'll help you move if you need it."
Steve snorts lowly as you round the bed, clicking the lamp off. His bedroom, now bathed in the inky blue of 1 1 pm, feels less intimidating this way.
You climb in on the other side, pulling his comforter over your body.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks as you move onto your side.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"Shush."
You smile. Steve doesn't miss it.
He wishes he could face you, but he can't with the wounds on his side. Instead, he lays on his back, his arm splayed out between you two, his hand palm face up. It's quiet for the first few minutes as you both listen to each other's breathing.
Steve's not sure if you're sleeping when he says it.
"Can I ask you something?"
You open your eyes. "Hm?"
"Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
"No," you answer honestly. "I was drifting a little, but I'm awake. What'd you wanna ask?"
He pauses. Promises himself he won't lose his nerve.
"When I'm a little better... Maybe before you head back to school, or maybe in the summer when you come back, like after the semester's over... can I take you on that date?"
Steve stretches his neck to look at you. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can't quite make out your facial expression, with the way you're biting your lip and smiling at him. He can't figure out if you're looking at him with pity or if you're excited, but either way, he can't recall the last time he was this nervous to ask someone out.
And then, he feels your hand slide into his, and it's like all of his worries never even existed at all.
"I would really, really love that, Steve." you murmur, intertwining your fingers with his.
You both grin at each other in the dark like fools.
𖦹 when steve is on the search with dustin chasing a ‘suspicious looking russian’, he catches sight of you. the girl in the workout class.
word count: 4k ۶ৎ
“Henderson. Henderson!” A snap and a yell rings throughout Scoops Ahoy, and Steve’s panick levels are high.
A few minutes before this, Dustin was replaying the Russian code over and over again- the sound drowning out of Steve’s ear and into the other. It was like that all day, with Robin even helping out, making it even more of a big deal. It seemed important, sure, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the whole Russian thing.
He was rustling out the booth, one that Dustin was already pacing out of and towards the other shops in the mall. Towards the nearest potted plant on the second floor, he followed Dustin into a crouch that made him feel ridiculous, especially in his uniform.
“That guy.” Dustin states with his head poking out, pointing his finger, one that Steve smacks away.
Regardless, Steve still followed his eyesight. There was the man holding a bag. Wearing all black with long blonde hair, making him stand out from the colorful crowd that bloomed in Hawkins. Steve scoffed.
“Okay, yeah- he’s douchy looking. We’re supposed to be working on the code?”
“…Be serious. We have to rule out anything suspicious.”
And then suddenly Dustin pulls out a pair of binoculars from god knows where that were too big to even comprehend. This whole situation for Steve was already mind boggling as it- Russians, codes, and now chasing after a guy in the middle of the mall? Scooping ice cream was better than this.
“I am serious! I’m just.. confused.”
Dustin shot him a look, one that Steve returned back to him.
“That guy,” he points against and Steve doesn’t even bother to shove it away again. “He has a dangerous looking duffle bag, a weird face, just a weird everything.”
Steve blinks and his eyebrows furrow, “We’re just following a guy with a… duffel bag?”
“A Russian duffle bag!” Dustin huffs loudly.
“Jesus man!” Steve yanked the binoculars away from him to get him to shut up and reattempted to look in the area Dustin was.
The higher tone that escaped him earned some heads to turn from the mall, alert but quickly turned away. He huffed and grabbed the binoculars back from Steve, slowly getting up to hide in another spot.
“Hey hey hey, I’m not- we’re not actually following this guy are we?” Steve felt surprised how easily he was following Dustin around, with his whole life. He told himself there was no point in even asking.
It was a ten minute chase throughout the whole mall, desperately trying to catch up to the man, Steve’s cheeks bright pink. If any girl who he used to go to school with saw him, he thinks he’d pass out and never return back. He thought he grew out of that phase of impression, but he was Steve after all. After countless times of reaching for Dustin in an attempt to stop him front running, he stopped.
His chest collided to Dustin’s back before they both quickly hid behind a vending machine. Dustin slowly turned his head up to look at Steve, eyes squinting with a smile lingering.
“You're out of breath.”
“…Shut up.” He flicks Dustin’s hair to look ahead to not lose sight. Turns out he was invested in this after all.
Steve’s lips were parted and his whole figure was tense as he followed where the blonde man was going. Inching towards a door and opening it, his eyes followed to the sign. It was a workout class, a really trendy spot in Starcourt. One where only the women went, mostly middle age, which stood out for why that man was there.
“What the hell?” Dustin’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat in embarrassment.
Steve didn’t say anything as he watched the man zip open his bag. He pulled out a huge boombox and muffled a yell that had all the women squealing and smiling. It was truly an unusual sight.
“This is bullshit!” Dustin exclaims. Throwing a fit, he slightly kicked the vending machine and went onto his routinly rants.
Normally Steve would listen, maybe agree, but he felt like his heart dropped right then and there. In a good way, he didn’t know, but it was an unfamiliar feeling. But his whole neck and face creeped up in red- his body feeling hot.
You.
In an attempt to keep his eyes on the man and whatever he was doing, it just naturally strained to you. The girl with the beautiful hair, perfectly done, with your bright yellow workout clothes that reminded him of the sun by how pretty you looked in it.
The girl in the back of the class who was rolling out a mat. You stood out from all the women. You were young, they weren’t.
And your smile. God, your smile. Steve thinks he’s never seen anything like it, the way it reached your eyes and the way it looked so real. He thought it was brighter than his own future.
How come he’s never seen you before? In this small town, with only one big place to hang out? You looked his age, definitely, so has he seen you at school before? He felt stupid for not noticing such a beautiful girl sooner.
He didn’t even know the Russian. Well, not anymore, he was normal. But the way you seemed so excited for him to show up just had him so curious. He just wanted to see you closer. Face to face, hear your voice that must’ve been sweeter than your smile.
He didn’t even know you. He felt like the earth put him there by fate.
“Hellooooo??” Dustin snaps him out of it when he felt a small nudge. “Earth to Steve.”
With a scoff of annoyance that wasn’t directed at Steve, he continues, “He’s not one of them. I mean- how? This is so stupid, how are we ever going to figure this shit out?”
Steve blinks again and nods, forgetting why they were behind a vending machine in the first place. “Right, yeah. Shit that.. that sucks.”
Dustin squints his eyes once more and starts to walk back towards Scoops Ahoy, continuing his rambling plan B on what they needed to do to uncover the code. Steve quickly looked back one last time, being dragged by Dustin, just to see sight of your smile again.
But your back was now turned to the instructor, your arms held up high as you stretched. His heart skipped a beat again and was quickly shut down when he was on his way back to his dreaded job.
He would ask Robin if she knew you. She probably wouldn’t, maybe no one did. For now, you were just the girl in yellow with the pretty smile. The girl he wanted.
——
From then on, Dustin didn’t even bother bugging Steve for assistance on the code. His mind was completely somewhere else, a mix of his job and the lingering memories he had of you, which were limited
Nights passed where he looked through the yearbook of Hawkins High. Nothing. He flipped through every single one around 20 times and he still couldn’t find that same face.
He thought back to that day.
Maybe if he waited a little while, he could’ve caught up to you after the class, could’ve gotten your number.
He was wearing that stupid uniform, unfortunately. And with you looking like the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, maybe he didn’t have a chance. He couldn't believe how easily his heart got pulled to you, just by a simple glance from a window.
He was frustrated with a mix of curiosity, which was deadly for him. Work was not enjoyable anymore- mainly because Robin drained out his hearing as she bossed him to serve customers while she decoded with Dustin
His breaks only lasted around 15 minutes. And he spent his glory time walking back to the workout class.
It was the same middle-aged women, but no you. No yellow or bright outfit that caught his eye. He scoffed every single time and walked back to work, forgetting his break.
It was a Saturday and Steve really wasn’t in the mood to go to work. His hair wasn’t cooperating right, his uniform felt uncomfortable, and he knew the mall would be packed. Especially with Dustin and Robins bickering as he tried to work.
Customers came and went and he smiled every time. Tired, but he still did. He wish he could just go home.
When the counter was clear, he turned curiously just to observe the progress that Dustin and Robin were making- not that much. He leaned foward to say something but a familiar ding! was heard from the counter.
“Welcome to Scoops A-”
He felt his heart drop. He was sure it did.
There you were. In your same yellow outfit that he remembered, talking with a girl as you scanned the flavors with such awe. Your face was a bit flushed and your hair was frizzy. You must’ve just finished your class.
And there he was. With his cheeks completely feeling hot and embarrassed, and his pupils completely dialated by how pretty you were up close. He cleared his throat and immediately snatched the hat off his head, his hair poofing up.
“Hey, ladies. Welcome.” He says with a soft but enthusiastic tone and a smile but it only made him sound stupid.
Somehow you caught onto it and you shot him a sympathetic look, but there wasn’t anything rude behind it. It was a look that girls gave him when they thought he was cute. It was sweeter than that, though, not anything flirtatious. But you smiled anyway, and that’s all that mattered. It was a quieter one, a smile that he didn’t see in the workout class.
“Can I try a sample?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.
God, you truly looked like an angel. You were glowing and it made him rethink every decision of his life.
It completely caught him off guard and his heart stuttered for the 20th time.
“Yeah yeah, ‘course.” He grabs a little spoon, trying to ignore how his fingers were slightly shaking.
“What flavor were you thinking?”
“Ummm…”
Your eyes scan over all the flavors. It was the cutest thing he’s seen. The way your eyes were wide and sweet, so soft in a way that made him just want to kiss you.
“Could I try the banana one?”
“That’s my favorite one.”
It wasn’t. But the sparkle in your eye was worth a little white lie.
Your finger brushed against his when you handed it to him and he almost passed out. His eyes stayed glued to you the whole time, your reaction, not even looking at your friend who was scanning around.
You stuck with the banana and got it. Your friend got something too and she went to sit at the booth while you payed.
“I get why it’s your favorite.” You say with a kind tone, flipping through your money. His eyes lingered on you.
“The banana?”
“Mhm.”
His lips parted and for once in his life, he didn’t know what to say. He just didn’t want to be perceived as an idiot- but he was glad you were too focused on the money to see his bright red face.
“Well I uh, I like this one better.” He taps to the butterscotch flavor, “it’s pretty good.”
“Oh!” You peek over to see the tub with your eyebrows furrowed. “That looks tasty.”
The innocence in your voice was almost deadly to Steve.
You slide the money to him, maybe a little more than what it cost as a tip, and grabbed your ice cream cup again. You gave him a shy but genuine smile, shrugging lightly.
“I’ll have to come by again to try it.” You suddenly spill out before turning around and quickly skidding away.
He blinked. And saw the way you sat at the booth with your back faced to him, your ears red. Giggles were heard, a mix of yours and your friends, and he tried not to let it boost his ego. It didn’t really.
He didn’t know your name, barely talked to you, has only seen you up close once. But he’s never felt lighter.
Over the next days that Steve was working, he noticed a pattern. Which was you showing up more after your workout classes, always around 2. Sometimes with a friend, sometimes by yourself. He preferred just you.
It was hard to talk to you since it was only at the counter, but he tried his best whenever it was those days where you sat at a booth.
Robin teased him for acting so weird. Dustin got annoyed bit by bit as Steve slowly stopped involving himself with the code.
You always got the same flavor. Banana.
And he was pretty sure your excuse of wanting to try the butterscotch was wrong, because his heart just had this feeling. The way you lingered a little to long at the register, with a look of longing in your eye that wanted more. Or how you asked him questions. Tilted your head with genuine curiosity as you talked to him.
He’s never seen you before because you had just moved in that summer. Still living with your parents, still struggling. Just like he was. It was something to relate over, although the topic of parents was quickly lost whenever some flirting was lingering in the air.
“Why do you take off your hat?” You giggle, leaning over the counter when no customers were there.
“It’s so dumb.” He shakes his head, “you know, I had a five year old laugh at it.”
“No.” You laugh.
“Yes! And mind you, he was laughing at me, not with me. Which I wasn’t.”
You grab the hat that was next to him and go on your tip toes, placing the floppy hat on his hair. It was a little tilted, but he kept it like that.
“Don’t let some lameo kid ruin the coolness of a sailor hat.”
Your face was only close to his for a second before the moment was lost.
He smiled, a real one, for the first time. His shoulders visibly tensed and he felt like he was on top of the world. He didn’t feel so guarded anymore, so stressed, so bummed. And it was really over simple words.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckles, “but don’t even get me started on the uniform.”
“It’s cute! Adds character.”
His head jumped, “…Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He chuckled again but it slowly grew quiet when he saw how you looked at him. You were watching him, laughing, eyes crinkled out of pure happiness. And you seemed happy too, with your cheeks blatantly pink.
He watched you a lot also. Robin called him weird again. He still did. On the quiet days at the mall, on the loud ones that were packed with a thousand kids. His attention always landed back on you, because after all, he wanted to have something more with you.
You stayed, sometimes a little longer that normal, just to say bye when you didn’t really want to leave. It made his day everytime.
——
It’s been a month already, and the July heat in Hawkins was starting to kick. Which meant more customers, more shifts, and less time with you.
Your classes continued and Scoops Ahoy was officially your spot to go once it was done. Sometimes you wouldn’t even order ice cream, you would talk to Steve. Or Robin, who you’ve become friends with.
He wanted you to talk to him, though. There was that lingering feeling deep in his heart that wanted you so badly. And not just in Scoops Ahoy. Out in Hawkins, for him to adore in front of everyone or in the quiet moments.
It was a random night when his heart finally had enough.
He was going to ask you out, plain and simple, in his stupid uniform. His mind just flashed to you, you, you- to the smile, eyes, and voice.
He knew what he wanted. He knew you could fill the lonliness in his heart.
——
Your class was brutal. You got a new instructor who was far less generous than the last, and he didn’t have sympathy when the women around you struggled.
Your steps slumped into Scoops Ahoy with your Walkman dangling from your neck. You were wearing your yellow outfit today, which was your favorite.
And maybe you wore it for Steve. That was still processing to you- the fact that his smile had you completely gone and the fact you may have had a crush on him.
You must’ve had a big frown on your face. You could tell by how Steve looked at you.
His eyebrows were in a sad bunch, his head tilting in a patient way as he went up to your booth.
“You okay?” He asks in such a delicate voice that it made you want to just breakdown.
“Bad class.” You mumble.
He just looked at you because he knew you wanted to say more. You sighed that was unusual for you.
“We got some shitty new instructor and he was just- he was so rude. And it was really hard, the workout. It felt so… pointless.”
“But you like going there, right? That’s not pointless.”
Your eyes meet his and you realize that he’s been looking at you this whole time, with his eyes sad and his pupils dialated. He cheeks were pink. They always were.
“I do.” You mumble. “M’ just.. frustrated. It’s fine.”
Your voice didn’t sound fine. It sounded moody and angry, and you felt a little embarrassed that you let it slip so easily in front of Steve. He noticed it again, like always, with no shame behind it.
“…Banana split today? We got that whipped cream you like.” He says softly.
You look at him again like he heard your mind. Because Steve Harrington always knew what you wanted, how you wanted to be talked too, just by your face. He always made your day have a little more purpose, since at home, it was the complete opposite of that. And he was so very patient. It made you felt like you belonged.
It made your cheeks flush like his.
“Yeah.” You say quietly with a small smile that was trying to be hopeful again.
He looked at you again and nodded, returning it back with more of a softness to it. Some days were more energetic between you two, with laughs with made your stomach hurt. Some days were like this, where the two of you understood that gentleness was needed.
You fidgeted with your rings the whole time, looking down at your hands as you try to distract yourself. You tried to calm yourself, and not explode over something so frustrating.
It was hard to be a person who got anxious and upset easily. Usually it happened when your parents weren’t there, leaving you alone, seeking a warmth you’ve never had but always needed. So when there was that day you heard Steve felt the same, you didn’t feel so out of place anymore.
You felt someone lingering over the table and you looked up, Steve. Looking down at the plate with his eyes barely blinking and his eyebrows stressed, his body rigid.
Then his eyes locked with yours and he took a deep breath.
“Added a little something.” He says quietly before placing it down.
You blinked at what it was. Your banana split was there, looking perfect from Steve’s work, always just for you. But in front of it, you could see sticky and brown syrup on the plate.
‘Do you want to go out?’
You couldn’t even believe it. Steve Harrington, whose eyes always gleamed around you, who took everything you said with the utmost attention, was asking you out.
Through chocolate syrup.
A smile was already creeping on your face and on the process of hurting. You looked up at him and almost melted at his face. So nervous, so patient.
Just there. Like how he was when he talked to you for the first time.
In a shy tone and with your eyes slightly watering, you said, “Steve…”
“Yeah?” He croaked out.
You jumped out the booth and hugged him. You heard his breath hitch and felt his eyelashes flutter against your neck, his breath shaking against your skin. It was the best feeling ever. He was so warm and his body enveloped into yours like it was the easiest thing he’s ever done.
“Yes.” You giggle while pulling away.
And that’s the closest you’ve been to him. You wanted to stay like that, until it your feet were planted on the ground. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes look at the way he was now. Awe.
“Yes?” He breaths out in relief.
You nod multiple times and you couldn’t stop letting out small giggles.
“You asked me through chocolate syrup.”
“You like chocolate syrup.”
The funny thing was is that his arms never let you go. They grew even tighter around you, and your arms slid around his neck, there and stable. His hand was rubbing the lower part of your back like he’s done it 100 times, and your head was tilting closer to his like clockwork. Screw work policy.
“I do.” You hum with a shy smile.
“So yes? Officially?”
You roll your eyes and nod, feeling something like never before. Just hopefullness over this new relationship that was slowly seeping into your life, one that was so new to you.
You stay quiet for a while. “That... made my day, Steve. Really.” You say. “Thank you.”
That’s when his thumb brushed over your cheek and you knew you wanted to be touched like that for the rest of your life. Only by Steve, by his soft skin and his soft gaze.
“No need to thank me.” He says. “Been wanting to do that for a long time, believe me.”
“And you did it in the best way possible.”
“Only the best for you.” It was so cheesy but it had you melting anyway.
He watched how you smiled, how you giggled- and he took note that he craved to make you react like that all the time. He didn’t fully have you yet, but it was a step. And he wasn’t going to let go.
“Come by tomorrow after your class and you can hang around till my shifts over.” Steve says with a shy smile that reflected yours. “Then I’ll take us somewhere nice.”
“Where?”
“…Not telling.”
You laugh. “Your evil.”
He would respond, he would lean closer and say something back, but the loud dinging of the bell was being heard. It was a huge family with multiple kids and they shot a glance at him, glaring at the sight of the two of you.
You cupped his cheek in return, rubbing your thumb against the little mole on his cheek. Cute.
“Don’t forget about tomorrow.” He says with a small but noticeable pout, since he didn’t want to go.
“I won’t.” You say quietly.
“Okay.” He nods, his frown fleeting.
You nudge him softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sailor.”
He winces in embarrassment. “Please don’t let that stick.”
“Too late.”
He gives you one more final look, one that was so admirable of you, his arms slowly slithering away but tight, before going back behind the counter.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you sat back down at the booth, eating the banana split that he made for you. You didn’t even bother messing up the syrup because it made your heart feel tingly.
For now, you sat there. With your eyes glued to Steve, your heart still racing. You caught him glancing at you every single time, even when the customers were talking.
You two smiled when your eyes met his, your gaze straining away when you got too shy. He still looked anyway, regardless if you weren’t, he always lingered just to make his heart skip a beat.
You think that going to Scoops Ahoy after your class was the best decision you’ve ever made.
Summary: You could never stay mad at Steve "The Hair" Harrington especially when he's bruised and exhausted
Steve Harrington was good at a lot of things.
He was good at pretending he wasn’t scared. Good at swinging a nail-covered bat like he hadn’t spent most of his life caring more about his hair and popularity than literal monsters from another dimension. Good at cracking dumb jokes when the world was falling apart.
But he was terrible at saying goodbye to you, especially when you were angry.
“You’re seriously doing this again?” you asked, voice tight as you stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms wrapped around yourself like they could hold you together.
Steve paused by the front door, already wearing that worn denim jacket, bat resting against his shoulder. He looked at you with that familiar mix of guilt and stubbornness.
“I’m listening,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t know what you want me to say right now.”
“I want you to stop acting like you’re the only one who can fix this!” Your voice cracked. “Like you have to be the hero every single time.”
Steve’s jaw tightened. “They need me out there. Dustin, Lucas, the rest of them, they’re kids, and-”
“And what about me?” The words slipped out before you could soften them. You immediately regretted how they sounded, but you didn’t take them back.
The room went quiet. Steve’s hand flexed around the bat handle.
Outside, you could hear the others: car doors slamming, Dustin yelling Steve’s name with that impatient edge he got when he was trying not to sound scared.
Steve glanced toward the door, then back at you. His eyes were tired. “You know I have to go.”
You swallowed hard. “I know you think you do. But you don’t have to do it like this. Not without even talking to me first.”
He took a small step closer but stopped when you didn’t move. “I’m not trying to be invincible. I’m just… trying to keep everyone alive.”
“Yeah, well, who’s keeping you alive?” you shot back, tears stinging your eyes. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you are.”
Steve looked like you’d punched him. For a second, you thought he might drop the bat and stay. But then the muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always did when he was shutting down emotionally.
“I’ll come back,” he said quietly.
You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. “You always say that.”
His face crumpled for just a moment before he forced it back into something steadier. “I mean it this time.”
Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, and the house felt suddenly too big and too empty.
The waiting was the worst part.
You tried to keep busy. You scrubbed the same counter three times. Re-folded the throw blanket on the couch. Made tea and let it go cold. Every little sound outside made your stomach drop, tires on the road, a dog barking, the wind in the trees. You kept checking the clock, hating yourself for the anger still simmering under the fear.
By the time the front door finally creaked open hours later, you were already on your feet.
Steve looked like hell.
His jacket was torn at the shoulder, blood had dried along his hairline and near his eyebrow, and a nasty bruise was spreading across his cheekbone. He moved carefully, like everything hurt, but he still tried to play it cool the second he saw you.
“Before you say anything,” he mumbled, voice hoarse, “I know. I look like shit.”
Your face crumpled.
That broke him faster than any monster ever could. “Hey, hey, no. Don’t cry. Please.”
“You’re bleeding, Steve.” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.
“I’m fine. It’s mostly not mine.”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than you meant. You crossed the room anyway, hands hovering uselessly over him. “Just… don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not.”
Steve let out a tired breath and leaned back against the closed door. “I’m sorry,” he said, softer this time. “For leaving like that. For not… I don’t know. For not being better at this.”
You reached up and gently touched the uninjured side of his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your palm like he’d been starving for it.
“I was so mad at you,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I wanted to stay mad.”
A tired, lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. “Did it work?”
“No. I just ended up worrying myself sick instead.”
Steve’s eyes opened, red-rimmed and exhausted. “I kept thinking about you the whole time. Every time things got bad, I kept thinking, ‘Shit, if I don’t make it back, she’s gonna kill me.’”
You huffed a watery laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” he agreed easily, “but I’m your idiot.”
You helped him to the couch. He groaned the whole way, muttering under his breath about “stupid demodogs” and “my back is never gonna forgive me.” When he finally sat, he looked so worn out that your chest ached.
You disappeared to grab the first aid kit and came back to find him watching you with that soft, unguarded look he only ever let you see.
“What?” you asked, kneeling in front of him.
“Nothing. Just… missed you. Even though it was only a few hours. Felt like longer.”
You started cleaning the cut on his eyebrow. He hissed when the antiseptic touched his skin but stayed still, one hand resting on your knee like he needed the contact.
“I hate this,” you said quietly as you worked. “I hate waiting. I hate seeing you come back like this. I hate feeling selfish for wanting you to stay.”
“You’re not selfish,” Steve said, wincing again. “I’d be pissed too if it was the other way around. Hell, I’d probably chain you to the couch.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds borderline creepy, Harrington.”
He grinned weakly. “Romantic. I meant romantic.”
You snorted, and for a moment the tension eased. You finished patching him up as best you could, then sat beside him. Steve immediately shifted closer, carefully resting his head against your shoulder with a long, shaky exhale.
“I’m still a little mad,” you admitted after a while, threading your fingers through his messy hair.
“Fair,” he murmured. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”
You turned your head and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, avoiding the bruises. “You came back.”
“I told you I would.” His voice was already getting sleepy. “I’ll always try to come back to you. Even when I’m being a stubborn ass.”
You held him a little tighter, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
The world outside was still terrifying. Hawkins was still broken. Steve would probably throw himself into danger again the next time it called.
But tonight he was here, warm, alive, and quietly clinging to you like you were the only safe thing left.
I was feeling agitated and artblocked yesterday so I decided to give my brain a rest by watching TV and then the next thing I knew these were in front of me
My favourite translator said that when she was an ambassador for Hungary she took all these Japanese politicians on a tour and she was trying to circumtranslate ‘merry go round’ cause she didn’t know the Japanese word for it by calling it a ‘horse tornado for children’ and they had no blessed idea what she was saying and she finally started running in circles going up and down and they go ‘ohhhhh, in Japan we call those ‘merry-go-rounds’”
The opening title card of the movie “HOLES” is misspelled in DVD and Blu-Ray copies of the film.
Often when a movie is transferred to DVD, Blu-Ray, and 4K formats, the titles have to be redone to read more legibly. When Disney released “HOLES” in 2003, the title card itself was written in small text in the corner of the screen. If transferred to home video normally, this title would have been only five pixels tall and too faint to make out.
But in early 2004, when the time came to alter the title for home video, the digital technician responsible typed the name wrong and quality control never caught it, all the way through the film’s blu-ray release in 2018. No fans wrote in noticing the flaw, nobody in quality for the disc releases, nobody at all noticed, and so the flaw remains to this day.
When we at FIJMU brought the error to Disney’s attention, a kind intern in an old fashioned hat simply took the initiative and explained, “I can fix that.”
Clingy reader and steve where he loves when she's clingy even in front of the party..
I love ur writinggg
Velcro Hearts
Steve Harrington x clingy!reader 700 words
warnings: fluff, clinginess, dependency,
Steve adores the constant need you have for him, especially when everyone else can see it too
Steve never understood why people always complained about clingy girlfriends. What was there to hate about a girl who loves you so much that she sees something in you no one else saw? Maybe it was because no one has really ever clung to Steve before.
Back in high school, girls liked him, or more so the idea of him—the hair, the name, the popularity. Nobody reached for him without thinking, nobody melted into him without a second thought.
Then you came along.
And suddenly, Steve couldn’t go five minutes without feeling some part of you touching him. Your fingers curled into his sleeves to keep a tight hold on him, your head tucked beneath his chin whenever he sat down, your legs draped across his lap during movie night with the party. Half the time Steve couldn’t move around your place without you trailing after him like a shadow.
“Baby,” he laughed under his breath one late night, glancing back to catch you following him. “You know I’m just getting a glass of water, right? Go back to bed.”
You only rubbed your bleary eyes with a pout, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I can’t.” You mumbled into his soft sleep shirt.
“Why not?” Steve asked, furrowing his brows.
“Because the beds cold without you, and I already missed you.”
Steve nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Every single time. Every damn time you said something like that—a simple yet effective soft confession, his chest did this stupid aching thing.
No one ever looked at him like he held the whole world in his hands.
“Jesus, sweetheart.” He sighed affectionately, turning in your arms to pull you against him properly. “C’mere, baby.”
You smiled immediately, burying your face into his chest as you cocooned yourself soundly, Steve lifting you up to carry you back to the bedroom.
And the way you relaxed the second he touched you? It was a huge difference to people that recoiled away from him, like your body trusted him completely.
“Needy girl,” he teased affectionately, rubbing his hands up and down your back in slow motions.
The nickname stuck after that—his needy girl, and you loved it more than anything. Because you wanted to be his needy girl, to show him that you loved him deep enough for your heart to hurt.
“Needy girl, move over.”
“I love you even more, needy girl.”
“You tired, needy girl?”
And the party had no trouble noticing it immediately, especially Dustin.
“This is actually disgusting.” Dustin looked at you two curled up on the wheelers basement couch with a grimace. “You guys are attached at the hip like some kind of parasite from the upside down.”
Steve didn’t even look up from where he was absentmindedly playing with your fingers, rubbing featherlight touches over your knuckles.
“She likes me.”
Dustin rolled his eyes, groaning. “You’re literally holding her hands while she’s asleep.”
“She can’t sleep when she’s alone.” Steve responded, keeping his gaze on you. Your cheek was smudged against his chest as your hand remained clutched in his own.
“Do you hear how you sound right now? That’s crazy!” Dustin pointed out with disbelief.
“Don’t call my girl crazy.” Steve said almost threateningly, finally glancing upwards to glare at the younger boy.
If there was one thing Steve wouldn’t stand for, it was for anyone who shamed your relationship. There was nothing wrong with being attached to him, the truth was—he loved showing you off like this.
Loved when you sought him out first in a room.
Loved when you automatically climbed into his lap like that was your designated seat.
Loved when your hand reached for his without looking.
He loved that you depended on him. Not because you couldn’t do it yourself, but because you chose him constantly. And he used to be a man who felt replaceable every second of his life, but with you, he only knew what feeling permanent meant.
When the party left that night, you were still half asleep while he lazily stroked your hair.
“Stevie?” You asked.
“Hm?”
“Do you care that I’m clingy?”
Steve stared at you for a moment like the answer was the most obvious one in the world. Then he leaned down, pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin. “You could cling to me forever and I still wouldn’t get tired of it.”
Your face flushed instantly, but his response sounded so genuine, relaxing you until your shoulders sagged.
“My forever, needy girl.”
Hella Rapscallion @im-sidney - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
snowghoul
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
janainaart
gummygunk
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
titsay
